Leo Erickson pulled up in front of Bluestone Elementary School and sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel and fighting the knot in his chest. Feeling anxious about seeing one’s own son was all kinds of wrong, but he hadn’t seen Max in almost two months, and from what Leo’s mom said, the boy was having issues.
Yeah, well, why wouldn’t he, after all the changes in his short life? But Leo was his father, though he didn’t much feel like one these days, so he came home from his assignment in Afghanistan to see what the problem was. Then he’d go back to the war and finish his story. It was too important to be left untold.
He opened the door of the SUV and approached the school with the same trepidation that he’d seen soldiers approach a bunker. The place was scary quiet, as though something dangerous lurked inside, just like a bunker.
Then the bell rang, like a bomb going off. His heart threatened to jump through his ribs. The glass doors flew open and children of all sizes streamed out, the very few teachers calling ineffectively to those who veered off in search of freedom. How could so few adults be expected to control so many children?
An impact against his knees made him grunt and he looked down into the wide dark eyes of a little girl, her black hair parted exactly in the center of her head and braided to her shoulders. She stared up at him, pink Dora backpack slung over her shoulder, and shoved her thumb into her mouth. No telling how long they stood there before a woman—her mother—hurried over to scoop her out of the way, casting a wary glance at Leo.
Right. Small town. Stranger. Never mind that he’d lived here from sixth grade until he could get the hell out. No one remembered him. And though he’d hated living in a small town, he wanted that protective atmosphere for his child.
Who he didn’t see, anywhere.
“Whose Toyota is this?” an annoyed voice called from behind him.
He turned to see a beautiful blue-eyed blonde standing at the fender of his rental. “Mine.”
She huffed out a breath. “Sir, you can’t park here. You’re backing up traffic. Don’t you see the arrows?”
His face heated. He had seen the arrows but thought he’d be long gone before the traffic started to flow. His first time with the after-school business. Livvie had dealt with that, then the stream of nannies had taken over, then his parents. He’d just thought…
“Where should I go?”
“There’s plenty of parking across the street.” She pointed to the supermarket parking lot.
He turned toward the thinning stream of kids emerging from the school. Where was Max? “My son should be out any minute.” He tried his charming smile, so rusty it had to be more of a grimace.
She wasn’t charmed, just folded her arms under her full breasts and waited. Behind her, several cars took up her cause by honking. At him. Well, hell.
With another glance at the school, he turned to the rental, tugging the keys from his front pocket. “Sorry,” he muttered to the blonde as he climbed in and started the vehicle, doing his best not to peel out as he left the place.
By the time he parked—plenty of space his ass—and jogged across the street to the school, most of the kids and traffic had gone. Some older kids milled around, and one smaller one, bent double, sobs racking his body as the blonde woman crouched before him, her hair tucked behind her ear as she tried to comfort him.
Christ. He hadn’t thought—the day Liv died, Max had been left at school, with no one to pick him up for hours. His son had to think something had happened again to turn his life upside down.
“Max! Max, I’m here.” Leo increased his speed and dropped to his knees beside his son, putting his hand on his arm. The boy’s flinch surprised Leo into drawing back. “Hey, buddy. Hey. I’m here.” Helplessly he let his hand fall to his lap as he watched the blonde cradle his distraught son in her arms.
“I…want…my…grandma.”
Leo’s gut tightened at the boy’s refusal to even acknowledge him. He’d thought his mother had been exaggerating, but maybe not. “Okay. Okay. I’ll take you to Grandma’s. We just thought it might be fun if I surprised you.” Actually his mom hadn’t thought that was such a great plan, but Leo hadn’t gotten where he was without being stubborn—in his career and in his life. Look what it got him, a son who wouldn’t look at him, who clung to a stranger instead. Leo’s arms ached with the need to comfort his son.
“Are you his father?” the blonde asked.
He shifted his gaze to the woman. “Yeah. I’ve been out of town. Are you his teacher?”
“The school counselor.”
Right. So she knew Max, who lost his mother and moved to a new town so his father could report on the war in Afghanistan. He watched his son, nonplussed. The kid had loved visiting his grandparents, so Bluestone seemed like the perfect solution when the string of nannies didn’t work out. But the kid before him didn’t look like he was bouncing back from the loss of his mother. He was pale and fragile, almost unrecognizable. Did the boy think the same about him?
“Max, your daddy wanted to surprise you.” The blonde’s smooth, soothing voice even had Leo relaxing.
She rubbed her hand up and down Max’s slender back and made gentle shushing noises, just like Liv had done when Max was little and had colic. Christ, he missed his wife, missed that he hadn’t had to feel guilty when she was around because she took care of everything. Missed that he hadn’t had to feel helpless.
“He came all this way to see you,” the blonde continued.
Her words gave him a jolt. Did she know where he’d been? Probably, since this was Bluestone where everyone knew everyone else.
Max turned his face away from her shoulder with a doubtful sniff as he inspected his father—and no doubt found him lacking. Leo forced another smile. This was his kid and he didn’t know what to say.
“I’ve missed you, buddy.”
Max snuffled and pulled away, just a bit, from the counselor. Leo held out an ineffective hand, knowing the boy wouldn’t take it.
“Want to go home?”
For a moment, the boy’s face brightened and Leo knew he’d said exactly the wrong thing when the boy echoed, “Home?”
“Grandma’s.” Not the beautiful house in Excelsior with the playroom and the neighborhood where his friends lived and the mother who loved him more than anything. “Grandma’s house.” The words lumped in his throat. He wanted to go home, too, to the time before his wife had been killed, when the light that had warmed both his son and him had been extinguished.
The blonde murmured a few encouraging words Leo didn’t pick up over the roar of blood in his ears, and Max finally straightened to stand before his father. Leo flinched at the accusation in his son’s eyes. He rubbed a hand over Max’s arm.
“Wow, you’ve gotten big,” he said in what he hoped was a man-to-man voice. “What are you lifting these days?”
Max only looked at him, and again, Leo felt helplessness flow through him.
“How about some ice cream on the way home?” He glanced over at the counselor. “Is the Dairy Queen open yet?”
She nodded. “Just last week.”
Leo stood and offered a hand to his son. “Let’s go ruin our dinner.”
