Thanks to the howling wind, the entire barn rattles, and images of being stuck in Oz come to mind. They say counting sheep when one can’t sleep helps with insomnia, and I wonder if literally counting them, seeing as I’m surrounded by them, works the same way.
My teeth chatter because no matter how hard I try to keep warm, a constant chill envelops me. I shuffle closer toward the bales, hoping they’ll provide some warmth, but the only thing that will do that is a blanket or…the warmth of another body.
And when that is presented to me, I can’t stop the contented sigh which slips past my lips.
I am incased in his warmth, his smell, and everything that is Saint. He lies behind me, ensuring not to touch, but he’s close enough that I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. Instantly, the
