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The snow had been falling all day, you noticed, an endless cascade that cloaked Jackson in soft, muffled silence. It wasn’t the kind of storm that screamed apocalypse—no, those days were, thankfully, fewer now. But it was enough to make everything a touch more difficult, a touch more frozen. Enough to make every chore in the stables feel like wading through molasses while someone kept turning the freezer dial up.
And, of course, you were paired with Joel Miller today.
Joel, with his perpetual grumble and ability to make you feel like you were the one being unreasonable for expecting him to engage in basic human interaction. You sighed as you struggled with a particularly stubborn saddle strap, the leather stiff and unyielding against your fingers, which had gone numb about two hay bales ago.
“Y’done yet?” His voice sliced through the silence, all gravel and impatience.
You glanced up to find him leaning against the stall door, arms crossed like the very image of stoic indifference. If indifference could somehow also be maddeningly attractive. God, why was he built like that?
“Almost,” you shot back, your breath puffing in the frosty air. “If I had bear paws for hands, maybe this would go faster.”
Joel snorted—an actual, honest-to-God snort. “Maybe if you stopped flailin’ like a fish.”
You glared at him, fully aware you probably looked like a snow-drenched rodent, but you couldn’t resist. “Maybe if you weren’t standing there like you’re auditioning for Most Annoying Man of the Year, you’d help.”
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close enough to make your stomach flip in a way that was deeply inconvenient. Damn him. Damn this day. Damn your decision to even come to Jackson in the first place. Well, maybe not that last part. Jackson had stew, and right now, that was motivation enough to keep trudging through the snow.
By the time the horses were settled and the last strap was secured (you’d like to think you did it with grace, but let’s not lie), the snowfall had thickened. The flakes caught in Joel’s hair, softening the sharp angles of his face. He tilted his head toward the Tipsy Bison without a word, and you followed, the crunch of boots in the snow filling the quiet between you.
Inside, the warmth of the bar hit you like a physical force. The fire in the corner crackled invitingly, the smell of roasted meat teasing you with promises of a hot meal. Joel made a beeline for the bar, his boots leaving a trail of snow that melted into damp puddles. You followed reluctantly, not because you wanted to, but because… okay, maybe you wanted to.
Seth was behind the counter, looking grumpy as ever, and Joel—because he has the social graces of a cinder block—just said, “Two bowls of stew.” Not a please in sight. Honestly, the man needed a lesson in basic politeness. Seth, unbothered, grunted and motioned for you to sit.
You dropped into a seat near the fire, your hands finally starting to thaw. Joel sat across from you, his elbows resting on the table in a way that seemed both casual and commanding, which was annoying because no one should look that good doing absolutely nothing.
“Long day,” you ventured, trying to fill the silence. Because apparently, you were a glutton for punishment.
Joel glanced up, his dark eyes briefly meeting yours before looking away. “Long enough.”
The stew arrived, and you tucked in gratefully, the warmth seeping into your bones. It was simple—chunks of meat, potatoes, maybe carrots—but after hours in the cold, it tasted like a gourmet cuisine. Joel, predictably, ate slowly, his movements methodical. You watched him a little too long, lost in the way his hand curled around the spoon, and then—
“You keep starin’ like that, might start thinkin’ you’re sweet on me,” he drawled without looking up.
You choked on your spoon. “Excuse me?”
His eyes flicked to yours, and there it was again—that twitch of a smile. “You heard me.”
Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you shoved another spoonful of stew into your mouth to cover the silence. “Maybe I was staring. It’s only because I was wondering how it’s possible for someone to eat stew so slowly. What are you, savoring every bite like it’s your last?”
He smirked. SMIRKED. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”
Honestly, the man is infuriating.
Desperate to recover, you cleared your throat and stared very intently at your stew. “Actually,” you said, scrambling for a subject that wasn’t Joel’s stupid smirk or the way his stupid hair was doing that slightly-wild-but-weirdly-attractive thing, “I was just thinking about the snow.”
Smooth. So smooth.
Joel raised an eyebrow. Just one. The audacity.
“Snow,” he repeated, like it was the most absurd topic anyone could bring up in a snowy town.
“Yes, snow,” you said defensively. “It reminded me of making snow angels as a kid. Back before everything…” You gestured vaguely. “You know. Ended.”
For a moment, his face softened, something flickering in his eyes that made you think of shadows at twilight. “Haven’t done that in a long time,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable, until Joel stood abruptly, shrugging on his jacket. “Come on.”
“Come on where?”
“Outside.” He jerked his chin toward the door, already heading for it. “We’re makin’ a snow angel.”
“What?” You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Joel, it’s freezing.”
“You’ll survive,” he said, utterly unbothered. “Now move.”
Somehow, you found yourself lying in the snow, your arms and legs sweeping in wide arcs as Joel watched, arms crossed, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and something warmer.
When you sat up, snow clinging to your hair and clothes, Joel crouched beside you. His gloved hand reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, and suddenly, the world shrank to the space between you.
“Joel—”
“Don’t,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Don’t say anything.”
And then he kissed you, his lips warm and insistent, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious. It was over too soon, but when he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, the look in his eyes made you forget the cold entirely.
“You make it real hard to keep my distance,” he muttered, his voice soft but unsteady.
You smiled, your fingers curling into his coat. “Then don’t.”
For once, Joel didn’t argue.