The blonde rose, too. “Will you be in town long? I’d like to schedule a conference with you and Max’s teacher.”
“I’ll be here awhile,” he said, not wanting to let Max know he only planned to stay a couple of weeks, until things settled again. “I’m Leo, by the way.”
“Trinity Madison,” she said, and extended a hand.
He shook it, briefly, trying not to think about the softness of her skin, the ringless state of it, and he turned to guide his son across the street to his SUV.
Now that he and Max were alone, he was even more clueless. He’d talked to Max on the phone a few times while he was in Afghanistan, but the conversations had been short. The kid apparently followed in his own footsteps when it came to social interaction.
“Have you been to Dairy Queen yet?” he asked as he buckled the boy in the booster in the back seat.
Max shook his head. “Grandma said too much sugar isn’t good for me.”
Leo remembered her saying the same to him, but weren’t grandparents supposed to spoil kids, just a little? And if any kid deserved spoiling, it was one who’d lost his mother. “Yeah, well, it’s not good for any of us, but we’re going to go anyway.”
He closed the back door and rounded the vehicle to climb in, trying to remember what his mother used to do when she picked him up from school. “How was your day?”
“I got a mark.”
A mark? What the hell was a mark? “What does that mean?”
“I couldn’t sit still in class and the teacher yelled and then she gave me a mark in my behavior folder.”
Okay, so he got in trouble. “So what does that mean? Did you miss recess or something?”
“Tomorrow I have to stand against the wall at our break.”
“Well, buddy, I guess you need to stay in your seat so you can play on Friday.”
“Doesn’t matter. No one plays with me anyway.”
His mother had mentioned Max didn’t have any friends, but Leo figured it was just a matter of time. Clearly that wasn’t the case. “Well, that sucks.”
“Grandma says that’s a bad word.”
Leo pressed his lips together. “Yeah, she’s right. Sorry, buddy. So why doesn’t anyone play with you?”
“They think I’m weird. And they’ve all been friends before. They don’t need me.”
Again Leo heard the accusation in the boy’s voice. Man, he’d really screwed this up, moving Max away from the world he’d known so Leo could get back to his life. Worse, he didn’t have the first clue about how to make it better.
* * *
Ice cream apparently wasn’t the way. Max ordered a dipped cone and dripped it all over the booster seat, then the minute they pulled into the driveway at his parents’, Max puked all over the running board. Leo’s mom Nora must have been watching from the front window because she hurried out from the side door, helping Max out of his soiled shoes and casting a baleful glare at her son.
“Ice cream?”
Like Leo needed to be judged right now. “He was upset. I was trying to smooth things over.”
“You did a bang-up job there. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” She scooped Max into her arms—the kid was nearly as tall as she was—and marched into the house, leaving Leo alone, his arms still aching to hold his child. Instead, he turned on the hose and washed the ice cream off his car.
When he walked into the kitchen later, Max was at the same counter where Leo had done his homework years ago, freshly bathed, the scent of the shampoo his mother had used since Leo was a child carrying him back. He wanted to press his lips to his son’s head, something he’d done when Max was little but now just felt awkward. Instead he leaned on the counter at a right angle to the boy.
“Where’s your homework?”
“We do it right after dinner,” Nora answered. “We have a routine, Leo.”
Frustration bubbled, but he tamped it down. His mother had called him to come home, but now wouldn’t make room for him.
He turned to his son, drawing on the depths of his patience. “Do you have a lot of homework? What’s it in?”
“Wednesdays are spelling,” Nora said. “Twenty sentences.”
Tension gripped his shoulders as he fought bitter words. He was trying to engage his son in a conversation, and his mother was interfering. But how could he fault her, when he’d asked her to do that very thing so he could continue his career, knowing Max was in good hands?
And he was in good hands. But that no longer seemed enough.
He sat on the stool beside Max. “Why don’t you drag out that homework and we’ll get it knocked out before dinner?”
“We do it after dinner,” Max said, parroting his grandmother.
“Yeah, well, if we get this done, we can play some ball before bed.”
“He’s already had his bath,” Nora protested, turning away from the stove.
“So he can have another one.”
“I don’t like to play ball. Or take baths.”
Leo laughed, something he couldn’t have imagined doing just an hour ago, and he reached out to ruffle his son’s hair. Max flinched.
Leo folded his hand and let it fall to his lap. “Right. Well, let’s get going on that homework. Twenty sentences seems like a lot.”
* * *
He’d had no idea how much of a struggle it was to get ten sentences out of a kid who didn’t want to talk but that was all they managed before his mother instructed Max to set the table for dinner. His mother sent Leo a chiding look when Max went into the dining room.
“He needs things a certain way, Leo. There’s security in our routine. You can’t just come in here and change it.”
“I’m his father.”
“You trusted me to do what’s right for him. So I am.”
Leo rocked back on his heels. He wasn’t willing to admit that he had no idea what was right for his son, only that he wanted to be the one to call the shots. He could almost hear Livvie chiding him, telling him he couldn’t have it both ways—couldn’t have his freedom to do his job and be in charge here, too. He’d made a choice and clearly it was the wrong one. He’d known it at the time, but God help him, he couldn’t bring himself to stay. He needed the job, the way it absorbed him.
And abandoned his kid.
“Is it that he misses her, do you think?”
“Misses her, misses you, misses home. Everything’s changed for him, Leo, against his will. He has no control over his life and it makes him angry. Sound familiar?”
He heard the smile in her voice but wouldn’t meet her gaze. He’d been much the same way when his parents had moved him away from his friends in Milwaukee and planted him here. They’d grown roots. He couldn’t wait to blow away.
Instead of responding to her, he turned toward the dining room. “I’m going to see if he needs help.”
But Max was putting the finishing touches on the table when Leo entered. Max closed the sticking drawer on the breakfront with a grunt, and turned to his father.
“What are we drinking?” Leo picked up one of the cut-glass tumblers his mom had had since he was Max’s age.
“I drink soy milk. Grandma and Grandpa drink ice water. Grandma bought your beer. She said it’s your favorite kind.”
Leo’s mouth watered at the idea of the beverage, but he wasn’t going to indulge before he tucked his son in bed. “I think I’ll have milk, too. Soy milk?”
