My Secret Santa Clayton (Silver Ridge Christmas)

16. Grace

SIXTEEN

Grace

The world went sideways.

Tires squealed a protest against the slick asphalt as I fought with the steering wheel, my heart hammering a frantic beat in my chest. The car careened down the hill, snow and gravel kicking up a storm around us.

We were going to die.

We were going to die like this, all because I wanted to go for a joy ride…

…and then we skidded to a stop.

Safe .

A hand grabbed my shoulder. “Grace, you okay?”

I blinked hard, reality snapping back into focus. Clay's blue eyes were fixed on me, wide with concern, not even a hint of his usual frostiness. “Yeah,” I gasped. “God, I'm sorry, Clay. That was too close?—”

“Hey.” His grip tightened, just a fraction. “Not your fault. This weather's a beast. But listen…my cabin's just around that bend. We need to get there before this storm gets any worse. I know you wanted to get home, but?—”

“Okay.” My words came out in a shaky exhale. Trusting him was my only option.

So I put the car into gear, focusing on the winding path ahead.

The snow fell thicker now, a relentless veil of white that threatened to swallow us whole. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel, my hands clenching so tight they were almost numb.

“Nice and easy,” he muttered from beside me, and I realized then that his calm was just as strained as my attempt at control.

“Doing my best here,” I shot back.

We rounded the final curve and a cabin appeared, blurry in the snow. Its windows glowed a welcoming orange, like lanterns in the fog. A big dog, the one that had nearly given me a heart attack in the woods, barked at our arrival, jumping in the window.

“Home sweet home,” Clay said.

I put the car in park, and I felt the first tremor of apprehension.

I was about to get snowed in with Clay. It wouldn’t be the first time…but every other time had led to us getting naked together, and I didn’t know how I felt about that.

He was out first, boots crunching on the crisp snow. He led the way up the porch steps and I followed, my own steps less assured as the cold bit through my layers.

We burst into the house together, warmth enveloping us immediately, Clay’s dog prancing around my legs. Just as I started to shake off the chill, the wind howled, and the lights flickered once...twice...

…then darkness swallowed everything whole.

“Shit,” Clay cursed. “Sorry…electricity’s spotty out here.”

“Welcome to the mountains,” I murmured.

“Stay put,” he instructed. “I'll get some candles.”

“Got it.” I did as I was told, listening to the sounds of him rummaging through drawers and cabinets. The intimacy of being alone with Clay, surrounded by shadows and silence, was disarming.

I wasn't sure if I wanted the lights to stay off or not.

“Hey,” I whispered, feeling the big dog nudge my hand with his nose. I knelt down beside him in the shadows and he licked my hand enthusiastically, his tail thumping against the floor. “You're a good boy, aren't you?”

“Found some,” Clay called from the other room. Soon enough, the soft glow of candlelight flickered across the walls as he set them around the room. “Let’s get a fire going.”

“Okay,” I said. “What can I…”

He seemed to already be on it—no help necessary. The sound of logs being arranged and the scrape of a match striking soon followed. Flames licked across the firewood in the hearth, illuminating Clay’s broad shoulders against the fireplace. He was focused, looking every bit the mountain man in his element as he turned around to look at me.

“Getting to know Bear?” he asked.

I smiled, coming closer. “Yeah. He’s quite the welcoming committee.”

“Yeah…he’s the best,” Clay grinned.

He bent to open up a wooden chest by the fireplace, then pulled out a plush blanket.

“Here.” He held it out to me and I came closer to take it. “Wrap up. It'll be cozy in no time.”

“Thanks.” I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, settling near the fire. The heat seeped into my bones, the crackling flames a soothing symphony compared to the storm's howl outside. Bear came over and cuddled up next to me, letting out a contented sigh.

It was downright cozy.

But as I looked around, something started to feel off. It was cozy, yeah, but the cabin felt...empty. Bare walls, functional furniture, no personal touches. It was like stepping into the home of a man who didn't want to be reminded that he had a past—or hoped for a future.

“Clay,” I started, then hesitated. His back was to me as he poked at the fire. “Why do you live out here all by yourself?”

He paused, poker hovering above the embers. “It's quiet,” he finally said. “Helps me think.”

I didn’t ask for more. He didn’t seem interested in elaborating.

Clay moved around the cabin, gathering supplies—a few more candles, extra blankets, and then he came back with a bottle of wine. He knelt beside me and held it up. “In case we need to stay warm?”

