Snowed In

by Cassie Miles

  “And I should get busy with it,” she said. “There’s not much daylight left.”

  “A suggestion,” he said. “Let’s put the senator in charge of snow removal.”

  She didn’t like the idea. Recruiting guests went against her practices as an innkeeper, even though she hadn’t hesitated to give Blake the fireplace responsibility. “I don’t think so.”

  “He’s a guy,” Blake said. “All guys—even senators—like to play with cool equipment. He’s from California. When does he get to use a snowblower?”

  “It’d be nice if I didn’t have to worry about the snow piling up,” she admitted.

  “Here’s the best part,” Blake said with a grin. “The physical activity might make him too tired to argue.”

  “You’re very persuasive.”

  “So I’ve been told.” He leaned close enough to give her a kiss on the cheek but didn’t. “I’ll get him started.”

  “I have one more thing I need your help with.”

  She led him up the staircase to the second floor and then onward and upward to the third-floor dormitory where the band was staying. If the blizzard tomorrow made the roads impassable, she’d put the caterer and his staff up here, too. Before reaching the top of the stairs, she called out, “Is everybody decent?”

  “Not for years,” came the reply. “But come on up.”

  The guitar player sat cross-legged on a chair by the dormer window. Guitar in hand, he lightly strummed. The other two sprawled on their bellies on the beds. They all made welcoming noises.

  “I need to get into storage,” she said.

  “Can we help?”

  “Thanks, but I think this is a one-man job.”

  She unfastened the combination lock and opened a door that was almost unnoticeable in the pine-paneled wall. Under the eaves were several boxes, taped and neatly labeled. Some were Christmas ornaments. Others held lights, bedding, books and miscellaneous stuff. A full-length mirror leaned horizontally against the inner wall. Not a lovely piece of furniture, it was only a mirror in a simple wood frame with a brace against the back that made it freestanding. It should suit Rebecca’s needs.

  The mirror was heavier than she’d thought and more unwieldy, but she and Blake managed to get it downstairs. She knocked on the door to the wardrobe bedroom.

  Emily’s mother answered right away. Her husband stood at the window, staring out at the snow with his hands clasped behind his back.

  Sarah had the feeling that she might have interrupted an intense conversation. “I brought the mirror.”

  “Wonderful,” Rebecca said with a bit too much enthusiasm. “I know it isn’t really necessary. There’s a mirror on the bathroom door, after all. But I wanted Emily to have a chance to see how lovely she is in her gown.”

  “I’m anxious to see it,” Sarah said.

  “And your dress, too. I hope it fits. There really isn’t time for alterations.”

  Sarah had recently discovered a distant cousin who was an excellent seamstress, but she lived too far away to make the trek to the B and B with the blizzard coming. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  Rebecca unzipped a garment bag that was lying on the bed and took out a floor-length gown in emerald-green satin. The design and fabric were more formal than anything Sarah had ever worn in her life. She swallowed hard. “I’m not sure I can pull this off.”

  “Of course you can. You’ll be stunning.”

  Hank Layton turned away from the window and came toward her. “Sarah, I hope you know how much we appreciate all that you’re doing for us. These threats are...unfortunate.”

  “The situation is under control,” Blake said. “The sheriff’s department has the kidnapper in custody.”

  “Any clue about his motive?”

  “He’s still unconscious,” Blake said.

  “I meant what I said earlier.” The tone of his voice was warm and somehow conveyed a note of sincerity that was a plus for a politician. “This could be my fault. I’ve gotten a number of threats.”

  “Yes, dear,” his wife said. “I’m sure you have just as many enemies as the general.”

  “Dangerous individuals,” Hank said, “the haters and the doubters, the survivalists and the anti-environmentalists, and even Nazis.”

  Sarah really hoped he wouldn’t go off on the Nazi track with the general. Though Hank’s concerns might be based on facts, his conspiracy theories sounded preposterous. “We don’t know who’s responsible,” she said.

  “If I’ve brought this danger into your home, I’m sorry.” He took her hand in both of his and gave a gentle squeeze. “We should have had the wedding at our place.”

  Rebecca gave him a fond, indulgent smile. “Apparently, the Nazis don’t have our address.”

  “Senator, I have a way you can be helpful,” Blake said. “Have you ever run a snowblower?”

  Hank brightened. “I’m good with machinery.”

  “Get your jacket, and we’ll get started.”

  “This is the kind of Western experience I wanted,” Hank said, “being outdoors and battling the elements.”

  “Don’t be late for dinner,” Rebecca said. She handed the maid of honor dress to Sarah. “You should try this on tonight.”

  Before Blake left the room with the senator, he gave her a grin. “I can’t wait to see you in the gown, princess.”

  All she needed was a tiara...and glass slippers.

  Chapter Fourteen

  At ten o’clock, Sarah stood in front of the mirror on her bathroom door admiring the liquid flow of emerald satin when she whirled to the right and looked over her shoulder. The gown didn’t show a lot of skin, and the long sleeves were fitted all the way to the wrist with a series of tiny, pearl buttons that had been really hard to fasten. Another set of buttons went up the fitted bodice over her breasts. The satin draped from a high waist. An Empire waist? Her cousin Gabriella could have told her. Sarah whirled again. By definition, the maid of honor dress shouldn’t outshine the bride, but this floor-length gown was spectacular.