“Grandma thinks I’m lactose intolerant.”
Leo lifted his eyebrows at the big words. But that would explain the reaction to the ice cream. “Is it any good?”
Max grimaced, drawing another chuckle from Leo. God, he should have spent more time with his kid and less time feeling sorry for himself. Max could have helped him climb out of his grief. They could have helped each other heal. Was that an irredeemable failing?
The milk was nasty, but the meal was good. Leo hadn’t had a home-cooked meal since he’d dropped Max off here two—no, almost three—months ago. The boy had been quiet, but Leo hadn’t wanted to see it, had only wanted to get out of there, get on with his life. He hadn’t seen any other choice, though. He had to work, and Max always loved visiting his grandparents. It had seemed like the perfect solution.
Wrong again.
So he drank the milk in solidarity with his son, and after dinner helped his mother clean up while Max finished the last ten sentences in half the time it took to do the first ten.
“Grandma said my brain needs fuel to do my work,” he said when Leo questioned him.
Leo scanned the sentences, good ones, and read one that caused his gut to clench.
My dad has returned but how long will he remain?
He looked up and saw the question in the boy’s eyes, but couldn’t bring himself to address it. Not long. He had a job to finish, and another after that, and another. And when he came back, how much taller would Max be? How much angrier? “Let’s go play some ball. You have a ball and mitt?”
Max shook his head. “I don’t like to play ball.”
Yet another failing. Leo’s great remaining love was baseball. He’d never shared that with his son. “How do you know if you haven’t tried?”
“I’ve tried. I don’t like it.”
Leo glanced at his mother, who gave a slight shake of her head. Right. He was pushing. “So what do you like?”
“Fishing.”
A smile pulled at Leo’s mouth. “Fishing. With Grandpa?”
“We go every Saturday morning. He has a boat.”
Oh, Leo knew about the boat. Leo hated that boat, that he’d been forced to help his father rebuild, that he’d sat on many resented Saturday mornings. But he’d been a sullen teenager who didn’t know how to sit still. Apparently his son was better at that, except when it came to class.
“Maybe I can join you this Saturday?”
Max made a face. “Grandpa said you don’t like it.”
“Maybe if I tried it now I’d like it better.”
Max frowned doubtfully.
“There’s no time now anyway,” his mother said, stripping off her rubber gloves. Funny, in their whole marriage, Livvie had never used rubber gloves. Her hands had still been silky smooth the day she died. “Max’s favorite show is on in a few minutes.”
“His favorite show?” Leo repeated, looking out the big kitchen window at the gorgeous day. His parents had never been TV watchers when he was growing up. Most of the time after dinner he was damn near shoved out the door. Of course he had a lot more energy than Max. “Nah, come on, Max, let’s go for a walk down to the lake. You can show me Grandpa’s boat.”
“I want to watch my show.”
Leo opened his mouth to push his idea, but a shake of his mother’s head had him closing it again. He didn’t want to fight with his kid his first night here. So he followed him into the living room, where the curtains had been drawn against the bright evening, and sat on the couch with his mother while Max hunkered on the floor in front of the TV and watched a hideously-drawn cartoon with glazed eyes.
Leo scrubbed his hand over his mouth, feeling impotent. His kid, yes, but he’d delivered him to his parents hoping the sense of family would pull the boy through his grief. Clearly that wasn’t happening. And now Leo felt like an interloper with his own son.
“Time for bed,” his mother announced when the program ended, rising from her end of the couch.
Sunlight still streamed around the edges of the closed curtains, and Leo braced himself for Max’s protests, but none came.
“I’ll get him to bed,” Leo said, holding a hand out to stop his mother.
She cast a questioning glance at Max, and Leo figured he’d have another argument, but Max just headed toward the stairs. Leo thought about saying something to his mother, but instead followed his son.
Max stepped into the bathroom and closed the door in Leo’s face. Uncertain what to do, Leo wandered into his old room, which his mother had redone after he left and which Max now occupied, and looked around.
Max had lived here two months and the room showed very little evidence of it. Granted, Liv had decorated his room at home, but there had been little boy stuff scattered around—action figures, a bicycle helmet, Legos, discarded clothes. He’d had a corkboard with drawings he’d made of superheroes and Godzilla, all pretty good for an eight-year-old.
But here, there were no toys, and only a few books. His school backpack sat by the door on one side, and the suitcase he’d used to bring his clothes up here sat by the door on the other side.
Like he was ready to leave at the first moment’s notice. Leo closed his fingers into a fist. He had to talk to the kid—Max was staying in Bluestone. Leo was here to help him settle in, not to move him back to Excelsior.
Max appeared in the doorway, dressed in dark pajamas, his expression solemn. Leo realized he was between his son and the bed and stepped back. He remembered then that Livvie would always read to Max at bedtime, but he didn’t see any books in the room.
“Do you, ah, want a bedtime story?”
“Dad.” Max’s tone was exasperated. “I’m too old for that.”
“Well, yeah, for picture books and stuff like that. I mean, you can read to yourself, right?” Did Max like to read? Leo had no idea. “But I can tell you a story.”
Max angled his head, then moved past his father to the bed. “About Afghanistan?”
Leo tried to think of a story that wouldn’t give the boy nightmares. Hell, Leo had nightmares about the constant shelling and danger there. “Sure. I’m stationed with some funny guys there.” He tucked the sheet and bedspread over his son and sat at the edge of the bed. “We stay in a bunker most of the time, and it can get pretty boring, so they’ve rigged up some games.”
“Like video games?”
“Nah, that’s too tame for these guys. One time the sergeant was sleeping, and his men rearranged the whole bunker into an obstacle course, so that when the man got out of bed, he had to climb over their stacked bunks, belly crawl under a tent made of sheets and wiggle through boxes, just to get to the can.”
Max’s eyes widened. “Did he do it?”
Leo shrugged. “He didn’t have a choice if he had to go, you know?”
“What else do they do?”
Leo shared a couple more of their innovations born of boredom, his heart feeling lighter at bringing his son into his world, even if only to the safe part. Then he glanced toward the window, saw the sun had set, and patted the boy’s leg. “Better get to sleep. I’ll take you to school tomorrow, okay?”
