They say no two snowflakes are alike, that each is unique. But as the wind whipped flakes into a blizzard-fueled frenzy, each felt like the same sharp-edged blade, ripping through the air to slice into my skin. I huddled further into my oversized coat, shivering as cold air slithered under its edges. Massachusetts winters are not for the faint of heart, and here in the western part of the state, weather is compounded by lake effect from upper New York.
I hurried across the yard, eager to escape Old Man Winter, more than willing to trade wicked snowflakes for the placid, though scented, air of the barn. Struggling to close the heavy door against an insistent wind, I cursed soundly as it finally slammed shut, the heavy wood knocking me back a few feet. Lunging for the door as Winter threatened to open it again, I slid the wooden bar into the lock and huffed out a breath of frustration. Although I was mostly glad that no one else had been home when this nor'easter had decided to turn blizzard, it was a cold, lonely walk from house to barn to make sure the animals were settled in for the storm.
Flicking on the light switch, I reached over and ran my hand down Lady's back. A sturdy young Herford, she was the symbol of our return to farming, and, we hoped, the start of our own herd. Stepping up beside her, I scratched between her eyes, chuckling as she butted against my hand, looking for the treats she'd come to expect from me. Rolling my eyes, I gave her one of the apples I'd slipped in my pocket. When she reached for another, I shook my head and backed away, reminding her she needed to eat her hay and grain before she got any more treats. She snorted, tossing her head in derision, and I laughed aloud as I crossed the aisle to check on the pig.
Cleaning stalls and brushing down Lady had made me pleasantly warm, and I stripped off my coat with a sigh of relief. Although effective, I resented its bulk, finding it easier to do chores in my shirtsleeves than bundled up in layers of sheepskin and corduroy. Tossing the coat over an empty stanchion, I strode toward the far stall, where once we'd had even more cows, but now stored the hay and sawdust we used for bedding.
Swinging around the end of the stall, I stopped dead in my tracks, a squeak of surprise passing my lips before I could clamp them shut. Stumbling back, I leaned against the worn wood wall, scrabbling for a pitchfork, a hoe, even a broom. The only thing that came to my fingers was discarded twine from a used bale of hay. Not much use against the dark-eyed, tousle-haired stranger staring up at me from the nest of hay he'd made in the corner of the stall.
Cheeks flushed, eyes narrowed, and heart pounding, I darted for the shovel I'd left leaning against the pigpen, only to come to a stop when his hand covered mine at the top of the chest-high stall door. It was the coldness of his fingers, as much as the warmth of his eyes, that made me hesitate. Looking closely at him, I took in his sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. Definitely not cold-weather gear, as evidenced by the abrupt chatter of teeth as he shivered. Pulling myself away from the warmth of his brown eyes, I shivered as awareness zinged through me. Although I had no reason to trust him, yet, I felt safe...even protected.
Shaking off the fanciful notion, I pulled my hand from under his and hurried to my discarded coat, conscious of his dark eyes following my every step. Wordlessly I handed it over to him, watching as he gratefully pulled it on, chafing his hands together and blowing on them before sinking down onto a bale of hay.
"Thanks," he mumbled, cheeks pink.
"No problem," I shrugged. Leaning against the wall, I crossed my feet. "Who are you?"
"Oh." He stood up, extending his hand. "Sorry. I'm Darren." He flashed a quick grin, and I felt my knees tremble. "And you are...?"
"Leigh."
He kissed my hand in a courtly gesture, one that made me wish for things I could never have...and oddly enough, this man became the center of those dreams.
Tightening my lips into a frown, I straightened up. I didn't even know him, so how could he have such an effect on me? Rolling my shoulders, I leaned forward to accept his hand, shaking off my hyper-sensitive nerves as just an overly-active imagination. I fought the tingle that raced from my fingers to my stomach, though mentally locking his hands into the "oh yes, please touch me" category. I avoided his eyes, however, knowing that if I looked into them, I'd be lost.
Sighing at my fanciful thoughts, I wondered if I shouldn't have spent more time trying to get laid, these last few months. Obviously I was in dire need of a good roll in the...
Wow. My eyes shot to the bale he'd sat back down on, and I felt a flush burning my cheeks. Shivering at the direction my thoughts had so easily taken, I yanked an armful of hay from the nearest bale, and strode to Lady's trough. As my hands mechanically shook the hay out for her to eat, my mind flashed back to Darren. All too easily I could see the bits of hay stuck in his dark hair, the curve of his smile, the way those faded jeans clung to his thighs....
"Do you always do that?"
I jumped, smacking my head on the crossbar for the stanchions. My flush felt permanent now, and I cursed the light skin that made it so visible. Rubbing my head and wishing the floor would just open up under me, I turned to see Darren perched against the edge of the grain barrel. I gulped and did my best to avoid looking at him, to avoid visually tracing those legs, that tight butt, his chest visible where my coat was unbuttoned.... With a groan, I shifted my eyes...and met his, brimming with laughter and lined with an equal awareness.
I whipped around, sending my braid flying, feeling like a complete fool...and worse, a sex-starved idiot.
"Do what?" I snarled, feeling my ears burn with mortification.
"Hand-feed your cow," he responded, laughter mixing with curiosity as he tipped his head to indicate my apple-filled hand, and Lady's tongue as it curled around the treat.
I gulped, grateful he wasn't pointing out my less-than-subtle appreciation of his charms. Rubbing behind Lady's ears, I smiled. "Well, I do tend to spoil her," I admitted with a shrug.
Just then the wind shrieked, beating at the doors, trying to break them open. Shivering, I looked out the window. With a sigh, I grabbed some old horse blankets we still kept in the corner, shaking out dust and debris. Tossing the stack into the hay stall, I shot Darren a quick, apologetic smile. "Hope you're not planning on going anywhere in a hurry...we're in a complete white-out now."
"White out?"
