by Jo McNally
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Please tell me you’re not stalking me.”
He raised his hands in innocence. “I swear. I’d stopped at the hardware store to order some supplies from Nate and saw you across the street. I figured maybe you were drinking your purchase in-store.”
The corner of her mouth tipped upward. “I’ve been known to taste some wines with Mack Adams, but not last week.” Her face grew thoughtful, then she nodded. “I remember that day. I was buying some cognac, and a bunch of noisy businessmen from the resort came in to stock their rooms with booze. I went out the back.”
“With the cognac? Smooth move.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’d be a fool to steal from the police chief’s wife. Mack put it on my bill. I have accounts with the people I know, just in case something like that happens.”
Matt couldn’t help but admire the way she’d figured out how to cope with her fears. She’d made a life here in Gallant Lake, and, as secluded as her world was, it worked for her. He still had so many questions. None of them were any of his business, but as usual around her, they tumbled out anyway.
“You mentioned a foster mom before. You grew up in the system?” Her body tensed, and he kicked himself. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pry, I just...”
“Just what, Matt? Do you pepper everyone you meet with questions like this?”
“Only the ones I care about.”
He cleared his throat and tried to regain some self-composure. The only sound was the shushing of the wind through the pines around them, but the sun had warmed the stones enough that they weren’t freezing. Or maybe it was the buzz of energy that always seemed to spin between them that was making his chest feel warm. Once again, he thought she might ignore his question, but he was beginning to realize Jillie needed time to think through her responses. As if speaking incorrectly frightened her almost as much as crowds did. Her shoulders lifted and fell with a deep breath.
“I was in foster care most of my childhood. My biological mother gave me up when I was five. She had better things to do, like drugs and booze.” The childhood hurt resonated through her words, even though her voice was eerily level and matter-of-fact. “Some of the homes were okay. Some were...not.”
He thought of her insistence that she not be called Jill or Jillian. Identities she’d had as a foster kid that she did not want to be reminded of. His fingers curled at the possible reasons behind that.
“Did you...were you...?” His voice trailed off. If ever there was time for him to not push her, this was it. A few minutes went by, but the silence between them was no longer comfortable. It was heavy with unasked questions and untold stories. An image came to mind, and it was one he rarely let tarry long.
It was Bryce as a scrawny ten-year-old boy, standing in the living room of their family home in Vail, pale and wide-eyed. A kid whose life had been turned upside down overnight. The thought of his brother being tossed into a foster-care system sent a chill down Matt’s spine. Instead of asking questions, maybe it was time for him to tell Jillie his story. More than the glossed-over media kit version.
“Bryce was only ten when our parents died in a plane crash. Child services came knocking before their bodies were cold. They asked about other relatives and hinted they might take custody themselves.” Jillie was watching him now, her eyes solemn and sad. “Mom was an only child, and Dad’s sister had six kids of her own. She’d have taken Bryce if she had to, I suppose, but they lived on some ramshackle, off-the-grid homestead in Idaho. And her husband was an overbearing ass.”
“How old were you?” She’d guessed how the story ended.
“Just turned twenty. I was starting my third year at Colorado State.” A hawk screeched overhead as he angled his wings into the wind. “I dropped out to raise Bryce, but if I hadn’t been there...”
“He could have ended up like me.” She finished his sentence for him, then hesitated. “He was lucky to have you.”
His mouth twisted into a half smile. “He doesn’t always see it that way. He was hell on wheels as a teenager. Especially once he started winning competitions and thinking he was the big cheese.” He sat on one of the rocks near her, stretching his legs out in front of him with a heavy sigh. “I made a promise, though.”
“A promise? To Bryce?”