For some reason, those words shut Max down. “Okay,” the boy muttered, dragging the blankets up to his ear and turning toward the window.
What had Leo said wrong?

Bluestone Homecoming is currently free at all retailers.

​

Maddy Saunders studied the brochure as she waited for the ferry to McDavid Island, off the South Carolina coast. The cheap tri-fold on bad paper with bright colors fit a water park better than a haunted tour. The tiny yellow font recounting the history of the island, founded by a family exiled from their colony three hundred years ago because their eldest daughter was accused of being a witch, was giving her a headache, so she folded the brochure and leaned her head against the headrest. Honestly, the guy who ran this operation needed a course in marketing.
Although somehow, her magazine’s new owner had gotten the information. But why had he sent her to write a story about a ghost tour?
She cracked the window of her rented car and the sea breeze rushed in, carrying the scent of fish and diesel fuel, nothing like the scents on the Riviera, where she’d researched her last story.
For years she’d toyed with the idea of leaving "Extravagant,” the luxury travel magazine specializing in getaways for the rich and famous, that her family had owned for the past two decades. After all, she’d gone to NYU with the idea of a much loftier goal, news journalism. She’d been editor of the Washington Square News but had turned down two offers from major papers out of obligation to her family.
Then they sold the magazine without telling her, and "Extravagant" was now "Adventure," an adventure tours magazine.
And she was out here to hunt ghosts.
She toyed with her charm bracelet, lifting her newest charm for closer inspection. She loved the Celtic design with the swirling lines the moment she’d seen it in the display case at her friend Annie’s antique store back in St. Augustine. But when she’d looked at the tag and noticed it was originally from McDavid Island, she had to have it. Usually, she rewarded herself with a new charm when she’d completed a story, but this had been too perfect. Since Annie was having a going-out-of-business sale, Maddy feared the charm might not be here when she got back, so she snatched it up, and at a good price, too.
Maybe finding the charm was a good omen, and this assignment wouldn’t be as bad as she thought.
* * *
Once she arrived on the island, she was pleased to find the picturesque, little town with its sturdy old brick buildings and covered sidewalks lined with flowers quivering in the breeze. The people here had gone to some trouble to turn their homes into a tourist town. But she had to set that angle aside. It wouldn’t suit the magazine’s new platform.
Sally’s diner on Main Street was the meeting place for the tour. When Maddy walked into the glass-fronted building, accompanied by the jangle of bells overhead, several expectant faces turned in her direction.
These folks, in jeans, athletic shoes and ill- fitting t-shirts, looked more like people she’d find on a budget cruise. Three couples sat at two round tables that had been pulled haphazardly together, Coffee cups and many empty sugar and cream packets were scattered in front of them. Three girls, maybe in their early twenties, sat at a booth nearby with half-empty plastic, amber glasses of water in front of them. They wore what her friend, Diane, would call Skank Chic, the low-slung jeans and midriff blouses, displaying their amazing bodies. They looked like they should be strutting their stuff in the big city, not following a ghost tour.
Feeling out of place—odd, since she usually traveled alone—she nodded a greeting and moved to the counter. Eying the menu above the pass-through window, she could feel her hips widen as she read the list of fried foods. Wasn’t seafood meant to be healthy?
The bells above the door jangled again. Maddy turned to see two young men walk in. The first was heavy-set, with curling hair that hung to his shoulders and sideburns that reached his jaw. He wore an Army surplus jacket over a t-shirt that proclaimed McDavid Island was for lovers.
The second man was taller. His broad shoulders filled out a plain blue t-shirt and jean jacket. His dark blond hair cropped close around his ears was longer on top and fashionably mussed, accenting his strong-jaw and high cheek-bones. His swagger as he walked toward the joined tables reminded her of Elvis.
Uh-huh. The presence of the girls made perfect sense now. Maddy watched them titter. Could they have less pride? Elvis angled his head and grinned.
“Welcome back, ladies,” he drawled. “Didn’t we scare you off last time?”
The boldest winked. “Hey, Mal. You have to try harder this time.”
Oh, for... Maddy didn’t roll her eyes, but she wanted to. Ghost hunter groupies. She was in hell.
He stepped back, squaring his shoulders. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Mal Sheridan, this is my partner, Justin Stromberg.” He swung a hand in the larger man’s direction. “Welcome to our haunted tour of McDavid Island. It’s good to see so many of you. I hope we live up to your expectations.” He clapped his hands together. “We’ll begin the tour at the house that used to belong to the McDavids themselves. It’s not the original building, where Elizabeth was supposed to have practiced her witchcraft, but the home of their more recent descendants. After that, we’ll call it a night—or, actually, a day—and sleep at the inn, which was once the governor’s mansion. We’ll tour that tomorrow night. Then the third night we’ll be visiting the most haunted place on the island, the old lighthouse. We’ll see how long you can hold out. No one in our last tour made it through the night.” His hazel eyes glinted and the corner of his mouth quirked.
Excited murmurs rolled around Maddy like the sea breeze. She tamped down her own little thrill. It was ridiculous to get excited over flickering lights and, what...drafts?
When the others bent to gather their belongings, Maddy stood. Apparently, her movement attracted Mal’s attention because he turned and skewered her with his gaze.
“You must be the reporter from the magazine.” He crossed to her, hand extended, eyes crinkled in an attempt to charm.
“‘Adventure’, yes.” She still couldn’t say the name without choking.
He eased back to give her one of those once- overs she hated, the ones that always made her feel objectified. The flick of his eyebrows—approval or disdain, she couldn’t tell, and shouldn’t care—didn’t dispel the feeling.
“You don’t look very adventurous.”
“You don’t look very entrepreneurial,” she shot back, surprising herself. There was a reason she was a writer—she did not think on her feet.
Just for a moment, the smirk melted to a genuine smile. He moved away, not taking his eyes off her until he was standing in front of the whole group, who turned to give him attention even though he didn’t call for it.
“We’ll go on down to the McDavid House now, get settled in, get something to eat, and make sure we keep our minds open.”
He looked straight at Maddy when he said it.
What a waste, really, a good looking guy like that, all strong jawed and buff but believing in spooks. Or at least capitalizing on other people’s beliefs in spooks.