  She’d brushed her hair to a high sheen and swept it up into a loose ponytail that she’d fastened with an antique silver clip. After trying several necklaces and earrings, she’d decided that none of her clunky turquoise-and-silver jewelry looked right. This gown begged for something as sparkling and precious as the crown jewels.

  Throughout the evening and dinner, Blake had been dropping princess references every time he got her alone. In the pantry when he was helping her carry the pies for dessert, he’d said, “I want to see you in that dress.”

  “You’ll have to wait until the ceremony.”

  “There’s no rule against seeing the maid of honor before the wedding.”

  “I guess not.”

  “Tonight,” he said, “around ten.”

  She hoped she hadn’t misinterpreted his cues about getting all dressed up. If she opened the door to her bedroom and found him standing there in sweatpants, it was going to be a major disappointment.

  She watched as the numbers on the digital bedside clock flashed on ten. What if he didn’t come at all? It wouldn’t be the first time her fantasies had outpaced reality. When it came to love and relationships, she was better at imagining what could have been. Only once had she lived with a guy. That romance ended when her semester at college was over and she came back home for the summer. She’d never had a serious relationship while she was running the B and B, probably because she was too busy and too bossy.

  One of her greatest fears was that she’d never leave Bentley’s, that she’d grow old here—old, withered and alone. It had been different with her mom because she married young and always had her husband to stand beside her. Dad had been smart enough to work outside the B and B as an English teacher at the high school. Before they
left, he’d worried that they were giving Sarah too much responsibility too soon. He’d like to see her settled down with a couple of kids of her own.

  The numbers on the clock showed 10:10 p.m. She paced to the window, where the snow seemed to have abated, then crossed the room without looking in the mirror.

  When she heard a rap on the door, she gasped. Practical pessimism told her not to expect too much. But she wanted to believe this would be a magical night, wanted so badly to believe.

  Her hand rested on the doorknob. Her fingers were trembling. She yanked it open.

  Blake stood there in a black suit with a white shirt and a striped silk necktie. In one hand, he held a bottle of Burgundy wine and two glasses with stems. In the other, he held a vibrant red rose. He clicked his heels and bowed.

  “May I come in, Sarah?”

  Speechless, she took a couple of steps backward. Unaccustomed to high heels, her feet were clumsy. Nonetheless, she bobbed a curtsy. “Welcome.”

  Her bedroom was the largest in the house, decorated in shades of slate-blue and cream. Like every room, it had hardwood floors and area rugs and was spotlessly clean. A beaded little chandelier over the bed added a sense of feminine whimsy. Her queen-size bed frame was dark wood, carved with antique-looking curlicues, and there was a cozy reading chair in one corner. Beside the window that looked out toward the front entrance, there was a small round table where she sometimes sat and had her morning coffee. He placed the wine and glasses on the table.

  She didn’t recognize the label on the bottle. It wasn’t from her stock. “Where did you get that?”

  “From a family vineyard in France,” he said. “I was going to take it to the bachelor party, but I think beer goes better with strippers. And I wanted something special for you.”

  He placed the red rose beside the wine and turned to her. He took each of her hands and held them wide as his gaze swept from her head to her toes. “You’re beautiful.”

  Happiness bubbled up inside her. She could feel a warm flush spreading from her throat to her cheeks. She felt beautiful. “Thank you.”

  “And the dress isn’t half-bad.”

  “I thought you might be wearing your uniform,” she said.

  “Didn’t bring it. Jeremy and I decided we’d go with regular suits.” He hesitated. “I’m glad you caught my hint about the gown. I must have stood on the other side of your bedroom door for five minutes before I got up the courage to knock.”

  “Why would you be nervous?”

  Still holding both her hands, he moved her around the room. “I’ve been in the army for a long time, much of it deployed. I haven’t had much experience with proper relationships.”

  “Only the improper ones? A different woman in every port?”

  “That’s a myth.”

  “Really?”

  “Mostly a myth,” he said. “Now that I’m close to being retired, I see things differently. I want tonight to be something to remember.”

  He settled her in the padded chair beside the table, and she carefully smoothed the satin across her lap. “Well, here we are. All dressed up with nowhere to go.”

  “Where would you like to be?” he asked.

  “Someplace far away and exotic.”

  He produced a Swiss Army knife with a corkscrew attachment and went to work on the bottle. “It’s a great idea for you to travel. You could write it off as promotional expense.”

  “And who would run this place while I was gone?”

  “You could find somebody to take over for a couple of weeks.”

  It was true. She could work something out. Her exile at Bentley’s B and B was mostly self-imposed. “Where’s the best hotel you’ve ever stayed?”

  He opened the wine and poured. “The most opulent was in Morocco, with soaring ceilings, high arches and mosaics in exotic colors. The food was rich, fresh and beautifully prepared.”

