A Kindled Winter

by Rachel L. Demeter

  A KINDLED WINTER

  By Rachel L. Demeter

  A KINDLED WINTER

  Copyright © 2015 by RACHEL L. DEMETER

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any way by any means without the written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Please note that if you have purchased this book without a cover or in any way marked as an advance reading copy, you have purchased a stolen item, and neither the author nor the publisher has been compensated for their work.

  Our books may be ordered through your local bookstore or by visiting the publisher:

  www.BlackLyonPublishing.com

  Black Lyon Publishing, LLC

  PO Box 567 Baker City, OR 97814

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, events, organizations and conversations in this novel are either the products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used in a fictitious way for the purposes of this story.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-934912-75-1

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015946427

  Published and printed in the United States of America.

  Black Lyon Contemporary Romance

  For Dr. Vaughn A. Starnes and all of Keck Medical Center of USC, Division of Cardiothoracic Surgery.

  Thank you—from the bottom of my heart.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Christmas, my child, is love in action. Every time we love, every time we give, it’s Christmas.” —Dale Evans

  Blue River, Oregon

  One week till Christmas

  Fierce slashes of rain clubbed against the windshield. The sound was deafening inside the cramped Honda Civic, and each thud echoed Jeseca Reed’s errant heartbeat. Minutes before, the hovering storm clouds had slashed open—and now they were flooding the world with a terrible vengeance.

  Jeseca could hardly see a foot in front of her. She exhaled a stiff breath, thrust the glasses up her nose, and struggled to focus on the gloomy, twisting road. The wipers braved out the assault as they swished back and forth at a maddening pace. It was the type of hypnotizing rainfall that could lead you straight off a mountainside with no one the wiser.

  Just lovely.

  Slowing to ten miles per hour, her breaths escaped in shallow puffs and fogged the blasted windowpane. The festive Christmastime melodies, which crooned from the speakers, were barely audible over the rain’s adamant pitter-patter.

  Splat. Splat. Splat. Hard drops slammed against the roof like defiant fists. Each sound drowned out Jeseca’s thoughts and expanded her unease. Needing distraction, she rhythmically tapped her palms against the steering wheel, cranked up the volume, and sang along to the cheerful Christmas song.

  “Dashing through the snow.

  In a one-horse open sleigh.

  O’er the hills we go.

  Laughing all—”

  Jeseca flipped off the radio with an exasperated groan. No. She didn’t feel like laughing all the way anywhere. And her spirit was far from bright.

  There was no way around it. She’d have to pull over. But where? Colossal trees, older than time itself, encased the winding road—and the only sign of human civilization was an occasional cabin or cottage.

  Such was the paradox of Blue River, Oregon; the town was a rustic, beautiful creature, with shimmering waters as pristine as sapphires—and one who only answered to Mother Nature’s call. Fond memories danced through her mind while she admired the green landscape and snow-capped mountaintops. Lush thickets of trees cycled past the window in a swirl of earthy hues. Poised between two elegant peaks, the sun made its evening descent, and drenched the horizon in brilliant swashes of red and orange. Delicate, golden light fringed the jagged rock faces, infusing them with distinct personalities. She felt them speaking to her, and something deep inside her soul answered.

  Blue River was her childhood home—a raw sore brimming with tender memories and restless ghosts. Jeseca propped her elbow against the windowsill, and absorbed the immaculate scenery.

  Despite the pouring rain and pregnant storm clouds, the view really was breathtaking … as if God himself had swooped down from his resting spot and painted a masterpiece. She exhaled a long breath while her thoughts crept inward—

  River rafting with Mom, Dad, and Aubrey. Those quaint horseback rides along the McKenzie River. Sailing down snow-capped hillsides while infusing Blue River with ringing, soulful laughter. Hiking through dense woodlands, burned s’mores, and sleeping below velvet, star-filled skies …

  Every season had meant a new adventure and a lasting imprint upon her heart. And snaked within those blissful, carefree times lurked an unshakable darkness: Dad reeking of vodka, Dad passed out in the tent, discovering loose pain pills inside Dad’s sleeping bag …

  No.