“So get what you need out of your vehicles and meet us back on the sidewalk. It’s a lovely day and the house isn’t far.” He turned toward the door. Behind Maddy, chairs scraped as people scrambled after him. He was definitely a con man. So why was this assignment suddenly looking up?
She retrieved the supplies the brochure had told her to bring: a camp chair, snacks, and bottled water, among other necessities.
Mal Sheridan hung back from the rest, waiting for her. She hefted her messenger bag over her shoulder, engaged the car alarm, and crossed the street to join the others, with Mal following closely behind her.
The house was a block down and around a corner lined with other buildings made to look historic. This one was a three story Federal style brick home. A plaque from the historical society was prominently placed near the front door. Maddy’s pulse jolted to see a symbol on the plaque matching the charm she’d bought from Annie. She hadn’t expected to see it displayed, and just as she opened her mouth to ask about it, Mal launched into his spiel.
“This house was built when the island was settled in 1813,” he said. “It housed the descendants of the founding family, the McDavids. Third generation, I think, and they built this house on the spot where the original family settled. The McDavids who built this house had a number of kids—five, I think—they all grew up here, married, and moved back to this house with their spouses. Kind of like that old show ‘Dallas’.”
Chuckles rippled through his audience as they hung on his every word.
“Imagine living that close to every member of your family every day, every week, every month, every year. Some of us barely make it through Thanksgiving dinner.”
More appreciative laughs. Maddy felt a smile tug at her own lips. No lie.
“Finally, one of them snapped from dealing with all of that togetherness. The husband of the middle daughter got in an argument with the husband of the eldest daughter. No one knows what it was about, but speculation ran through the town like wildfire after the event, ranging from love affairs to someone taking more than their share for breakfast. The younger man was a known hot head, had been in trouble before his marriage, and was in love with another girl from town. Some say he’d been forced to marry the McDavid girl after compromising her. Whatever the case, the living arrangements became too restrictive, and he lost his mind.”
Mal paused, looked around.
“He had a shotgun, a Henry, and he took it downstairs into the parlor after the children went to bed.” He gestured to the house behind him. “And he killed the whole family, with the exception of one.”
Silence. No one was even breathing. The man was a master storyteller.
“Who escaped?” asked one of the women, shod in athletic footwear, a hoodie and cargo pants.
“His own wife escaped through the back window.”
“He meant to kill her, too?” the woman’s husband asked.
“As far as we can tell, he meant to kill everyone. The only thing he seemed to do with any foresight was to wait until the children were in bed.”
Not silence this time, but quiet murmurs.
“We will be spending the night.” He paused for effect, as if expecting lightning to flash to accentuate his words. “In the parlor.”
“Where they died?” one of the girls squeaked.
He nodded solemnly, but Maddy didn’t miss the playful glint in his eye. “That’s our best chance of seeing any activity.” He pivoted on his heel and gestured with a swing of his hand toward the door. “Shall we?”
Maddy followed the others into the pristine mansion with gleaming wood floors, white walls, high ceilings, and a curving staircase. She’d expected to see furnishings from the period when the house was occupied. Instead, it was completely empty. Perhaps a precaution on behalf of the historical society before they allowed strangers in to spend the night.
“You want to set your stuff down here in the hallway before we take the tour?” Mal asked, motioning to a stretch of wall in front of closed double doors.
But he didn’t open the doors. Maddy noticed Justin had disappeared. Where had he gone, and what was he up to? Was he in the parlor ready to jump out at them? The others didn’t appear to have the same suspicions as they followed Mal through the kitchen, dining room, and then upstairs to the empty bedrooms. Several of the tourists took photographs without flashes, then immediately studied their view screens.
Her curiosity got the better of her, and she looked over the shoulder at the short brunette’s camera. “What is it you’re looking for?”
“Orbs,” the girl muttered, inspecting her screen. “What are orbs?”
Now she was the one on the spot as everyone
turned to her. Her shoulders tightened defensively. “You’ve never heard of orbs and cold spots?” another one of the girls, the tall blonde, asked incredulously. “Mal, can you believe that?” She turned back to Maddy. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“She’s doing a magazine article,” Mal spoke up, feet parted, palms together, and a playful glint in his eyes. “Perhaps we can educate her. Who would like to explain?”
“Oh, me.” The blonde stepped forward like a star pupil.
“By all means, Joyce.” Mal gestured her to go ahead with a sweep of his hand then folded his arms. “Orbs are balls of energy,” Joyce said, mirroring Mal’s stance. “People believe they’re the spirits. Did you see ‘Haunted Mansion’ with Eddie Murphy?” 
“Did anyone?” she asked, still defensive.
Joyce’s lips twitched in amusement, and Maddy relaxed a little. So did Joyce, who moved ahead in full teacher mode. “Okay, how about ‘Poltergeist’? The scene where the lights are coming down the stairs? Those were orbs. Only in real life, they’re not so grand. Just about the size of a ping pong ball most of the time.”
She sounded so matter of fact. “You’ve seen them,” Maddy observed. The girl seemed to really believe. She may not just be here because of Mal.
Joyce nodded, eyes bright. “On the last trip, we got several photographs of a particularly bright orb. I wish we’d thought to bring it.” She glanced over at one of her friends.
“I get glowing dots on my pictures all the time, especially when the light isn’t good,” Maddy said. “I’ve been told it’s just dust specks catching the light from the flash.”
Joyce’s expression tightened. “If you choose to believe that I can’t convince you otherwise, not without my pictures. But if you don’t have an open mind, how can you write an effective story?”
Maddy glanced toward Mal, who lifted a she- said-it-I-didn’t eyebrow before pushing himself away from the wall and moving toward the door.
“We don’t know if we’ll see anything tonight. Most likely we’ll hear something. That’s what’s happened on previous tours. But not if we stand around talking all night.” He herded the group together and out of the room.
Maddy couldn’t repress the feeling that he was guiding their expectations as they traipsed down to the parlor. She knew all about being manipulated, and in order to pull off this tour time and again, this guy had to be a pro.
