Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 17853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
I’ve had a crush on this man all my life. Why should I say no?
“I’m in,” I say before I can chicken out. “Should I follow you out to the ranch in my car?”
“No.” He climbs easily to his feet and helps me up to mine. “I’ll bring you back to town for your car tomorrow. Or whenever you’re ready for it.”
“Do you live in your parents’ house?”
He laughs and begins to lead me back to the fire hall parking lot. “No. I have a cabin on the property. I love my parents, but I don’t want to live with them.”
“I’m just checking because running into your mom in the kitchen in the morning might be a bit awkward.”
He blinks, then shudders. “Yeah, that won’t happen. Come on. I’ll show you the ranch, where I live, and anything else you want to see.”
“That sounds…promising.”
It doesn’t take us long to walk back to the parking lot, and once I’m settled into the passenger side of John’s truck, and we’re driving out of town, we notice that the weather has gotten worse than we thought.
“It’s hard to see the highway,” I say softly, feeling nervous. It’s snowed so much that the road is completely covered, and it’s hard to tell where the road is, or if we’re on the correct side of it.
“I’m going slow,” he assures me. “I’m glad I drove Missy in tonight. I definitely wouldn’t want her to drive in this.”
We’re quiet for a while, just concentrating on the road and trying to stay on it. Finally, John takes a right-hand turn and drives through the gate. Above the driveway, there’s a sign that reads Wild River Ranch.
“So, my parents live in the original farmhouse, down that road,” he says, pointing to the left.
“I don’t see a road.”
“It’s there. It’s just covered by snow,” he replies. “Up here is the driveway to my cabin. It’s small, but it has everything I need.”
I don’t even know how he knows where the driveway is because everything is completely covered, blanketed by fresh snow, and it’s still coming down hard.
“This is turning into a hell of a storm.” I shift nervously in my seat, but John reaches over and squeezes my hand, reassuring me.
“It’s okay. We’re prepared for storms like this,” he assures me. “Don’t worry, okay?”
“Okay.”
He parks in front of a small log cabin and cuts the engine on the truck.
“Hang on, I have to plug the truck in, and then I’ll open your door.”
I nod, and he hops out. I see him bend over, root through the snow, and then come up with an extension cord so he can plug it into the block heater on the truck to keep the engine warm. It’s common in Montana for people to have this added to their vehicle. There’s nothing worse than going out to start your car and finding that it’s dead from the extreme cold.
Finally, John circles around and opens my door for me, helping me out onto my feet.
“Let’s hurry,” he yells over the wind that’s just come up, and I run to the front door behind him. He doesn’t even have to unlock the door before pushing it open and ushering me inside, then closes and secures the door behind us. “Give me a second, and I’ll have the fire stoked.”
It’s chilly in here, and I can see that the only source of heat is the small pot-bellied wood stove in the corner. But true to his word, he has a fire roaring within just a few minutes, and I join him next to it so I can warm up.
“How can I help?” I ask.
“It’s done,” he replies before looking down at me. “Now it just has to warm up. It won’t take long. Here, let me show you around.”
He flips on the lights as he shows me through the two-bedroom, one-bath cabin. It’s small and simple, but it’s clean and neat. I guess I was expecting a messy bachelor pad, but that’s not what I see at all.
“This is cute.” I eye the clean kitchen with the brown Formica countertop. “You even have a microwave.”
“Hey, I’m state of the art,” he says with a laugh. “And yeah, the microwave is pretty much the only thing I know how to use. Well, that and the coffee maker.”
“I like it.” I shimmy out of my jacket, now that the fire is heating the room up nicely, and John takes it from me, hanging it in a small hall closet. “When was this cabin built?”
“A long time ago,” he replies. “I know the original building was built about a hundred years ago. It used to be the original house on the property.”
“Your grandparents raised their families here?”
“Well, my great and great-great-grandparents did. Then, my grandpa did well selling cattle and made enough money to build something bigger. I don’t think anyone had lived out here in about twenty years. It was mostly used for storage. I asked my father if I could fix it up and live in it since I knew that I wanted to stay on the property.”