“To my parents.” He could still feel the hot Colorado sun on his back as he stood beside their graves. “After they died, I went to the cemetery and I promised them I’d do right by Bryce. That I’d raise him. Protect him. Always.” It was a weight that had been overwhelming at times. He stared at the ground, then tried to shake off the melancholy with a soft laugh. “He hasn’t made it easy. We’re not just here for him to heal up from his injury. We could have done that anywhere. As his manager, I had to get him away from the groupies who only want to be near him for the parties and press coverage. Being skiing’s wild child when he was seventeen was one thing, but it’s time for him to grow up.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “That sounds more like a big brother talking than a business manager. You thought an abandoned ski resort might be a good place to hide him from the snow bunny paparazzi?”
He nodded. “That was the main reason. I’m not looking to lose my shirt in this place or anything. We’ll focus on bringing in the locals this winter, and improve the place over time until Bryce is back on the circuit and I can get it sold.”
“And then what?”
“No idea. Bryce will start training for the US team again. I usually follow him around and flip a few properties near wherever he’s training to cover the bills. Hopefully, he hasn’t burned too many bridges and we can get some sponsors. If he can behave. I just want him to be happy, you know?”
“It’s going to be hard for you to stop acting like a parent.”
He scoffed. “No harder than it will be for him to stop acting like a child.”
She leaned toward him, looking up into his eyes from her perch below where he was sitting. “Hmm...my money’s on Bryce. You’re a caregiver right to your core, Matt. Even when you’re at your most obnoxious, you have a part of you that is always looking out for the other person.”
It was disconcerting to have her come so close.
“When have I ever been obnoxious?”
She chuckled, sitting back again. He wished she’d stayed closer.
“When haven’t you? Right back to our first meeting when you were up in a tree and still being bossy about whose property you were on.”
“And what about you, brandishing that fire extinguisher–size canister of pepper spray?”
She brushed her dark hair back over her shoulder with a saucy grin. “That was me being sensible, not obnoxious.” She waggled her eyebrows at him, making his breath hitch. “Now if I’d used it on you, that could have been obnoxious.”
A gray cloud scuttled in front of the sun, making their rock-strewn seating area sharply colder. He looked up at the sky and stood, reaching for her hand. He didn’t trust that old ski lift in a windstorm.
“We should get back down the mountain before the wind kicks up any higher and we end up walking down. Not to mention getting cold and wet.”
Surprisingly, she accepted his hand, which threw him. Sure, he’d reached for her, but that was out of habit. Jillie’s habit was to avoid physical contact. Yet, her hand, small and tentative, was now in his. He was thinking of other words to describe the sensation as he pulled her to her feet. Tender. Warm. Electric. Sexy. He was distracted, and she was even lighter than she looked. His tug brought her bouncing right into his chest. He steadied her with his other hand on her hip, and they froze. Her lips—full, welcoming, plump—parted in surprise. Her eyes—wide, golden, brilliant—stared up at him. Her hair, shining like silk. Her cheeks, pale with high spots of color.
He blinked. God, he was cataloging the woman. Turning himself into a thesaurus to describe her features. Memorizin
g each and every one of them. Her other hand had landed lightly on his chest. Was she frozen in terror or simply as confused as he was? He didn’t know how long they stood like that, with Jillie not exactly in his arms, but not exactly not in his arms, either. Her hand was still in his. Her chest rose and fell slowly. Steadily. Meanwhile, his own chest was barely containing his own wildly flailing heart. Something had to give. He either had to kiss this woman, or he had to release her. And without knowing what she was thinking, the options narrowed to one.
“Jillie...” His voice cracked like some horny high school teen. He cleared his throat and stepped back. He released his hold on her hip, but couldn’t make himself let go of her hand. “Uh...we were headed down...um...down the mountain.” Smooth, Danzer. “Before it gets...”
“Before it gets any hotter up here?” Sassy Jillie had returned, and at a most interesting moment. She gently pulled her hand from his, patting his chest before turning away. “I think that’s a good idea.”
Chapter Six
“No!” Monica cried, pulling away from Robbie and staring at her friends in horror. “You can’t fall for their tricks. The Shadows want us to believe there could be good in them, but it’s a trap. Why can’t you see that? You can never trust them!”
