Opposite of Frozen

by Jan O'Hara

  Page bit her lip. She had only been conscious a few hours, but this would be the third Danielle story of the night. And to think Mavis had been listening to old classroom stories for years.

  “Poor thing couldn’t tell left from right and got a delivery job for the summer,” Avis said, without waiting for a response. “So Danielle told her to use Kool-Aid to dye her armpit hair—the left, lavender, the right, red. Alliteration. Get it? Anyway, this girl had to wear tank tops all summer, but whenever her GPS gave her instructions, she lifted her arms high, like wings—” Avis demonstrated. “And she could figure out which way to turn the wheel. By the end of the summer she was completely trained. Wasn’t that clever?”

  Mavis hung up the phone and headed for the door. “Oliver is on his way.”

  Avis looked deflated from her sister’s lack of response and Page took pity on her. She grabbed Avis’s hand as she passed by the chair in order to join Mavis. “It’s blue and shaved in the shape of a star,” Page said.

  Avis brightened. “Truly?”

  Page nodded. So what if she was fibbing? The lady liked to collect oddities. It seemed such a simple way to repay her kindness.

  * * *

  ✽

  When Mavis led their visitor in with a, “Someone is anxious to see you,” Page regarded him with curiosity.

  The twins ceded the other armchair to Oliver and sat on the edge of the bed.

  So this was the man who’d taken Page out of the luggage crypt into the sunlight, and then into the welcoming warmth of the hotel. According to the twins, he was also holding everything together for the tour group while she recovered.

  For a savior-type, the guy was pretty darn sexy. Late twenties, with dark, glossy hair and the right amount of stubble. When he shed his coat, his blue cashmere sweater and jeans showed off a powerful build.

  If she had to meet a hottie while under the weather, Page would have preferred to do so with combed hair. Also, to be wearing something more flattering than fleece pajamas covered with yellow ducks. But stowaways could not be choosers.

  At least she was no longer being fed tea like a baby.

  “You held me on the luggage rack.” She’d meant it as a friendly opening, a prelude to her statement of gratitude, but her thick tongue wasn’t cooperating and the tone came out wrong.

  He stiffened. Behind the dark rims of his glasses, his sky-blue eyes went from concerned and curious, to guarded. “Yes, well, you’re heavier than you look, Miss Maddux.”

  In her peripheral vision, Page could see Mavis’s head come up, like a dog scenting danger.

  Avis drew a finger over her throat in a repeated beheading gesture.

  He ignored them, pushed the sleeves of his sweater up and completed a leisurely assessment of Page’s appearance.

  She had adopted the blue highlights in her hair for her last job as a receptionist in a tattoo parlor, but had since found them handy as a litmus test to detect snobbery. With his tone and the condescending sweep of his eyes, this guy, no matter how handsome, failed miserably.

  Another chill ravaged her body, and Page worked to unclench her teeth. “Call me Page.”

  She took another sip of tea and closed her eyes, both to savor the spreading warmth and get a momentary reprieve from his disapproval. This was why you had to guard against the type of casual intimacies offered by the twins; Oliver had every right to be annoyed with her, but after their kindness, it hurt so much more to be dismissed out of hand.

  “And you would be Oliver,” she prompted when he failed to follow through on the social niceties. “The man in charge of the tour bus I so shamelessly hijacked.”

  She opened her eyes, hoping he’d see the self-deprecation as a peace gesture, but he had his phone out and was thumbing the screen.

  “The same,” he said distractedly. His jaw firmed then he tossed his phone on the table, turning his gaze back to Page. It was like being at the receiving end of an open fire hose—cold and overwhelming. “Care to tell me why you were in my hold?”

  Even if he was genuinely interested in the answer, she suspected the truth would sound foolish to his ears. To keep a date with my family. If she was perfectly honest, now that she was thawing out, it sounded foolish to her own.

  Of course, she hadn’t expected to get in trouble, and once she had, she hadn’t expected her calls for help to be drowned out by camp songs. Nor had she expected to become the hypothermic middle of an older-female sandwich.

