Snowed In Read online

  She stormed off, back in the direction of her pickup. She took all of maybe ten steps when her heel caught on some gravel and she went down.

  He was moving to help her before he thought twice about it. She looked okay at first, but as he got closer, he could see the tears glistening in her green eyes and her teeth clenching when she tried to move her foot. She’d probably really sprained her ankle. He knew from experience that could hurt like hell. He appreciated how she was trying to be tough through it. He had seen bigger wusses on the field.

  He’d never seen a woman be so strong and such a mess at the same time. A chaotic heap of beauty and fire. He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or not, but he was at least entertained.

  Paradoxical Hell

  CHAPTER 2

  Why. Why couldn’t she have just made it back to the truck in one piece? WHY.

  Pain shot up her entire leg. It hurt bad enough for her to look at her ankle to make sure it was attached at the proper angle. She was horrible with pain, a big baby. And she had to make a mess of herself in front of Beckett Harper. Go figure. She bit down on her bottom lip to avoid groaning or whining like a child.

  Just who did he think he was in his boots and jeans? All dirty blond hair and facial hair and . . . man. He was a man. A man’s man. What did that even mean? She didn’t know other than he was obviously the kind of man women swoon over. Heartbreak Harper. She got it now, from the boots and jeans, to his one dimple, to his Adam’s apple that kept trying to catch her attention. He was wearing a faded gray baseball cap that was doing nothing to hide his extremely blue eyes. She got it. Yes, indeed. He was a looker. Borderline model pretty, but his nose was a little too big and a little too crooked.

  “Let me take a look.”

  She looked into those super-blue eyes and saw genuine concern. There was maybe some amusement there too, but she was choosing to ignore that for the time being. She wanted nothing more than to leave his farm and run away from this God-forsaken place, but the fact was that she wasn’t sure she could even move, let alone walk or drive. Harper didn’t even wait for her to say anything; he just knelt and gently picked up the twisted ankle to look it over.

  She winced as she shifted to get all her weight as far away from the injury as she could, pursing her lips to suppress the pain. “I suppose you’re an expert with ankle injuries—football star and all.”

  He smirked, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it. “I’ve had a few. My sister is in PT school too, so I’ve picked up on a few things.” He continued to gently check and feel along her ankle, making sure everything was in its proper place. “Lucky for you it’s just a sprain and you don’t need stitches. I had to stitch up a mama cow last winter because the vet was tied up. I’m not the best at those yet.”

  His words stopped her a minute. Was she being a jerk? Yes. But this situation was messed up. What she needed to do was regroup at the hotel and come back tomorrow. She wasn’t usually this rude to people she didn’t even know, but this was Heartbreak Harper here. He didn’t get that sort of reputation without earning it. And then some.

  And what was Walt thinking sending her here? That he’d just see her face and sign the contract? All, “Hey, pretty thing, hand over the papers.” What was she? A girl scout selling cookies right now?

  Yep. That was exactly what was happening. She was girl scouting. Even with strict no-soliciting policies, if cookies were to be had, girl scouts held special sorts of powers. I’d kill for a thin mint right about now too.

  “Help me up so I can get to my truck?” she finally offered.

  “Your pickup you mean?”

  “Yeah, my truck.”

  He grinned, shook his head, and mumbled something about southerners. Before she knew what was happening, he had scooped her up, soil kit and all, and was carrying her like an overgrown child in his arms toward the farmhouse, which was a solid three hundred yards out.

  “Put me down,” she groaned. What on earth was he doing?! Heartbreak Harper sure didn’t waste time.

  He rolled his eyes. “Look. You’re going to hurt it worse before you get all the way back to the house. Especially if you are stubborn and try to wear those stupid things.” He nodded to her heels, one of which was now in her hand.

  She only wore them because of the part she was supposed to be playing. Most guys liked a woman in heels, right? And she was here to woo him into doing the commercial after all. She was trying to play her part. Or at least look the part. She wanted no part in actually wooing this football player. No way.

  He brought her in the front door of the farmhouse and sat her on a comfortable-looking gray sectional couch in the living room. She was impressed with how nice the place was on the inside, but she didn’t say so. It looked like it had originally been a smaller farmhouse that had been redone and then built on. Judging by a quick side glance into the kitchen, the kitchen had been totally remodeled—HGTV swoonworthy. And it had a double oven! She had to be in some sort of paradoxical hell. A football player’s home, but the most beautiful kitchen she had ever set her eyes on.

  Without saying a word, while Jordyn kept taking in the farmhouse and tried not to drool over that kitchen, Harper got a blanket for across her lap and a bag of peas from the freezer. He placed it on her ankle. He then looked at her with a furrowed brow. “You bring a phone?”

  She sighed. “It’s in the truck.”

  The condescending smirk on his face reeked of annoyance. “I’ll get it.”

  “Thank you,” she begrudged as he opened the wooden door to go back outside.

  When he returned after, having taken it upon himself to move the AgGroSo truck closer to the house, he gave her her purse and phone before he went into the kitchen and laundry area to take off his coat. When he returned, he was wearing his work jeans and an old faded-red college T-shirt.

