by Ev Bishop
Other times, like now, he was sad about what might have been, about losing what he’d always wanted and hoped they were working toward, however inconsistently. Her confession that she’d had another guy on the side for “a while”—some douchebag named Marcus—was the last straw, though. Even Sean wasn’t a big enough sucker to keep fooling himself then.
It hurt that Gemma had cheated on him, but more than that, it made Sean angry. At himself. Why on earth was he so arrogant and naive to think he’d change her? That she’d suddenly genuinely want the things he did? Why had he been so dumb and unable to see through her? He’d been a fool, for not being happy alone, for wishing there was something more for him, for being the kind of sap who always just wanted a family and kids.
His hands finally landed on his jacket. It was soaking wet for some reason. Sean held it up to his face in the truck’s dark cab and sniffed. No odor that he could detect, but the wetness felt kind of sticky. A light went on—but only in his head, of course. The case of soda he’d brought with him must’ve burst. Awesome.
The wind died down and, for the time being at least, all was still. Sean decided he’d better brave the elements in his long sleeve T-shirt and sweater before the storm kicked up again. He needed to see if digging his truck out himself was even a remote possibility, or if he was going to be stuck until morning.
Just as he was about to open his door, he froze. Something—someone?—was moving in the thick darkness. The muffled shuffling sound came closer to the truck—and closer. What would be out in this weather? Nothing good. He would’ve seen or heard if a cop car or some other vehicle had driven up.
Thump, thump. Sean jumped. Someone was banging the side of the truck, near the hood. He wasn’t imagining it. Thump, thump. Were they trying to feel along the body of the vehicle? Had someone witnessed him go off the road? There was another thump—at his door now. Sean stared out the window and his eyes locked on a faceless, hooded specter—a slightly darker shadow in a night of shadows. It’s a person, just a person in a big coat. Despite knowing that was true, his heart still hammered extra fast.
The faceless entity leaned closer and its shadowy outline grew more pronounced. The handle clicked, but the door didn’t open. Sean hadn’t hit unlock yet.
“Hello?” a tentative, feminine voice called. “Are you okay? Is anybody hurt?”
Sean’s anger was instantaneous and irrational—maybe he had bashed his head, after all. “I’m fine,” he roared, throwing open the door. “I just put myself off the road like a big jerk.”
His rescuer made a startled sound and rushed sideways, barely avoiding being hit by the door. His truck must’ve landed in a drift because the snow was literally up past the woman’s waist. She was wading, not walking. “Oh, well… good then—that you’re fine, not that you, uh, went off the road.”
Sean scanned the darkness, but there was nothing to see but the black silhouette of the forest’s tree line and mounds and mounds of heavy—and still accumulating—snow. He strained his ears, but there was nothing to hear but silence and the slightly husky breathing of the woman.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Bryn. Bryn Hale. I was parked in what I thought was a rest area when you—”
Sean held up his hand. He didn’t want to hear her interpretation of his carelessness. “You have a car?”
“Yes, but it’s not handling the snow very well.”
“I could drive it out.”
“No, you couldn’t, Mr.—?” This Bryn Hale woman’s voice was firm, and Sean was unsure whether she meant he would be unable to drive the vehicle because of the weather conditions, or if she was saying he wasn’t allowed to drive it because, well, look at him—not exactly an ode to driving ability.
“Carson,” Sean supplied. “Sean Carson.”
The woman turned away. “I’ll let you be then, Mr. Carson. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
Sean hesitated, then called, “Wait. What are you going to do?”
“Car camp until morning. I recommend you do the same.” She was making decent time now that she could retrace the rough path she’d forged through the snow during her approach. Her breath made little white puffs in the darkness.
Sean turned back to his truck, grabbed his backpack, then locked the door and shoved his keys into his jeans’ pocket. “Do you know where we are?” he called after her.
“About half an hour east of Greenridge.”
“And you’re traveling this highway alone at night in this weather?”
