I found Jack in the kitchen the next morning, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he tended to something on the stove. He didn't realize I was in the room for a minute or two, so I kind of stood in the doorway, watching him. He was wearing what I was coming to think of as his uniform – plain white t-shirt and jeans. The t-shirt wasn't tight-fitting, but it didn't do a damn thing to hide the muscular breadth of his back and shoulders. He was humming a little, concentrating on whatever it was he was preparing. It was an achingly adorable scene.

The temptation was to walk up behind him, bury my face in that warm, strong back and wrap my arms around his waist. He turned around before temptation could get the better of me, though, and I saw that he was holding a large plate stacked high with pancakes.

"Blueberry," he said, "I hope you like them."

"Did you wake up early to make these for me?" I asked, sitting down at the table as Jack transferred two pancakes to my plate.

"I should probably say yes to that, huh?" He replied. "But I was up at 6 to tend to the livestock. Only got time for a short breakfast now before I head back out."

He looked down at his enormous stack of pancakes as he spoke. It almost felt like he was trying to hide his face.

"Oh?" I asked. "What else do you have to do?"

"Got to ride out into the foothills, check on the steers."

Jack's voice was so quiet I could barely hear what he was saying. The pancakes were amazing, too. Perfectly fluffy, studded with blueberries – probably the best pancakes I'd ever had in my life. Was there anything Jack McMurtry couldn't do?

I took another bite and waited to see if he would say anything else, or explain the strange mood he seemed to be in. When he didn't, I finished my pancakes quietly.

"More?" He asked, the second the last bite was in my mouth.

I laughed. "No thanks. I don't usually eat breakfast – this is already way too much."

Jack grabbed himself a few more and busied himself buttering them. Maybe he was just one of those people who was quiet in the mornings? After he'd managed to put away more food than I thought was humanly possible, though, he did finally look up at me.

"Do you want to come? You can ride with me."

"On a horse?" I asked. "I've never ridden a horse. I don't know if –"

"No, I mean you can ride the same horse as me. There's nothing to be afraid of, and it shouldn't take more than a couple of hours – the herd sticks to the lower elevations at this time of year."

I did want to go with Jack. But something about his mood just seemed a little off. I wasn't expecting it, especially given what had happened between us the previous night.

"I'd love to come with you," I said carefully, "but you don't need to feel obliged. You don't have to take me. I'm fine to stay here if it's going to be too much trouble."

"No trouble at all, I'd love to take you out. We'll get you one of Emily's old coats and bundle you up nice and warm. You can test out being a cowgirl."

I peered at him, unable to figure out if he was just being polite or not. "Like I said," I told him. "I'd love to come with you. But you – Jack, you look kind of strange. You definitely don't need to take me with –"

"Yeah," he replied, rubbing his forehead. "That's not you, Blaze. It's just that this might be the last time I ride out into the hills to check on the cattle. Ever, I mean. I might lend a hand rounding them up to the people they're being sold to, but truth is I don't know if I can do that."

"Oh," I said quietly, looking down at my empty plate. I didn't know what else to say. It was a sad situation, and no words were going to take the sadness away.

"Never mind," Jack said, getting up and taking the plates to the sink. "We should probably get out there – it was cold last night and sometimes the water troughs and the little streams and ponds they drink from freeze over and need breaking up."

Jack wasn't kidding about getting me bundled up. By the time we walked out to the stables I was so layered and padded I could barely move my own arms. I watched him saddling up the largest of the four horses he owned, impressed as ever at the sheer number of things he could do.

"What are you looking at?" He asked, grinning in spite of his mood, when he caught me.

"You," I smiled back. "You can do everything. I couldn't saddle a horse if my life depended on it."

"But that's why you can't do it," he replied. "Because your life doesn't depend on it. I'm sure you have all sorts of skills that I wouldn't know the first thing about."

"Maybe," I said. "But your skills seem... real. Like if there was a zombie apocalypse, your skills would be useful. Everything I know how to do is all in my head. I can't do anything with my hands. I don't even know how to change a flat tire."

Jack's expression was slightly disapproving. "That's not good, Blaze. Everyone should know how to change a tire."

"I know! That's what I'm saying!"

"Well maybe I'll teach you how to change a tire later if it warms up this afternoon. But as for right now, come here, let's see how you feel about being on horseback."

I thought there would be some instruction, maybe some theory, on riding a horse. But no, Jack just picked me up and plopped right down on the horse's back – right behind the saddle instead of in it. Then he swung himself up in front of me and looked back over his shoulder.

"Well?"

Jack had placed a thick blanket under the saddle, across the horse's back, but I did not feel secure. When the horse suddenly shifted I shrieked and clutched the back of Jack's coat, convinced I was about to slide off.

