Allison Leigh - Montana Passions

Justin returned from the front room. She glanced over and gave him a smile and went back to gazing out at the white world beyond the glass.

He went to the sink. She heard the water running, was aware of his movements as he washed his hands and then reached for the towel. A moment later, she heard his approach, though she didn’t turn to watch him come toward her.

It was so still out there. Snowy and silent. The museum sat at the corner, where Elk Avenue turned east. There was a full acre to either side, free of structures—what had, years ago, been part of the schoolyard. Katie could see the shadowy outline of the first house beyond the museum property. The Lockwoods lived there—a young couple with two children, a boy and a girl, eight and nine: Jeff and Kaylin, both nice kids. Kaylin loved to read. She and Jeff always attended the library’s weekly children’s story hour, run by Emelda Ross.

There was a light on in the Lockwood house, the gleam of it just visible, through the veil of falling snow. Katie hoped the Lockwoods were safe in there, with a cozy fire and plenty to eat.

“Katie…” Justin brushed a hand against her shoulder. The warm thrill his touch brought lightened her spirits—at least a little. “Watching it won’t make it stop coming down.”

She thought of the noisy beer drinkers back at the hall, of dear old Emelda, who’d stuck it out when all the other members of the Historical Society had left. “I was just thinking of everyone back at the hall. I hope they’re all safe.”

“They had food, didn’t they?”

She looked from all that blinding white to the man beside her. “Yes. The potluck, remember? People brought all those casseroles.”

“So they’ll get by.” He gave her a steady look, a look meant to reassure. “They have food. And restrooms. Water—and the sidewalks on Main are all covered. That’s going to make it a lot easier for them to get out than it will be for us.”

He was right. She added, “And the first place the snowplow will be working is up and down Main.”

“See? They’ll be okay.”

But there were others—the ones who’d left the hall before Katie and Justin. “What about the people who left for home? We don’t even know if they all made it.”

He took her by the shoulders—firmly, but gently. His touch caused the usual reactions: butterflies in her stomach, a certain warmth lower down…

“Katie, you can’t do anything about it. We just have to make the best of a tough situation. And so will everyone else.”

In her mind’s eye, she saw Addy’s dear long, aristocratic face, her sparkling blue eyes and her prim little smile—and then she pictured Caleb, in that white Stetson he liked to wear, a corner of his mouth quirked up in his rascal’s grin. “I don’t even know where Addy and Caleb went. One minute they were there, in the hall, and then, when we were up there on the stage, just before the ‘Reverend’ Green stepped up, I looked out over the crowd and I didn’t see either of them.”

“They probably went home. Or maybe you just didn’t spot them and they’re both still there. Either way, there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. Just let yourself believe they’re safe—which, most likely, they are.”

“But if—”

He didn’t let her finish. “Worrying about them won’t help them. All it’ll do is make you miserable.”

“But I only—”

“It’ll be okay.” He shook her, lightly. “Got it?”

She made herself give him a nod.

He studied her for a long moment. Then he demanded, “Why the hell do you still look so worried, then?”

She only shrugged. What was there to say? He was right. There was no point in worrying. But when she thought of Addy and Caleb—when she looked at the Lockwood’s faint light across the snow-covered museum yard—she simply couldn’t help it.

“Hey,” Justin murmured. “Hey, come on…” He pulled her to him.

She didn’t even consider resisting—why should she? Maybe she’d had her doubts about him at first. But gently and tenderly, he’d dispelled her reservations. She knew she could trust him now.

He wrapped those long, hard arms around her and she pressed herself close to him, tucking her head under his chin, laying her ear against the leaping reindeers on the front of his sweater, right over his heart, which beat steady and strong, if a little too fast. She smiled to herself—a woman’s smile. His embrace brought more comfort than words could. And the sound of his heartbeat, racing in time to hers?

That wasn’t comforting, not in the least. That sound thrilled her. It stole her breath.

She hoped—she prayed —that everyone else trapped by the storm was at least safe and warm with plenty to eat.

For herself, though, there was no place she would rather be than right here in the Thunder Canyon Historical Museum held close and safe in Justin’s arms.

For herself, she was beginning to believe that getting snowed-in with Caleb’s business associate was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

She felt his lips against her hair and snuggled closer. “Justin?”

“Hmm?”

She tipped her head up to find those blue eyes waiting.

And his lips…

It just seemed the most natural thing. To lift her mouth, to let her eyes drift shut.

His mouth touched hers—so lightly. Heat flared and flowed through her. Her lips burned. Her pulse raced.

Then he lifted away.

She didn’t want that.

Oh, no. She wanted more. Much more.

“Justin?” She opened her eyes to look up at him again.

“Hmm?”

“Justin, do you like kissing me?”

He muttered something very low, probably a swear word. “I do. I like it too damn much.”

“I like kissing you, too,” she confessed. “I like it a lot.”

His gaze scanned her face. “So…?”

She slid her hands up to encircle his neck. “Please. Kiss me some more.”

“Katie,” he whispered, and that was all. Then his mouth swooped down and covered hers.

They kissed, standing there at the window, with the white hush of the snow drifting down outside, for the longest, sweetest time. When Justin finally lifted his head, he asked, husky and low, “Convinced?”

She blinked up at him. “Of what?”

“That I like kissing you?”

She pretended to consider that question—which, truthfully, required no consideration at all—and then at last, she said, “I think you should kiss me again—just to make sure.”

“Ah. To make sure…”

“That’s right.”

He cupped her face—cradled it, really. His hands were warm and cherishing against her cheeks. And then he lowered his head again and his mouth touched hers and…

Oh, there was nothing like it. Kissing Justin.

Kissing Justin was everything kissing ought to be. His mouth played on hers and his arms slid around her to hold her close and she felt his heart beating, hard and steady, against her breasts, keeping pace with hers.

That time, when he lifted his head, she said in a voice gone husky with pleasure, “I’m getting it now. You like kissing me.”

“Yeah. I do.”

And to prove it, he kissed her again—a hard, deep, long one that melted her midsection and turned her knees to rubber.

She clutched his shoulders and sagged against him, feeling very aroused, totally shameless. She liked this feeling. She liked it a lot. There was so much she’d been missing. Not anymore, though. “I don’t know. If you’re going to keep kissing me, I might just have to sit down.”

“Let me help you with that.” He grabbed the nearest chair, spun it around and dropped into it—pulling her with him, onto his lap.