  “Just like my blueberry muffins.”

  He lifted his glass in a toast. “Here’s to being exactly where I want to be right now.”

  “With exactly the right clothes,” she added.

  “And the perfect company.”

  He sat in the chair opposite her, and they talked while they sipped the rich red wine. Blake had traveled all over the world and had a great eye for details. He said he’d given up taking photos because he wanted to experience the sounds and smells and tastes.

  When she looked down and saw the pearl wrist buttons of her emerald gown, she was struck by how strange it was that they were having this civilized conversation. They’d been in danger together. He’d seen her wearing a bra on her head. She’d honked his nose. But their conversation felt like opening the pages of a book, getting to know each other beyond the first impressions. She heard the warmth in his voice when he talked about his family and the sorrow when he spoke of fallen comrades.

  And she told him all about her strange family history, starting in the mid-1800s with the bigamous Frenchman. Some of her projects with her nonprofit organization to preserve the forest seemed dull until he pointed out that learning new conservation tactics gave her another reason to travel.

  “To the next destination.” She raised her wineglass in another toast. “You’ve probably had your fill of travel.”

  “Just because I’m retiring doesn’t mean I plan to spend the rest of my life sitting in a rocking chair on the porch. I’m only thirty-five. I need a second career.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “The stuff that’s happened around here over the past few days has given me some ideas.”

  “Law enforcement,” she guessed. “You’d be a good deputy or a detective. What did you hear from Kovak?”

  “Franks is still unconscious, but the detectives in Denver have some background. He’s divorced, lives alone and he owns a couple of businesses, including a shooting range and gun shop.”

  She shuddered. “Do you think he’s a gun nut going after the senator?”

  “We won’t know until he wakes up and starts talking. And there’s one more thing. Ten days ago, he had a twenty-five-thousand-dollar deposit from a bank in the Caymans.”

  “Someone hired him to do the kidnapping.”

  “Franks said he was scared of the person who hired him. That doesn’t mean much. He’s a cowardly little weasel.”

  “An offshore bank account sounds like big-time.” She was imagining crime bosses and international thugs.

  “But they didn’t pay top dollar. And Franks isn’t the best hit man money can buy.”

  Sipping her wine, she listened as he drifted from one thought to another in a sort of free association. His deep voice was soothing and exciting at the same time. She asked, “Your conclusion?”

  “This isn’t an organized threat. We’re dealing with someone who used Franks to reach out and take a slap.”

  “Why would anyone do this?” When he reached out with the wine bottle, she waved him off. She’d had just enough to feel pleasantly intoxicated. “What did they hope to accomplish with a bomb?”

  “Pain,” he said as he finished off his wine. “Bombs are meant to cause damage and inflict pain.”

  He stood and stretched. His long arms reached the ceiling. While they had been talking, he’d loosened his necktie. He reached out toward her. “If there was music, I’d ask you to dance.”

  “I can take care of that.”

  Using a remote control, she turned on her private sound system that was set to play the classical music she used to fall asleep. The volume was set to low and she turned it up a bit. She wasn’t worried about disturbing the other guests. The only other people staying in this wing were Emily and Jeremy, and they were so wrapped up in being together that Sarah could have set off fireworks and they wouldn’t notice.

  Blake too
k her in his arms as the lilting cadence of a waltz filled the bedroom. Her head tilted back and she gazed into his deep blue eyes. Even in her high heels, she was considerably shorter than he was. He twirled her in the limited space and lowered her into a dip. His face was only inches from hers. Leaning down, he lightly kissed her lips.

  When he pulled her upright, she rested her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyelids. Her imagination spun a fantasy of a ballroom filled with mirrors and every surface reflected her emerald gown. Tonight was magical, and she had a feeling that it was about to get better.

  He lifted her off her feet for a twirl, and then placed her on the edge of her bed. Kneeling before her, he took off her right shoe and glided his hand up her ankle and down to her arch. He did the same with the other foot. She was Cinderella in reverse.

  She patted the bed beside her. “Join me.”

  Before she knew what was happening, they were stretched out on her quilt, side by side. “Be careful of the dress,” she said. “I don’t want to wreck it before the ceremony.”

  “You’re right. We should probably take it off.” The fairy tale was about to turn real. Though she hadn’t planned it this way, she was ready to make love. Lying on her back, she held up her wrists as though she was wearing manacles. “Undo these buttons first. They’re complicated.”

  “Not yet.”

  He leaned over her. Without touching the dress, he kissed her. His lips slid across hers, and he tasted sweet like the Burgundy wine. She arched toward him, yearning to feel his body against hers but not wanting to wrinkle the gown. With her tongue, she traced the line of his full lower lip.

  The strains of classical violins urged her toward more contact, but he held her down as he straddled her body, again being careful not to wrinkle the dress. He lifted her wrist and unfastened the tiny pearl buttons. Holding her gaze, he did the other sleeve. Then he pinned both arms above her head and thoroughly kissed her again.

  Excitement raced through her blood. Forget about the dress. She wanted him, needed to feel the weight of his big, masculine body pressed against hers. She struggled to free her arms.