by Dani Collins
At first, he thought she was carting a grudge over her head like it was a freaking tournament-winning silver cup. Her snit was tiresome and exactly the sort of drama he’d been trying to avoid by steering clear of romantic entanglements.
Two weeks in, however, he had to acknowledge she wasn’t being passive-aggressive or even aggressive-aggressive. She genuinely hated his guts.
Which should have earned exactly zero fucks from him. He still felt like a chump for worrying about her that day. When he had realized she’d been hiding in her car all that time, he’d been so furious with her for flashing him back to his mother’s accident, he hadn’t been able to speak. He would have taken her head off far more savagely than any of her charming comebacks about Valentines ever could.
He had also been relieved, though. Not just generic relief after generic concern, either. He hadn’t wanted to orchestrate a rescue in the dark, on a mountain, in a snowstorm, but he hadn’t wanted to be responsible for her disappearance. Her angry sadness at missing that chance with her mom had struck a chord in him that had prickled and itched for days.
Which pissed him off.
He didn’t do feelings. His were simple and middle of the road. Hot, cold, horny, hungry. Peeved or pleased. Bored or interested.
Far as he could tell, she was every color of the emotional rainbow. She laughed big and ran away from home when she was sad. They’d established that her temper could level a fucking building and her grudges ran a mile deep.
He didn’t have the patience to cover that much ground on a daily basis. Avoidance was his best bet and that was the only reason he should be tuning in to her whereabouts like she was a freaking radio signal.
Did he turn away when he knew she was around a corner, though? Not even once. Because he wasn’t a coward, that’s why.
He braced, though. His stomach tightened as he walked toward the open front doors of the lodge. Something about the way the dog trotted ahead of him, tail wagging and collar chain jangling, told him even before his eyes adjusted from the bright outdoors, that Glory was in the lobby.
“Glory will say I’m right,” Trigg said beside him as the dog found her by the reception desk.
“I’m right,” Glory announced with good-natured obedience. For once, her sloppy cardigan hung on a hook instead of off her shoulders. It was a pleasant spring day so she wore only a light turtleneck and jeans. The clothes showcased her round, pert breasts and round, pert ass. She was bent over to greet Murphy, scrubbing his ears, saying, “Glory is always right, isn’t she?”
Instead of her usual knot of frizzy hair, she had it scraped almost straight into a ponytail secured by silver band behind her neck. The tail flared out from the bottom like the end of a frayed rope.
Rolf had begun obsessing over how that kinky mass might feel. Silky? Coarse? Warm? Cool?
“Say, ‘Trigg is a sex god,’” his brother prompted, grating on Rolf’s nerves.
“That would contradict the part where I claim to always be right.” She straightened, grinning at her own comeback.
She saw Rolf. Her glance barely hit him and her expression didn’t change, but her smile became a stiff mask. The sparkle in her eye gutted.
Rolf took it on the chin and stayed on his feet.
“I can only take custody if he’s tired. I have a ton of payroll.” She thumbed toward the dining room and her pantry office, already mapping her retreat. It was a predictable, yet graceful refusal to breathe his same air.
“He’s knackered. We hiked him up to the old lift tower. Have you been up there?”
“Pssht. I hike in malls, like civilized folk.”
“It’s a really pretty view. I’ll take you up tomorrow.”
Rolf’s hackles rose. It was a purely instinctual reaction, one he didn’t understand. He and Trigg had never fought over a woman. The age difference between them had made it a non-issue until Trigg hit his mid-twenties. In the last few years, they might have seen women who overlapped the same age bracket, but they both had enough offers, and such different social circles, poaching or competing had never been a thing between them. It was probably the only area of their lives where they didn’t lock horns.
There was no way it should be an issue now.
But when Glory said, “I have to take my car into Haven for another tune-up tomorrow,” Rolf relaxed a fraction. She started gathering paperwork. “Come on, Murphy.”