  She was texting on her phone, or pretending to be, but still noticed. Heartbreak Harper in all his glory. And those shoulders and neck, she noticed as he turned to get some warm coffee. It looked like even today he could be playing football. Even washed up he still looked great—hadn’t let himself go at all. Maybe it was the high cheekbones and trimmed facial hair that gave him that “it” factor. Or the cerulean-blue eyes and boyish dirty-blond hair that was messy from his ballcap. Or maybe it was the “I don’t give a damn” attitude he had going. She wasn’t sure . . . . She just knew she needed to get out of here as fast as possible. She needed air that wasn’t shared with this know-it-all football player. Air with significantly less Harper.

  She finished her text and sighed before picking up the pea bag and standing to her feet, which hurt like the dickens. She tried not to wince, but she failed miserably. Still, she managed to get out a professional-sounding closing: “Well, thank you for the help, but I should probably be going now. I’ll be back tomorrow to finish and interview you, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  “I don’t think so.” That dang smirk was back again. And she wanted to smack it right off him.

  “Excuse me?”

  She was beginning to see that smart-ass smirk was a semipermanent feature to his face. “It’s starting to snow. Even if your ankle didn’t hurt and you could drive, there may be black ice by the time you get to Homesteel. It’s half snowing and half raining out there now. You aren’t going anywhere.”

  She groaned. “I’ll drive slow—promise. If I can drive on I-10 or 45 in rush hour, I’ll be fine.”

  He blinked hard twice. “Ice and traffic are two different beasts, honey.”

  The way he said “honey” was definitely mocking, and she clenched her jaw in distaste. She hobbled two steps toward the door. She really needed to get out of here. “I’m perfectly capable, I assure you.”

  He smiled and gave her a patronizing look. “I assure you walking out that door would be a waste of time, and on a hurt ankle too.”

  She rolled her eyes freely, super annoyed with this cocky man. “And why’s that?”

  “I took the keys to your
truck.” Extra emphasis on the word “truck.”

  ****

  Lying in bed that night, Beckett couldn’t help but think about the unexpected visitor now sleeping down the hall. There was something about this woman he just couldn’t put his finger on. She was uptight, but it was so fun to throw her for a loop. He knew she was stubborn. Recognized it immediately. Maybe because he was too, so he knew what to look for.

  He knew she’d try to leave, and when he went back outside and saw that it was half pouring rain and half snowing/sleeting out, he knew he couldn’t let her. Add a bum ankle to the deal and he knew she couldn’t go anywhere. If his mom were still alive, she’d be livid if he let her leave. That just wasn’t the Nebraska way. We took care of our neighbors here.

  But this woman. She wasn’t a neighbor. Or friendly even. Even so, he was both dreading and looking forward to the snow and what the morning would bring. She wasn’t half bad to look at and somehow her disdain for him was fun. He was used to being worshipped. He wasn’t used to being . . . disliked.

  That One Dimple

  CHAPTER 3

  Jordyn woke up to light outside the window and a warm lump on her feet. She jolted awake before remembering where she was.

  Beckett Harper.

  She was at Heartbreak Harper’s house. The Heartbreak Harper. And there was a flipping cat on the bed.

  She moved her legs out from under the soft and warm ball of fuzz and threw them over the side of the bed. She stood up before remembering the whole ankle-and-heel fiasco from yesterday. Pain shot up her entire leg as she tried to hobble a few steps forward. To say it hurt would be an understatement. She could barely stand. Walking was definitely not desirable. And she could barely see because there were tears in her eyes from how bad the pain was.

  She limped and hobbled, cursed under her breath, but eventually got to her suitcase and grabbed her bathroom bag. She decided a shower was in order. Maybe that would get her blood flowing enough to take away some of the stiffness in her ankle.

  When she was through showering, it was light enough out for her to take her first look outside, which resulted in a double take. It looked terrrrrible. Apparently nature didn’t care that this was Sunday, the day of rest, because snow was coming down every which way. Alllll the directions. She didn’t know what was outside the guest bedroom window, but she couldn’t even see a foot in front of her. And it was icing over around the outside frame of the window. It looked cold enough to frostbite a polar bear’s bottom.

  This was not snow in the beautiful sense of the word. This was a monster. A relentless and terrifying monster. For the first time since he said so yesterday, she realized that Harper had been right about her being in over her head driving in this stuff. Not that she was willingly going to admit that to him anytime soon.

  She didn’t even want to walk the short distance to her truck, let alone drive in this. Good thing Harper had retrieved her suitcase for her last night. She still didn’t know where the keys to her truck were, but it was safe to say she was stuck here a while. Which is probably why Walt didn’t hesitate to send her, storm considering. He was probably hoping for this to happen. Jerk.

  After applying some light makeup and putting her hair back in a braid, she threw on jeans and a chunky sweater in addition to her furry slippers. Feeling refreshed, she made her way out to the kitchen to find the infuriating man she had found herself snowed in with.

  But he was nowhere to be found.