  She shrugged and opted for the short version. “You were heading to Golden, I was low on cash.”

  He stretched one arm over the back of the chair. “How did you get past us?”

  “You were chasing a cat from the bus. I saw an opportunity.”

  “So you risked your life for a few bucks.”

  The phone danced and buzzed on the table between them. He looked at the number and clicked a button, presumably sending the caller to voicemail.

  Some imp made Page want to confirm his low opinion of her. “Pretty much.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” she said.

  “You didn’t consider asking for a lift?”

  “Not really.” What were the chances he’d let someone like her rub up against his oldsters?

  “Well, you’ve had a traumatic experience,” Oliver said, sounding anything but sympathetic. The phone danced again. He frowned and glanced at it, put it in his pocket this time.

  “Am I keeping you from something important?” Page said politely.

  A spark leapt into his eyes. “Now look, honey, as a matter of fact—”

  “Let’s all take a deep breath,” Mavis said, head swiveling between the two of them. She shot Oliver a warning glance. “What Oliver means to say, Page, is that you need family right now. Is there someone local we can call for you?”

  Page tilted her chin. “No.”

  “You didn’t ask where we are,” Oliver pointed out.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Avis patted Page’s hand.

  “I see.” He pushed back to lean against the armchair and folded his arms over his sweater-clad chest.

  It was a nicely built chest—a broad chest, if it housed an inadequate heart. The silence dragged as he clearly pegged her for a self-destructive thrill-seeker rather than an orphan. She was fine with that, she told herself.

  “Can I be frank with you?” he eventually said. “You’ve put me in a bind. I have fifty-one seniors who aren’t getting the tour experience they were promised.” He looked pointedly at the twins. “The doctor—”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Page said, “but you’re behind schedule because of the breakdown. Go after the genius who chartered an unreliable bus.” Something flickered in his eyes. Ah. The man did have a chink in his armor.

  “We could have recovered from that,” Oliver said.

  She tilted her chin. “Then please do.”

  “The doctor says you need observation,” Oliver said. “If you won’t allow us to call anyone and won’t go to the hospital, that means we’re stuck here. And Mavis, generous as she might be, is stuck on nurse duty.”

  That stung. So she was heavy, irresponsible, inconsiderate, and unwanted.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Page said. “I’m fine.” Another inconvenient shudder swept through her. “I absolve you of all responsibility for me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My, you two are like spitting cats,” Avis said tentatively.

  “Then you’ll have no objection to signing this.” Oliver drew a sheaf of papers from a pocket in his jacket. He placed them triumphantly in front of Page.

  It was a contract, Page could see, right down to the legal-sized paper and the blue, triangular document corner holding the staple.

  Mavis gasped. “Oliver! What on earth?”

  And Page thought she was cold before.

  While the twins gaped at him, Oliver’s cheeks turned ruddy under his tan. “It’s only a stat
ement that she won’t hold Shastavista liable for her personal experiment.”

  “She can’t sign that now,” Mavis said.

  “Why not?” he asked bluntly.

  “Have you looked at her?” Mavis demanded. “She’s not well!”

  “The doc said she’s competent, didn’t he?” Oliver said. “Enough to refuse the hospital.”

  “That’s fair,” Avis said. “Either she’s too sick to make that decision, or she’s well enough to sign the contract.”

  “I don’t care. Page, don’t sign that.” Mavis tried to pull the document out of Page’s hands but anger proved to be a strong motivator. Page hung on until Mavis reluctantly sank onto the ottoman.

  The document appeared to be what Oliver said—no more, no less. It absolved one Shawn Morgan Pike, whoever that was, one Oliver William Pike, and all employees or agents of Shastavista Travel Company from the consequences of Page’s ill-fated adventure.

  Page held out her hand. “Give me a pen.”

  Oliver produced one as Mavis clucked her disapproval.