Jillie sat back in her office chair with a heavy sigh as two of her favorite people argued with each other on her monitor screen.
“I’m just saying we should let Jillie finish this book before telling her to start a new one.” Nia, her personal assistant, brushed a mass of skinny pink braids over her shoulder and sipped from a mug that read Careful or I’ll Put You In My Book and Kill You.
“Jillie is a professional,” Lisa, her agent, argued. “She’s capable of multitasking. And it’s my job to be thinking about her future. You’re free to focus on the present, okay?” Lisa looked directly into the camera—at Jillie. Thick dark hair tumbled around her face. “Are there any problems with the present I need to know about?”
“Oh, look—one of you remembered I was in this meeting, too.” Jillie rolled her eyes, which only made Lisa and Nia laugh. The three of them had a virtual conference call every month to make sure they were on top of things when it came to Jillie’s career. They were a team—Lisa in Portland and Nia in Bermuda. They were also dear, and bluntly honest, friends. So the business meetings often veered off course like this. “You know, the actual writer? And no, I don’t think there are any issues with the draft. The story is taking an interesting twist, but that’s not unusual. My characters tend to have minds of their own.”
Nia frowned. “What kind of twist? Is that why you haven’t sent me any chapters in two weeks?” Nia had started as one of Jillie’s biggest fans when she released her debut book, then became a volunteer beta reader. Her observations were spot-on and trustworthy. Once Jillie saw how organized Nia was, as well as being deeply invested in the book world and all the various online platforms for readers, she’d hired her to handle day-to-day things like correspondence, social media, managing her calendar and reviewing Jillie’s draft chapters. And Nia was right—Jillie hadn’t shared any in a while. Maybe because she wasn’t exactly sure where this book wanted to go.
Actually, she was sure where it wanted to go, but she didn’t know if it should go there. Or why this final book of the Monsters in Shadow series felt...different. Maybe because Jillie was feeling different these days? Letting more people into her life, like Matt and Bryce?
The younger Danzer brother had called her to apologize for his so-called groupies bothering her the week before. He’d joked about having “stalker fans” without ever indicating he knew Jillie’s writer alter ego. That meant Matt honored his promise to keep her secret, even from his brother. Was that why the heroine in her book, Monica, had suddenly been so determined to trust some of the fellow resistance fighters she’d been intentionally distancing herself from in the other two books? Real life might be affecting Jillie’s fictional world, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
“Earth to Jillie.” Lisa interrupted her thoughts. “If you’re going to whine about being ignored, you can’t zone out when I ask a simple question. Do you have chapters ready? Is there something I need to know?”
“I’ve met someone.”
Jillie grimaced to herself for blurting that out. Then she remembered she was on a video cam. She opened her eyes to find two identical expressions staring back at her side by side—eyes wide, brows raised and mouths open.
Nia spoke first. “You met someone. How?”
It was a fair question for an agoraphobe.
“He bought the old ski slope next door.”
“So it’s a he.” Lisa looked thoughtful as she sipped what was probably her seventh cup of double espresso that day. “And you met how?”
“Sophie chased him up a tree.”
“Perfect meet-cute!” Lisa laughed. “Wait...when you said your book’s characters were adding a twist, did you mean...?”
Nia whistled softly. “A J.L. Cole romance?” She tipped her head. “I don’t think your YA fans would hate that. Some horror purists might, but you could always use a different pen name...”
Lisa waved her hand back and forth, interrupting. “Let’s put the brakes on writing romance just yet. Jillie, you’re not denying any of this. Do you and this new neighbor of yours have some actual chemistry going on?”
Her mouth opened, then she hesitated. Is that what she felt about Matt? Chemistry? Wouldn’t that mean desire? Was chemistry a good idea? No, it wasn’t.
“Oh, hot damn,” Nia muttered. “Look at those pink cheeks. I’m guessing the answer to the chemistry question is a yes.”
