Snowed In Read online

  He smiled again in response. That one dimple mocking her in all of its glory.

  She took a deep breath, reminding herself to play nice. “Well. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with. I hate being a burden, and it looks like you’re stuck with me for a few days.”

  “Maybe all week,” he said with a nod.

  “What?!” He had to be joking her, right?

  He nodded to the television above the wood fireplace and reached for the remote to turn on the local news. “They’ve been calling it the snowstorm of the century. It could break all sorts of Nebraska snowfall records. The snow is not to let up for three to four days. We are supposed to get dumped on with two feet of it. And not just snow, but wind too. The wind is always the kicker.”

  “Are you serious?”

  He nodded.

  Her brow furrowed. “I guess I thought only the mountains got storms like these. My boss told me there was a storm, but I didn’t realize the extent of it or take the time to research it much. His decision to send me was kind of a last-minute thing.” She also wondered again if Walt had really known how bad it would be and wanted her to get snowed in with this man. Boss or not, Walt was going to get a nasty email later. She was sure of it.

  Harper grinned again, and she found herself both hating and loving the amount he smiled. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Houston.”

  She took two deep breaths so she wouldn’t roll her eyes again. “My name is Jordyn. Jordyn Mack.”

  He just continued to smile. “I knew if I annoyed you long enough, you’d tell me.”

  She sighed. “This is going to be an eventful few days, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Indeed.”

  ****

  “I win again,” he said, laying down his last Uno card.

  They had the fireplace lit even though it wasn’t even lunch because it seemed like the thing to do in a blizzard. They had the local television channel playing softly in the background so they would get the updates that popped in here and there about the storm. And they had decided to play some card games while they discussed storm preparations, because that also seemed like the thing to do. You could blame his grandfather for that one, avid card player that he was. But they had started it out slow; you couldn’t find an easier game than Uno.

  She wiped above her brow while sitting on the couch with her ankle up, clearly bothered by getting beat twice in a row. “So it would seem. Maybe we should try something with strategy rather than kid games that rely solely on luck.”

  He smirked. She was every bit as competitive as he was; she was just trying not to show it. “Sounds like a good suggestion coming from a loser.”

  She looked at him and squinted. He had to admit she was beautiful. And if she was this beautiful when she hated him, he couldn’t imagine what she’d be like if she didn’t. Not that he cared either way. He was done for a while with women. Especially city women.

  That reminded him. “Why do you hate football players anyway?”

  She sighed for a response. She did that a lot.

  “Too personal?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath and shrugged. “That’s a bit personal, yes.”

  “So second-date material?” he asked. He was giving her crap, but he just wanted to see her smile more.

  She grinned at that. “Maybe sixth or seventh.”

  He rose his eyebrows and let out a whistle. “Wow. That bad, huh? That dude must have done a number on you.” And he couldn’t help but think to himself, What an idiot. He didn’t even know her, but he was usually a good judge of character. Except for that one time . . . .

  She rubbed her left temple again, which he was learning meant that she was uncomfortable. “I guess so.”

  “So why the hatred for small towns, then?” he asked next.

  She groaned. “Same thing. My hatred for both are related and intertwined. One and the same.”

  He shrugged. “Sorry, Houston, I was just trying to small-talk and get to know ya.”

  “I know,” she paused, thinking. “Let’s just say that rumors can spread like wildfire and small-town popular opinion is not easily swayed.”

  Hmm. He could relate to that.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Why is Beckett Harper in small-town Picketts, Nebraska?”

  He shrugged simply. “Well, I’m sure you heard that I had a career-ending injury.”

  “I knew that,” she said quickly. “I mean, with your talent and skills, you probably could have done whatever you wanted. Coached. Been a sports analyst of some sort. Why’d you end up back here?”

  He didn’t respond right away. She was going right for the jugular, wasn’t she? Then again, he had too, he supposed.

  “Second-date material?” she asked with a soft smile as she expertly shuffled the cards.

  “Since I saved you yesterday, all damsel-in-distress style, wouldn’t that classify this as our second date?” Deflecting with a low-grade flirt. It had been so long since he’d been around a woman other than his sister, he was having to brush up on all his old skills.

  She glared at him. “Absolutely not.”

  He chuckled. She was a challenge, this one—those green eyes filled to the brim with nothing but sass. She was not falling for his tricks either. And he liked it. She might not care for him, but at least she was being real and upfront about it.

  He took a deep breath and shrugged. “I’ll give the answer to you anyway though. I inherited this place from my grandpa—well, my sister and I both did really—but she is going to be a physical therapist. My mom passed away from cancer not long after my pro career ended. I came back to be closer to her and take over the family farm. I never considered anything else. I never considered selling. This is home.”

  He could tell that wasn’t what she thought he was going to say.

  “And what about your dad?”

  He tried not to clench his jaw. “Died when I was a sophomore in college.”

