The morning light broke into my cabin like an intruder, slicing through the darkness where I’d spent the whole night awake. The wooden ceiling held no answers, but the ghost of the kiss—the taste of her, the softness, the way she fit perfectly against me—was painted on every board.
I rolled over in bed with a groan, scrubbing my hands over my face. What the hell had I done?
Kissing Alice. Kissing a guest. A pregnant, hurt woman who came here to find herself, not to be pursued by a widowed cowboy with more issues than head of cattle.
I got up as if the mattress were on fire. I needed work. Hard work, the kind that burns your muscles and silences your mind. But first, coffee. And facing the day after the kiss.
The walk to the main barn felt longer. Every step echoed what had happened hou