My eyebrow arched. “Not sure if that’s such a good idea.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “We had fun the other night, didn't we? Besides,” he gestured vaguely to the windows where snow pelted against the glass, “not like we’ve got anywhere to be.”

“Point taken,” I conceded, watching him uncork the bottle. The scent of wine filled the space between us, rich and earthy.

“Here.” Clay handed me a glass, the deep red liquid swirling dangerously close to the edge. “Don't spill. This rug cost…well, it was free.”

“Oh, I would never ruin your free rug,” I quipped, accepting the drink as I patted the floor beside me. “Join me. It's warmer by the fire, and Bear can only do so much.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before lowering himself down next to me, leaving just enough space so our knees weren’t touching. But not for lack of wanting—I could feel the heat radiating from him.

“Cheers,” I said, holding up my glass.

“Cheers,” he replied, clinking his against mine.

We both took a sip, and I watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. It was quiet for a moment, just the crackling of the fire and the storm outside contesting for dominance. Then he spoke up.

“About the other night, at the inn...” He trailed off, looking into the fire rather than at me. “Thanks for stepping in with my dad.”

“Ah, it was nothing.” I waved my hand dismissively. “I could handle him.”

“Still,” he insisted, “he doesn’t like me telling him what to do. In fact…I’m pretty sure he wishes I was dead.”

My mouth went dry and I took another swig of wine to try to get my head back together. Jesus. That was heavy.

“He’s still angry at you for Michael?” I asked quietly.

Clay sighed. “Don’t think he’ll ever stop.”

“Clay, you know that's not on you, right?” I reached out, placing my hand over his. His skin was rough, calloused from years of hard work, but the warmth was welcome.

“Maybe,” he grunted, “but that doesn't make it any easier to live with.”

“Look at me.” I waited until those blue eyes met mine—there was so much pain in them. “You can't carry that weight forever.”

He shrugged, pulling his hand away. He took his own sip of wine, his eyes warm in the firelight. “Some things don't just shake off, Grace.”

The fire popped, sending a small cascade of sparks up the chimney. Bear, who'd been lying by our feet, lifted his head briefly before settling back down with a heavy sigh.

“Clay, we were both there that day. We couldn't have known. It happened too fast,” I said, my voice soft but firm. I looked down into the dancing flames, feeling the weight of my own memories pressing in on me. Clay’s twin brother Michael, his head bleeding on the deck of a stolen boat…Sierra screaming, sobbing.

Clay’s voice brought me back to the present. “He deserved a good life.”

That hit me hard—and I reached out, touched him again. “You do too.”

“Thank you for saying that.” His voice was low, almost lost to the crackling of the fire. He looked over at me…and his gaze dropped to my mouth. Our faces were mere inches apart, closer than I'd initially realized.

“Is there something on my face?” I asked, self-consciously touching my lips.

“Why?” His eyes didn’t move. He was fixated on my lips.

“You're staring,” I breathed.

“Sorry,” he murmured, but he didn't look away. Instead, his hand came up, thumb brushing against my lower lip. “You had a little bit of wine there.”

My heart thudded once, hard, like it was trying to break free from my chest. His touch lingered, sending a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cold. In the dim light, I saw the slight curve of his lips, and then he was moving closer.

“Clay—” I started, but the word got caught somewhere between my brain and my mouth…because he was touching me.

His other hand found the side of my face, fingers cool against my skin. He tilted my chin up.

His lips found mine.

It wasn't a question or a gentle request—it was a claim, confident and sure. My eyes fluttered shut as I gave in to the kiss, to the taste of red wine that lingered on both our lips, to the feel of him so close. The world narrowed down to this tiny cabin, to the warmth of the fire, and to Clay, whose hands now cradled my face as if it were something precious.

I responded instinctively, the snowstorm, the blackout, my past all falling away. There was just Clay—his taste, his warmth, his surprising gentleness. His kiss turned deeper, and I leaned into it, into him. My own hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid weight of him beneath his shirt.

“Grace...” he whispered against my lips, a sound that made my name seem like a secret only he knew how to tell.

“Clay,” I whispered back, not caring anymore about being tough or witty.

Here, in the glow of a dying fire, with the storm howling outside and the world miles away, I let myself be vulnerable.

Just Grace. Just for a moment. Just for him.