Page 18 of Storm in Montana (Montana Becketts, Wild Spirit Ranch #3)

Frost coated the windowpanes of Brodie’s small living quarters with delicate lace, transforming the harsh Montana winter into something almost beautiful. He stood before his washbasin, steam rising from the water as he dragged a straight razor across his jaw.

The mirror reflected a face weathered by dedicated service, green eyes sharp despite the early hour.

His fingers traced the freshly healed scar along his temple, a souvenir from a bar fight two months prior.

The badge on his coat caught the light as he shrugged it on, wincing in pain from the bullet wound the night before.

Though just a graze, the pain was still as sharp as when it happened.

Outside, his boots crunched through fresh powder as he made his way down Mystic’s main street.

The town stirred to life, chimneys puffing gentle clouds into the clear sky.

He adjusted his collar against the bite of the morning air, his stride purposeful as he approached what was now known as the Beckett house.

Annalee Beckett stood on the front porch, her hair escaping from beneath a heavy wool bonnet. Her eyes lit up at his approach, though she masked it with a casual wave. Faith and Joshua emerged behind her, their quiet laughter carrying across the stillness.

“Brodie,” Faith called out, her green eyes twinkling with warmth. “You’re right on time.”

Joshua nodded in greeting, his arm linked with Faith’s as they descended the steps. “Beautiful morning for a walk to church.”

Brodie fell into step beside Annalee, her arm through his as they navigated the narrow path cleared through the snow. Her presence sparked an awareness in him he fought to ignore, just as he ignored the way her glance kept finding its way to his profile.

“The snow makes everything so peaceful,” Annalee said, her voice soft enough only he could hear. “Almost makes you forget about all the troubles around us.”

“Almost,” Brodie agreed, his tone carrying the weight of last night’s events.

They walked in companionable silence, their breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. Faith and Joshua led the way, their whispered conversation and occasional laughter creating a buffer of normalcy. Annalee’s skirts swished against the snow, keeping time with their measured steps.

The group turned down the street leading to the church. Annalee drew closer to Brodie, her shoulder pressing against his side. The contact sent a jolt through him, and he flinched, hoping she didn’t notice. Her steps faltered as she caught the reaction, her eyes narrowing with concern.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The question carried more weight than its simple words suggested. The echo of gunfire, the chaos of the previous night, the way bullets splintered the wooden post beside him.

Brodie shrugged, keeping his expression neutral despite the twinge in his shoulder. “Nothing to worry about.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, unconvinced. “You could have died last night.”

“Part of the job,” he said, his voice level despite the intensity of her gaze.

Faith glanced back at them, her instincts picking up on the tension. Joshua touched her arm gently, drawing her attention forward again. He understood the value of private moments, even in public spaces.

They emerged from the street into the churchyard, where other townspeople converged on the whitewashed building. Annalee’s arm dropped away from where it had lingered, the moment passing. Yet the concern in her eyes remained, a silent reminder of words left unspoken between them.

The church bells began to toll, their clear notes ringing across the morning air.

Brodie held the door open, watching as Annalee passed through.

Her shoulder brushed his chest, and for a moment, the world narrowed to their point of contact.

Then she was past, and he followed her into the warm interior.

The chapel’s wooden beams stretched overhead, cradling the congregation in their sturdy embrace.

Candlelight danced across the pews, creating gentle shadows across the expectant faces of parishioners.

The air hung heavy with the scent of beeswax and pine, a familiar comfort, though it did little to ease the tension radiating between Brodie and Annalee as they settled beside each other.

The wooden bench creaked beneath them as they arranged themselves, their thighs pressing together in the confined space. Annalee smoothed her skirts, her fingers trembling as she adjusted the fabric. Brodie sat ramrod straight, his shoulders squared against the persistent ache of his wound.

The organist began the opening hymn, the notes swelling to fill the sacred space. Voices rose around them, a chorus of familiar faces singing praise to the heavens. Annalee’s clear soprano joined them, though her usual confidence wavered when Brodie shifted beside her, their knees brushing.

He held the hymnal between them, his large hands steady on the worn leather binding. Annalee leaned closer to see the words, bringing with her the subtle scent of lavender. Their shoulders touched, and neither pulled away.

The minister’s voice rolled through the chapel, speaking of faith and perseverance.

Annalee’s attention drifted despite her best efforts.

She watched Brodie from the corner of her eye, noting how he sat unnaturally still, protecting his injured side.

His jaw clenched during the prayers, though whether from pain or something else, she couldn’t tell.

“Let us pray for those who protect us,” the minister intoned, and Annalee’s heart squeezed.

She bowed her head, but her prayers weren’t the ones being spoken from the pulpit.

Instead, she prayed for the man beside her, for his safety, for his stubbornness, for all the words caught in her throat whenever he was near.

Brodie remained stoic throughout the service, though his hand gripped the pew’s edge when the congregation stood for another hymn.

Annalee rose slowly, matching his pace, their arms pressing together as they shared the hymnal once more.

The contact sparked awareness having nothing to do with devotion, at least not to the divine.

Faith and Joshua sat in the pew ahead of them, their heads bent together in quiet harmony. Joshua’s hand covered Faith’s on the hymnal, their fingers intertwined with easy affection. Annalee envied their simple connection, the uncomplicated nature of their relationship.

The minister’s sermon touched on sacrifice and duty, drawing Annalee’s gaze back to Brodie’s profile.

The morning light streaming through the stained glass windows highlighted the stubborn set of his jaw, the tiny scar above his eyebrow, and the shadows beneath his eyes from too many sleepless nights.

When the congregation knelt for prayer, Brodie’s movement was slow and careful.

Annalee’s knee pressed against his on the narrow kneeler, and she felt a slight tremor.

