* * *
After breakfast, I decided to go up the mountainside to the ski lodge where the lifts were located. I wanted to get a head start on fixing whatever was causing them to run slow. I opened the passenger door of my truck for Bella to jump inside and walked around the back to the driver’s door. My foot slipped and my leg shot up in front of me. I called out as I grappled for the bed of the pickup. At the last second, my fingers made purchase, and I latched onto the truck bed to pull myself up.
“Shit,” I grumbled, staring at the spot I’d slipped on. Apparently, I needed to salt the roads and walkways before I did anything else. What was worse? A slow ski lift or a guest with a broken leg? I took out my cell phone to call Harley to tell him the ski lift would have to wait for a couple hours.
“Howdy ho?” Harley answered. He’d left before any of us after finishing his breakfast and was already up on the mountain.
“Howdy yourself,” I countered.
Harley snickered. “You didn’t have to call to tell me you were on your way, ya know.”
“No shit, wise-ass,” I said. “I’m callin’ to tell you I can’t come up there right now.”
“Why not? I got a lotta lessons lined up today.”
“Because I almost wiped out on some black ice and realized the roads need to be salted,” I retorted. “I’m gonna do them and the walkways first. When do you not have lessons today?”
“Got ‘em all day today,” he replied, sighing. “We’ll survive. I’ll just make up some jokes to keep the guests laughing during the slow rides.” He paused for a moment, checking his calendar. “Come up first thing tomorrow morning. No lessons ‘til eleven.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later then.” I hung up.
I drove to the resort’s maintenance garage, where we kept all the heavy equipment. We stored a small backhoe and tractor parked in there along with several riding lawn mowers, two snowmobiles, and four four-wheelers, plus a wagon we recently purchased to use for hayrides and things. The plow and salter that attached to my truck were also in there.
I lifted the empty salter onto the back of my truck and secured it. I wanted to get the sidewalks salted for the guests who enjoyed walking. I filled my walk-behind salt spreader with rock salt and pushed it over to the sidewalk that led to the resort’s main building as well as salted the walkways.
I saw a group of college girls walking by, frowning because I didn’t know they’d checked in. This time of year, though, was winter break for high school and college students, who visited our resort for group trips with friends. The girls were whispering to one another as they walked in my direction. A couple of them grinned flirtatiously at me as they walked past.
I chuckled silently to myself. I was accustomed to the attention of women, especially the college chicks. Women seemed to find something appealing about a big burly mountain man busy flexing his muscles while laboring outdoors. I didn’t mind the attention; it certainly made the long workdays feel shorter. That said, I never mixed business with pleasure. The guys and I had an unwritten rule about not fraternizing with the guests at our resort. As far as I knew, we pretty much all stuck to it well, and Brad was so happily married he didn’t even notice other women. To be honest, we didn’t really have trouble in the romance department, so it didn’t bother us to leave playtime for after work hours.
I needed to salt the walkways and roads around the ten cabins we rented out and up at the lodge and ski lift as well. So I pushed the salt spreader back to the garage and hoisted it up into my truck bed. I threw in an extra bag of salt to fill the spreader at the lodge. Five of the cabins were down the road, closer to the river. They were usually rented by fishermen and their families. The other five cabins were in the woods behind the road that led up to the ski lodge.
I went down to the fishing cabins first and salted the road along the way. With Bella watching from the truck window, I hoisted the salt spreader out of my truck and salted all the walkways and the porches of the cabins. Only one cabin was being rented at the moment, by a group of fishermen. I talked with them briefly about their catches.
We preferred that nobody cleaned fish in the cabins since it left a lingering stench behind. Even though we had signs posted about it in each cabin, some guests still did it from time to time. I’d found a way to inquire about fish cleaning without coming across as being rude.
“You guys tried out our fish cleaning station yet?” I asked them nonchalantly as I salted the walkway.
“Yeah, man, it’s great. So much better than cleaning them on the picnic tables like we had to last time we were here. And the grills are a nice touch, too,” the fisherman responded, saluting me with his coffee mug.
