The Rancher's Second Chance by Victoria James Page B

slowly infiltrating the space. Melanie walked forward, wincing as her stiff feet ached with each step and her ankle throbbed in a slow, pulsing rhythm. He threw on another log and then stoked the fire with a poker. He glanced over at her when she approached and he quickly stood to look at her. He was frowning as he stared at her face. “You look horrible.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I mean you look cold,” he said brusquely and she knew she must have imagined the hint of tenderness she heard. His hands went to the front of her coat and he unbuttoned it deftly while she stood there, mesmerized by the concern on his face. She reminded herself it wasn’t personal, that he was the type of man who’d be concerned for someone else’s well-being. Even hers.
    “Here. Move closer to the fire,” he said his hand on the small of her back. The warmth from the growing blaze eased some of the chill on her face. “Is your leg bothering you?”
    “It’s, um, kind of hurting, but I’m sure once I sit down it’ll be fine.”
    He was moving around the small cabin and she turned, curious now to take in the space.
    “What is this place?”
    He paused, before lighting a lantern and then walking over to her. “A cabin I built a few years ago.” The lantern glowed, the light filtering through as he placed it on a small coffee table. The cabin was rustic. It was one room, except for the washroom, which she guessed was the room close to the front door. There was a pitched ceiling with a massive window that probably had a spectacular view of the mountains during the day. The hearth was made of stones and went from floor to ceiling. There was a neatly made bed with a plaid quilt in one corner, with a rustic nightstand beside it. A kitchenette took up another wall and that was it.
    “It’s, um…” She struggled to find something polite to say. “Cozy.”
    “It’s not meant for entertaining. It’s just a place I wanted for myself,” he said, with a hint of smile in his voice.
    She tried to balance on her good leg and ignore the pain. “Well, it’s very secluded.”
    He was a private man. She understood that. His sister was the complete opposite. Cori loved company and parties and being surrounded by people.
    “Built it after Sarah died,” he said pulling something down from the kitchen cupboard.
    “Oh,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around herself. What could she say to that? She hated thinking back to that day. His family and Sarah’s family had been devastated. She watched him silently, remembering the palpable anguish she’d seen at his wife’s funeral. He was handsome, proud, and larger than life, and to see a man like that so broken had shaken her. She knew then that he was nothing like the men she knew in her life. Tough as steel on the outside, but Cole knew how to love.
    He opened a cupboard and pulled out a bottle. “I’ve got whiskey. One glass. Sorry, not used to guests up here. Drink this,” he said, walking over to her. She accepted the glass, her fingers brushing against his and every cold inch of her body ignited.
    “Thank you,” she whispered, feeling oddly protected, important. She took a long sip and then licked her lips. His jaw clenched and his eyes darted from hers to her lips. She passed the glass to him and he finished it off.
    “I’ve got a change of clothes up here. I can give you the shirt and I’ll take the jeans,” he called out, walking toward the nightstand.
    “Oh great,” she said, acting like it was no biggie. Where was that whiskey? He didn’t actually think she was going to parade around in one of his shirts. He wasn’t paying her any attention as he pulled out some clothes from the nightstand and walked over to her. “You can change in the washroom. Then come out here and hang your clothes by the fire.”
    She stood there, knowing she looked obtuse. He shoved the navy T-shirt at her. She accepted it numbly. “Um, it’s okay, my clothes aren’t wet,” she said