Embers at Juniper Ridge

Embers at Juniper Ridge

The first time Cora Bellemy met Wade Ashcroft, she was standing in mud, arguing with a goat.

“This is not how we treat our guests. You can’t jump on them and chew on their yoga mats.” She informed the goat. Who was standing there, chewing on her coat zipper?

“Doesn’t seem to be listening to you.”

The voice came from behind her, low and gravelly, like it had been carved out of pine bark.

Cora turned too fast, boots slipping, and hands waving in the air. She would have landed face-first in the mud if a hand hadn’t reached out and grabbed her arm. He stepped closer to make sure she was balanced on her feet.

For one second, she was pressed against denim, flannel, and solid male heat. She breathed in cold air, hay, and a combination of smoke and leather.

“You alright?” He asked.

“Yes.” She said, still clutching his arm. Irritated that she liked the solid muscle she gripped.

He stepped back and looked at her. “Do you usually argue with livestock?”

“Only when they jump on my guests and chew on their zippers.” She replied.

The goat bleated behind her.

His gaze went to the half-hung wooden sign that said Juniper Ridge Farm Stay & Culinary Retreat. Then, to the unfinished porch railing, the ladder tipped sideways against the house, and the extension card snaked like a hazard across the yard.

“My name is Wade Ashcroft. You're trespassing.”

“You're on my property. “She said.

“I own the neighboring property, and your guests are wandering over to mine.” He said back.

“There’re just…enjoying the landscape.”

“They are petting a bull.”

She closed her eyes. “That feels unsafe.”

“It is unsafe.”

He strode past her, long legs eating up the ground. Cora followed because she wasn’t about to let him rescue her guests. Alone.

“Ladies.” She said in a bright voice. “We admire with our eyes, not our hands.”

The bull snorted. One of the women squealed.

Wade stepped between them, voice calm. “Back up slow.”

They obeyed.

Cora watched him work. No raised voice or wasted motion. Just a quiet authority that even a thousand-pound bull respected.

Cora was irritated at herself for being attracted to him.

After the guests retreated to safer territory, Wade turned to her.

“You need proper fencing.”

“I have fencing.”

“You have decorative metal.”

Her mouth fell open, “I will have you know. I have hosted sold-out shows in Manhattan.”

“This isn’t Manhattan.”

“I have noticed the lack of a subway.”

He stepped in closer, and she felt the air shift. “Out here, pretty isn’t enough.”

She folded her arms. “Are you volunteering to help or just here to critique?”

He held her gaze for a long moment. The wind tugged a strand of hair, brushing it against his flannel shirt.

I’ll help. He said. “But you listen.”

“I always listen.”

He gave her a look that suggested otherwise.

Three days later, a storm rolled in early.

Montana didn’t ask permission before rearranging your plans. The guests were supposed to leave by noon. By ten in the morning, the snow was falling thick, and with the wind, it was a complete whiteout. By eleven, the roads were an ice rink.

“Powers flickering,” Cora said, staring at the kitchen lights.

Wade stood in the doorway, boots leaving damp prints on her floor. “Is your generator ready?”

“Generator? She repeated.

He closed his eyes as if trying to stay calm.

“Tell me you have a backup?

“I have artisanal sea salt in four varieties.’

“Cora.”

She lifted her chin. “I didn’t expect a blizzard in October.”

“This is Montana. Blizzards can happen anytime.”

The lights went out.

The kitchen fell into a soft gray shadow. Lit only by the snow falling outside.

“Well.” She said with a bright smile. “Ambiance.”

Wade moved with quick movements. Within minutes, lanterns glowed on the counters. He brought in extra firewood and spoke to her guests in a low, steady tone that kept everyone calm.

Cora watched him from the stove, where she was finishing dinner over a gas flame.

“You don’t have to stay.” She told him.

He glanced over at her. “You can’t manage this alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You almost let your guests get trampled by a bull.

“That was just one mistake.”

He stepped closer to the stove. Cora felt the heat between them.

“What are you cooking?”

“Maple roasted squash tart with Chevre.

His expression softened. “Smells good.”

“That’s high praise coming from you.”

A corner of his mouth twitched.

The guests gathered around the fire as the evening fell. Snow layered the windows. The room shrank to a warm crackling fire, delicious food, and the low murmur of voices.

After everyone had a warm drink and blankets, they headed upstairs to their rooms. The house was quiet except for the wind howling outside.

“You should eat.” She told him.

He accepted a plate and sat at one end of the wooden table. She sat at the other end and put her chin in her hand.