“That’s good to hear,” I said, smiling up at him. “Yeah, we decided to put it in a couple years ago when a lot of guests were asking for a better way to clean their fish. And who doesn’t like freshly grilled fish?” I asked, adding a big belly laugh for good measure.
“We caught a bunch of winter trout and a couple small mouth bass yesterday and had a grilled feast last night. Very tasty, if I do say so myself.”
“You’re making my mouth water,” I told him, laughing. “You headin’ out today?”
“Yes, sir,” the man responded.
“Good luck out there.”
“Thanks, man,” he said, wandering back inside.
I continued on my way, salting the roads up to the other cabins. All five of those cabins were rented out this week by skiers and nature enthusiasts. One couple, who were regulars, brought their own snowmobiles for the trails. In the warmer months, they’d bring mountain bikes. Two of the other four cabins had been rented by families with kids, one a group of friends, and another couple had rented the fourth.
I stopped briefly and talked with the couple, who were gassing up their snowmobiles. “Perfect day for hitting the trails,” I remarked.
“Yeah, can’t ask for better weather or snow,” the woman answered, looking me up and down quickly, then blushed.
“We were out yesterday, and the snow is two feet, packed solid,” the man chimed in as he walked up to his wife, who kissed him.
“Sounds like a fun ride. Be safe out there,” I reminded them.
“Sure thing. Have a good one,” the woman replied without looking.
“You do the same,” I told them, getting back into my truck to go up to the lodge.
The lodge was busy already, even though it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. With the sun shining and the snow packed, everyone wanted to take advantage of the perfect conditions. The lot was half full of vehicles as well, which meant locals had come up for a day of skiing and tubing, too.
Good shit, I thought as I salted around the vehicles. We’re making some loot today. I finished the road and parking area and parked in a spot by the lodge. I let Bella out of the truck and used my salt spreader to do the walkways and front porch. I figured I’d do some of the mountain walking trails that wound around the lodge and along the ridge as well. It was a popular trail with the guests because of the picturesque views of the river below in the valley and snow-covered mountaintops as far as the eyes could see.
Just as Bella and I were heading to the trailhead, I heard a voice call my name. Oh, no...
“Hey, Cole,” a seductive voice called.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I reluctantly turned to face my worst nightmare. “Hey,” I responded flatly, still walking toward my destination, pushing on the spreader behind my back. I hoped she would get the hint.
Coming down the steps of the lodge front porch was Sandra, a well-to-do widow who was not my type in the least. She’d been trying to get me into her bed every time she saw me since she’d arrived. I normally hated being rude to the guests, but this lady had it coming. She was pushy and I felt like I was being harassed.
“Cole, my love, are you gonna run off without sayin’ hello?” she crooned in her sultry, southern drawl, which I was pretty sure was fake.
“I’m very busy. What can I do for you, Ms
. Dawson?” I asked firmly, trying not to make eye contact.
“Oh, Cole, you know I don’t like to be called Ms. Dawson. Reminds me I’m a widow,” she said with a fake pout. “Why don’t you call me Sandra?”
“Okay, Sandra. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Well, if you put it that way,” she began in a raspy voice. “I’m havin’ some trouble with my bathroom plumbin’ and was wonderin’ if you could meet me in my room later this afternoon?” She moved close and grabbed my coat collar to pull me to her.
My face heated as I resisted her tug and strode backward, tearing her grip from my jacket. “I can’t. I’ve told you this before,” I reminded her sternly, not bothering to hide my annoyance. “We don’t fraternize with guests.”
“I’ll make it worth your while,” she continued, licking her red lips and batting her eyelashes, giving me her sexiest stare. She was an attractive older woman, but her desperation was smothering. I preferred to chase my women, not the other way around. And aside from that, she was a guest at our resort.
“I have to go, Ms. Dawson. I have work to do. Have a good day,” I told her and turned on my heels, not waiting for her to respond.