  Jolting back into the moment, Jeseca collected the smartphone from her lap and groaned at the dreaded “no-signal” icon. The image burned her eyes and caused her insides to constrict.

  “Oh, well isn’t that just great.”

  Her mom was likely worried sick. She could see Rebeca Reed now—pacing in front of the large bay window, yanking hair from her scalp and chewing her fingernails clean off. Jeseca felt an irresistible smile spread across her lips. If only the rain would let up, she’d be home soon—perhaps within the next hour. Mom would pop a tray of brownies into the oven, yank Jeseca onto the sofa, and beg to hear every detail of her daughter’s chaotic life in Los Angeles. And what a hectic three months it had been. Jeseca had finally managed to land her (semi) dream job, and now—

  All thoughts were cropped short. Thunder boomed in the distant, growling like some caged beast. With each passing second, the rain grew heavier and the sense of unease reared inside her gut. It crept beneath the surface of her skin and twisted around her pulsating heart. Even the beautiful scenery seemed to grow threatening and ominous.

  The smartphone slipped from her fingers and landed beside the pedal with a dull thud. Pressing down on the gas, she leaned forward to retrieve it from the floor. Instead, she lost her footing, veered into a violent skid and—bang!

  Her body lurched forward, sending her forehead smack into the steering wheel. The seatbelt tightened from the jolt and crushed her breasts in a viselike grip. The pressure was deafening. Suffocating. Her lungs battled for air while the sound of her ragged breathing swelled her eardrums. After several moments, she unfastened the seatbelt and loosened the thing from her body.

  Jeseca stared out the windshield in horrified disbelief.

  The front of her car was embedded in a massive tree trunk, and smoke rose from the engine in white vapors. She pressed two fingertips against her forehead. Dampness. Blood. Hesitantly she gazed into the rearview mirror and examined the red gash that ascended into her hairline. Uncharacteristic obscenities exploded from her mouth. She attempted to crank on the engine, which resulted in a dull clanking.

  “Oh, come on … Don’t do this to me. Not now. Not here.” Her little Civic mocked the plea with a miserable moan and more clanking.

  Defeat crashed down on Jeseca and stilled her vain efforts. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot as reality sunk in. Furious with her own stupidity, she beat the steering wheel until her palms grew numb and red.

  Sudden movement ensnared her peripheral vision. A choked sob jammed in her throat while her stomach brutally plummeted. Beyond the windshield, an ethereal figure waded through the rising smoke and pouring rain. It was a young lady in her mid-twenties with shimmering, deep red hair, green eyes, and creamy skin …

  And she looked exactly like Jeseca.

  Like us, her heart chimed in.

  Aubrey. Jeseca inwardly whispered the name, unable to brin
g it across her lips.

  The woman appeared to float, as if suspended through time and space. The car’s low beams set her aglow, encircling her body like a diva’s spotlight. Jeseca gripped onto the steering wheel and fastened both eyes shut. Her nails dug into the smooth leather, embedding the material with faint crescent moons.

  Breathe, just breathe. Painful memories constricted around her chest and warped her gut into a wet, quivering mass. When she opened her eyes again, the vision had faded away—though it would forever be tattooed upon her mind and heart.

  Aubrey …

  Hot tears tracked down her cheeks. Emotionally and physically drained, she fought to control her breathing and counted backwards from five.

  Five. Four.

  She was clearly unwell. Possibly suffering from a concussion.

  Three. Two.

  She needed to find help. And quickly. But where could she go? The car was stopped in a dangerous location, dusk was falling, and she felt light-headed from the crash …

  One.

  The image of a Victorian style cottage, less than a quarter of a mile back, rose inside her thoughts. Its red brick chimney had been alive with swirling smoke—and a parked truck had occupied the driveway …

  Mind decided, Jeseca seized hold of her purse, dropped the smartphone inside, flipped off the car’s lights, and fumbled with the latch. A high-pitched groan sounded out as she urged the door open. God, it was ice-cold. Blasts of air slammed against her cheeks and mocked her resolve. Regardless, she exhaled a weary breath and marched forward.

