Give Me One Night (McLaughlin Brothers Book 4)

by Jennifer Ashley

  We thank the man, take our purchases, and head back to the car. I pause a moment to throw back my shoulders and breathe the fresh mountain breeze. Sun brushes my face, the air so clear it’s burning.

  It’s very quiet, ours the only car in the lot. One SUV passes slowly on the road, then nothing. A crow soars overhead, its throaty caw echoing in the silence.

  Once we climb into the car, Ryan continues along the main highway, then takes a dirt road that leads straight up a hill. I hang on as the small car bumps and jounces. I hope we don’t get stuck, though a walk in these woods, now that we have warmer gear, won’t be a bad thing.

  The road levels and Ryan pulls to a halt at a closed gate hung between two trees. A sign beside the gate proclaims that Mountainside Getaway lies beyond.

  However, a hand-printed red sign in the very middle of the gate says in block letters, Resort Closed.

  “What the hell?” Ryan sets the brake and hauls himself out of the car. He strides to the gate and peers down the road on the other side, which disappears into the woods. “I called them last night. They know we’re coming.”

  He takes out his phone, glares at it, then shakes it. I dig mine from my bag. No signal.

  “Damn it,” Ryan snarls.

  I pry myself from the car and join him at the gate. “I’m sure it will be okay to leave the car here and walk in to see what’s wrong.”

  Ryan nods, but his eyes are tight. He wants this to be the perfect weekend for me, and things are already turning sour.

  I slide my hand into his. “It’s so beautiful. I don’t mind the walk.”

  Ryan’s tension eases as he glances down at me. “It shouldn’t be far.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  The gate is locked but Ryan helps me climb it then easily scrambles up and over. The road continues its rutted, narrow, and windy way, and we walk it, hand in hand, enjoying the brisk coolness.

  About a half mile later, we come upon cottages tucked into the woods, the rushing noise of a creek behind them.

  The houses are tiny, with deep porches and large windows, chimneys proclaiming that log fires await inside. A few doors of these charming cabins are open, but I don’t see any people within. Or without—or anywhere.

  Ryan cups his hands around his mouth. “Anyone home?”

  The smallest house has a wide gravel space in front of it for parking, and I assume this is the front office. A few moments after Ryan shouts, a man emerges, cradling a shotgun, but it rests over his arm, not pointed at us. I sidestep behind Ryan, hoping we haven’t landed in some weird, stalker horror movie.

  “We’re closed,” the man says.

  “We have a reservation,” Ryan says. “Are you Jim? I called you last night. Ryan McLaughlin.”

  “I remember.” The man nods. He appears normal enough, in jeans, sweatshirt, and hiking boots. He’s older, like the guy at the sporting goods store, but again, in very good shape. “Sorry about this. We had to close. I called you, but the message must not have gone through.”

  Ryan checks his phone, which is still giving him nothing. “What happened?”

  The man scratches his bearded chin. “Bear infestation.

  Chapter Five

  Calandra

  I pop out from behind Ryan. “Sorry—did you say bear infestation?”

  A slow nod. “Yep. Hazard of living in deep woods. Four or five black bears came down off the mountain, broke into a couple cabins, and tore them apart. Smashed windows, wrecked furniture, made huge nuisances of themselves. Didn’t hurt anyone, fortunately. The rangers herded the bears back up the mountain, but I have to close and wait for the insurance company and repairs. I refunded your deposit.”

  Ryan lets out his breath. Meanwhile I squish myself close to him, scanning the woods for bears that might return and be annoyed we’re in their way.

  “Are you covered for partying bears?” I ask Jim.

  Jim shows his teeth in a small smile. “I am, as a matter of fact. Sorry I can’t help you folks.”

  “It’s all right,” Ryan assures him, but he’s tense again. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” he says to me. “These mountains are covered with resorts, and there’s more at the lake.”

  “Most are booked up,” Jim tells us in his slow way. “It’s the weekend, and might be the last time to enjoy the deep snow before summer.”