“See ya ‘round, handsome,” she called.
I didn’t respond because any response was encouragement. “Let’s go, Bella,” I called to my dog, who was lingering by the steps. I was relieved when I heard her trot up behind me. I didn’t want to turn around again. I could imagine the “Widow Sandra” boring a hole in my back with her ridiculous seductive gape.
What’s wrong with that woman? Why can’t she take a hint?
Bella and I strolled along the trail, spreading salt and enjoying the fresh air. I’d shoveled the pathway yesterday, and it was still clear, though a bit icy. I struggled with pushing the salt spreader in some places but didn’t care. I was hoping to spend enough time on the trail that Ms. Dawson would be gone when I came out at the other end.
I meandered around the lodge in a wide arc, making sure to stay clear of the porch, and practically ran to my truck. I tossed the empty salt thrower into the bed, opened the door for Bella, and hurried around to the driver’s side. I didn’t know if Ms. Dawson was still in the lodge or not, but I wasn’t taking any chances of running into her again. She liked to have several afternoon drinks at the lounge.
I backed out of my space and headed back down to the resort. At the maintenance garage, glad to be alone, I unloaded my equipment and thought about lunch. I hoped the woman wasn’t in the dining room when I got there.
I decided I’d just go back up to my cabin and eat. I had to find out how long she would be staying with us this time so I could plan my day around when she might be in certain spots. I sighed and drove to my cabin. I gave Bella her dog food and had a hearty lunch of roast beef sandwiches and beef gravy. Belly full, I scraped my scraps of roast beef into Bella’s bowl, and she licked her chops in thanks.
Now what? I couldn’t look at the lifts until morning, so the next big thing that needed to be done was cutting wood. The physical labor required didn’t bother me, just the amount of time it took.
“Come on, Bella, time to cut wood,” I informed her. She looked up at me with her big brown eyes and wagged her tail. I’d go straight to the source and start on a new log. We’d need the extra wood anyhow.
After grabbing my chainsaw from my woodshed, Bella and I drove to the end of the driveway, past Dax and Harley’s cabins. The road turned into a dirt off-road trail I followed for about a half of a mile. About a month before, I’d downed several trees back there for wood that still needed to be processed. Cutting it up would help dry it out quicker.
A few hours of laboring later, I was exhausted. I wanted nothing more than a beer and hot shower. I returned to my cabin and went straight to the fridge to grab a cold one. It felt amazing as it slid down my throat. I made a quick fire in the fireplace to warm my cabin and downed a second beer. I told Bella I was taking a shower, who glanced at me and yawned, curling up on the bear rug in front of the fireplace.
A hot shower was what I needed to relax my sore muscles. I lathered up the soap and felt the day wash off of my tense body. After my shower, I still had work to do. Bella and I ate a quick meal, and I put a couple beers into a small cooler before heading outside to my work shed.
I started another fire in the small wood-shop stove and began to work on my surprise for Brad and Angela ─ a Christmas gift for Abby ─ a giant wooden rocking horse.
Lindsay
I awoke fresh and excited to get started on the project I’d been dreaming about and somewhat working on for most of my professional life. After arriving the evening before at Misty Creek Lodge in Silverthorne, Colorado, I was looking forward to working on the last segment of my photography book. I hoped to spot and photograph a winter-white Ptarmigan nesting in the Colorado mountain ridges.
Ptarmigans were masters of disguise and camouflage. The rare grouse turn a speckled brownish grey in the summer months that blended perfectly with the mountain willow and rocks that made up their environment. In the winter, they turned a pure white, disappearing in the snow before you knew you’d seen one. They were breathtaking.
To a nature geek like myself, anyway. And hopefully to a bunch of people who enjoyed photos of wildlife.
While my coffee brewed, I flipped through my photo album to look at the summer shots of the same bird I’d photographed many years ago. I’d always wanted to complete the album by capturing the bird in its winter habitat and plumage. The full circle, so to speak, would round out my book into a publishable creation.
