by Taylor Hart
Jake let out a low whistle. “Okay, but keep your head down and stay out of the headlines. We need to have the owners completely convinced that Roman Young is ready to take his rightful place leading the team next season.”
“I’ll be back in a day or two tops.”
“I’m holding you to it. You’re not the only one that gets a windfall when you sign a contract.” He let out a whoop. “Back to the top, Roman Young..... that’s where you’re headed.”
Roman leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes. The whirlwind of his football career flashed before his eyes. After graduating from T & M he’d gone straight to the Destroyers, touted as the top draft pick that year. The Destroyers had paid big for Roman Young, and he’d paid out for them—in spades. He’d taken them to the top and won it for them for three consecutive years. He had felt unstoppable during that time. It was like nothing could go wrong. He’d been the sweetheart of the media and the whole state of Texas.
He’d met Sheena, his ex-wife, at one of the highbrow parties that football players go to and where there are lots of women. Especially the crazy kind.
Roman had always liked women, but he’d only ever had one girlfriend all through college. The funny thing was that when he’d signed on to the Destroyers, she’d dumped him. She’d told him that she didn’t like the person he was becoming.
How could she not like that he was becoming freaking rich? That’s what he was becoming. His ex-wife, Sheena, had completely liked that part of him. It didn’t hurt that she had been five-foot-ten and building her modeling career. Blonde, curves in all the right places. She’d been perfect. At least, he’d thought everything was perfect. The romance had been hot and heavy. He’d found himself saying “I do” three months later on a Malibu beach surrounded by his team.
Thinking of the wedding brought him back to his Uncle Jim. He gripped the certified letter in his hand, the one containing his uncle’s will, and opened it. Uncle Jim had been at his wedding. He’d come to the big, white-tented reception complete with a custom-made dance floor for the beach and white lights. Sheena wanted a very public, very well attended wedding. The best designers planned everything from her dress down to the specialty-made napkins.
Uncle Jim had stuck out like a sore thumb wearing his boots, his ranch hat, and his belt buckle. Roman had been so happy to see him. His uncle was the one who had really made his whole football career possible. After his dad had left, his mother couldn’t afford all the fees required to play football in Texas, so his uncle had paid for it. When Roman’s mother had died during his Junior year of college, it had been Uncle Jim who had come and insisted he pay to bury her. It had been Uncle Jim who had held Roman at the cemetery. And Uncle Jim had been the first one Roman had called when he’d found out the Destroyers wanted him.
At the wedding, Jim had pulled him into a hug and told him how proud of him he was. Tears had pooled in his eyes. It had been the best moment of Roman’s life.
Then Sheena had whisked over, met his uncle, and pulled him away, saying that they needed to ‘work’ the event.
Looking back, Roman didn’t know exactly when he felt like he’d lost himself. It had all been a blur. The media. The team. Their marriage. The society events that Sheena always insisted they needed to be at to build their ‘brand.’
He clutched the will in his hand. At the final bit of advice from his Uncle. The Uncle that he’d failed to be there for. ‘Roman, always remember that life’s not about what you can do. It’s about who you are.’
What did that even mean? For some insane reason moisture rushed to his eyes, but he blinked it back. He’d missed it. The funeral. The burial. All of it. How could the attorney not have contacted him? It was just…wrong.
He leaned back into the seat and thought about the past six months. Everything had gone to complete crap. It had started when he’d gotten sacked and dislocated his knee. That was the beginning of the end of his fairytale life. The next blow had come after the surgery, just when he’d begun insane amounts of therapy. He’d come home early one day and caught Sheena in the act. In their bed. With none other than his temporary replacement as quarterback, Dumont. Apparently Dumont had decided to be his back up off the field as well.
After clearing his throat and watching both of them scramble for their clothes, he’d realized he was shocked, but not surprised. He hadn’t even known until that moment that there is a difference between those two feelings.
Sheena had stood, glaring at him and then sauntered to the bathroom and said, “Well, come on Roman, you can’t really expect me to hitch myself to a washed out player looking for a comeback.”
Of course, he did the cliché thing. The thing that most professional football players do when faced with a potentially career-ending injury and a cheating wife …he went to a bar. And that’s where he kept going until he’d nearly killed a woman and her kid.
That had sobered him up.
He’d called Uncle Jim. They’d talked like they hadn’t talked for three years. About Sheena. About the injury. About the accident.
Uncle Jim had been a lifeline when he’d been in a dark, dark place.
Self-hate and regret coursed through him. He hadn’t asked about Uncle Jim once in that whole conversation. He hadn’t asked how he was doing. He didn’t even know until yesterday that Uncle Jim had been in the midst of his own battle—fighting for his life.
He clutched the will and read the final lines of his uncle’s message. “Roman, I don’t know if you remember your trip to Wolfe Creek very well, but I am giving you the inn because I know it was a place that I felt the closest to you and your mom for those two summers. It needs some work, and I understand if you want to sell it and be done, but I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”
Roman had booked his ticket last night. He’d also contacted the attorney, Robert Burcher, in charge of his uncle’s estate and ripped him for not letting him know about the funeral. Then he told him he wanted to sell the place immediately. Burcher had told him that he already had a buyer in place. The paperwork just needed to be signed—in person and at the inn, according to his uncle’s wishes.
