Snow on the Range: A Montana Cowboy White Christmas by Sofia Aves

Author:Sofia Aves [Aves, Sofia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B08CVFJZ4Q
Publisher: Little Quail Press
Published: 2020-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

I left the glass on the sideboard and ran quietly up the stairs, heading to my bedroom, but someone had beat me there.

Archer leaned against the doorway of my room.

I raised an eyebrow, halfway between pissed and amused. “I’m going to bed. On my own,” I said, repeating the words I’d used with Simon only moments ago.

Archer unfolded his arms, grinning.

“I’m not here to proposition you, Eve.”

“That’s... sweet?” I asked. “Why are you here?” I said the words softly, not wanting to wake my parents. Archer nodded at their door.

“I checked on your Dad. I hope you don’t mind. The younger men moved

him and after their behavior today—”

“You were worried,” I finished for him softly. He nodded. “Thank you, Archer.”

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes at his kindness. I lifted tired arms, wrapping them around his shoulders in a huge hug.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured into my hair. “What did Haldon want?”

He asked, drawing back.

I shrugged, turning to my door. “I don’t know,” I mumbled, the wine and exhaustion combining in an effort to knock me off my feet. “I don’t care about him.”

Archer was silent as I opened the door to my room, and for a moment, I badly wanted to ask him to stay with me for the night. Just to have someone to hold, to feel safe with. My isolation from my family, the distance of the ranch had never bothered me ‘til this moment.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked at my shoulder.

I nodded. “I need to go to sleep,” I whispered, my neck beginning to ache.

Archer’s hand covered mine on the doorframe, and he leaned into me. He reminded me of the forest paired with Dad’s whiskey with undertones of cinnamon and spices. I remembered the moment on the outcrop when he’d done the fence run with me.

“Don’t trust him, Eve.” His rough voice grazed my senses, his deep timbre wrapping around me. “He’s not what he seems.”

That’s what he just said about you.

I looked up over my shoulder at him. His gaze latched onto me, the single focus of his attention. It was both thrilling and overbearing at the same time.

His words reminded me too much of my own.

“Neither are you,” I snapped, uncomfortable with the feelings this drifter drew from me when I had no idea how to deal with them. “Don’t think I didn’t overhear your conversation. On the phone earlier.”

His chin dipped, his dark eyes never leaving me. “Stay out of that, Eve.

It’ll lead to trouble.”

“I’m not some southern belle who’s going to do whatever you say.” I

yanked my hand from beneath his, turning to face him. My skin grew cold too fast. “This is my home. I’ll look after it as I see fit.”

A rueful grin spread across his face. I wanted to run my hands over his skin, to compare it against the rough quality of his voice. I shook my head; this drifter came from God knew where and this couldn’t happen. Again.

“You’re not southern,” he murmured,

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