Free The Snowflake by Jamie Carie Page A

pleasure. The sound of my name on his lips made my heart flutter with a heady feeling.
    “You came.” He walked over and pulled me into his arms.
    I reached up and grasped the edges of his jacket, burying my face in his neck. He smelled of creeks and rivers crossed, of mountains scaled, of snow and clean, sharp fir trees, the perfect mix of man and nature. Why couldn’t he belong to me forever?
    “Don’t go.” My voice was so low I didn’t know if he heard me.
    He held me close, kissing the top of my head as his hands came up to grip the sides of my face. With gentle pressure he tilted my head back until I was looking into his clean-shaven, rugged, beautiful face. His gaze roved over my features—eyes and eyebrows, nose and cheeks, my lips—like a whispered caress.
    Tension coursed through me as his gaze locked with mine. I saw the internal battle raging within him. And I saw the pain of his answer before he said it.
    “I have to.”
    “But it’s so dangerous. Can’t you track them later? Come spring?”
    Buck just stared at me, and I knew the answer was as solid as stone in his heart. No amount of begging would change that. Nausea turned my stomach.
    He would leave. He would never come back. I would never see him again.
    He didn’t make any promises. But he did pull me hard against him as his lips came down on mine.
    It wasn’t what I had expected a kiss to be. I imagined it to be hard, a pressure that bowed me back and made me feel . . . taken over. But Buck’s lips were gentle and firm at the same time. They moved over mine—inviting, coaxing, exploring—as if he would give as much as he could and expected that I do the same.
    I pressed toward him with equal intent. My hands clung to his broad shoulders as I breathed him in, wanting more, wanting it to last. Knowing that it wouldn’t last made a bittersweet ache fill my heart. Tears spilled out and slid down to traverse the paths his fingers made across my cheeks.
    He moved his hands to my throat and kissed my tears, drinking them into himself, and then my heart squeezed as he settled his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard in the stillness of the room.
    I wanted to beg again. I wanted to demand he give me a chance and let his wife rest in peace, but I could feel the turmoil within him and knew he did not have peace enough for that decision. So I decided to savor the moment we did have and not ruin it with wanting more.
    My lashes felt wet against the rounded curve of my cheeks as I closed my eyes and nestled back into his neck, my arms wrapped around him too tight for him not to know what I was thinking. He didn’t pull back. He held me against him, kissed my head and the side of my face, and then my lips again.
    I was glad I had never kissed another. I was glad he was the one I first loved.
    When we broke apart, we looked a bit sheepishly at each other. Buck cleared his throat. “Would you like to help me sort through this mess? I’ll need someone to find the others and return their packs to them.” The determination in his voice to get back to the business of leaving was another slap of reality.
    “I can do that.” My voice sounded stronger than I felt.
    It didn’t take long to get to the bottom of the pile. Jonah’s pack was the last one. Compassion filled Buck’s eyes as he passed it into my arms.
    Jonah, my brother. I clutched his pack to my chest, feeling it ache like a wound that wouldn’t heal. His face was the first image I saw in the morning, taking a moment for me to remember that I didn’t have to rush to his side to discover if it would be a good day where his smile was light, his mind clear, or a dark day where he accused me of plotting to leave him and heard whispered voices of torture. His face was the last image I saw before succumbing to sleep; guilt, remorse, regret—a new blanket that covered me each night.
    His pack was as heavy as stone. I opened it, upended it, let the life of my brother pour onto the floor