The doors of the parlor were open now, and candles lit the room, some on the mantel, some on iron stands. More lined the circle drawn with chalk in the center of the room. Justin was on his knees in the center of the circle, drawing lines with chalk on the wood floor, using sure strokes. Maddy glanced about, but no one seemed concerned at the desecration. Maddy watched as the lines intersected into a five-point star.
A pentagram.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked, surprised by the alarm running through her.
He sat back on his heels. “A pentagram isn’t demonic,” he said wearily as if he’d explained it several times before. “It’s protective.”
“You think evil spirits will try to come?”
“They’re always looking for ways,” he muttered, sketching symbols within each point of the star.
He sounded deadly serious, unlike Mal. Like he really believed in this.
“Have you ever encountered one?”
“Yup.”
Okay, he didn’t have Mal’s charm, but his matter-of-factness was compelling.
“Can you tell me about it?”
He dragged his duffel over, passed it to her, open to reveal more white candles. “Start lighting these. Set them in the center of the pentagram.”
“Justin? The evil spirits?” she prodded.
“Leaves you feeling dirty,” he said when she touched the lighter to the first candle. “Slimy inside, and it’s hard to shake.”
She froze, flame flickering inches from her fingers, before she moved to the next candle. “You mean they come into you? Are you like a medium?”
He grunted, his attention on the pentagram. “No, but you get this energy from them. Bad energy. And it’s like poison, gets into you. Trust me, you don’t want it.”
“Where did you experience this?”
“In an abandoned prison in Boston. Again, in a house in Connecticut.” He rubbed the back of his neck, as if he could still feel it. “Apparently, a pedophile lived there. Killed his victims there.”
“But you don’t get those feelings here?”
He shook his head.
“Why not? A mass murder took place here.”
He lifted a shoulder to wipe at a bead of sweat trickling down from his hairline. “I don’t know why.” “How long have you and Mal been doing this?”
“The tours? A little over a year. But we’ve been interested in the paranormal for years. His sister—” 
“We’re taking advantage of popular interest,” Mal said, moving closer and crouching, careful not to scuff the chalk drawing. “Hand me a couple of those candles, would you, Maddy?”
She handed them to him but kept her attention on Justin, even though she sensed him withdrawing with Mal’s presence. Had Mal moved closer on purpose? Was he afraid Justin would give some of his secrets away?
“What made you interested in the paranormal?” she asked Justin, ignoring Mal. “Did you have an experience?”
“Oh, you know,” Mal said, “some kids are into dinosaurs, some kids into sports, some into video games. We were into ghosts.”
“So, you grew up together? Here on the island?” “Since middle school,” Mal replied.
“Have you ever been to Gettysburg?” the man, who’d been introduced as Mick, asked. “I swear, we had some serious chills when we went out there.”
Mal sat on his heels. Maddy watched his expression change, relax, as he went into man-to- man mode.
So sexy, watching men relate to each other. Not that Mal was hard to look at in any case. And what was she doing letting her thoughts go there?
“What happened?” he asked Mick.
“Oh, we didn’t see anything, but the emotions were so powerful. We knew we weren’t alone. And those boys are so sad. I’ll never forget it. I left there with memories that weren’t my own. You definitely need to go, see what you feel.”
“Sounds awesome. We’ll have to check it out.” He motioned for Maddy to place a candle at a spot beyond his reach.
“So, since middle school?” she redirected. “Were you born here or was Justin?”
“Neither. Justin moved from Maryland, and I moved from Texas.”
“I thought that was a Texas accent. Not many ghosts there?”
“Enough. More here, though. So, do you want to interview me?”
She sat back and folded her arms, aware of the defensive stance, but too late to undo without drawing his attention. “Why would I want to do that?”
“For your article.”
“It’s not about you. It’s about the tour.”
“But how good is your article going to be if you don’t believe?” He rose and held a hand out to help her to her feet.
She hesitated, then took it, releasing it the moment she got to her feet to brush off her butt. “And you’re going to try to change my mind with an interview?”
He lifted a hand in concession of the unlikelihood of that. “Maybe just enlighten you a bit.”
“Won’t the tour do that for me?”
“Depends on how active the spirits are.” He walked toward the parlor doors where they’d left their things. Unerringly, he picked up hers and handed them to her.
She opened her mouth to ask how he knew, but the smug expression on his face told her he wanted her to ask, to notice that he’d noticed. So she kept to the topic as she hefted her camp chair over her shoulder. “I suppose it would be rough running a business where you can’t predict outcomes.”
He led the way to a spot by the fireplace with his own gear. “Can you in any business?” He set up his chair with a single shake and placed it in front of the fireplace.
It was Maddy’s turn to concede. “Seems a risky venture.”
He flashed a smile, all white teeth and crinkled eyes, and motioned her to sit beside him. “The only kind worth taking.”

Read A Ghostly Charm, available at all retailers!

So this was Gabe Cooper.
Peyton Michaels stood at the edge of the group in front of the mess tent to watch the legendary firefighter step up to brief his crew.
Stories about Gabe Cooper and the Bear Claws, the best Hot Shot crew in Montana, had abounded during Peyton’s training to become a wildland firefighter. Most of the stories had been cautionary tales from the instructors, but even some of the trainees had heard about this crew. And when Peyton had been assigned to the Bear Claws, well, nervousness didn’t touch her jitters. Cooper didn’t take rookies, and he didn’t take to reporters. She was both, and would have to work hard to prove herself.
Was she ready?
Scratching her arm beneath the brand-new itchy Nomex shirt, she turned her attention back to the crew leader.
Movie-star handsome, with a long jaw, lean cheeks, deep-set brown eyes framed by long lashes and broad shoulders hugged by a black T-shirt. She’d forgotten how the sight of a handsome, confident man could kick up her pulse.
Cooper’s posture defined self-assurance. The lines that fanned from his eyes and the silver flecking his brutally short hair spoke of his years of experience. His tires-over-gravel voice conveyed his weariness, though it was only July, not quite the middle of the fire season.
The topographical maps on the bulletin board behind him were veined with different colored lines, and Cooper had marked their route in black Sharpie. He traced over it for emphasis, his hand square but oddly graceful as he dragged his finger down the line. The path appeared pretty darn straight, and with all the brush and gullies and boulders, that couldn’t be the easiest way.