"I'm going to fall, Jack!"

"No you're not. You're fine. Just try to get a feel for the animal's movement, OK? We'll go slowly, at first."

And with that, he nudged the horse and it walked towards the open barn doors. I felt incredibly high up and vulnerable, as if every movement the horse made was about to send me tumbling to the ground.

"Stop holding my coat," Jack instructed. "Put your arms around me and hold on."

"I'm going to fall off, Jack! I can feel it!"

He looked over his shoulder. "You're not, Blaze. You just think you are because this is your first time and you're not used to the feeling of it yet. But you can sit in the saddle with me if you want. It's just going to be a bit of a tight fit."

"OK," I replied nervously. "Yes, please."

Jack turned around, then, and grabbed me by the shoulders, hauling me into the saddle like I was a sack of potatoes. I felt more secure right away – I also noticed that he was right about the tight fit. I was pressed closely against him, almost forced to rest my cheek against his strong back. I could feel every little movement of his body as we rode.

At first, I kept myself stiff and upright in the saddle, too wary of falling or somehow giving away to Jack just how sweet it was to be so close to him. But as the horse took us over the foothills and the wind turned the exposed parts of my face a bright pink, I found myself relaxing into him, slipping my arms around his body when the horse mounted a small hillock or stepped over a rock.

"There they are."

Jack pointed and my eyes followed the direction of his finger. There, huddled tightly together in the shelter of a small hill, stood a herd of shaggy, reddish-brown cattle, their breath rising like smoke into the frosty air.

"They're furry," I commented as we approached.

Jack laughed. "You're cute, Blaze."

"Why?" I asked, feigning an indignation I did not feel – because being called 'cute' by Jack McMurtry actually made me feel like bursting with happiness.

"The way you talk about the animals – those cows last night had spots, these ones are furry – it's hilarious."

"Well they are furry," I protested. "What should I say? I didn't know cows were furry."

"Steers. And they're not always furry, this is just their winter coats."

Jack took us closer to the herd and rode around and through them a couple of times, checking for signs of illness or injury. When he was satisfied all was well, we started back to Sweetgrass Ranch, stopping along the way in front of a large metal trough.

"Hey!" I called out when Jack slid off the horse. "Don't leave me here, Jack!"

He looked up at me, shielding his eyes from the pale winter sun that had emerged from behind a bank of clouds. "I think you'll survive."

Jack was right. I did survive. He used a stick to smash through the thin layer of ice that had formed on top of the water and we set off again, neither of us saying much.

"It's really nice out here," I said, when we were almost back to the barn, and even I wasn't sure how much I was talking about the early winter Montana landscape versus how much I was talking about being pressed up against Jack on the back of the horse.

"It gets into your system," Jack replied. "Doesn't take long, either. Imagine how you'd feel if you spent your whole life out here? Even in my dreams all the landscapes look like this one."

A wave of sadness washed over me, that now-familiar feeling that I was somehow personally responsible for the fact that Jack was losing his home. I couldn't even picture him in a small town, let alone a big city. It was like picturing a bear in a shopping mall – it didn't fit.

When we got back into the barn and Jack reached up to put his hands under my arms and lift me down from the horse, he must have seen something in my expression.

"What's wrong?" He asked, looking concerned.

"I feel terrible," I replied, just plainly stating the truth for once. I actually felt oddly forthcoming. It must have been the ride – the cold air and the sweet proximity and feeling of safety being so close to Jack. "I feel like this is my fault."

"But it isn't your fault, is it?" Jack said, lifting the saddle off the horse. "If it wasn't you on my front porch last summer it would have been someone else. If you had flat out refused to come out here, your boss would have had someone else to do it in minutes."

I stepped back, not wanting to get in his way as he put away the saddle and stirrups and blanket and other bits and pieces I didn't know the names of. "You're right. Someone else would have come. Someone else did – David McMillan. But it's what you said at the motel, about me not having a conscience, about not feeling guilty –"

"I didn't mean that," Jack cut in."Blaze, I only said that because –"

"No, I know. It's not about whether you meant it or not. It's true. Or, it used to be true. I never did feel any guilt before I met you. I just thought there were rules and everyone needs to follow the rules or it isn't fair. I still think that. At least I think I do. But at what point does doing something like this – like what I do – at what point do I really get to avoid culpability? No one forced me to do this, you know. And I'm staying here with you now, and I'm seeing you on your land, in your house, checking your livestock. And I'm not a bystander, you know? I didn't just happen upon this situation. I work for the organization that's making it happen. I chose to work for them."