The woman stopped and half turned back. “Um, yes.” Her face was still invisible, but her tone suggested she thought him a bit unstable. “And so are you. What’s your point?”
Sean hadn’t intended to be sexist, but realized it was probably how he sounded. There was no point, however, in lecturing the stranger about how he’d been raised by a strong single mom and a sister tough enough to take on anyone.
“And correction, I’m not actually alone. I left my good boy Steve in my vehicle.” The wind screeched in renewed fury, muffling her next line. It sounded like she said, “He’s, ah, terrific.”
Her “good boy Steve”—who’s ah, terrific? And this Bryn woman was acting like he was the unhinged person in this situation? Poor Steve, whoever he was. He didn’t think he was a child—she didn’t seem overly concerned about getting back to him—but if he was her partner? Yikes, he felt bad for the guy.
As if sensing Sean’s unspoken critique, Bryn’s head bobbed in what appeared to be a solid up and down glance. “Correction two, you’re traveling this highway, alone at night—and you don’t even have a decent jacket?”
Sean had a perfectly good winter coat, thank you very much. It just was inconveniently drenched in soda at the moment. He didn’t figure either point bore mentioning, however. He slung his pack over his shoulder as he recalled something she’d said earlier, something curious.
“You said you’d parked in what you thought was a rest area. If it’s not one, what is it?”
Chapter 3
Bryn and Sean stood at the edge of the highway, a good distance from his truck and a fair way from her car, looking up at a huge carved sign. Tin-capped cedar mountains shone silver, and a rising sun glowed in the dim beam of a snow encrusted light at the sign’s base. A flourish of text announced River’s Sigh B & B, and an arrow directed them into the woods, down the winding path Bryn had noticed earlier.
She tugged her scarf, though it still covered most of her face, higher yet. Not because she was cold, but because… oh, man, was she actually blushing? What a freak! Yet she couldn’t help it. Back at the snow-buried truck in the deep shadows—then trudging in front of him through the snow—Bryn had mistaken slightly snarly Sean Carson for some curmudgeonly old man. Here and now, the dim yellow light told a different story. Correction three… (And good grief, how embarrassing were her anal-retentive corrections? She could kick herself!) Sean wasn’t old—or not much older than her anyway. And he was, er, surprisingly—cheek warmingly, stutter inducingly—good looking.
He had tousled black hair, lovely, touchable looking olive skin, and a couple days’ worth of stubble on a strong chin that Bryn wanted to rub herself up and down on—Holy Hannah, what is wrong with you!? her brain intoned.
“I’m a desperate loser and it’s showing?” Bryn muttered back under her breath—then realized to her horror she’d whispered the words aloud.
“What?” Sean looked away from the sign and stepped closer.
“Nothing,” Bryn said loudly and clearly. Kill me now, she thought.
Was it her imagination or did his pale blue eyes, so striking against his swarthy skin, crease with amusement? If he had heard and was laughing at her, nothing in his tone gave him away.
“Your car’s over there somewhere?” he asked, jerking his chin in the direction of her invisible vehicle.
She nodded.
“If you’re okay with leaving it overnight, why don’t we check out this River�
�s Sigh place?”
Bryn looked at Sean—felt ridiculously warm again—then glanced toward the area where she knew her Corolla sat parked. It was well away from the road, safe from any passing snow plows. She studied the spot in the turnoff that narrowed into what must be the B & B’s driveway. It would definitely be more comfortable than spending a night cramped in her vehicle. How far could it be?
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Just let me get Steve.”
Sean followed her to her car and waited patiently as she clicked on the interior light and deliberated whether to bring her suitcase or just an overnight bag. She decided on the latter. She didn’t want to lug a suitcase for who knew how many miles. She added her purse to her overnight bag, then grabbed Steve’s blue blanket from the back, along with his leash, and whistled. He jumped out immediately, disappeared into the snow—then scrambled back into the car.
