Josh
Bad luck comes in triplicate.
First that rat bastard pawing at his wife. Then the fire. Now this...
"How the hell did this happen?" he growled, glaring at the broken fence. Nearly three sections had been destroyed, the snow muddy and trampled by the herd's mass exodus from the corral. Copper fidgeted beneath him, and he knew the finicky animal was reading his own energy-- anxious. Raising his head, he looked to the horizon, where the sunset was blocked by a roil of dark clouds.
Blizzard. Worst one they'd seen yet this season if his instincts were right, and they were rarely wrong about such things.
"It's my fault," Paul sighed, shaking his head. "This section was looking worn so I put a few of the new guys in charge of fixing it up. I should have checked on it."
"I knew as well as you did that it needed fixing," Josh said, rubbing at his wind-burned face. He'd hoped to have the ranch locked down, all chores delegated evenly, before the storm hit. He wasn't exactly an old man, but he'd lost his taste for hardship. If he could be inside, looking at bad weather through a window with a fire burning at his back, that's what he preferred. Especially after the past two nights. But this kind of catastrophe-- two hundred head of cattle, roaming the plain before a massive storm-- required oversight.
"You can't check up on everything, boss," Paul said with a grimace. "This one's on me."
"Doesn't matter right now who's to blame," Josh said honestly, wheeling Copper around. "I'm going to head out and see if I can get a lead on where they ran to. Hopefully they stayed together. If they scattered it'll take us all night to round them up. You get back to the bunkhouse and get as many men as we can spare to help. Anyone who isn't working on locking the place down. And those men you assigned to fix the fence better be at the top of the list."
"We'll meet you at the bend," Paul said with a nod, referring to the bend in the creek that lay at the far north side of the ranch. From the path of beaten snow, that was the direction the lost herd had headed, at least at the start.
"Half hour," Josh tossed over his shoulder as he kneed Copper into a trot and then a canter, snow and mud kicking up around the horse's legs. His own legs and feet were already going numb with the cold. He'd have to dismount and walk for a while, soon. As much as he loved the rugged beauty of his home, sometimes he wondered what it would be like to live somewhere more temperate. Somewhere he could go the whole year without worrying about his toes falling off or losing two hundred goddamn head of cattle to a blizzard just because some idiot kids didn't feel like doing the work they were paid to perform.
Grumbling under his breath, Josh followed the path of the cattle, cursing when the trail split into three separate branches. The clouds in the distance were getting closer and wind whipped at his coat, snaking icy fingers through every weakness in his clothing. His nose and eyes stung.
It was going to be a long night. He had half a mind to run back to the house and let his family know he probably wouldn't be back until late, but thought better of it. Such an exercise would be a waste of time and Copper's energy, as his urge to return had more to do with his own ridiculous desire to bask for a minute in Amelia's presence than it did with setting her mind at ease. She wouldn't notice his absence. He typically didn't return until well after the house had retired, and had grown skilled at stepping quietly up the stairs and into the bedroom he shared with Amelia, preparing for bed silently so as not to wake her. She was usually asleep, curled up on her side with her back to the door, when he slipped inside and shut the door behind him. She had no reason to wait up, and tonight would be no different. He'd send a runner if this task kept them out into the next day, but hopefully that wouldn't be the case.
Fumbling with gloved fingers, he pulled his watch out and glanced at the time. Copper snorted, his breath a thick cloud in the air, as Josh turned him in a tight circle and kneed him back to a swift canter. At the bend in the frozen creek, Paul was waiting with two dozen men, all bundled up and hunched over in the saddle. Gesturing them closer, Josh told them what he knew.
"The trail splits into three half a mile to the north," he said. "We'll split into three groups of six and follow the trails. The rest will stay behind where the trail splits and build a fire and a shelter so we have somewhere to rotate back to rest and warm up. Once we round up our first group and get a better idea how they're spread, we'll bring two more men back to manage the herd we gather. We'll have to rotate mounts as well, so we'll have two dedicated to run horses back to the ranch and come back with fresh ones. I want everyone in pairs, and we'll follow trail rules once the snow comes. Experienced pair up with green, and never go out of earshot alone. Questions?"