  Page initialed each sheet of the contract—no easy feat with hands that continued to tremble. She signed the last page. Then, holding Oliver’s gleaming, avaricious eyes, she ripped off the signature page and stuffed it down the front of her pajama top.

  His eyes blazed with blue fire and roamed over her chest.

  If the twins hadn’t been there, she was suddenly certain he’d be wrestling her for it. She let the set of her chin dare him to try. “You’ll have it as soon as I get what’s owed me.”

  Oliver rose and towered over her. His eyes narrowed to slits. A palpable aura of danger emanated from him, and Avis’s hand climbed to her mouth.

  Page refused to blink.

  “What’s owed to you,” he repeated. “What’s owed to you?”

  “My backpack,” she said simply. “It’s made of blue paisley fabric.”

  A wrinkle appeared between his brows. “Lady, I don’t know what your game is—”

  “No game. I just want what’s mine. My backpack,” she repeated.

  “We had to comb through the entire hold to fix your mess,” Oliver said. “There was no backpack. And trust me, we were looking. I wanted your ID in case your blue-hair-brained scheme got you killed.” He ended the speech on a roar, his chest heaving.

  “Oliver, I’d listen,” Avis cautioned. “She had one in Edmonton.”

  Oliver rounded on Avis. “Then she dumped it along with her common sense, because I’m telling you, it’s not there.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” Page said quietly. Three heads swiveled in her direction and she almost laughed at their nearly-identical expressions of confusion. “The first man who got to me stole it.”

  She thought she’d felt helpless before, slipping into unconsciousness in the dark din of the bus. That was nothing compared to the moment of false rescue, when someone who looked kind had smiled at her, patted her cheek, and made off with her belongings.

  “Except for the money in my bra, everything I value in the world was in my backpack.” Page’s voice caught. “My ID, my clothing, my journal.” My connection to my family. She could let go of everything but that.

  “You’re accusing my driver?” Oliver said. “The man who practically saved your l—”

  “The guy with the coveralls and sideburns?” Page shook her head. “The man before him.”

  “My driver reached you first.”

  Once more, she shook her head. “It was one of your oldsters.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  “And what did this…thief look like?” Oliver clearly didn’t believe her. He was indulging her.

  “Mid-sixties. Had a fringe of gray hair.” She drew an imaginary half-circle on her scalp. “And lying blue eyes.”

  “Except for the eyes part, that describes a quarter of my passengers,” Oliver said.

  But this detail wouldn’t.

  “He was wearing a blue sports coat,” Page said. “No hat, no gloves, no scarf. Just a blue sports coat and navy dress pants. Oh, and natty wing-tipped shoes.”

  “You’re saying an inappropriately dressed man got into the locked hold. Then he took your backpack and left, without any witnesses?” Oliver shook his head. “The workings of a hypothermic brain.” Oliver looked at Mavis, obviously hoping she’d concur.

  Page couldn’t blame him for scoffing but she knew what she’d seen. “My blue paisley backpack. And he’s not a thief. He’s a vulture. Last time I checked, carrion birds don’t need parkas and mitts. So there you have it. Find my backpack and we’ll part ways.”

  Until then, judging by the look in his eyes, he’d have to continue to wish she’d been finished off by the cold.

  Chapter 4

  Compassion first, then go for the jugular.

  When preparing Oliver to deal with Page, Oliver’s lawyer had been very specific with his advice. Oliver was to be the manifestation of attentiveness and concern. His job was to make Page feel heard and special long before mentioning anything to do with legal matters. But had Oliver listened? Had Oliver empathized? Had Oliver thought of what Shawn’s business needed? Or had Oliver become intent on protecting his own ego?

  As he closed the door to Mrs. Arbuckle’s suite behind him, Oliver massaged his left temple, where the baseline throbbing had intensified. He was alone in the corridor, so he permitted himself a quick wink and blink at the wall opposite. Thankfully, despite the day’s exploits, nothing had changed. He was still blind, but only in the usual places.

  He headed to the stairwell, hoping to burn off some frustration before checking on the crew.