“Wait. Settle an argument,” Trigg insisted.
She paused to side-swipe Rolf with her gaze. “No, thanks.”
“It affects you.”
That made her stiffen. “Doubt it.”
“We need a terrain park,” Trigg explained.
“I don’t know what that is.” She shrugged an apology and tried to leave again.
Rolf could have walked away himself, but he stuck around, wanting to know how much of his brother’s flirting was landing on target.
“It’s like a skate park for boarders and skiers, with jumps and rails. Good for off-season mountain biking, too. All the big resorts have them. Otherwise people are hot-dogging on the main runs and things get broken. Jaws. Femurs.”
“You need to decide on a color? Anything but blue. We called that one.”
“Location. Rolf wants it on the backside as a second-phase project. I say it should go on this side, where people drinking on the patio can watch the tricks. Better for you and your guests, right?”
“Sure,” she agreed without her usual drill for more information.
It was funny, but once he had stopped trying to shield himself from what he’d thought were her advances, he’d begun seeing how much other people liked and respected her. Marvin was a decent guy, a bit too chatty for Rolf’s tastes, but always willing to pitch in with both hands. He wasn’t a leader, though. He waffled and tried to please everyone. When he did make a decision, it was off-the-cuff, like Glory’s disinterested, ‘Sure.’
Glory wasn’t a leader, either, per se. She was more of a one-on-one counselor. She spelled things out to the point Rolf sometimes wanted to walk up and say, “He got it ten minutes ago.” But he’d been managing executives a few years now. He might personally find it expedient to address a room, say his piece once and carry on, but he’d learned the value in a style like hers, where she pulled a person aside, earned their confidence, and brought them on board as a team player.
So he did that. He spoke right to her, explaining, “Terrain parks aren’t for inexperienced skiers. They should only be accessible to people who have to ski our more challenging runs to get there. It also makes sense financially to build for the average skier first, before specializing for a niche like acrobats.”
He and Trigg had been hashing this out all morning.
“They’re still going to go over there, dude,” Trigg argued again. “You’re just moving them to a more remote location so it’s a pain in the ass to bring them out when they get themselves into trouble. And we’re targeting elite athletes.”
“The main bowl has to be for all levels. This is a ski-in, ski-out lodge. You want to put a terrain park in the path of a skier returning after a long day, when they’re tired and have no reflexes left? Just so the guests on the patio have a front-row seat on those broken femurs and necks? Is that the sort of entertainment you would like to provide?” He swung that last inquiry to Glory.
She pursed her lips, cheeks hollow. “What does your buddy Gerald say? He was all about slope grades and topography, wasn’t he? I invite you to ask him where you should stick it. Come on, Murph.” She walked away.
“Did she just tell us to stick it?” Trigg asked as they entered Rolf’s office. “That’s your fault. If you weren’t here, she would have agreed with me. She likes me.”
“Does she?” Rolf cocked his head with skepticism.
“More than she likes you. That sting?”
“No.”
Maybe.
Fuck it. Yes. He hated that Trigg made her chuckle and play verbal tennis.
“M
aybe don’t come on so hard,” he advised his kid brother. “A sexual harassment suit is all I need.”
“Fuck you.”
“Better me than her. Send me those photos you took,” Rolf said, deliberately changing the subject. “I’m going into Haven tomorrow to talk to the cop.”
After Nate had spoken to Chief Kurt Adams, Rolf had also had a brief chat with him. Adams was willing to send an officer out to the lodge if there was a specific incident, but said documenting the ‘before’ was also an important piece.
He had recommended a few more precautionary measures, which was why Rolf and Trigg had hiked all morning, checking things out and putting up some hunting cameras and signage. Aside from bickering over design issues, it had been a comfortable few hours.
It had actually been a small déjà vu for Rolf, harking him back to when he’d been teaching his kid brother to ski. The two of them had often wound up more or less alone, weaving through a section of trees, Trigg as comfortable in the stillness as Rolf had always been.