He clutched the thick stationary. Why hadn’t his uncle wanted him to go to the funeral? And what did his uncle think he would want with an inn anyway?
Roman stepped out of the airport and immediately cursed himself for not thinking about the weather. He hadn’t expected to be standing in the freezing cold as he tried catching a cab outside of the Salt Lake City airport. He hunched even further into his thin hoodie as he slipped into the cab. “Wolfe Creek.”
The cab driver turned back and frowned. “Wolfe Creek, up past Ogden?”
Roman couldn’t remember how long it took to get from Salt Lake City to Wolfe Creek, he’d only been twelve and thirteen during those visits. “Something the matter with that?”
The driver lifted his eyebrows and laughed, pointing out the window. “Have you seen this snow? It hasn’t snowed like this in a long, long time, and that canyon will be nasty.”
Roman sighed and pulled a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet. “Look, if you take me up there, this your tip.”
The cab driver hesitated and then snatched the money and shook his head. He was older, and his grey-flecked black hair stuck out of a beanie cap. “Okay, I’ll take you, but you’re paying for both ways, and I need to see another one of these when we get there.”
“Fine.” Roman held his hands up to intercept the warm air from the vents. “Just turn up the heat.”
Rush hour traffic was thick and slow and an hour later, the driver finally turned off the freeway and headed into Ogden.
Roman watched the heavy snow falling on everything and everyone. The plows were out in full force. Roman listened to the radio that cab driver had on, telling people to stay inside, this was the next big one. People drove slowly. They passed an accident going through town and had to wait twenty minutes to be re-routed. “How much longer up the canyon?”
The cab driver turned and gave him a slow smile. “Why? Are you losing your nerve now?”
The fact that he was kind of doubting how they would get up there made him keep his mouth shut.
The cab driver laughed. “Look, it’s another twenty minutes on a good day, I guess it’ll probably be an hour before we get up there in all this snow … if we get up there.”
“What do you mean ‘if?’”
The cab driver motioned to the road. “What do you mean, what do I mean? This is the Rocky Mountains.”
Roman frowned. “Right.”
The cab driver looked back and laughed. “You’ve never been snowed in? Where are you from?”
The pit of Roman’s gut clenched. He couldn’t get snowed in up here. He had to be at the meeting with the team owners. “Texas.”
“Ahh.” The cab driver made it through town and started up the canyon on a two-lane road. “I hope you have family up here or know someone because you’re going to be up here for a couple of days.”
Flashing lights ahead showed a diesel truck off to the side of the road. Roman cringed. “Can you turn back?”
The cab driver slowed. “I could try to pull over and turn back if you want. You could probably at least get a hotel in Ogden.”
His uncle’s face flashed through his mind. “Never mind, just keep going. There’s something I have to do.”
The cab driver tsked his tongue. “Man, she must be pretty good looking.”
An unwilling laugh rolled out of him. “No, I’m not going up there for a woman.”
The cab driver let out a muffled laugh. “Cold and lonely, that’s a bad combination.”
The Alaskan Inn looked exactly as he remembered it. Two stories, stone around the foundation and long, round logs framed the exterior. It was definitely a rustic cabin. Somehow, it was clearly visible through the still falling snow. Roman remembered it being large and cozy, but he didn’t remember the big pine trees that stood guard next to it. He didn’t remember the turn around driveway that was, amazingly, plowed. He definitely didn’t remember white lights being hung around it, making it look like something out of a cheesy Christmas movie, well, except for a couple of lights that had burnt out.
The cab driver pulled in front of the inn and sighed. “That’ll be eight-hundred dollars, plus tip.”
Roman scoffed, “What?”
He motioned to the outside. “I’ve risked life and limb to get you up here, and I think you can pay it … Roman Young.”
Ahh. Of course. The driver had recognized who he was even though he’d kept his hoodie on the whole time in the cab. He looked into the rearview mirror and met the smirking face of the driver. “Really?”
He put his hand out. “I’ll charge it nice and neat to your credit card. Let’s make it a cool thousand with tip, and then you won’t have to worry about the media showing up.”
Roman rolled his eyes but relented, passing his card up to him. It had not been a good idea to come today. It was bad timing, risky to his career and physically dangerous in this weather. Add in the personal conflict, and no, he definitely didn’t want any media attention right now. “Okay, but if you leak this, I’m suing.”
The cab driver ran his card and handed it back. “Leak what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Roman rolled his eyes and got out of the car. “I mean it.” The last thing he needed was to have a news crew show up. His Uncle Jim hated the media. From the very start he’d told Roman that he’d do well to keep his nose clean and keep a low profile, but Roman hadn’t listened to him then. Regrettably, he’d listened to Sheena and her strategy for taking them both to the top.
Even though the outside was lit up and the driveway was clear, it didn’t look like anybody was home. It was completely dark. Roman held the door of the cab open. “Can you hold on and take me to a hotel if no one’s here?”