One man nodded at the clouds. "What about the storm, boss?"
"The storm's coming," Josh said bluntly. "That's why we needed to hurry and get them gathered back in."
The men nodded, and Josh was suddenly immensely grateful for the rapport he had with his father's employees. None of them, not even the younger ones, argued. They knew he valued them more than a herd of cattle, no matter how much money the livestock was worth. He didn't have to say the words for them to know that their livelihoods depended on this operation, and that was the only reason he was risking their safety on the round up. Two hundred head was a massive loss that would hit them hard at the market come summer. He would have to let many of them go. Men who had families they were sending money to. He wouldn't risk a storm like this for anything less than the common good, and they knew that.
"Let's get this done," he said, leading the gathered men down the trail toward the split. They followed behind him. Ahead of him, the storm clouds gathered, dark and ominous above a bank of white that blotted out the mountains.
Amelia
She sat in her window seat, wrapped in multiple thick blankets with a fire roaring in the hearth across the room. Through the dim reflection in the glass, she could see snow flakes whipping through the air. She didn't need to have roots in this earth to know the signs of a coming storm. She could see the clouds and the sheet of white that blocked her view of the mountains.
Where was Josh?
Usually he made it home ahead of bad weather. She'd come to expect it, and to enjoy storms for that exact reason. She liked having him home in the evenings. She didn't like to watch him interact with his father, but she liked to be with him and Melissa. She liked to listen to their banter and join in. She liked the sound of his even breathing in the stillness of their bedroom. She slept sounder when she drifted off to the lullaby of his presence.
So where the hell was he? He'd missed supper, by which time angry winds were already howling against the walls of the house. After cleaning up, she'd begged weariness and retreated to her bedroom to watch out the window. The ranch was quiet and still, all the men and animals pulled in for the duration of the storm. She waited for a lone figure to leave the sprawling complex and begin the short trek up the hill to the house.
She'd watched him make that walk many times before. Lately, she had begun suffering from a kind of conditional insomnia. She found it very difficult to go to sleep while she was alone in the room, so she'd taken to waiting up for him. She'd sit in the window and watch the milling activity of the ranch, and when she saw him-- a dark figure against the white snow-- start up the hill, she'd tuck herself into bed and pretend to be asleep. She knew she couldn't tell him that she waited up for him. If she did, he would feel obligated to return home early and his work would be disrupted. He would find a way to be home at bedtime and then do something silly like slip out after she'd gone to sleep or add even more pre-dawn hours to his day to make up the difference.
He was stupid like that.
So she didn't tell him, but she did wait up. She'd huddle beneath her blankets and smile when she heard him tiptoe noisily into the room. He tried so hard to be quiet, but his every move was painfully loud. His footsteps thundered, his wash-up sounded like a dying fish, splashing around in the water basin, and he always found a way to slam a toe into some hard corner and spend a few dramatic moments cursing up a whispered storm. But he tried so damned hard to be quiet that it warmed her heart, and it was to the gentle cacophony of his homecoming that she usually drifted off to sleep.
Tonight, she had even greater impetus to wait for him than the comfort of his presence. She needed to be awake so she could catch him before he fell asleep. So she could invite him into the bed.
She glanced at the delicate silver pocket watch Brent had given her as a gift during their romance. Unless the watch was as dishonest as him, it was nearly midnight. Josh was never so late. Was he okay? Part of her wanted to bundle up and march down to the ranch and check on him, but the snow was coming down harder, so thick and frenzied she couldn't make out anything past the massive oak that stood in the front yard, and even that was just a ghostly silhouette. If she went out, she'd get lost and freeze to death. And then she'd never get to learn if his presence warmed her bed like she hoped.
Sighing, she untangled herself from the nest of blankets and wrapped a thick robe around her body, tucking her feet into slippers and creeping down the stairs. In the kitchen, she lit the stove and made herself a pot of tea, carrying it upstairs and trying to read by candlelight in an effort to distract herself.
An hour passed.
Two.