My interest in wildlife photography had started when growing up with a single dad who loved taking me camping. We both had a keen interest in birds, and Dad bought me my first real camera when I was sixteen. Ever since, I’d enjoyed photographing the native birds of my hometown of Ithaca, New York. Later, I’d graduated from the Art Institute of New York in New York City with a degree in photography and began working on my portfolio to build my career.
I’d worked mostly as a freelance wildlife photographer, taking pictures all over the world, with my work being published in many wildlife magazines, online publications, and even appearing on television. One of my first assignments had been to photograph this unique bird─ the Ptarmigan of the Colorado Mountains— and I’d been hooked ever since. The bird was amazing; you could walk right by it and not even see it because it blended in with the rocks and surrounding grasses perfectly.
I’d traveled so much over the last seven years as a freelancer, selling my work to other publications, that I hadn’t had the time to fulfill my own dream of publishing my personal wildlife photography book that would contain the stories of the photos and places I’d visited. While traveling to remote places I had to hike to with a team of peers, I’d kept a personal journal and took my own photos to document my unique story.
Photographing the winter-white Ptarmigan in its natural winter habitat was the finishing touch. To end it where it all began.
This would be my last photo session before I could put my book together in its final version. I would also be completing this chapter of my life. Only then could I move on to my next adventure, feeling that I’d accomplished what I’d originally set out to do.
I put away the photo book and tried to remember the exact spot I’d photographed the bird so many years ago. I hoped I could remember the general area, but scenery did change, so I planned to ask around town before taking the drive up the mountainside.
I packed my camera and equipment in my camera bag before brushing my hair and teeth and applying a small amount of makeup. My long, dark chocolate hair gleamed in the sunlight shining through my room’s windows. I pulled it back into a tight ponytail and applied a rose shade of lipstick to my full lips and a matching shade of blush to my high cheekbones. With a swipe of black mascara on my lashes, almond-shaped, emerald green eyes smiled back at me.
Looking into the mirror, I was happy with my reflection. Perfect.
I grabbed a twenty-dollar bill off the vanity and shoved it in the pocket of my insulated, soft-shelled black pants. I pulled on a matching, insulated, long-sleeved shirt and then put on my waterproof winter coat. I made sure my gloves and knit cap were in my coat pocket and pulled on my waterproof hiking boots over a double layer of wool socks.
I was ready to go, but the phone trilling stopped me before I could leave. “Hello?”
“Hello, hello!” a familiar voice greeted me.
“Sophie! What’s goin’ on?” I asked my best friend excitedly, plopping down on the bed for our conversation.
“I’m just checking in and making sure you got there okay. I texted you last night, but you didn’t respond.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I got in late and was tired. I didn’t hear my phone in my purse,” I apologized. “But everything’s great. The flight was uneventful, and I got my rental car without a hitch. And now, I’m getting ready to head out to find my bird at last!”
“Cool! Glad to hear,” she celebrated with me. “Be careful, and good luck finding your bird! Call me tonight when you have time.”
“Will do,” I assured her.
“Don’t forget,” Sophie reminded me. “I know you have, like, the worst memory ever.” I could feel her smirk coming through the line.
“I promise. I won’t forget. Talk to you tonight, Mom,” I joked.
“Goodbye, dear,” she replied, giggling.
“Bye-bye.” I chuckled and hung up, smiling. I dropped my phone on the bed and headed to the bathroom before leaving.
Sophie and I had been best friends since we’d met in college ten years ago. She kept me in line. I swear, without her, I’d lose my head if it weren’t attached to my body.
After finishing in the bathroom, I grabbed my camera bag and retractable trekking pole and headed out the door. In the lobby, I stopped to ask the front desk clerk if there were any hunters in the area. Local hunters knew best where to find a particular species in their natural habitat. She told me to head to the local diner across the road. Lots of locals hung out there in the mornings for breakfast and to socialize over coffee.
Take a Mountain Man Home for Christmas: A Mountain Man Romance Christmas Collection Page 19