  She looked at him a moment, considering his words—as if doing the math to understand he’d lost both his parents in a span of less than five years. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. He was a drunk and a mean one at that. It was a lot harder on my sister than it was on me, though she’s less than a year younger than me.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling her all this. He usually liked to keep this stuff to himself. Granted, the fact that his father was a mean drunk was no secret in the small town of Picketts, but it felt weird having to tell a stranger. It was common knowledge around here; everyone just knew.

  She didn’t have anything to say to that.

  “How about you? Family all live in Houston?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nope. No family.”

  Now he was the one surprised. “What do you mean, no family?”

  “I’m an only child, my dad was never in the picture, and though my mom is technically still alive, we aren’t close. No grandparents alive either,” she explained emotionlessly, like she was talking about the weather.

  The hell? Well, that wasn’t at all what he was expecting. But, he understood her better. He got her grit. He got her stubbornness. It came from being let down time and time again by the people that were supposed to love you the most. It cut you and gave you an edge, a chip on your shoulder that wasn’t easily shaken. He and his dad hadn’t seen eye to eye, but at least Beckett had one solid parent.

  “What about a boyfriend?” he asked fearlessly, trying to find a brighter topic. He knew she didn’t have a ring on her finger. He’d already checked. Both yesterday and this morning.

  She shook her head. “No. No boyfriend. You?”

  He gave an indifferent shrug. “No boyfriend.”

  She rolled her eyes. He guessed she probably knew all about the media’s stupid nickname for him.

  “No girlfriend either.” He grinned.

  She just stared at him like she was trying to decide if she believed him or not.r />
  He couldn’t blame her. He did have quite the reputation. He’d dated around a lot when his football career ended. He lost his dream and shortly after lost his mom. But the one thing he didn’t lose was the attention from women. So for a while he’d gotten lost in that, the only thing he felt he had left. Hell, the only thing he could even feel. By the time he came up for air, he was sick and tired of the superficial relationships and all the stupid events and galas. Sick and tired of the jersey chasers. Sick and tired of women after his celebrity status or money. Sick of it all.

  He hadn’t been on a date in . . . six months? A year? He didn’t even know. And now he was snowed in with this five-and-a-half-foot hostile woman. Heaven help him.

  You Just Y’alled Me

  CHAPTER 4

  “I need to go back out and check the cows, but before I do, how about a quick lunch of some chicken-salad sandwiches?” he asked after winning yet another game of Uno.

  She was just sure he was going to gloat, but he somehow managed to refrain. Shocking really. And here she was. Imposing again. “Uh, sure. I can cook something too, if you’d rather.”

  He shrugged. “It needs to be used up anyway.”

  “Well, I don’t like feeling like a burden. I know my way around a kitchen. At least let me make them,” she offered.

  He smiled. “All right. I’ll grab the bread; you run the mayo.”

  Sitting down with their sandwiches, they managed to carry on casual conversation. She didn’t really want to get to know Harper, but she supposed it was the polite thing to do. It was hard not to get to know one another when they were stuck in this situation together.

  She was slowly beginning to see the kind of person he was. And yeah, he could be smooth. She knew from past experiences that football players could be too smooth. But, because of little things—his care for the animals, and his positive demeanor despite all he’d lost—Harper just wasn’t what she thought he’d be like. Not at all.

  “So how long have you worked for AgGroSo?” he asked.

  “Four years. Started right out of college. I met the CEO, Walt, at a job fair right before I graduated, and he wanted me to come work for them.” She smiled fondly thinking of it, even though right now she was a touch peeved with Walt.

  His eyes pulled together, scrunching his forehead in confusion. “What was your major?”

  “Statistics.”

  That made him look even more confused. “Why were you taking my soil samples, then?”

  She felt her face falter for a split second. Should she just tell him the truth right here and now? Laying it all out there? “I don’t typically, though I do know how. I work on graph making and data analysis for both the app and the software. Walt always makes us learn all aspects of the business. Says informed employees make the company better.”

  “Ohh. That makes sense.” He nodded slightly, taking another bite of food.

  She smiled. “Why? I don’t look like a field tech?”

  A slow smile hit his lips, and his sandwich halted before it got to his mouth. “Nope. You’re much more . . . analytical.”

  The way he emphasized the last word made her think that wasn’t what he was originally going to say. “What about you? What’d you major in? Other than the obvious,” she said as he finally took a bite of sandwich.

  “Other than the obvious?” he asked around a mouth full of food.

  “You know, football and girls,” she supplied with a sarcastic look and a shrug.

  He cocked his head to the side as he considered that and finished chewing. “Wow. Your football-player prejudice just knows no bounds. Some guy really screwed you over, huh?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Come on. You know what they call you.”

  He groaned and looked . . . embarrassed? “Don’t even start, Houston.”

  “So what was your real major, then?” she asked, trying to appease him. “No wait. Let me guess . . . communications?”

  Doing nothing to hide his disdain, he glared at her, zero appeased. “No. I have a finance degree.”

  Hmm. She was not expecting that. “How’d you find out about AgGroSo?”