“No!” Jillie protested, refusing to believe it. “Not that kind of chemistry. But he’s...nice. I had a problem last week, and he...he came to the rescue.” She paused, knowing this next bit of information would send her two friends right over the edge. “He invited me to ride the ski lift to the summit of the mountain. And I did it.”
Two mouths fell open again in perfect unison.
“You...” Lisa’s face scrunched up, as if trying to imagine it. “You sat on a ski lift with a guy you just met? And went up a mountain with him? Did anything else happen we should know about?”
“Well...we talked for a while.” She looked everywhere but at the web camera. “He knows who I am.”
“Okay, that’s it.” Nia raised her hands in disbelief. “Who are you and what did you do with the real Jillie Coleman?”
Lisa was less amused. “Jillie, you protect your identity more than any author I have, other than maybe the grade school teacher who writes erotica. You’re my little J. D. Salinger. And you decided to tell a near-stranger what you do? You told him your pen name? Does he know where you live? Can you trust him?”
“He’s my neighbor, so yes, he knows where I live. He walked me home the other night. I didn’t invite him inside or anything, but...”
“But you wanted to?” Nia asked.
“Probably not.”
Lisa’s brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, did you just say probably? As in maybe? You let him walk you home? Like right to your door? You? The one whose home is a bastion of privacy?”
Jillie felt tension rise in her chest. This conversation was veering into uncomfortable territory. Or was she just avoiding confronting her own feelings about Matt? She tried to redirect, straightening in her seat.
“Isn’t this call supposed to be about business?”
Nia grinned, completely unfazed by Jillie’s attempt to be stern. “Aren’t you the one who suddenly announced you’d met someone?”
Hard to argue with the truth. “Fine, but I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? It’s not a big deal...”
“Oh, it is,” Nia said firmly. Lisa nodded in agreement.
“But anyway...” She cleared her throat. “Maybe the change in direction the book is taking is
influencing my outlook, or maybe this new neighbor is influencing my book, or maybe they have nothing to do with each other.” She paused for a breath, glancing at the time. “Oh, look—our hour is up, ladies. Nia, I’ll send you some chapters tonight. Lisa, I’ll start working on ideas for the next series...” She gave a soft laugh. “As soon as I have any, that is.”
Lisa pursed her lips. “You know, there’s no reason we can’t spin something off the Shadow series. The publisher has expressed interest in keeping this new world of yours in play. It’s different—not exactly dystopian, not exactly sci-fi, not specifically YA, but appeals to YA readers...” Lisa shrugged. “You said you’re adding characters, so add someone who earns their own book down the road.” She winked. “Or two. Or three. Maybe instead of a movie deal, we’ll go for a streaming series.”
Jillie shook her head, but her mind started to spin. The familiar type of spin that was already going “here’s a new shiny idea we can play with,” like a kitten discovering a basket full of Ping-Pong balls.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Nia groaned. “I can see it in her eyes—you lit the story fuse in that head of hers.”
They ended their monthly call with more promises and a hard refusal to discuss her new friend with them any further. But she didn’t miss Nia’s words as they ended the meeting...be careful.
Within a few days, she’d fallen back into a productive routine. It had been raining much of the week, which made it easier to focus on the book. Monica and Robbie, the leader of the resistance group, kept insisting on spending more and more time together on the pages, and Jillie let them have their way for now. She had another six weeks to finish the first draft, and if it didn’t work, she’d just have to put in longer hours on her revisions to fix it. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d reconstructed a book during edits.
She envied authors who were hyper-organized plotters—writing detailed outlines, knowing exactly what was going to happen in every scene before they started typing. That had never been Jillie. She’d written her debut seven years ago as a pure pantser, flying by the seat of her pants with no idea where the book was going to end up. That wasn’t sustainable once she started signing contracts and committing to deadlines, so now she was what authors referred to as a plotser—a hybrid writer with a loose plan and some idea where the book was going, but also with a willingness to follow interesting detours when they popped up.