There had been a handful of years in there when things had been pretty good. Rolf had finally accepted he had a brother and Trigg had been old enough to be more companion, less chore. Their camaraderie had lasted right up until Trigg had said, “I want to board.”
Rolf wasn’t a purist. He could board better than most, but he didn’t love it the way he loved the precision of skiing. Trigg was a fast, accomplished skier, but he had found his niche—his freedom—on the board. It had been the beginning of Trigg making his own decisions and, for that reason and a million others, they’d grown apart from that point on.
Today, as they’d squabbled and trash-talked, but literally climbed common ground, Rolf had figured there was hope for a mature friendship with his brother.
If not for Glory.
He twirled his pen between his fingers and thumbs.
It wasn’t just about Trigg exposing them to lawsuits if his advances were not welcomed. Glory was kind of… Hell, he didn’t think she was a virgin or anything, but there was a lot of lava under the brittle exterior, one that was still crushed she hadn’t been able to go to Paris with her mom.
Trigg wasn’t going to marry her and take her on a dream honeymoon to the City of Light. He was very much in the headspace of having a good time, then crowing about it to his brother on his way to his next stop on the circuit.
So no. Trigg wasn’t getting a shot at Glory. Not without going through Rolf.
Chapter Ten
BLESSED WINTER – Chapter Three
Page 32, word count = 7933
“Of course, I’ll stay with you,” Brock said.
Pandora didn’t like relying on people at the best of times. Being in someone’s debt was super uncomfortable to her. It struck her, however, that Brock probably didn’t have anywhere to go at… She glanced at the clock on the kitchen stove. Four-o-four in the morning, Christmas or not.
He was basically stuck here. He probably wanted to go back to sleep, maybe get an early start back to L.A. He didn’t want to spend Christmas with her when—
“Oh my gosh!” she gasped as she saw what was under the tree. “Where on earth did those come from?”
“Hmm? Oh, uh.” He rubbed his jaw, making a sandpapery sound against the stubble that was a long way from a white beard, but he still said, “Santa.”
She rose and moved closer for a better look. Six new gifts sat there, three properly wrapped and addressed to him from Santa in writing that smacked of a mom’s. The other three were wrapped in Christmas flyers and tied with some of the yarn Pandora left in her kitchen drawer for the odd time when she needed a length of string.
“He couldn’t find tape,” he said.
“How…” Her throat closed up so tight she couldn’t speak. Her eyes stung. She was going to cry. How embarrassing.
She hurried to the kitchen and her box of tissues.
“Did I upset you?” He leapt up from the sofa. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Of course, I’m not upset. That’s so kind and generous and I don’t even know how you did it.” Her voice went up, up, up, disappearing like a helium balloon until it was no longer discernible. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked, and blew her nose, fighting a sob that was trying to break like a bubble against the inside of her ribcage.
“Don’t apologize.” He was suddenly really close, taking her arms to try to meet her eyes, chuckling with something that sounded tender and affectionate and then drawing her into his near-naked body. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I wanted you to like it, that’s all. It’s noth—”
“Please don’t say it’s nothing,” she cut in. She let her arms go around him, hugging him while her wet cheek pressed against his strong heartbeat, body angled so the side of her belly was against his groin. His skin was warm and rough with silky hair and she wanted to turn her lips against it. “It means the world to me. I haven’t had a real, wake-up-to-presents Christmas since—” She swallowed. “Thank you.”
He rubbed her back. “Do you want me to make you some tea? See if you can get some more sleep?”
“No! I want to open my presents.” She laugh-cried into her crushed tissue. “Can I? Pleeeze?”
He chuckled again, opening one arm to invite her back to the couch. “Of course.”
“But I will make some tea. I bought a special blend that smells like cloves and nutmeg. Do you want to try it?” She was trying not to act like a silly kid, but she was suddenly, insanely excited. It was Christmas.
