The house sat warm, glowing softly beneath the low sky, the chimney’s smoke curling into the dawn as clouds, heavy, dark, dragged by the cold hands of the mountain wind, shoved the pale light behind their jagged peaks.

Rain fell hard, drumming against the leather brims of hats pulled low, soaking through thick coats.

The younger cowboy closed the gate on the last of the sheep, guiding them to the safety of the pen, while the older finished with the cattle, the mist rising from the warm bodies of the animals making the world a ghostly, breathless place.

Joel led the horses to the barn, water sliding down the dark brim of his hat, collecting in the rough lines of his jaw, dripping from his beard to stain the hay below.

Tommy stayed astride his horse a moment longer, the rain flattening the dark blond hair against the sharp cut of his cheekbones as his eyes lifted, narrowing toward the small greenhouse tucked against the fence line. A flicker of movement. A thin figure moving between the glass shadows.

You.

Reckless little maid, gathering herbs into a basket too small for the effort, your dress soaked through, clinging to the soft curve of your thighs and hips, rain dripping from your chin as you looked down, focused on your task.

The truth was that they didn’t need a maid. The sheriff already had enough hands working the ranch, enough mouths to feed, enough people looking to him for direction. But he had lost a good man, an honorable deputy, and the man’s last request had been you. Left in Joel’s care.

Joel Miller didn’t pity anyone. He didn’t take you in out of softness, didn’t keep you under his roof because you were alone and had nowhere else to go. You were going to be useful. You were going to earn your keep, find your place among the workers, pull your weight on the ranch and in the house.

Well, if you didn’t catch pneumonia in this cold.

Tommy’s breath left him slow, misting in the cold as his tongue flicked across the corner of his mouth, boots hitting the muddy ground as he swung down, the mud sucking at the leather as he walked.

He pushed the door open, the wind shoving it wide, scattering damp leaves across the dirt floor. “You’re a damn mess,” Tommy breathed, voice low, rough with something unspoken as he stepped forward, taking you to his horse.

strong hands sliding around your waist, as he lifted you onto the saddle, climbing up behind you. your dress rode up as he adjusted you, “Hold on,” he muttered, though it was his grip that tightened, one hand gripping the reins, the other firm around your waist.

Your wet skin pressed into the heat of him, the ridge of his belt biting into your skin as his jaw clenched, rain dripping from his lashes as his eyes flickered down to you, the way your breath caught as your hips shifted his jeans.

His chest pressed flush to your back, warmth seeping through the soaked cotton of your dress as he guided the horse forward, the motion rocking you against him, the heat of him impossible to ignore, each time the saddle jolted, pressing you down against him, again and again.

Ahead, the ranch house glowed like a promise; Tommy pulled the horse to a stop, sliding down, boots sinking into the mud before he lifted you again, setting you down.

The door creaked open, the warm glow spilling out, framing the man standing there.

Joel Miller. Sheriff.

Rain dripped from the brim of his hat, his eyes dark as they dragged down your trembling body. He stepped forward, boots heavy, the scent of rain and horse clinging to him as his gloved hand lifted, brushing wet hair from your cheek, thumb dragging slow across your jaw before tilting your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“You got a death wish,” Joel rumbled, low and gravelly, eyes flicking to Tommy, who was still close, his thumb stroking the damp fabric at your waist, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips despite the heat darkening his gaze. “Roamin’ around in the rain like that, dressin’ like this.”