Without thinking, she shifted her weight, helping to take some of the pressure off his injured side.

His quick glance acknowledged the gesture, though his expression remained unreadable.

The final hymn filled the chapel with its soaring melody, but Annalee barely heard the words. Her world had narrowed to the point where their bodies touched, to the heat of him beside her, to the way his breathing changed when she moved closer.

As the service drew to a close, the congregation began to filter out into the winter morning. Faith turned in her pew, her smile knowing as she looked between them. “We’re heading to the house for coffee,” she said, her voice low enough to be private. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Joshua stood, offering his arm to Faith. “Though I expect you both might have other plans,” he added, his eyes crinkling with gentle understanding.

“Thank you, but no,” Brodie replied, his voice carrying a roughness she hadn’t heard before. “I’ve imposed on Annalee’s time enough this morning.”

Annalee’s protest died on her lips as Faith and Joshua made their way toward the door, their cheerful voices fading into the general murmur of the departing congregation. She remained seated beside Brodie, aware of every breath, every slight movement.

The organ played softly, filling the growing silence with gentle notes throughout the emptying chapel. Brodie hadn’t moved, his presence solid and warm beside her. The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and careful distances maintained.

“We should go,” he said finally, though he made no move to rise.

She nodded, her fingers clutching her prayer book. “Yes, we should.”

Neither moved. The organ’s notes faded away, a backdrop to their shared hesitation. In the quiet of the chapel, with its dancing candlelight and rough-hewed wooden beams, they sat together in a pocket of time, both afraid to break its spell.

Snow fell in swirling spirals outside the Golden Griddle’s frosted windows, each flake catching the light before floating to the ground.

Inside, warmth from the kitchen wrapped around them, carrying the scent of fresh spice cake.

Maisy smiled as she watched Brodie guide Annalee through the door, his hand hovering near the small of her back without quite touching.

“Sheriff, Annalee,” she greeted them. “There’s a window table available.” She gathered menus, her movements unhurried as she studied them. “It’s good to see you in here together.”

Annalee’s cheeks colored. “We’ve just come from church.”

“I suspected as much,” Maisy replied, leading them through the dining room. “We don’t open until the service ends.” She looked around, lowering her voice. “Aggie and I always sit in the back, so we can rush over here and open up.”

Brodie held Annalee’s chair, careful to maintain a proper distance as she straightened her skirts, then settled into a chair.

Maisy placed their menus down before them. “I’ll be right back,” she said, hurrying to another table.

Silence settled between them as they pretended to study their menus, though neither really read the familiar words.

The clink of cutlery from nearby tables and the low murmur of conversation filled the space where their words should have been.

Annalee’s fingers traced the edge of her menu, a nervous gesture she couldn’t quite control.

“The beef stew is good on cold days like this,” Brodie offered with forced casualness.

“Yes,” Annalee agreed, though food was the last thing on her mind. The memory of his flinch on their walk to church and the careful way he’d moved during the service pressed against her.

When Maisy returned, they ordered with awkward politeness. Beef stew for both, with coffee and fresh bread. The routine of it was a way to postpone the inevitable conversation hanging between them.

Their coffees arrived steaming, the ceramic cups warming their hands.

Annalee watched the snow through the window, each flake a temporary distraction from the weight of Brodie’s gaze.

He sat with an erect stillness she’d come to recognize as a sign of discomfort, though whether from his wound or the situation, she didn’t know.

“The snow’s getting heavier,” she said, grasping at a safe topic.

“It’ll make tracking easier if needed.” His response carried the weight of his profession, drawing them closer to the subject they’d been avoiding.

Their food arrived, the rich aroma of the stew causing Annalee’s stomach to grumble. As they ate, the silence grew heavier with each passing moment.

Finally, he set down his utensils with deliberate care. The soft clink against the plate seemed to echo in the space between them. He leaned back, his gaze finding her questioning one.

“Annalee,” he said, her name carrying the weight of everything unsaid between them, “I think we need to talk about last night. About what was left unsaid.”

She set her own spoon down. “Do we?”

“You know we do.” His voice remained steady, though tension lined his face. “Your words last night, about my job…”

“About you throwing yourself into danger without a thought for those who—” She cut herself off, pressing her lips together.

“For those who what?”

“For those who care about you.”

The sounds of the restaurant faded away as they stared at each other. A muscle worked in Brodie’s jaw as he considered her words.

“My job requires risk. You’ve always known it does.”

“Knowing it and watching you bleed are different things.” Her voice carried an edge of steel beneath its softness. “Last night, when the bullet—”

“Did exactly what bullets do in my line of work,” he interrupted, though his tone remained gentle. “It’s part of who I am, Annalee. What I do.”

“And what about who you are to others?” She leaned forward. “To this town? To your friends?” She paused, her voice lowering. “To me?”

The question hung between them, suspended in a moment of perfect stillness. Through the frosted glass, the day’s events continued, oblivious to the tension building in their small corner of the world.

Brodie’s expression shifted, something raw and honest breaking through his careful control. He opened his mouth to respond, but a commotion at the front of the restaurant drew their attention. A young boy burst through the door, his face red from running.

“Sheriff! Sheriff Gaines! There’s trouble down the street!”

Brodie was on his feet in an instant, his job overtaking personal matters. He looked down at Annalee, their unfinished conversation heavy in his eyes.

“I have to go…”

Annalee stood as well, her heart racing with fear and frustration. “I know you do. Just…” She caught his arm, forcing him to meet her eyes one last time. “Be careful.”

Their gazes locked, and all the words they hadn’t spoken passed between them. Then he was gone, leaving Annalee standing alone beside a table of half-finished meals.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, carrying away another chance at answers to questions too important to leave unasked.