But the cab driver took off with a jerk, slammed the door shut with the momentum, and yelled out the window, “Good luck, but this ride has to get back to the city before they shut down the roads. Thanks for the tip!”
Roman watched him go and irritation coursed through him. Snow was already gathered on the tip of his nose. He turned back and instantly the twinkle lights blinked out. He turned in a quick circle. The light that lit up the road had gone out, too. “Perfect.” He trudged toward the front door, taking care not to slip. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the envelope. He tipped it upside down, letting the key fall into his hand. He put it into the door and eased it open.
The first thing he noticed, other than the fact that it was very dark, was that the inside was cold, too. He put his suitcase down and tried to remember anything from those two trips about where furniture would be. Nothing. He pulled out his cell phone and pulled up the flashlight app. Two seconds later, his phone died. He’d been playing games on his phone during the whole flight. He growled and stuffed it back into his pocket. He had to rely on the small amount of light from the moon to make out the furniture and navigate toward the fireplace.
He felt for a switch to light it, hoping a nice gas fireplace would instantly light. No such luck. But he did find a box of matches!
After sliding it open, his heart plunged—the box was empty. He cursed and banged his fist against the side of the fireplace. “Seriously?”
Roman sucked in a long breath and tried to get his frustration under control. He felt like he was trying to throw a pass for a first down with no open receivers. “Uncle Jim!” He yelled and spun around, looking for anything that could be used for fuel.
He stumbled around, feeling the walls, trying to find the way to the kitchen. He needed to get in there, turn on a light and find some matches.
Part of a wall gave, and he pushed a door into the kitchen. He felt along the side of the wall and found a light switch. He flipped it.
Nothing.
He flipped it quickly back and forth and felt for another one. “Man!”
Keeping his hand against the wall, he felt his way around, hoping he could find the cupboards and rummage for something. Soft light poured in from the outside windows of the kitchen. The moon shone high in the sky, visible even through the snow that fell in fluffy clumps. The whole scene looked like something out of a storybook—all soft, cozy, and white. Well, minus the warm part of cozy. The very important warm part that propelled him to go to the massive cupboards and fling them open, searching for something helpful.
He thought he saw a box of matches and reached up, extending himself as far as he could to get the box, thinking that whoever usually got into these top cupboards must be a giant.
The box stayed just out of reach. It seemed like every time he almost touched it the box scooted back, evading him.
Without warning, the kitchen door burst open, and even colder air rushed through the room.
“Who’s there? Show yourself!” Roman tried to get a view of this person.
The sound of a shotgun being cocked put him on alert. Then the barrel of a shotgun came into view. His heart rate spiked. “Put the gun down,” he said calmly.
If he’d anticipated the assailant would calmly put the shotgun down, he’d been half right. The shotgun fell to the ground and the intruder ran straight for him, getting in a good shove to Roman’s ribs and knocking him off balance. He stumbled back and then tripped over a chair and fell.
At this point, all Roman knew was this guy would pay.
The assailant pounced on him, taking him all the way to the floor.
Roman was grateful he’d trained so hard to get his strength and agility back. He easily used his opponent’s momentum to roll them both. He stopped when he was on top and quickly secured both his assailant’s hands above his head, noting he wasn’t very big, even in all the snow gear he had on. “Mess with the bull, get the horn.”
“Ouch!”
As the adrenaline faded, Roman realized the body he was currently subduing was definitely feminine. He reacted as if he’d bit into a piece of cake expect
ing chocolate and realizing it was salt cake instead.
Immediately he yanked back his hold, pulling himself up. “What the—”
“Language.” The woman stood up quickly and gave him a look that told him she wished she still had the shotgun. She reached for something and then flipped on a lantern flashlight.
The first thing he noticed, besides the fact that she looked angry, was that her eyes were green. Cat green, as his mother would have said. His mother had been a cat fan. He’d often teased her about being the cat lady, but he’d brought her every stray kitten he’d found toward the end of the cancer, hoping something would cheer her up.
Red hair with soft curls tumbled down her shoulders. It was the color of leaves turning in the fall. He almost couldn’t breathe for a second. She looked so beautiful and fierce and like she would rip his head off if she could. He’d seen that kind of ferocity in only a few people—cancer survivors and three-hundred pound defensive tackles that were getting paid a heck of a lot of money to put him on his backside. For no good reason, it made him laugh.
It was evidently the wrong response. It made her ferocity increase. He could tell from the way her cat-green eyes narrowed before she bent to pick the shotgun up. “I wouldn’t laugh.”
He stuck his hand out. “Whoa. I think we’ve had enough of the gun for tonight, don’t you?”
“Who are you?” She used both hands to brace the shotgun against her shoulder and she placed one foot behind her as if she were preparing to fire.
If only there had been more time to truly appreciate the mussed up, angry, and still beautiful woman in front of him. “Look, just relax?”
This time she smirked, actually smirked, at him. “Excuse me, who do you think you are? I can have the cops here in two seconds.” She switched her stance and put the shotgun down and propped it against the table. She pulled out a phone.