  Tree branches scraped against her face and clawed like nails. They seemed to beckon her forward with malicious intent—urging her straight into the surrounding forest. Tightening the scarf and coat around her body, she stepped into the hammering rain and moved off the road.

  Mud slushed beneath her boots and sucked at her feet like hungry mouths. Shivering from head to toe, she sprinted down the winding road, past the dense thicket of trees and a tilted road sign. Cradled by the wind’s breath, it swayed back and forth and emitted an unsettling creaking noise. Prickles of fear rose along the back of Jeseca’s neck. She increased her pace, muttered a silent prayer, and followed the twisting road.

  Five minutes transformed into ten, and ten became fifteen. All the while, that impossible, ghostly image raced through her mind …

  Dusk fully broke, deepening the swashes of orange and red into rich golden hues. The threat of impending darkness poisoned the air and summoned another wave of anxiety inside her gut.

  Rain pelted her cheeks and transformed her jeans into a wet, soppy mess. Her head spun in violent circles. Bile rose inside her throat, hot and churning. She felt dizzy, weak, on the verge of collapsing. Cold blasts of wind nipped at her flesh with the force of a thousand daggers. The chill seeped below her skin, and numbed her to the bone. As if conveying a dark secret, the wind seductively whistled in her ears and tossed curls about her shoulders. More tears threatened to spill from her eyes—and Jeseca was convinced they’d freeze on her cheeks. Trembling, she dug a hand inside her purse and fumbled with the smartphone. The no-signal icon blared within the darkness, as persistent as ever.

  A few minutes later the truck and cottage seeped into view. Brimming with character, the home might have been stolen from the pages of a storybook. And yet the Victorian style steeples and jutting columns projected a distinctly Gothic vibe. Veins crawled up those white columns and wooden planks, strangling the façade beneath a vast, untamed wilderness. The cottage was two stories high and quite large—its mere presence was crushing.

  Frozen, she gazed up at the towering cottage while rain and wind struck her cheeks. White clouds spewed from the red brick chimney like smoke from a dragon’s mouth.

  But this was no fairy tale.

  Her limbs had grown numb and heavy. Her head pounded, and each step was more unsteady than the one before it. She rushed forward, sacrificing her last bit of energy with the effort, and raced toward the cottage’s rosewood door.

  “Please don’t let an axe murderer live here …” Her voice sounded hoarse, distant, shallow. She hardly recognized it as her own.

  The corner of her eye registered movement. Without warning the front door swung wide open—and a dark, towering shape lurked beneath the archway.

  The figure was colossal, imposing … well over six feet of pure uncompromising male. His body swelled the space with ease, each shoulder brushing against the chipped doorjamb. Frail porch light summoned flashes of gold in his dark auburn hair. It hung to his collar in dense, rich waves that reminded Jeseca of melted chocolate. Soaked through from the rain, his white, long-sleeved T-shirt gripped at his chest like a second skin. Well-worn jeans hugged each thigh to perfection and drew forth naughty, naughty thoughts. Every bit of him was hard. Rough. Untamed.

  Get a grip on yourself.

  Jeseca’s fogged brain drank in his crossed arms and arresting blue gaze. He was true eye-candy—and she found herself devouring every tasty morsel. A straight, strong nose, thick brows, and lips made for kissing. The hairs on her arm tingled. Then those powerful eyes held her spellbound—and for a fleeting moment, the coldness in her bones all but melted away. In spite of the storming weather, heat spiraled through her body.

  Undeniable, scorching, delicious heat.

  She felt entranced. Bewitched. As if she was drowning within pools of icy blue.

  She tried to conjure a clever quip or joke—but nothing worthy came to mind. “Well, hello there,” she greeted like some idiot.

  Edging closer, the man cocked a dark brow. His eyes narrowed while they slithered down her drenched sweater and jeans, assessing every little detail. Such concentration chilled her to the bone. The coldness returned at full force; it gripped onto her heart, merciless and unyielding, and spread through her veins like icicles.

