He turns on his heel, his eyes cast down as he zips up his black winter coat. He begins descending his front steps, finally looking up, and then pauses on the last step. “What are you wearing?” he asks with an accusing gaze as he stares down my body.
My brows furrow as I tighten my red wool coat around me. “Clothes. What are you wearing, Mr. Tight Pants?” I mumble the last part under my breath.
“I’m wearing winter climbing gear because it’s January and cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. Where’s the stuff you bought at Marv’s?” He looks damn near angry with me!
“It’s in my trunk,” I reply. Walking to the back of my car, I pop the trunk and produce the infamous red and white snowsuit. “I couldn’t leave my house in this getup in case Miles woke up before I left. I thought I could change here.”
Sam exhales heavily and turns to reclimb his front steps. “So this means you’re not backing out?” he states with great disappointment as he fumbles through his keys.
I walk up the steps, squeezing my snowsuit and boots to my chest. “I didn’t back out of ice fishing, and I’m not backing out of this. I’m excited to get some shots of me in action today. Sterling will flip out when I send him pictures of me on an iced silo!”
He grumbles under his breath as he finally finds the key he was looking for and begins to push open the door. When I move to walk inside, he steps into my path. “Wait, did you call me Mr. Tight Pants down there?”
I bite my lip, a deep flush rushing up from my neck. “Maybe.”
His brows lift, and he does that shy smile thing again that he’s horrible at hiding. “Were you checking out my ass there, sparky?”
“No,” I bark out a bit too aggressively. “I was just watching you, and I couldn’t help but notice that you bought your pants a size too small.”
“These are professional climbing pants,” he states, leaning closer to me. “They are supposed to fit snugly so they don’t get hung up on any jagged edges.”
I shrug my shoulders dismissively. “I knew that.”
He chuckles under his breath and steps back for me to enter, and I do my best to ignore his manly scent as I pass him. When I walk into his foyer, I’m surprised at how grown-up looking Sam’s cabin is. For a ginger brawny man bachelor, I guess I expected it to be a mess of mismatched furniture—an old couch from college and maybe a folding table and chairs.
But Sam not only wears man jeans, but he also has a man house on top of it. The entryway opens into the living room with a black sectional sofa and cozy leather armchair. On the far right wall is a natural stone fireplace that still has embers glowing inside it. On the left is a dining room with a long rustic table and unique chairs with industrial piping that make a strong statement. Just past the dining area, I can see a bit of the kitchen. It has knotty white cabinetry and a small island in the middle. This cabin is adorable.
Sam’s footsteps march across the pale pine flooring as he directs me to the hallway straight ahead. I follow him closely as he points to the left. “Bathroom is there on the right.” He turns around, clearly not expecting me to be standing so close because our bodies brush up against each other, reminding me of the moment at the bar last night and that damn kiss last weekend.
“Sorry,” I mumble, stepping back and ignoring my racing heart.
Sam does the same, furrowing his brow as though he’s deep in thought. Without a word, he strides back the way he came and disappears into the front of the house.
I close the bathroom door and press my back to it, exhaling the breath that was stuck in my lungs as I take in Sam’s cute bathroom. It has an elevated soaker tub in one corner with wide-open views of the mountains. Obviously, you don’t have to worry about curtains when you live in the wilderness.
Past the vanity, a pocket door has my curiosity piqued. I set my stuff down on the counter and walk over to slide it open. On the other side is a large bedroom. I look down and see Sam’s brown boots from last night on the floor at the foot of his bed and realize it’s not just a bedroom, but it’s Sam’s bedroom.
I take a single step inside and eye the king-size bed against the wall. It has a large barnwood headboard and a taupe duvet with fluffy white pillows scattered at the top. He even took the time to make it, albeit a bit sloppily. Natural light pours in from the large windows that wrap the corner of the room, so you feel like you’re sleeping right in the mountains. And I swear if I breathe in deeply, I can smell the faint scent of leather and Irish Spring soap. It smells just like Sam.
I walk over to the long dresser on the opposite wall and see an old photo in a frame. It’s a picture of a man, a woman, three girls, and a little boy who looks about twelve years old in this picture. The boy and the man are holding a long board with a row of fish hanging from it. I reach out to finger the old fishing lure he has sitting on the dresser beside it. I get the sinking suspicion that this is personal and I’m crossing a line so I quickly tiptoe back to the bathroom and close the pocket door.
Trying to forget about what I saw, I quickly change into my winter gear that cost me more than my textbooks did for my final semester at the University of Utah. Thankfully, I remember to keep a layer of clothes on underneath this time. I then grab my wool coat and Sorels and make my way out of the bathroom to find Sam.
He’s sitting in the big leather chair with his head tipped back and his eyes closed. His chest rises and falls in a deep, rhythmic pattern.
“Are you seriously asleep?” I blurt out, not the least bit worried about the polite way to wake him up. We’ve been zipped into a tiny hut together for hours on end, so I think manners are optional at this point.
The corners of his mouth curve up as his eyes remain closed. “I could be.”
“I got dressed really fast I thought,” I reply, tugging out the gloves in my pocket.
He peeks at me through one eye. “Faster than last time, that’s for damn sure.”
I roll my eyes as he sits up and rubs his hands over his face. “Are you nursing a hangover?” I ask, eyeing him speculatively.
He eyes me right back. “Boys get hangovers. Men get over it.”
I smile at the response and watch him stand, towering over me once again now that I’m out of my heels. He catches me looking, so I swerve my eyes around his living room. “I like your place.”
He nods, and a sense of pride casts over his face. “It’s been home for a few years now.”
“How big is the property?”
“I have almost five acres. It’s all timber, but I have room for my big shed out back that stores all my toys.”
“What kind of toys?” I ask and cringe when my mind went to someplace dirty.
“Just my quad, snowmobile, motorcycle, and pickup.”
“I knew you had a pickup.”
His brows lift. “Did you now?”
I sigh deeply. “You’re just like my brother. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner.”
Sam laughs at that. “Well, you’re nothing like your brother, so I think I get a break for not realizing who you were when we met.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, my voice rising defensively. If he doesn’t think I’m like my brother, what does he think I’m like? “Are you going to call me basic too?”
“Hell no,” Sam replies quickly, his brow furrowed seriously. “Maggie, you are like a jigsaw puzzle with a million pieces. I think it’d take me years to figure you out.”
I smile at that very specific comment, a warmth creeping through my chest that I haven’t felt in a long time. To crush the moment full of sexual tension, I quickly punch Sam in the shoulder. “Just as long as we get it all on camera for Sterling!”
Sam’s face falls, and I catch a glimpse of a wounded expression as he touches the spot I just hit. “Just don’t be so focused on the future that you miss what’s happening in the present, all right?”
He turns on his heel and walks out the door, leaving my mind reeling with his parting words.
Fish Or Cut Bait
We arrive at Peterson Farm, just east of Boulder. It’s a place I’ve been to a couple of times with my climbing buddy I met in college. We belayed each other for years until he moved to Denver with his wife. I haven’t really done much climbing since, but thankfully, it’s like riding a bike. And let’s face it, I’m here to make sure Maggie has a trustworthy belayer and doesn’t land herself in the Boulder hospital with some crazy injury that her brother would find a way to punish me for.