  Ryan manages a nonchalant wave. “I’ll check around. Sorry this happened to you.”

  “Oh, well.” Jim shrugs. “It’s life in the high country. Come back in July—I should be ready by then.”

  He gives us a wave goodbye, shoulders the gun, saunters into his office, and closes the door.

  Ryan won’t look at me. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

  I rub my shoulder against him. “Don’t apologize for bears being bears. At least we weren’t here when it happened.” I look up at him, my head on his chest. “Being with you is really what I want.”

  Ryan relaxes again. We link hands and stroll back down the road to the car, enjoying the walk under the cool sky.

  Once we’re buckled up, Ryan reverses the car down the hill until he finds a place to turn around. I pull my coat close in the growing cold as the car reaches the main road, and Ryan turns toward the more populated areas.

  Jim proves to be right, however. Every resort we try is booked—the end of spring break, they say. I’m surprised the college crowd has headed to the mountains instead of the ocean for their week off, but apparently they have.

  We visit about half a dozen places, then decide to save gas and call, now that we’re in a more built-up area and can use our phones. Both Ryan and I contact nearby hotels and resorts and find the same thing. Booked solid, or we can have a tiny room behind the elevators.

  Finally Ryan growls and slams his phone down on top of the car. We’re in a parking lot of a small grocery store, and the wind has a sharp note.

  “I give up. I’m sor—”

  “If you apologize one more time, I’m walking back to Reno without you,” I say sternly. I hold up my forefinger. “None of this is your fault. It’s mine for thinking I can run away and have everything be perfect.”

  “It’s supposed to be perfect.” Ryan scowls his frustration. “A special time before we face the howling masses again. One glowing night to show you how much I love you.”

  “Aw.” I step next to him and lean into his tall frame. “I love you too.”

  He slides his arm around me and kisses the top of my head. “You’re my best friend,” he whispers. “Always have been.”

  I snuggle into him. “We don’t need to stay here. You can give me one fantastic night at home. We’ll go to your house, lock the doors, pull down the shades, and shut down our phones. Plant Keep Out signs all over your yard if we want to.”

  Ryan chuckles, warm vibrations beneath my cheek. “You’re right. Let’s go back. It was nice to get out of the city for a while, anyway.”

  “Definitely.” Gray clouds are blotting out the blue sky, and the wind has turned icy, but the beauty of the sheer mountains covered with velvety green pines make even bad weather picturesque.

  We procure hot coffee from the grocer and sip it in the car, and Ryan reveals another treat lined up for me. “We’re not going home on an airline,” he announces. “I booked a private jet, and we’ll have an aerial tour of the Sierras on the way back. Let me see if they’ll take us home today instead of tomorrow.”

  It sounds terrific, but I’m not surprised, the way things are going, when Ryan’s face falls in disappointment as he talks to the pilot on his phone. I can hear the man on the other end loud and clear.

  “I’m booked solid today, and I’ll probably be cancelling half those flights,” the pilot tells him. “Weather. Sorry. I’ll refund your deposit.”

  “At least you’re getting all your deposits back,” I say cheerfully when Ryan hangs up.

  Ryan, tight-lipped, starts thumbing through airline apps on his phone, searching for a flight. Not shockingly, on a Saturda
y at the end of spring break, they’re all booked.

  Finally, Ryan throws his phone into the back seat, slams both his hands to the ceiling of the car, and lets out a roar. He balls his hands and presses them to his stomach, emitting a softer growl.

  Once his anger is depleted, he blows out a breath and turns to me. “Okay,” he says, trying to maintain his patience at the world. “How about a road trip?”

  Ryan

  “That will be fun.” Calandra’s smile is bright, but I know she’s trying to comfort me. “We’ll pack a lunch and take turns driving. You, me, and the open road.”

  Calandra is being sweet and understanding, but I hate that everything is going wrong. When she’d called me for help, I’d thought—Hey, I’ll give her one of the best weekends ever. Show her what marriage to big, bad Ryan will be like.