“Come on, silly. I know you hate the cold, but you won’t melt. I promise.” Steve shot her a side-eyed glance that suggested he didn’t believe her one bit, but did as asked and hopped out onto the ground near Sean’s feet.
“Steve’s a dog!” Sean exclaimed.
“Uh—yeah?” Bryn flicked the lights off, locked her car and turned, sounding amused. “That’s what a terrier is.”
“I thought you were talking about some guy who was ah, terrific.”
Bryn giggled. She couldn’t help it. “That I also referred to as my ‘good boy’? Poor man—if he existed.”
Steve jumped around Sean’s feet, disappearing and reappearing with each hop in in the fluffy snow.
“So there’s no sad, infantilized man in your life, just Steve who you talk to like a person? I’ve heard of crazy cat ladies, and I have to admit, being a crazy dog lady is way better.”
The inexplicable fluttery (stupid!) feeling that had been tormenting Bryn cooled. Just because she revealed in passing that she was single and just because she had a small dog that she obviously loved, this man thought he knew something about her? You could adore your pet and be happily married and have kids. Just look at all her annoying sisters!
“Did I say something wrong?” Sean asked a second later.
“No, no, of course not.” He had, but it wasn’t his fault. She apparently sent out a vibe like an invisible beacon—spinster for life. Even a gorgeous stranger in the middle of the night in almost pitch darkness picked up on it.
“If we’re going to do this,” she added, “we should get going. It’s getting late and we have no idea how far it is.”
Sean took the blanket from her, crouched down and coaxed Steve into his arms. Then he glanced up. “It’s going to be hard on the little guy, pushing through all that snow. I figured we could take turns carrying him and letting him walk.”
All Bryn’s warm feelings flooded back. Dumb, dumb, dumb—but again she had no control over it. Sean may have written her off as some gooney old dog lady, but underneath her layers of down and wool, she was just a girl, standing in front of a boy.
“You seriously need help,” she whispered as she started toward the opening in the tree line.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What?” Sean called.
Chapter 4
The trek to River’s Sigh B & B was both worse and better than Sean had been expecting. Obviously, the establishment did their own snow removal, hence their turnoff and driveway being passable, at least compared to the highway, but it was a much longer walk than he’d expected. That—the long walk—was the better part. He wasn’t appreciating his snow-filled boots or the white stuff accumulating on his clothes—he and Bryn were going to look like White Walkers from Game of Thrones when they were done—but he was enjoying funny, quirky Bryn’s company very much.
Back at her car when she was collecting overnight things and first introduced him to Steve, she’d seemed a little snippy about his dog lady comment. Maybe she liked cats too and found him mildly offensive? Either way, he’d worried that conversation would be non-existent or stilted as they walked—but nothing could have been further from the truth.
The first hundred or so paces along the unfamiliar road were intimidating, but the heaviest of the clouds moved on and the snow fell softer. Every so often the moon peeked through, reflecting off each snow-covered tree and log, bathing their surroundings in a strangely luminous blue-white light. As agreed, they took turns carrying Steve and letting him walk intermittently. The small dog bounded rabbit-like through the deep snow, looking back at them from time to time as if to make sure they were appreciating how athletic and amazing he was. They both laughed every time.
They were surprised to find out they lived in the same small city, six hours from Greenridge. Sean planned to share Christmas with a friend who had relocated to Greenridge a few years back. Bryn told him of her family plans in Rupert, another three hours further along the highway.
They talked about movies and books. She devoured fiction of all kinds, but especially loved contemporary and regency romances. He had to pry it out of her. She kept insisting she didn’t really have favorite genres—but she did and he felt oddly satisfied at having gotten her to trust him with it.
When he told her he preferred non-fiction, she chuckled. “You’re such a guy.”
“Thanks for noticing,” he replied, making her laugh again. He loved her laugh—and how she laughed so often, a sweet tinkling sound, bell-like in the still, cold air.