He took a bite.

“Well,” She demanded.

The silence stretched between them.

She braced for his critique.

Instead, his eyes closed.

“Hell.” He muttered.

She sat up. “Good hell? Or Bad Hell?

“Good.”

Relief bloomed warm in her chest. “See, pretty can be enough.”

“This isn’t just pretty.” He said. “This is skill.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Snow tapped against the window in the silence.

“You think I don’t belong here.” She said.

“I think you are trying to prove something.”

“To whom?”

He held her gaze. “Maybe yourself.”

The fire snapped.

She looked down at her hands, dusted with flour and trembling. “I left a life that was polished and hollow. I wanted something real.”

“This place is real as it gets.” He says.” It's also hard if you don’t know what you are doing.”

“I don’t mind hard things.”

His eyes darkened. “You haven’t even been tested yet.”

Silence again. Thick as wool.

“Why do you even care?” She whispered.

His jaw tightened. “Because when you fail. It affects more than you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Meaning this place is a home. Not just a scenic setting.”

Cora’s temper flared. “You don’t think I’m making a home here!”

“I think you don’t understand what you are getting into.”

She stood up abruptly. “You don’t get to decide that.”

He rose too. The kitchen felt smaller.

“I have worked this land my whole life.” He said. “I’ve watched people come and go when it's stopped being charming.”

“I am not here for charm.”

“Then why are you here?”

She stepped closer without meaning to.” Because I needed a change. Something for me, not what others expected of me.”

He searched her face. It felt like he was looking deep inside her.

“You scare me.” She said.

His brows knit. “Why?”

“Because you seem to see right through me.”

He reached out, without thinking about it, and brushed flour from her cheek. The touch was light but searing.

“You're stronger than you think.” He said.

Her breath caught. “You're infuriating.”

“Likewise.”

They stood there. Heat radiating not from the stove but between them. His hand had not dropped far. It hovered near her waist, unsure of its welcome.

“Wade.” She said, but it came softer than she intended.

“Cora.”

Snow hammered the world into silence. The fire crackled. Her pulse fluttered in her throat.

Cora cleared her throat and gestured towards the hallway. “You can sleep on the couch, it's not great, but it's something.”

He nodded, moving towards the living room.

Cora followed him, and they both stepped by the couch. The fire had died down to glowing coals, washing the room in dim amber. The old couch sat against the wall, a pile of blankets folded over the back.

Wade took one step toward it, then stopped. Cora walked over and then stopped beside him.

Someone was sleeping on the couch.

Curled up like a satisfied cat, one of her guests, Marcy, had moved downstairs in the night. She was bundled under two quilts, with an empty wine glass tipped over on the floor beside her.

Cora stared.

Wade stared.

Marcy sighed and tucked her face deeper into the pillow. She looked unbothered by the storm, the power outage, or the fact that she had taken the only available couch for Wade to sleep on.

Cora’s face went hot.

“I…” She began.

Wade turned his head toward her. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

The silence was louder than the wind.

Cora lifted her hands helplessly. “She wasn’t there earlier.”

“I noticed,” Wade said.

His eyes flicked to the couch. “Do you want me to wake her?”

Cora looked at Marcy. She was out cold. There was no way to wake her without a full intervention, which would require a fire alarm.

Cora lowered her voice. “No, she is a paying guest.”

Wade’s expression was unreadable. “So am I now.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it.

He waited.

Cora sighed, rubbing her forehead. “All I have is a loveseat.”

“That’s more for decorative purposes.” He said.

Cora glared at him.

He took a step towards her. “What now, sunshine chef?”

Her stomach flipped the way he said it.

Cora swallowed, “There is one more bed.”

Wade’s jaw tightened.

The wind hit the house again, rattling the windows. The cold pressed into the seams of the room.

“You're not sleeping on the floor.” She added, because the thought of him curled up on the rug like a stubborn dog made something in her chest ache.

“I’ve slept on worse.”

“I don’t care.”

The words came out sharp, but then she regretted them because they were too honest.

Wade’s gaze locked on hers.

“You don’t care.” He repeated.

Cora’s pulse stuttered. Then she lifted her chin because she couldn’t retreat now.

“No, " she said. “I don’t.”

Wade exhaled as if he were making peace with something.

“Fine.” He said.

Cora’s mouth went dry. “Fine?”

“Fine.” He said. “One bed. Fully clothed. No touching.”

She scoffed. “As if I’m going to throw myself at you.”

Wade’s eyes dropped to her mouth. Then back to her eyes.