  True, Page had started off with that crack about Oliver’s physical prowess, but he’d given in to defensiveness and botched his response. Now, they had an adversarial relationship, making it more likely she’d seek legal redress. People sued all the time for the most trivial of reasons, including wounded pride.

  Especially wounded pride.

  Oliver should know.

  Then there had been that bomb she dropped at the end. Page might be a flake and self-destructive, but what if she’d been telling the truth about the thief?

  Oliver flashed on an image of her, dignified and resolute while shivering in fluffy pajamas. That was the look of unshakable conviction.

  So…okay. The encounter hadn’t been a total waste. If they had a thief on the tour, Page had given Oliver an opportunity to find and eject him before he victimized the other seniors.

  Which brought Oliver back to problem-solving. He needed to find Buck.

  Oliver exited the stairwell on the ground floor and looked around to get his bearings.

  For a small town hotel, the Thurston had a surprising number of amenities. Oliver had already made use of their business center, which was adjacent to the administrative offices. There was also a small library, a gift shop, and a lounge, which boasted a tiny stage. Even an old-fashioned bar with pool tables.

  And everywhere was the sense of old-world charm that was almost European in flavor. The wood accents were mahogany, the carpets a soothing navy blue, and the well-trained staff were deferential, and easily identified by their emerald-trimmed uniforms.

  As Oliver poked his head into each venue, it was clear his tour group was having an overwhelming effect on the Thurston. Seniors and their paraphernalia cluttered the lobby and most every other area of the hotel. Hopefully they wouldn’t outwear their welcome before Oliver had a chance to impose upon the manager.

  Mrs. Arbuckle was in the Alberta Rose Coffee Shop, having tea with a few of his women passengers. She had shed her mink coat and was chatting animatedly, but she looked weary. How long before she tired of having her room taken over?

  Oliver sighed and moved on. He found Buck in the Foothills Dining Room, about to dig into a giant steak and baked potato, complete with trimmings.

  “We need to talk,” Oliver said as his stomach rumbled.

  Buck gazed longingly at his plate, but pushed back from the table
and followed Oliver without a word of reproach.

  Oliver found a quiet nook, where they would be out of the servers’ way and couldn’t be overheard by the seniors. They’d had such a bad day already, he didn’t want to advertise its potential to worsen.

  “We have a problem,” Oliver said without prelude.

  Buck smiled. “Oh, good. She reached you, then.”

  Oliver blinked. “Who reached me?”

  Buck looked baffled. “Sylvie, of course.”

  “Sylvie?” The name sounded familiar. Oliver ran mentally through the list of seniors and couldn’t produce an image. But then, he only knew a third of them, if that.

  “The tour guide. In Golden?” Buck prompted. “She tried me when she couldn’t get through to you. She said you weren’t answering your phone.”

  When Oliver had been blowing it with Page, Sylvie had been the source of all those long-distance calls? Oliver had assumed it was Bart, his ex-teammate.

  “Oh, that Sylvie,” Oliver said. “I was about to phone and ask her to meet us here.”

  The original plan had called for the bus to make Golden tonight, where Buck would switch with his relief driver and Sylvie would join Oliver, to help with tour guide responsibilities. The next day they would head for Vancouver. From there, they would journey south as scheduled, along the west coast. Exactly one week from today, they would reach Los Angeles and put the seniors aboard a cruise ship to Mexico, whereupon Oliver’s job would be complete. He, Sylvie and the bus driver would return home, hopefully with enough glowing reviews to cement Shawn’s business reputation.

  But Oliver wanted Sylvie here now. He needed the help.

  “Then you won’t like this,” Buck said. “There’s some kind of problem. She wants to discuss it with you.”

  That made two of them!

  Oliver forced himself to take a few deep breaths before responding. “I’ll handle it. But back to the reason I came looking for you.” Oliver filled Buck in on the news of the thief, and that it would be hard to free themselves of Page until they’d restored her belongings to her.