Free Shelter Me Home by T. S. Joyce Page B

forgotten buttons. His jeans were worn and hung low on his tapered hips, and the gold in his two day scruff shone as the sun reflected off the snow. His eyes were so pale in the morning light. Surely, he knew how good he looked, sipping his coffee and wrecking her hormones. The oaf. He smiled like he could tell what she was thinking.
    “What time is your date with Ben?” he asked through a cocky, crooked grin.
    “It isn’t a date. It’s coffee. And I should probably leave for town in two hours.”
    “You want to come with me to repair some fences?”
    With a sincere effort to contain her excitement, she nodded. “Let me get some work clothes on.”
    When she reemerged in her heaviest layers, Aanon was topping off the gas tanks on both four-wheelers. Any hope she’d have of riding clutched onto his taut back like a parasite was dashed immediately. Mmm-hmm, she had said they’d be friends, and she’d keep her end of the bargain, but in secret she was going to crush on him so hard. How could she not? He looked like an ancient, sexy Norsemen dropped into modern times. Ax swinging, cattle whispering, machine welding, bear hunting, tattoo hiding Alaskan woodsman. Yep, she was wrong all those years ago to think no man in this country could suit her. If ever there had been a more intriguing man than Aanon Falk, well, she hadn’t found him yet.
    Erin had better appreciate every one of his tantalizing qualities, or it was just a waste. On second thought, there was no way Erin was taking Aanon for granted. A man like him made it physically impossible for a woman to ignore him.
    Mounted on his four-wheeler, he let out a shrill whistle and Bruno and Luna came running. When Farrah was straddled over the cold seat, Aanon tossed a challenging look behind him and took off.
    In the days she’d taken the four-wheeler into town for work and errands, she’d become accustomed to how it drove, but never once had she taken it off road. There wasn’t much choice about it now because there wasn’t even a trail for them to follow, so in efforts to avoid jostling her tiny stomach, she followed in Aanon’s tire tracks. He slowed and waited, and God bless the man, he didn’t even tap his foot or throw her disparaging looks like Miles used to do when she took too much time.
    Barbed wire and tools she hadn’t a guess at littered the back of his ATV, and when they came to a downed fence caused by a dead tree that had fallen, he ripped a chainsaw without hesitation and trimmed the branches until it was a smooth log. Section after section was cut until the tree was nothing but a stack of logs for the chopping block. He taught her what each tool did, how not to get pricked by the barbs, and how to tighten and tie the fencing material until it was up and functional once again. When they were finished, he led her down the fence line to repair the next section.
    Without coddling her, he made sure to do any heavy work that would put her pregnancy at risk. As she grew more comfortable with the work, it went faster. He could depend on her to know what she was doing without having to over-instruct her, and after a couple of miles of repairs, they didn’t have to talk much. Instead, he would brush her back with the tips of his fingers in some unspoken language they’d invented from trial and error, and she would guess what he needed. She’d hand him a tool or hold a piece of wire in place or duck when he needed to go over her head.
    Winter came fast and unexpected in the Alaskan wilds, and they’d been lucky the first blizzard hadn’t held. Standing back, watching this capable man knock a post deeper into the ground with the mountains behind him and rich, green grass poking up through sparse snow drifts, realization struck her like an iron. She could be happy here.
    Growing up, she’d dreamed of New York, convinced herself she could only find solace in the anonymity of a giant place. She’d been wrong.
    A strange fluttering feeling deep inside