“Good.” His voice is rougher than before. “Because I am not in the mood to be tempted. “

Her breath caught.

The words struck between them as a match struck between dry timber.

“Come on.” She snapped.

He followed.

Behind them, Marcy slept, queen of the couch. At the same time, the storm sealed the world outside and left two stubborn people with only one warm place to sleep.

The hallway felt narrower on the way back.

Cora carried the lantern, and Wade followed a step behind, close enough that she could feel him there without touching. The house has gone quiet except for the storm dragging across the roof.

She pushed open her bedroom door.

The room was modest with a sloped ceiling. A worn dresser sat in the corner. A multi-colored braided rug sat at the foot of the bed. The quilt that she stitched with her mother years ago was pulled back at the end of the bed, deep rust and gold in the lantern light.

She set the lantern down on the dresser.

“Well.” She said to bright. “Welcome to the penthouse suite.”

Wade stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The latch clicked louder than it should have.

“You take the bed.” He tried again. “Just give me a blanket and a pillow.”

“You're not sleeping on the floor.” She said with her arms crossed. “We agreed, fully clothed. No touching. Like civilized people.”

His gaze dropped to her crossed arms and then back up to her face. “You sure you can manage that?”

Her stomach flipped. “I am not the problem here.”

A corner of his mouth tilted, not a smile but close.

“Get in the bed, Wade.”

There, it was a challenge wrapped in an invitation.

For a moment, he didn’t move, then reached up and took off his jacket and laid it on the chair. He toed off his boots in an unhurried, controlled motion.

She refused to watch and failed.

He straightened and looked at her. “Your turn.”

She swallowed, slipped off her boots, then her sweater, revealing the long-sleeve shirt beneath.

She slid beneath the quilt first, keeping to her side. He followed a moment later, the mattress dipping under his weight.

There was a careful gap between them.

The wind screamed outside.

The lantern flame flickered and then steadied.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

“You're tense.” He said.

“I’m not.”

“You're practically shaking.” He says.

“It’s just that you are in my bed.” She says after a brief pause.

“Do you want me to leave? “He asks.

“No, let’s just get some sleep.”

They lay there. Both are pretending to sleep for hours before they drift off.

Cora woke, and the first thing she noticed was how still and quiet it seemed. The storm must have stopped during the night. The second thing she noticed was the heavy arm across her middle. His hand was flat on her stomach.

She doesn’t move. Her body is against his from shoulder to knees. His light breath on her neck. It sent a shiver down her spine.

The last thing she remembers is facing him, trying to make as much room as possible between them. She doesn’t remember turning over and him putting his arm around her.

Her pulse picks up in a nervous thump. She feels comfortable and safe in his arms. It almost feels…right.

Cora starts to shift and back away from him, and His hand tightens. The breath on her neck deepens.

He’s awake.

Cora was expecting him to move his arm and back away. He doesn’t. She swallows and says. “Good morning.”

A low and rough voice says behind her ear. “Morning.”

Her stomach flutters beneath his palm, and she realizes he can probably feel it.

“We survived the storm.” She murmurs.

“Yes, we did.” He says.

She waits for him to release her. He doesn’t. Instead, his thumb moves under her shirt—a slow drag across her skin.

Her breath catches. “Storms over.”

“Yes.”

She turns in his arms. He doesn’t make it easy. His arm stays around her, his hand moves from around her stomach to her lower back.

She looks up, and his eyes are open, watching her.

“You're holding me.” She whispers.

“Yes.”

“On purpose?” she asks.

There was a slight flick in his gaze, and then he looked directly at her face. “Yeah.”

Outside, the sun makes the snow gleam white. The fence posts are buried halfway. The line between his land and hers has disappeared.

She looked at the window and then back at him. “Looks like the fence is gone.”

“We’ll dig it out.”

She looks at him curiously. “Together?”

“Yeah.” He says again.

Her fingers curl in his shirt. “You're still infuriating.”

He looks at her mouth like he is considering something. “So are you.”

She smiles a little. “Then why are you still holding me?

His hand presses a little firmer on her lower back, bringing her even closer. He lowers his head and claims her mouth in a searing kiss.

When he moves back, He says, “because I want to.”

Cora feels something inside her. Not panicking. It feels right. She moves closer, wrapping her arms around him.

“Well.” She whispers. “I guess you could stay a little longer.”

A sound leaves him that was almost a laugh. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

Outside, the world is bright and new and buried in white.

Inside, Wade pulls her closer and leans down for another kiss.