  It will be like shit for her, if the rest of our life is like this.

  I try to calm myself. Nothing too terrible has happened—the resort is closed, the weather is deteriorating, and the awesome private flight with champagne and the works won’t be happening. But we’re safe and whole, and together. Bonus—it’s been almost twelve hours since someone texted us with another zany question about the wedding.

  Calandra’s right about one thing—we do some awesome road trips. We’ve camped rough in the desert, sharing a sleeping bag and warming each other in the night. Heaven.

  I open my mouth to apologize again, but Calandra’s eyes take on a steely look, and I shut up. Don’t be sorry. Make the best of it. My dad says that a lot, and he’s a wise man.

  “New plan.” I twist myself to fish in the back seat for my phone. I’ve thrown it into a corner and can’t quite reach it, and I start flailing. Calandra calmly skims her hand into the back, picks up my phone, and gives it to me.

  “New plan,” she prompts.

  “We drive around the lake and down into Nevada and home. We can spend the night in Las Vegas, eat at a great restaurant, and then drive on to Phoenix in the morning.”

  Calandra knows I don’t like Vegas, but I will find a very nice hotel that isn’t too cheesy. One with a suite that has a bathtub for two.

  I get lost thinking about Calandra in the bath with me, bubbles floating gently on her skin and glistening in her hair. She’ll reach for me and draw me to her for a warm, damp kiss …

  Calandra waves her hand in front of my face. “You in there? It’s getting cold.”

  I start the car and turn on the heater, which feebly puffs to life.

  The next call I make is to the rental company in Reno, to tell them I want to take the car to Phoenix. When they hem and haw, my frustration returns. Calandra gently moves the phone from my mouth. “We can drive back to Reno if we have to,” she murmurs. “Try to get a flight from there.”

  I picture us waiting in the airport for hours on standby, maybe having to search for a hotel room if the wait lasts all night and into the next day. We could be home by then if we drive.

  The guy on the other end has a solution. All I have to do is pay through the nose, and we’re good.

  I glance at Calandra, who is waiting, her brown eyes holding warmth and belief in me.

  “Fine,” I snap at the guy. “You have my credit card already.”

  “All taken care of, sir,” he says smoothly. “Have a nice trip.”

  I turn off the phone and press it to my forehead.

  “Problem solved,” Calandra says, buckling her seatbelt. “I’ll pay for half. It’s only fair.”

  “No, you will not.” I toss the phone in the back again and turn up the heat. “This is your special weekend, my treat, me being a macho badass. So suck it up.”

  Calandra laughs. We know each other well enough that she’ll let it go, for now. Later, she’ll do something for me that’s equally grandiose. I look forward to finding out what.

  I pull out from the grocery store to the main road, just as the first flakes of snow begin to fall.

  Ryan

  At first, the drive is beautiful. We join the road that follows the lake, which is a roiling gray blue under the lowering sky. The highway is narrow, cars passing us in the other direction so close they’ll scrape our doors any second.

  The road climbs, becoming ever more sinuous, the view of the lake receding. I have to slow way down because the visibility has dropped, snow blowing across the road. We rise to look down on Emerald Bay, which is gorgeous—or so says Calandra who’s snapping pictures. I have both hands on the wheel trying to keep to the tiny strip of lane allotted to me as the road twists in a corkscrew, a drop-off on either side of us.

  By the time we’re more or less level again, the snowstorm has surged, charging down from the mountains to dump spring snow everywhere.

  Of course, my plans to head into South Lake Tahoe for a break and a late lunch go awry because somewhere I take a wrong turn. If I’d had my phone on, and Calandra hadn’t dozed off, and the tiny car, which had seen better days, had had GPS, everything would have been fine.

  As it is, I’m miles down the road before I realize my mistake. I pass a turnoff to an airport, but it’s a very small building, and I don’t actually see any planes behind it.

  I keep driving. There are small towns up and down these roads, in theory, and I’m confident we’ll find someplace to stop.

