The Alpha's Fine Print novel · Chapter 17 of 24

Chapter 17: Snow

By midnight the snow had closed the road, and the ranch house was a black box in a white world.

Lorcan lit the stove in the front room and carried every quilt in the house downstairs.

I stood in the doorway in his flannel shirt, with my arms folded, and watched him build a nest.

He dragged the big wool rug in front of the stove.

He piled quilts on it, and pillows, and set three candles on the hearth stones.

The light moved on the walls, gold and soft.

"Sit," he said. Then, "If you'd like."

I sat.

The rug was thick, and the stove threw a dry heat across it.

He knelt behind me and ran his fingers through my curls, over and over, slowly.

"Nobody's coming," he said. "No pack. No phone. No Dahl. Nothing until the plow."

"Is that supposed to comfort me?"

"I thought it might."

It did.

I leaned back against his chest, and he put his arms around me, and we sat that way a long time and watched the fire.

"I'm going to tell you something," I said.

"Okay."

"Hobart was the only person who ever thought I was good at this."

His arms tightened a little.

"I mean the job. The way I read. The way I won't stop. Everyone else thought I was a lot."

"Tilda."

"I've been alone since the funeral. Longer, really."

"I'm here."

"I know," I said. "I'm saying it because tonight I don't want to be clever."

He turned me gently in his arms until I faced him.

His eyes were gold in the candlelight, and wet.

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