Code of Ethics by Smartypants Romance

Author:Smartypants Romance [White, April]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Smartypants Romance

27

Dallas

“Our women have always voted, held office, been an equal part of governance and leadership and because all people come from their mothers, we call your mother your ‘first teacher.’”

Ojibwe Cultural Historian

* * *

We watched the northern lights through the window for a while, even though the place we both really wanted to be was on the river, lying on our backs in the snow. Oliver made a joke about snow angels calling our names, but he didn’t push, and I didn’t have to remind him that the bull moose could be deadly if humans ventured too far into his territory.

Survival is exhausting, and I was trying to cram a couple decades’ worth of learning into a few days so Oliver would have the skills he might need to stay alive if something happened to me. I didn’t really believe I was going to die, but seeing that moose had knocked something loose in me—something that I’d held tightly for so many years—something that felt like fear.

I wasn’t afraid of the moose exactly, although a healthy sense of fear where moose were concerned was generally a smart thing to hang on to. No, the fear that had been slowly creeping around the edges of my self-control was not for myself. I knew I could survive just about anything.

Except losing someone I loved.

I shut that thought down as soon as it formed into a sentence in my mind and busied myself with getting ready for bed. I banked the fire so the coals would be ready to re-light in the morning while Oliver pulled both cushions to the floor.

“There’s no other bedding here that I could find,” I said. “I’m sorry if it makes things awkward.”

He flipped the lone sleeping bag out on the foam, and shrugged. “I’m sorry if my boner in your back all night makes things awkward.”

I laughed, until I saw he hadn’t cracked a smile. “You’re serious.”

“That I have a hard-on for you? Yep.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that I was at a momentary loss for words.

“But—”

“I know, this”—he indicated himself and me—“isn’t a thing while I’m your client. Despite what you may think about me, I’m capable of behaving myself.”

What I’d actually been protesting was the idea that he would be attracted to me at all. I wasn’t his type. I wasn’t leggy, blonde, skinny, busty, or classically pretty. My eyes were too hooded, my cheekbones too broad, my lips were too big. I was too capable, too strong, too serious, and just too … different. I wasn’t insecure about my looks, and when I put some effort into them, I’d been called striking. But I wasn’t Oliver Curran striking, I was just … me.

“I can’t sleep in my jeans again for another night though,” he continued, clearly not a mind reader, “so I apologize in advance if my legs are too hairy or my feet are cold.”

I laughed outright. “Nothing could top your feet from last night. I think I can deal.” And strangely, maybe

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