Jack was listening. Properly listening. When I was finished he nodded. "Yeah. You're right, you didn't just happen upon this situation. I look at you, Blaze – I look at you right now, all red-cheeked and gorgeous, telling me these things, respecting me enough to be honest, and it's all I can do not to rip my heart out of my chest and hand it to you on a platter. But then I think about what you're actually saying, and what's happening in my life and I wonder what the hell I'm doing. I wonder if I have some kind of self-destructive streak in me."

My teeth began to chatter at that point and Jack took my gloved hand. "We should get back to the house if we're going to have this conversation. If we stay out here any longer you're going to freeze."

We walked back to the house like that, hand in hand. I liked it. I liked him. I liked him so much I didn't know what to do with all the emotions.

"Hot chocolate?" Jack asked, after we'd peeled off our layers and left them in a heap beside the front door. "You look positively frost-bitten."

"How are you not frost-bitten?" I asked, surprised by his seeming imperviousness to the cold.

"Body mass, probably. I'm bigger than you. I eat more. Faster metabolism."

I chuckled. "You just made that up, didn't you?"

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe I did. But the cattle are always warm. Even on the coldest day they're like big, fuzzy heaters. I think it was Blackjack who told me that the bigger the animal the better it can handle cold weather. And I have no idea if he was right or not."

When the hot chocolate was ready, Jack set mine down on the kitchen table and sat down across from me.

"I called that bank last night – the one in Ireland."

"Did you?" I asked, perking up and then instantly deflating again when I saw the look on his face. I knew what he was going to say before he even said it.

"Yeah, nothing. No account in that name."

"Damnit. Damnit, Jack!"

I surprised myself a little with the vehemence of my response – only then realizing how much I'd been hoping that there might be some money for Jack, an amount big enough to at least help stave off the seizing of Sweetgrass Ranch or, even if it was still lost, to give Jack something to start the next chapter of his life with.

"It's OK," he said. "I wasn't expecting there to be anything there anyway. And realistically, even two hundred grand wouldn't have helped, would it? It's probably for the best – it means I can get this over with as quickly as possible, without false hope."

I looked at Jack, sitting there with his jaw set stoically and his refusal to break under the weight of something I knew damn well would have broken me ages ago, and felt a surge of admiration in my heart. I would have done anything to make him feel better, to make him feel cared for. And that's not to imply that what I did next had nothing to do with how absolutely hot he was, either, because it did.

There wasn't much thinking involved. I got up and went to him, straddling his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck because that's what I felt driven to do. The physical contact – the feeling of him between my legs and of his stubbly cheek against my neck, was intoxicating, better than any drug.

"Jack," I whispered, pulling his head in close to me when he kissed my neck.

His hands were everywhere, all at once, grasping one of my hips tightly and then splayed over my ass, pulling me down, hard, against him. It had been so long since I felt that rush with a man, that urgency, that I'd almost forgotten what it was like. With Jack, it was overwhelming. I couldn't even speak when he pulled away slightly and pushed my shirt up over my breasts.

"Blaze," he said, his voice thick and gruff as he pulled my shirt off and unhooked my bra. "Blaze, Jesus."

I cried out a little when he closed his mouth over one of my nipples, sending a little shock of pleasure down between my legs.

It wasn't enough. His mouth on my breasts wasn't enough. The feeling of our bodies against each other wasn't enough. I needed to be closer, to feel his skin. I pulled his t-shirt off over his head and wrapped my arms around his thick neck, closing my eyes and whimpering at the feeling of my bare breasts against that strong chest of his.

"Jack," I breathed, as he slid his hand down into my pants and caressed my ass. "Jack, I –"

"I know," he said. "I know."

I said it had been a long time since anyone made me feel the things that Jack made me feel in the Sweetgrass Ranch kitchen that day. In truth, I don't think I'd ever felt them. I'd felt desire, sure. I'd been horny. But Jack McMurtry made me crazy. He made it so I couldn't think, so there was nothing except the need for him to be as deep inside me as he could get. I stood up, unzipping my pants and yanking them roughly down my thighs as Jack ran his hands up my belly, cupping my breasts and looking at me with this expression in his eyes like he wanted to devour me whole.

When I was standing in front of him in only my panties, he looked up at me as he slid them down, leaning in to kiss my bare belly when I was naked. There was a moment there – not long, maybe a few seconds at most – when we just looked at each other. My body was weak, pliant with need. When I reached for Jack's belt he grabbed my wrists and held my hands off him.

"Wait."

"Jack," I said, my voice high-pitched and thin. "Jack, please."

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Blaze. Just – just give me a minute. I need to cool down or this is going to be – this is going to be over before it starts."

I knew what that meant. And unfortunately for Jack it had the exact opposite effect of what he intended. When I reached for his belt that time, he didn't stop me. He sat back, running his hands up and down my body, and watched me unbuckle him, unzip him, and pull his thick, hard cock out of his jeans.