  She helped herself to some hot tea in the kitchen and found a granola bar for some breakfast. The thought of making herself something more than that felt a bit invasive; Harper wasn’t there. This was his kitchen and his domain. It would be rude to take over. And probably send the wrong message. She didn’t want to make herself at home here. Nope. Not even a little. Not even if his perfectly situated open kitchen with beautiful granite countertops and white cabinets was calling her name. It was a thing of beauty really, but nope. That double oven though . . . but nope. Nooope. Still, she couldn’t help but run her fingertips across the island as she half walked and hobbled back to the couch, itching to bake something in this monstrosity of a kitchen.

  She supposed the absence of Harper meant he was outside in this beast of a snowstorm tending to his livestock. The thought of someone having to be out in that mess made her cringe. Maybe she could have been a bit nicer to the man. Especially since it was up to her to get him to do the dang Super Bowl commercial—the reason she was even here in the first place!

  Ugh. How desperate was Walt right now? For what felt like the hundredth time in the past forty-eight hours, she contemplated what on earth he was thinking for sending her to do this.

  Never coming to a logical conclusion on that front, she looked around Harper’s farmhouse again and took it all in from a cozy spot under a blanket on the couch. She was kind of impressed. The house was the perfect mixture of rustic and country charm. The rustic blended with the country to give off a manly vibe; it felt like a bachelor’s house. The hardwood floors were the perfect shade of brownish gray. She loved the many windows that let in light and gave her an open view of the farm. As she looked at the decor and furniture choices, she wondered if he had decorated it himself. Then again, he probably had a girlfriend or two or three help him over the years. To this day, the tabloids still loved to point out the newest broken-hearted woman—usually a model or actress—who fell for Heartbreak Harper.

  But, his place had a homey feel to it, she’d give him that. It wasn’t outrageously huge, though she supposed there were two or three bedrooms upstairs in addition to the two on the main floor. His house didn’t look that old, or that new, and it wasn’t as extravagant as she was expecting.

  Harper just wasn’t what she’d expected him to be either. He was always smiling and seemed pretty intuitive too. He had been nice to her, though she had just been skeptical from the get-go. She supposed she could still be skeptical but try not to be so rude. Before she had time to make a game plan for being nicer to him, he came in through the garage into the laundry room off the side of the kitchen.

  It seemed to take him forever to change out of the amount of clothes he was wearing. When he had, he entered the kitchen in sweats and a hoodie and headed straight for the pot of coffee, blowing on his hands to warm them. His cheeks were pink enough that if the storm wasn’t indication enough, she knew it was dang cold outside.

  “How’s the ankle, Houston?” he hollered as he saw her sitting there in the living room.

  She rolled her eyes. It really was going to be tough being polite to this brash man.

  “Stiff and sore,” she responded honestly from her spot on the couch.

  She heard the freezer open and shut before he tossed the bag of peas at her, aiming for her head.

  She easily caught it, glaring at his back. She somehow managed a civil “Thank you, Harper” as she put her foot up.

  He surprised her by then bringing her two ibuprofen to take.

  She gladly took them and looked at his broad retreating shoulders as he headed back into the kitchen. “What were you doing out in this mess?” See? She could play nice.

  He shrugged. “Checking my cows. Making sure they made their way to the open-front shed to hunker down. Gave them some extra hay to lay in and made a wind break out of bales to help with the drifting now that I know which way the wind is out of. And made sure the water heaters were working.”

  Hmm. She worked for an agriculture company but forgot about how brutal farm life could be. It wasn’t a full-time job; it was an all-the-time job. Sure, she’d grown up in a small town, just not right on the farm. But then again, she’d done everything in her power to make sure that small town was only seen in her rearview mirror.

  “That sounds terrible,” she thought out loud.

  He laughed while still having his back to her, grabbing pans and starting something on the stove. “Imagine how my girls feel.”

  “Your girls?” she asked confused. Dear Lord, was he admitting t
o having multiple girlfriends at a time?

  He turned around so she was sure to see his condescending look. “My cows.”

  “Oh.”

  Neither of them said anything more while he cooked himself breakfast. She drank her tea, sitting on the couch with the bag of peas on her ankle and a blanket across her lap while she took in the views of the snow outside. She was again surprised when he brought her a plate of eggs and bacon into the living room and sat on the opposite end of the massive sectional.

  “Snow days call for bacon,” he simply said.

  She looked at the plate of food and realized both how hungry she was and how much of an inconvenience she must be. She hated feeling that way. She spent more than two years of her life feeling like a constant inconvenience. It gave her a bad taste in her mouth.

  “I’m sorry I got stuck here,” she said truthfully. “I didn’t realize how bad this storm was going to be. I knew they said there was a storm coming; I just had no idea it would be like this.” She again looked outside and suppressed the urge to shudder.

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t your fault. Most of the time when they forecast these things, they are half as bad as they think they’ll be. You just caught the front end of a real-life midwestern blizzard.” He eyeballed her slippers and broke into a grin. “Next time just bring better footwear, Houston.”

  He just couldn’t resist taking a stab at her, could he? And why did his one dimple always bounce into action when he was trying to goad her? It gave off the impression he was trying to flirt with her. No wonder he had a reputation like he did. He was too charismatic for his own good.

  She rolled her eyes. “You do realize Houston is where I live, not my name, right?”