  Oh, God. She felt seasick. Her scarf resembled a Punjab lasso. Light-headed and woozy, she attempted to loosen it from her neck without luck. Instead, her legs turned to Jell-O, and she felt herself unraveling at the knees.

  The stranger surged forward and muttered an incoherent curse. His voice was deep and sultry, flavored with a mild whiskey tone. It spilled through her body—and she grew drunk from those hypnotic refrains.

  In spite of his massive size, the man moved with a sleek, panther-like grace. Formidable. Menacing. Straight-up sexy. And coming directly for her. Then the ground below her feet shifted and rotated, body heat swirled all around—and she found herself fainting into a pair of strong, outstretched arms.

  •

  David Drake had always rooted his mind in logic and reason. Thoughts devoid from emotion had allowed him to become a renowned cardiovascular surgeon; it forced him to detach himself from the here and now, to step back, and perceive the world as a single, giant puzzle. A puzzle that he could assemble (and control), piece by piece, purely by way of deduction and rational thought. Yet, as David stared down at the sleeping woman, logic all but escaped him—and he couldn’t make the erratic pieces fit together.

  Who in the hell was she? How in the world did she end up on his doorstep? And in the middle of a flash flood, nonetheless?

  Mind spinning, David angled the wineglass against his lips and nursed himself into an oblivious state. The alcohol raced down his throat in a soothing burn, filling him with an artificial warmth. So firm was his grip on the glass, it threatened to shatter against his damn palm.

  To hell with it. Let the glass crumble into ashes.

  After all, what was one more scar?

  David medicated himself with another swallow and clenched his fingers several times. The lush, dark liquid heated his gut, helping to chase away the coldness he so often felt.

  Exhaling a stiff breath, he slapped the glass on the end table, causing a loud bang to rupture the silence. Spooked by the noise, Brody—his loyal but cowardly English sheepdog—pushed close to his legs. The dog trembled against him and released a pitiful, high-pitched whine. As if on cue, a powerful blast of
wind penetrated the walls—and another whimper swelled the bedroom. Plopping onto his lanky haunches, Brody stared at him with expressive, humanlike eyes.

  David felt himself soften the slightest bit.

  “Damn cowardly oaf,” he muttered, though not with affection. Shaking his head, he smoothed his palm over the dog’s poofy face. His efforts were rewarded with a loud bark and a sloppy kiss across the knuckles.

  Brody sure as hell didn’t mind the scars. David patted the dog’s backside and returned his glare to the woman lying in his son’s bed.

  Charlie’s bed.

  He flexed his fingers once, twice, three times—then balled them into two unyielding fists. His hands’ gnarled flesh tightened until it strangled the bones beneath. Despite that he’d lost most sensation in both hands, phantom pains rushed through his fingers and set his skin ablaze.

  He narrowed his eyes on the girl’s delicate form. She was lovely, beautiful … and she smelled like lemons and sunshine.

  His nails burrowed into both palms until blood welled the intricate web of lines—and even then he felt nothing. Only more confusion and frustration.

  By some damn miracle, he’d managed to strip away her drenched jeans and sweater without losing his remaining sanity. The baggy material of his T-shirt devoured her whole. It hung from her body in folds, dangling well past her shapely knees. Her wet mass of hair had all but dried, transforming into lush red curls. Those strands spilled across the pillows and cover like molten lava.

  And he felt their heat.

  Flames. Fire. Flesh melting from bone …

  This was the last thing he needed right now. He’d been alone far too long. And if he didn’t tread with caution, he’d get burned again.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with her?” he asked his boon companion. Brody cocked his fluffy head, as if working through some great puzzle. “Yeah, you and me and both. We’re doomed. Completely and utterly doomed.”

  This house was supposed to be his escape … a fortress of solitude … a vault of tender memories. It was a safe haven where he could shut out the world, bury himself in his grief and despair, and reunite with his son’s memory.