That's what I needed. Him. I lifted one leg and Jack pulled me up onto his lap again. Our eyes met. His seemed darker than I remembered them, a stormy blue, searching my own. I lowered my hips and felt him, suddenly, against my inner thigh.

"Jack –"

"Blaze –" he breathed, gripping my hips and pushing me, guiding me down onto him. My whole body stiffened at the sensation, my back arching and my fists clenching against his burly shoulders.

I knew, at once, as soon as the feeling of being full of Jack McMurtry hit every nerve ending in my body, that I was not in control of myself. I wasn't. It was too much. He was too much. And at the same time, not enough. There was something there, something at that point when he was at his deepest, that needed it again, and again. That needed it harder, and faster.

I looked up into his eyes, almost emotional with how badly I needed him, and he smiled. "You're perfect, Blaze. You are – oh, Jesus, ohh Goddamn you feel good... Blaze. Baby..."

Jack was, in his own way, as lacking in control as I was. But his lack of control was purely male. It was strong and demanding and relentless and I felt like if we had been locked together until the end of time, I never would have gotten enough of it. I cried out his name as he lifted me up, and then pulled me back down again, because everything was starting to heighten, every sensation was becoming critical.

"Jack, oh – Jack!" I squeaked, leaning my head back and clutching at his shoulders.

"It's OK, Blaze. Baby, it's OK. Just let go. Let go..."

He knew what was coming – maybe even before I did. I wasn't used to coming so quickly – or so easily. But when he talked to me like that, urging me on, flicking his tongue over my nipple again and again, I felt the retreat of an ocean inside me, in preparation for the tidal wave. And when it came, I clung to him, pressing my face into his neck and moaning his name over and over and over as the bliss seared through my body.

Jack held me tight, watching me intently. He was very close – I could see it in his tense shoulders, hear it in his quick, ragged breaths and feel it in the way his hands grasped at my body, pulling me down against him.

"Jack," I whispered, leaning in and kissing his neck. "Jack, I want you to come."

His grip on my hips tightened as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I don't know what the word is to describe how it felt to watch him that first time, when before him all I'd been used to was boys. It had nothing to do with age, either. It had to do with the feeling in the air between us, the desperation inside me to please Jack, to make him smile, to make him content and happy and all of those things. I'd never felt it like that before that day – not even close.

And nothing had ever been sweeter than watching him lose it. He didn't take his eyes off me, not until the end when he dug his fingers into the flesh of my hips and held me down against him, pulling my mouth to his so he could curl his tongue between my lips as he filled me up.

"Blaze," he groaned, his voice strangled. "Oh, fuck, Blaze..."

I almost told him I loved him. The phrase bypassed my conscious mind completely, almost tumbling right off my tongue before I caught myself. And I didn't have time to think about where the hell it had come from – how wonderful he was in that moment, perhaps – how perfectly, intoxicatingly male – because the only object of my focus was Jack.

When we were coherent again, he caught my eye. "Well goddamn, Blaze Wilson."

"I think I needed that," I said, immediately a little shy about my boldness. Jack caught it.

"You're so cute when you're embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed!"

Jack rolled his eyes, but it was an affectionate eye-roll, not a sarcastic one. It was winter and we were in a draughty old house, so the heat in our bodies began to dissipate quickly. "Let's get you a blanket or something," Jack said, helping me up. "I don't want you to freeze."

As soon as I was on my feet I felt a warm, wet sensation between my legs.

"Oh!" I said, looking down, a little surprised even though I shouldn't have been.

"What?" Jack asked, leaning down and kissing my bare shoulder. His eyes followed my own gaze and he broke into a cocky grin. "Oh," he said, slipping one hand between my legs and holding it there for a few seconds. "Yeah, I guess I made kind of a mess of you."

I wanted to scold him. No, not him – myself. What a stupid thing to do, I wanted to say. Didn't they teach you about this kind of thing in seventh grade? But there was something in Jack's eyes, something primal and proprietary that I couldn't help but revel in. His wetness on my thighs made me feel like I was his. And I found I very much liked feeling like I belonged to Jack McMurtry. Not that I said any of that out loud. No, what I said out loud was that if there was even a chance we were going to do that again, we needed to go to the drug store and buy some condoms right away.

"Well," Jack said, "I guess we should drive into Little Falls right now."

"Yeah. But you look sleepy, Jack. Maybe we should have a nap first?"

We didn't even get fully dressed. Jack took my hand and led me upstairs to his bedroom where we crawled under the covers, nestled into each other, and drifted off sleep before there was even time to think about anything else.