Under duress (okay… “duress” was a strong word; she’d only thrown one snow ball) he confessed his own dirty secret—that he read self-help. Then Netflix somehow came up and they discovered they were both series junkies—and binged on the same shows, loving crime and suspense, zombies and sci-fi.
He discovered she worked in a group home, providing care for adults with special needs. She seemed genuinely interested when he mentioned he owned and ran an event planning company.
Earlier, he never could have predicted how his evening would go from nightmarish to dreamlike in such a short time—but that’s how it felt: like a happy dream. It really seemed as if the bitterest part of the storm had ended. The moon no longer peeked at them. It burst free of the brooding clouds entirely, huge and bright. Under its kiss, the snow-laden evergreens shone silver and the road before them was transformed into a shining white ribbon. It was like walking in a living, breathing Christmas card.
Bryn kept herself well wrapped, which made total sense, considering the weather and the temperature, but Sean found himself torn. He wanted to see the face of this woman he was finding so attractive. He already knew he wouldn’t be disappointed. He liked her and that wouldn’t change—but he was curious. And what if she was much, much older than he was—or, worse, horribly younger? He wasn’t into that. During their first exchange or two, he’d pegged her as older. Now, especially with her Netflix obsession, she seemed younger—and her voice was young.
“So how old are you anyway?” he finally asked, feeling awkward for the first time since they started their journey.
She gave him what he imagined would’ve been a sharp look except it’s hard to do anything sharply when your head is a mass of wrapped blue fluff. “Thirty-five. Why?”
He shrugged. Why did she sound almost defensive? “No reason, really. I’m thirty-eight.”
Eventually their conversation waned as they continued slogging through the snow. The walk was starting to feel too long. Sean wondered if he’d gotten her to join him on some fool’s errand. Steve seemed cold and tired and no longer wanted to walk at all, whining if they tried to put him down.
“Maybe we misinterpreted the sign,” Bryn worried aloud, giving voice to his silent concerns. “Maybe it was for something further along the highway. Maybe this is just an old logging road or something—or maybe there was another turn off on this road, but we missed it somehow.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Sean looked around. There were still no signs of human life or activity, except—“The road is plowed though. It’s filling in, yes, but it was plowed—and fairly recently.”
Bryn’s tone brightened immediately. “You’re right, so we must be headed to somewhere. I hope it’s not some summer only place—and that they have rooms available.”
Sean hadn’t even considered that it might be a seasonal B & B. “So what should we do? Do you want to keep going for a bit, or turn back?”
“Umm, maybe keep going for another ten minutes, then re-evaluate?”
“Sounds good.”
A few minutes later, Steve struggled in Sean’s arms and let out an anxious yip. Sean handed Steve to Bryn, but the dog wouldn’t settle.
“Shhh,” Bryn said, wrapping the terrier more snugly and covering his small head with the corner of his blue blanket. Then she inhaled sharply. “Oh, that’s why you’re excited. Good boy!”
Steve’s blanketed form wiggled as if in agreement, then stilled, and Sean laughed—as much at the exchange between Bryn and Steve, as from relief. The snow beyond a nearing bend in the road sparkled with soft red, green and blue light. It could only mean one thing: a Christmas tree.
No words were needed. He and Bryn simultaneously picked up their pace and soon found themselves in another Christmas card worthy picture: one featuring a cozy house, its windows aglow with candlelight, surrounded by snow that looked almost blue in the deep shadows. Tiny white lights decorated a copse of birch trees and a massive spruce gleamed cheerily, decked out in blue, green, red and yellow bulbs.
“It’s so pretty,” Bryn breathed.
They made their way across a large circle-shaped parking area, and Sean tried to be reassured by a variety of snowy lumps that had to be vehicles. That many trucks and cars must mean there were guests—but then again, it was deeply quiet and, while, yes, the windows on the main house were glowing, the office was dark. At the very least, they’d be disturbing the owners during their personal time.