Page 13 of Wrangled by the Grump

I watch him from the corner of my eye as he moves to the fireplace. There’s already wood stacked beside it that he sets in the hearth, and in moments, a fire is lit. The dancing light makes me shiver, especially as he straightens.

“Why the sudden change in mood?” I ask, popping a fry in my mouth. Salty, hot, and perfectly golden.

Max watches me for a moment before sighing. “No change, just…a shift.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask for more. Instead, he turns on the TV above the fireplace, chooses something on Netflix, and we eat in silence.

I could get used to this. But I know I shouldn’t. It can’t last, no matter how badly I want it to. But a girl can dream.

7

MAX

The hall closet opening and closing wakes me. I turn over in the old, lumpy bed that’s probably been in this room since 2002, and check the time, suddenly alert.

2AM glares back at me, making me frown, and look at the door. When we went to bed, I put Winnie in the room across the hall, told her if she needed anything to come and get me. I’d been tempted to plant myself outside her door to make sure she didn’t steal the keys again and run. Last night had felt like progress, but it’s been less than fourteen hours since she came barging into my life with the news.

Beyond the closed door, she huffs, muttering something to herself before opening the closet. I kick my legs over the bed, heart hammering almost painfully as I stalk to the bedroom door and open it silently.

Winnie holds up her phone’s flashlight and uses it to sort through the assorted junk stashed in the hall closet. I’m pretty sure it’s meant to be for linens and towels, but instead it’s filled it with random boxes from my tenant’s online shopping obsession.

I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe, watching her quietly rifle through the closet, until it becomes too much when she tries to reach a little too high. “Honey.”

Her gaze snaps to mine and widens, a flush forming on her cheeks as she curses again—this time louder and with a little more intention. “W-what are you doing up?”

“You woke me,” I reply honestly, a little too amused by the roll of her eyes. “What are you looking for? Don’t tell me you’re a thief, too.”

“Too?” She spins towards me with narrowed eyes and winces, rubbing her back. “It’s nothing.”

I step in her path before she can go back to her room. “What?”

She rolls her eyes again, but I don’t find it amusing anymore, instead taking her in with a more critical awareness. I’d noticed her discomfort back at the farm, chalking it up partially to pregnancy and the fact the chairs we have in the office are old, worn, and aren’t built for anyone with an ass. I’ve already put it on my to-do list when I go back to work to fix it, so she never has to feel that discomfort again.

But this is something else. The wince came from a different kind of pain.

“Tell me,” I murmur, taking her chin between my thumb and finger, forcing her to meet my eye. “Honey.”

She sighs, which forces my gaze to her pouty lips. I’ve dreamed of kissing them again, and even tonight, the brief touch replays over and over again with more reverence and need.

“My back…hurts, a little,” she admits, staring up at me through those thick lashes of hers. “I was looking for more pillows to brace behind me. Or something solid so I don’t roll.”

I pull my gaze from hers to look into the closet. “Well, I doubt you’ll find any in there,” I reply. “You can take the ones on my bed.”

Even though I still have my hand on her chin, she tries to shake her head. “No. No way. I can’t do that. What are you going to sleep on?”

“It doesn’t particularly bother me, I’ve slept rougher.” And anyway, I’d rather sleep on the sofa then spend another moment on that god-awful mattress. “But you need to take what makes you comfortable.”

Winnie presses her lips together and eventually sighs again. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” I smirk when I notice the flush darkening her cheeks more than it already was. “Stay here. I’ll get the pillows.”

And she does that. When I come back with the flat pillows from my bed, she’s still waiting exactly where I left her, only this time, her arms are crossed. She eyes the stack of pillows, scrutinising them with a scrunched nose. “God. When was the last time any of the bedding was updated?”

“No idea.” I walk around her into the other bedroom and stop short at the mess of blankets she’d tried to use as a maternity pillow around herself. Now, I understand why she might need something else. But I don’t comment on it, instead moving the blanket so I can lay the pillows down in a similar formation.

“Alright,” I say, crossing my arms, “lie down. Tell me if you need more.”

She chews her lip but eventually makes her way to the other side of the bed. A groan leaves her lips as she sits and manoeuvres onto her side. “I won’t miss this part when it’s over,” she mutters, reaching behind her to shove pillows under her. “But this is a little better. Thanks, Max.”