  “My grandpa and Walt went way back. But the software has been more than helpful and a time-saver, honestly. I don’t have to take the time to do much book work at all anymore, whether it’s tracking the lineage of my herd or deciding which crop to plant. The numbers are all already there, so I never have to guess. I know exactly where everything is at. And I like knowing and tracking the nutrient levels in the fields. That in and of itself is worth it to me.”

  She smiled. “That’s good to hear. Sometimes when I’m designing all those charts and graphs behind my desk I wonder if anyone will ever really find them that useful.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Definitely. Last year I planted soybeans when everyone else was planting corn, and everyone thought I was nuts. My yields were crazy good because I was able to use the projection graph using the soil samples you guys had run. My neighbors think it’s some sort of voodoo magic until I tell them about you guys. I think there’s half a dozen of us just in Picketts now using your software.”

  So he thought of the company highly. Good to know. She’d have to tuck that away to use to her advantage later. “I’m glad we’re helping y’all.”

  ****

  Did she really just y’all him? The hell? She was so hostile and sometimes downright rude, but that one real and genuine southern y’all was about to do him in.

  “What?” she asked in his hesitation.

  “You just ‘y’alled’ me, Houston.” He grinned.

  “Okay?”

  “Just getting used to your southern charms is all,” he offered sarcastically. “And trying to get used to you being nice. I thought you southern belles were supposed to be nice.”

  She snorted. “You must not have spent much time in the South, then. We southern belles will pour you a tea or punch you into next week. We come fully loaded.” She paused to smile. “And are you always this belligerent?”

  Fully loaded indeed. He couldn’t help but answer honestly. “With you anyway.”

  She smiled that time. “Touché, Harper.”

  “I think at this point you can call me Beckett.”

  He hated it when people called him Harper all the time. Some did it out of respect for his football career. Some did it because of the media nickname, almost in a mocking type of way. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone called him anything but Harper or Harp.

  “First names, huh?” She was still smiling.

  He scrunched up his nose. “Unless you prefer for me to keep calling you Houston.”

  She shook her head. “Beckett it is, then.”

  Why did it sound so good to hear his first name? It was only two syllables, but it sounded like a kind of music. “All right, Jordyn. I’m about to head out. You and Mable should be fine, but I’ll leave my cell number on the fridge. If you need anything, just call or text.”

  “Mable is the cat?” she asked knowingly.

  He nodded. Not that they’d see the dang creature for a while. She was full-on nocturnal. Slept the entire day away. For that matter, she also slept the night away. He’d never seen a cat sleep more than Mable. She’d go out about once a month and bring back a dead mouse she always left on the doormat. She liked to prove her worthiness as head couch queen every now and then, flipping her tail back and forth, as if super proud of her loot. So he put up with her and her moody ways.

  “Yesterday you made it sound like she was a person,” she accused.

  Of course he had. He was trying to get under her skin. It had definitely worked too. “Well, don’t tell her she’s not. She’ll be highly offended.”

  Jordyn laughed. A real laugh. Between the laugh and the y’all, he knew he was screwed. It needed to stop snowing so he could get this city woman out of his house before she did some serious damage on him.

  ****

  By the time Beckett came back inside late that afternoon,
it looked like he had icicles on his eyelashes, which looked longer than hers, she might add. The storm was not letting up at all though. Not even a little.

  She handed him a warm cup of coffee that she poured while he undressed out of all his work clothes. She noticed he put two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and a little milk in his coffee, so she was sure to do that too.

  He took a taste and looked to her with raised eyebrows and sharp, all-seeing eyes.

  It wasn’t that big of a deal; she just knew how to pay attention to the little things like that. She looked out one of the living room windows at the still raging snowstorm. “It looks terrible out there.” She shuddered. “What I can see of it anyway.”

  He nodded. “I have to admit it is.”

  She wrapped her heavy cardigan around her tighter. “Is it always like this when it snows?”

  His blue eyes met hers, a crease between his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s hateful, blowing snow and cold everywhere,” she explained, gesturing for emphasis and looking back at the window in disbelief. “Like anarchy of the weather variety.”

  He shook his head, the corner of his mouth turning up and showing off his dimple as he clearly tried not to smirk at her. “No. Sometimes it’s a quiet snow. No rain. No ice. Just fluffy flakes. It’s serene and beautiful.”

  She sighed. That sounded nice. She’d like to see that.

  “How many times have you seen snow?” he asked.

  “Counting this time? Three.” She stopped to smile. “Other than the occasional flurry, it snowed a few times in Houston. Didn’t last long though, and we barely got a half an inch.”

  He considered that a moment, then asked, “How’s the ankle?”

  She winced. She was trying to hide how much it hurt while around him. “Still attached?”

  He laughed, and she had to stop the warm fuzzy feeling she felt with his laughter. What the heck was wrong with her? This was Beckett Harper. Heartbreak Harper. Feeling fuzzy when he laughed and flashed her his one dimple was not allowed. Not even a little. She noticed he was still speaking to her, so she tried to pay attention . . . .