Part of his legend was that he didn’t do things the easy way.
Peyton scanned his crew, most of whom cast curious glances in her direction. She could learn a lot about the man by his crew.
A young redheaded woman stood at his shoulder and faced the rest, arms folded, a white bandage on one hand. She wasn’t quite one of them, but also wasn’t in charge. Every time the young woman glanced at Cooper, admiration glowed in her eyes. Cooper didn’t appear to notice. Perhaps he was accustomed to it.
Peyton was a little surprised to see almost a third of the crew were women. Five women besides the redhead, all mid-twenties, not unattractive, proved he had nothing against women.
The men who rounded out the crew ranged from farm boys to rock-band rejects, teenagers to men near her age, some with tattoos and earrings and others with wire-rimmed glasses. All gave Cooper their full attention. He was without question the stuff legends were made of.
Peyton had had her fill of mythical creatures.
“Any questions?” Cooper asked, directing the question at her, sending her nerves skittering. When none were forthcoming, he dismissed them to get their gear, and moved straight toward her.
The skittering nerves started a mambo, and it took everything in her not to step back. The rest of the crew moved slowly as they gathered their gear, watching Cooper.
Not taking her eyes from him, she reached down and hefted her pack onto one shoulder. “There’s been a mistake.” He flicked his gaze to the freshly stenciled name on the pocket of her fire shirt. “Michaels.” His tone had softened a bit from when he was addressing his crew, but still had a take-no-crap edge to it. “I don’t take rookies on my crew.”
She straightened. “I’m not. I mean, I am. A rookie. But I’m Peyton Michaels from Up to the Minute magazine. I’ve been assigned to your crew.”
A reporter. Gabe scowled. That explained everything but the fire shirt that bore no crew insignia. Maybe she’d borrowed it to get into camp. What the hell was she talking about, though, assigned to his crew? He glanced toward the media tent. “I beg your pardon?”
His harsh tone made her draw back, but only a little. “I’m going out with the Bear Claw Hot Shots. Jen Sheridan said you were the best.”
Jen Sheridan. The name kicked him in the chest.
He studied the reporter in front of him. Her elegant features, slender nose, high cheekbones, pale skin, hinted at a privileged upbringing. Her cleanliness pegged her as a rookie. The odd thing was, she was no young girl. Her sharp eyes, the slight creases near them and also around her mouth, made him think she was in her thirties. What kind of job did she think she was walking into?
“The last thing I need is some reporter following me all over the mountain asking stupid questions and getting in the way,” he said.
“I assure you, I’ve done my research and gone through the necessary training.”
“I assure you, I could give less than a damn,” he drawled. “I’m here to get a job done, and I don’t intend to let anyone slow me down.”
“I’m here to get a job done as well,” Peyton said, shifting her pack. “I have my fire card. I can pull my weight.”
He expelled a doubtful snort. “Pulling your weight on my crew isn’t the same as making it through the Forest Service’s sorry course. The Bear Claw Hot Shots are the best of the best, and they’re that way because I don’t tolerate slackers.”
She rolled her shoulders back and lifted her face. “I can understand being the best. That’s what I want, and that’s why I wanted you.”
He took a step closer, dragged his gaze over her. A beautiful woman saying that to him shouldn’t raise his temper. “Ego stroking is not necessary.”
She didn’t move away and returned the inspection. “No, I can see that.” A smile quirked his lips at her boldness.
“Who assigned you to me? Jen?”
She blinked up at him. “Yes. Do you know her?”
Did he know her? When Kim had told him that Jen was IC on this fire, he’d considered asking to be sent to another fire. But to ask would be to admit defeat, to admit working for his ex was too difficult, that his feelings for her were too strong.
If he took the reporter without a fight, Jen would think he was avoiding her.
He gave the reporter—he had to think of her as that and not as the compact little blonde who glared up at him with big brown eyes—a last glance and turned toward the command tent.
Jen was alone in the tent, behind a folding table, her attention on the maps spread in front of her. She looked up at his approach, and her expectant expression froze, morphed into something bland, distant, like she didn’t know him. Way to hit a man right in the ego.
The past three years had been good to her. The healthy tan set off her streaky blonde hair. She appeared—softer, her face fuller. Damn.
“Gabe,” she said quietly, easing back in her chair. “I heard you were on your way out. Good to see you.”
To fight the stab of pain at the encounter, stronger than he’d expected, he slapped his hands on the scarred table between them and glowered down at her.
“Just how much do you hate me?”
Jen returned his gaze unblinkingly, long past being intimidated by him. Hell, why should he intimidate her now? She’d left him without a backwards glance, and here she was, incident commander, his boss on this fire. She’d hold that over him till he got out on the line.
She folded her arms over the maps in front of her and tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “I don’t hate you at all. What are you talking about?”
“The reporter,” he ground out.
“Ah.” She sat back, looking a hell of a lot more relaxed than he felt. “Ms. Michaels wanted the best and I’m giving her to you.”
Her choice of words gave him a moment’s pause, but only a moment. She didn’t hate him, but he’d spent the better part of a year hating her before shutting off all feelings completely. That they’d return now in full force had him reeling. He pulled himself back to the fight at hand.
“She’s a rookie.”
“You’ve taken on rookies before.”
“Not by choice.”
The way she regarded him carried him right back to the last days of their marriage, cold and condescending. “What makes you think you have a choice now?” 
“You’re putting my entire crew in jeopardy to get even with me.”
She blew out a breath and leaned forward again, not releasing his gaze, unwilling to give him that victory. “This has nothing to do with you. With us, anyway. It’s about which crew would benefit her the most.”
“To hell with fighting a fire.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Careful, Gabe. You’re sounding misogynistic. Peyton can do the job. And it won’t be the whole season, just for this fire. Her story’s on wildland firefighters. Once it’s done, she’s gone.”
“Great. As long as she’s invested in the job,” he said contemptuously.
“She’s trying to experience the job. It’s no big deal. There’s nothing scandalous coming out of this.”
He voiced his opinion of that in a few succinct words.
“Jesus, Gabe.”
“One shift, and then you find another crew for her.”
Jen inclined her head. “We can discuss it.” She turned back to her maps. “Is that all?”