Outside, the storm was raging. She felt like she was trapped in some dreamworld where nothing existed beyond the walls of the house. All she could see was white, and the cold nothingness was struggling to batter its way inside. Wind whistled, and frigid air seeped through the cracks around the window. Shivering, she retired to her bed and lay beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling.
She was half-mad with impotent worry when she heard the distant sound of the front door slamming shut. With a sigh of relief, she turned over and closed her eyes, waiting for his heavy footsteps to ascend the stairs. She readied her speech in her head-- I was thinking, with it being so cold outside tonight, that you might want to join me in the bed. To keep us both warm. They'd fall asleep separately, but perhaps she'd wake up with her head on his chest. Perhaps, in the warm light of the morning, they'd come to the unspoken agreement that this should be their new status quo.
Smiling, she settled in and waited for him to arrive.
Josh
As Josh opened the front door and slipped into the house, he forced himself to bite down on the steady stream of curses he'd been muttering since he began his long walk from the ranch, where he'd left Copper in the hands of one of an eager young ranch hand, to the house. They'd found all but three of the cattle, yes. That was good. It was also good that they hadn't lost any men in the storm. What wasn't good was how he felt.
Cold and weary down to his bones, which seemed to creak and groan with every step he took.
He shut the door behind him and slumped onto the bench just inside. As usual, the entryway was cold, with no fire in the adjoined parlor to heat the place up. At least he was out of the wind and the snow, though. He sagged against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. He was so damn tired. Last night, he'd been out until the hours just before dawn, shuttling Vivian's girls back to the ranch and getting them settled. The night before, he'd been up battling the fire. Tonight it was the damned cattle.
He'd had half a mind, when he and his men had finally arrived back at the ranch with the missing cattle, to claim a bed in the bunkhouse. It wasn't that it was so bad sleeping on Amelia's floor, but he hadn't been thrilled about the climb up the hill to his house, and his back was sore from so long in the saddle. The prospect of a mattress-- even a cheap, hard one that smelled of whatever sweaty man had used it before him-- was appealing.
But then he thought of Amelia, and the way she'd kissed him. How she'd shifted closer in the sled on the ride back. How she'd made him drink tea and told him her worries about having a little girl.
Thinking about Amelia, with her sweet warmth and her delicate laugh and her stubborn streak, he had decided to make the hike back to the house. He'd sleep better on her cold floor, listening to her delicate snore, than he'd sleep alone, even on a damned father mattress with the sound of harps in his ears and a summer breeze brushing over his body.
"Josh?"
He startled, jerking upright, and realized he'd dozed off on the bench in the mudroom. Amelia stood in the doorway to the parlor, dressed in a robe and slippers and holding a flickering lantern.
"Hey," he said lamely, trying on a smile that tugged awkwardly on his numb, frozen cheeks. "What are you doing up?"
"I was waiting for you," she said, placing her free hand on her hip and frowning at him. The lamplight cast her face in severe shadows and she looked properly annoyed. "Are you alright?"
"You were waiting?"
"Yes, I was waiting," she said, huffing in exasperation as she hurried forward and set the lamp on the bench by his side. Her fingers brushed like a breeze over his cheek before she crouched, tugging at his boots. He thought he ought to stop her. Her fingers were so small and pale, and his boots were crusted with ice and snow. "There's a storm," she said, before he could voice his objection, uttering a small noise of triumph as she pulled his right boot off and tossed it aside. "I was worried." The left came off as well, and she dropped it by its partner.
"You were worried," he repeated, dumbfounded.
"It's a terrible storm, Josh," she said, like he was some kind of idiot. Maybe he was, because he was becoming increasingly suspicious that she carried some kind of fondness for him. He was losing his mind. The cold must have gone to his head.
"Stand up and take your jacket off," she said, and he obeyed, clumsily tugging the snow-caked coat off his shoulders and dumping it on the bench. He stood, swaying a little in the half-darkness. She looked soft and warm, and he desperately wanted to yank her to him and hold her close. Maybe steal a little bit of that heat that made her eyes burn so bright they lit up the darkness.
"Go upstairs and get out of your wet clothes," she said. "I'm going to start a pot of water for tea."