“Sure.” He sounded bemused. “Let’s put on some music and do it right. If only you had a fireplace.”
“The TV should be set to the hearth channel. It’ll have carols. Turn it on if you like.”
He did, then stepped into some sweatpants from his bag, not bothering with a shirt. “How are you feeling? Any pains?”
She had forgotten all about that. She looked to the ceiling, mentally doing an assessment, but all she found was a fizz in her system like her blood had been replaced with champagne. “Nope. Totally fine.”
She set the kettle, then fetched her robe, settling onto the sofa with their tea a few minutes later. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you.”
“Last I checked, Santa gets cookies.” He pointed at the tin.
“He does.” She rose and he quickly waved her to sit.
“I’m Santa. I’ve got this.” He handed her a gift and opened the tin of cookies, biting into something covered in white chocolate with a green tree imprinted on its top.
She opened the first gift, which was a plush panda about the size of a kitten. She rubbed the fur against her cheek. “I’m either going to have to pinch myself, because this is the craziest dream, or you’ll have to tell me how you did this.”
He hesitated, then admitted, “I was going to have a belated Christmas with my family. I bought that for my nephew.”
“I can’t steal it from him!”
“He’s three months old. He won’t know the difference. And they’re not back until the twenty-ninth. I’ll pick up something else before then.”
She pressed her mouth between the panda’s ears. “I should probably feel more guilty, but I’m so happy.” She couldn’t stop smiling. “I thought it was silly to buy the baby anything when it’s not even here to open it, let alone old enough to care, but I’m so touched, Brock. You have no idea.”
He got up and fetched the box of tissues, bringing them back and using one to wipe her cheeks. He was laughing at her, but with affection. “This is so worth it to me. You have no idea how much fun I’m having right now. Want another one?”
“I want to savor this.” She set the panda in her lap and sighed, admiring the tree and sipping her tea, blinking wet eyes.
“Can I ask why you haven’t celebrated for so long?”
She stroked the soft fur of the panda with her thumb, not wanting to tarnish such a perfect morning. What would he think of her?
“I’ve been on my own a long time. I usually help out at a soup kitchen
on Christmas day. It’s kind of, um, giving back.” She bit her lip, watching him, but he only looked concerned. “I used to eat at one.”
He grew alert with concern. “What happened?”
“My mom is kind of in a cult.” Not kind of. Totally. Pandora had since looked up the definition and her mother’s ‘religion’ ticked all the boxes.
“Like, a real one? That’s why you’re estranged from her? Do you see her at all?”
“The odd phone call when I try to get her to bust over the wall and she refuses and tries to pull me back in.”
He gave her the look she’d seen on the faces of the few other people she’d told. Cautious yet morbidly curious. “Which one is it?”
“Nothing you would have heard of. I’m not even sure how she got sucked in. It was after my dad died. I was ten—old enough to know things were different. Wrong. But not old enough to do anything about her choices. She dragged me around to all these weird rituals and we had to make vows to give up stuff. We couldn’t have a TV or eat meat. Slave labor is a huge part of it. All of my schoolwork was about Gary and his ‘truth.’ He’s the guy who created it. He has three wives and wanted to make me his fourth. I was sixteen and knew I didn’t want that so I ran away. That was six years ago.”
“You were on the streets at sixteen? Where did you go?” He was appalled, which was how most people reacted. Girls that age were lucky to survive, let alone push through without a string of sexual assaults or a drug habit or both.
Fortunately, all of her sexual encounters had been consenting, if underwhelming.
Until Brock.
A pang of yearning went through her as she thought about how perfect their weekend last spring had seemed. She’d been physically infatuated for the first time, but she had also fallen for the dream he represented. For a couple of days, she had felt like she was ‘normal.’ Like she could live the mainstream life. Her desire to be part of regular society had been the biggest reason she had left the cult.