  I’m more miles along and out into wilderness, snow coming down thick, before I decide that’s not going to happen. My stomach growls, and I know that when Calandra wakes up, she’ll be hungry. The snacks we bought before we started are long gone.

  The mountain roads are steep and start to bend again. I have to go at a crawl, the windshield wipers on high, as snow piles up. Not good. Calandra and I both love the wilderness, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous.

  I can try to turn around and find my way back to the towns around the lake, or I can keep going. The snow will cease when we get out of the mountains and down into the Nevada desert. It can’t be far.

  I’m wrong about the storm ending. It follows us along the peaks and down into the valleys. I’m exhausted, the daylight is going—I’m driving so slowly that what should be a short-ish trip is taking hours.

  I peer at the gas gauge, which is dropping faster than it should. Did they rent us a car with a leaky tank? That would be just beautiful.

  We won’t make it much further. I wake up Calandra, who blinks at the snowy trees and gray road. I can barely see a foot in front of the car. If the road blocks up, and we’re here with no food or water—it will make a nice survival story in the papers in a few weeks. The wild country out here is no joke.

  “I’m trying to find a place,” I say. “We need food, rest, and gas.”

  Calandra nods. We’ve done this before, during our trips to the middle of nowhere. One of us drives and the other navigates, and the driver doesn’t question where he or she is told to go. When the going gets tough, we become an unstoppable team.

  Calandra’s quiet for a while, scanning the road. She checks her phone, but we’re once again a long way from any cell towers.

  “There.” Calandra points.

  I follow where she’s indicating. There’s a gate on the road, open, that leads to a smaller road. The gate is well maintained, grooves in the snow beyond showing people have recently gone in or come out. There’s a sign, half covered with snow.

  I halt the car—I don’t bother pulling over, because we’ll just get stuck in a ditch. Last Stop Ranch, the sign says, in pretty blue lettering. I’m hoping it’s a small ski hotel, not someone’s actual private ranch. Even if the hotel has no rooms to spare, we can rest in the lobby, find something to eat, and maybe wait out the worst of the storm.

  I bump onto the road, which takes us around a couple of hairpin turns and ends in a wide clearing. Before us, behind a curtain of snow, is a long, low house with a couple of pickups in parking spaces in front of it, and a motorcycle that’s been covered with a tarp. I pull in next to a pickup and kill the engine.

  We’re five steps fro
m the front door, but the snow is swirling so thickly we can barely see it. I lean across the console to kiss Calandra’s cold lips.

  “Ready?”

  “Yep.” She pulls her coat close and slides her phone into her pocket.

  “All right,” I say. “One, two, three—go!”

  We leap from the car at the same time and dash to the door. I turn under the tiny porch and click the remote to lock the car. No idea why, except habit. I’m thinking any would-be thief is sitting in a warm room with hot coffee right now.

  I push open the door and usher Calandra inside. The warmth we find is like a wall, taking my breath away.

  We’re in what looks like a living room. A young man with dark brown hair sits on a sofa reading a newspaper, his booted feet propped on a coffee table. I don’t see a reception desk or a check-in area, or a restaurant, just a small wet bar in one corner with cabinets above it. A slot machine sits next to the back door, switched off, its face dark and silent.

  Doesn’t matter if there’s no food here. It’s warm, and my hands tingle as they thaw. I’ll take any room, and we can sleep—and other things—to take our minds off being hungry.

  Calandra’s looking around, consternation on her face. “Uh-oh,” she mutters.

  “What?”

  “We’re in Nevada.”

  “I know,” I say, puzzled. “We crossed the border a couple miles back.”

  Calandra pulls me down and whispers into my ear. “I hate to tell you this, but this isn’t a ranch ranch.” She gives me a pointed look. “Know what I mean?”

  Chapter Six

  Ryan

  For a moment, I don’t understand what Calandra’s trying to tell me. I glance around and see a fairly plain sitting area with couches and chairs and a table against the wall with a few newspapers scattered haphazardly on it.