Tea. He hated tea. At least, he thought he did. But she'd made him some earlier that day... no, she'd made him some yesterday, and he'd been partial to it. She put honey in it, and it made him think of quiet days before his mother died, when he and Melissa pretended they were sick so they could skip out on chores.
Without waiting for a response, she hurried off to the kitchen with her lantern and he made his slow, plodding way up the stairs. A weak fire cracked and shifted in the hearth, and he sank onto the bench by the bed and stared at the logs. There were no flames-- just burning, red-hot embers. Lifting his hands, he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, but his fingers were numb and clumsy and he couldn't grasp the tiny buttons. He gave up and stared absently at the embers. Soon Amelia would be back, and she'd make him drink more tea. Should've stayed the night at the bunkhouse, he thought with a smile, knowing there was no way he'd have done something so stupid. Especially not now he knew she was waiting on him. On him!
Amelia burst into the room in a flurry of motion and noise-- paying no heed to the fact that the rest of the house was sleeping.
"I told you to change," she said, setting her lantern aside and bracing her hands on her hips. He could see the flare of her figure, even covered in the thick robe. He guessed that if he traced his fingers over her curves, her warmth would bring them right back to life. When he didn't respond, she huffed in agitation and crossed the room, her small, nimble fingers working at the buttons of his shirt.
"Your shirt is drenched," she said angrily, batting away his hands when he lifted them to help her. "What were you thinking?"
He shrugged helplessly, slipping his arms out of the shirt when she pushed it off his shoulders. Tugging the long-sleeved undershirt from his pants, he pulled that off as well. When he looked up, Amelia was standing before him, a fresh shirt in her outstretched hand. Her gaze was carefully averted, and he realized he was offending her modesty.
Right.
He took the shirt and pulled it over his head, wincing when droplets of melted snow slid down his neck. But Amelia had a solution for that, too. She stepped forward with a small towel and gently scrubbed at his damp hair until it was dry. He closed his eyes at the sensation and thanked God-- thanked his idiot brother-- for delivering this wonderful woman to his doorstep.
"You'll, um... you'll have to stand up..."
He opened his eyes and found her standing in front of him, the towel still clenched in her hand as she gnawed on her lip. He wanted to feel amusement at the glowing flush of her cheeks, just like he wanted to feel embarrassment that she had to help him, and relief that his men had managed to find all but three of the lost herd, and sadness that Vivian's had burned down, and anger that someone had set the fire. All those feelings would have to wait, though, because all he was presently capable of feeling was cold.
"I got it," he mumbled, fumbling awkwardly with his belt until it slid free. Too cold for modesty, he stood, shoving his pants down his legs. He had to sit back down to shove the sodden material all the way off, and peel sodden socks off his feet. When he looked up Amelia stood before him, a pair of long underwear in her hand, her face blaringly red and her gaze pinned to the ceiling. He snagged the underwear with cold-stiff fingers and struggled into them.
When he was finally dressed, she gathered up his wet clothes and spread them out on the floor by the fire. "I'm going to go get the tea," she said. "You get in bed."
He didn't want tea, and he didn't want to get in bed, dammit. He wanted to get into the bed. Her bed. With her. She left after dropping a couple of logs on the fire, and he was half-tempted to crawl beneath her covers and be asleep before she returned. She seemed so determined to care about his well-being, surely she wouldn't wake up a half-dead man just to kick him out of bed.
No, of course she wouldn't.
She'd just sleep on the floor herself.
Clumsily, he tossed a couple of quilts and a pillow onto the ground and lowered himself onto the makeshift pallet. He gave an uncoordinated attempt to cover himself fully with another blanket and gave up with his feet still exposed. It didn't matter much, he figured. The tattered old quilt was more a measure of posterity than one of warmth.
He shifted onto his side and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the sharp pains and dull aches of muscles locked into rictus by cold and exertion. The fire cracked in the background and, in spite of the qualified success of the day and warmth of the fire finally penetrating his skin, unaccountable sorrow draped itself over him, covering him completely. It was the brief feel of her hands that had done it, he thought. Just those few broken moments of contact, brusque but gentle, and the gleam of concern in her eye. But that little bit of something was like a drop of water on a dry tongue. All it really did was remind a man how parched he truly was.