Was it? What else could he say to the woman he hadn’t seen in three years? He couldn’t let her go without a parting shot. “Give Doug my best.”
The shocked expression on her face gave him a millisecond of pleasure before he shut that down as well. “You mean it?” Her voice was breathless with hope.
He wished he could be the type of man who would mean it, but he was a bastard. “No. He already got it.”
He pivoted and strode out of the tent.
Fire season was usually hell, but damn, what had he done to deserve this? Maybe this was God’s way of telling him it was time to get out of the Forest Service. Sure, great, but after punching line for twenty years there wasn’t another job he knew as well.
He swore he wouldn’t live in a city again, so being an EMT full time was out. The only way he could bear his time in Albuquerque now was knowing that once spring arrived he’d be back in the mountains. He’d be damned if he’d sit behind some desk in the Bureau of Land Management and send kids into situations out of his control. He was a Hot Shot till the end. Nothing would take him off the line.
So God could just keep on sending those messages. Gabe Cooper was sticking it out.
Peyton Michaels—what kind of name was Peyton, anyway?—sat smugly on a picnic table, waiting for him, her pack still over one shoulder, her ponytail over the other.
He jabbed a finger at her. “If I agree to this, it’s for one shift and one shift only. You do your job without question, understood?”
Those chocolaty eyes went wide. “Yes, sir.”
“I mean it, Michaels. My crew is the best for a reason, and I’d like to keep them in one piece. The way we work is they do what I tell them to do. Got it? And you call me ‘sir’ again, the issue is off the table.” He slashed his hand through the air for emphasis.
“Of course. Gabe.” She even said his name with a smile in her voice.
He lifted his eyebrow. She had guts. Hell, how could she have anything less, walking into a fire camp and asking to go on the line with the best crew? But as a reporter for Up to the Minute weekly news magazine, she knew something about being the best too.
“I meant the part about questions. I don’t give interviews.”
She angled her head in a way that made him feel like an idiot for saying it. “I wasn’t going to ask for one. This is a look-see assignment.”
He grunted. “You have gear?”
She nodded and he could practically feel the energy, the excitement rolling off her. Her body all but quivered with anticipation but her expression remained cool.
“Let’s go,” he said through his teeth, and ignored the little skip of triumph as she followed him to gather his own gear before they met his crew at the edge of the camp.
Peyton joined the middle of the disciplined single-file group. They headed out of camp on the dusty path curving up the mountain between rocks and shrubs. They’d be walking to a remote site. While the energy pulsed through her now, she hoped to maintain her strength up on the line.
As they got farther up the mountain, the unit shifted into bunches of three and four, and made their own path through the high grass and scrub, their excitement growing as they drew closer to the fire. Other crews had been this direction; someone had pounded down the grass before them.
Peyton turned her attention to the man who held such respect from the firefighting community, his crew, yet kept himself apart, plunging through the knee-deep brush alone.
His matter-of-fact, unapologetic manner reminded her of Dan. The recognition had hit her like a blow to her chest, bruising her heart and making breathing difficult. In her mind she saw her husband standing before the brass at his last debriefing, so handsome in his dress blues, so confident as he justified his SWAT team’s decision to invade that warehouse without a search warrant to stop the drug deal. If only he’d been reprimanded, had suffered some kind of consequence, maybe he’d still be alive. Instead, he’d been applauded, rewarded, and had returned to the job that killed him a year later.
Her “In the Line of Duty” articles had quickly gained recognition and popularity. She’d gone from Coast Guard rescue cruisers to EMT crews stationed in bad neighborhoods to this mountain. But still, nothing she’d written so far had shed any light on what the job fulfilled in Dan that life hadn’t.
The story on Cooper was a departure. Her other articles focused more on the jobs than on the men and women who performed them. She’d probably lost a lot of depth taking that route, but had needed the emotional distance as she grieved for Dan. Could she afford to give it up now?
While she worked up the nerve to invade Cooper’s space—she couldn’t very well write his story from this distance—she zeroed in on a conversation between two of the men who walked with chainsaws slung over their shoulders. Her own pack was heavy with her tools, weighted with bottled water, and these guys carried the machines like they were made of Styrofoam. Sheesh. Their ability so impressed her that it took her a minute to tune in to their conversation.
“You’ve been with him long enough to know how he feels about reporters.”
They were gossiping like old women about Gabe. Calling him an old man. Please. Still, intrigued, she moved closer.
“Why would she bust his balls after, what’s it been, three years? Hell, she married someone else.”
Who? Who? Who? Peyton willed them to give her a name.
“Women are like elephants, man. They don’t forget anything.”
Peyton wanted to take exception, but it was rude to interrupt an eavesdropped conversation. 
“I hear she dumped him.”
“She had to have a reason.”
“I thought the smokejumper was the reason.”
Peyton eased back. Who had dumped Gabe for a smokejumper? What was his punishment?
Her?
But gossip wasn’t her purpose here. If she wanted a real story, she needed Gabe. He was her purpose.
* * *
Gabe’s mind cleared on the way to the line. He threw back his shoulders and sucked in a deep breath. Up on the mountain, the smoke wasn’t as bad as it had been at the camp. It skimmed over their heads to settle in the valley like a rumpled blanket.
The incline grew steeper, the dust-dry brush thicker, slowing their progress. From this altitude he could see the orange glow of the sun that had been obliterated in the valley. Above them floated the wisps of cirrus clouds preceding a front.
He swung around to inspect his unit strung along the trail, the loose gaits, the flashing grins, and suddenly felt very old. The next oldest in his crew was a decade younger. He turned to walk a little faster. He’d be damned if these kids could out-hike him.
Peyton trudged along with the others. She had to be in excellent shape in order to get her fire card, but endurance didn’t concern him. Training was nothing compared to facing the dragon up close.
She saw him looking at her and trekked on over, leaving the group in order to angle up the mountain toward him. She had guts, he had to give her that. If she’d been on more fires, she’d know better than to try to talk to him. Even Kim, who had been with him more summers than anyone else, didn’t talk to him on a hike. Beyond Michaels, his team watched with interest, waiting for him to shred the new girl.
But his heart wasn’t in it. Maybe it was curiosity about this woman. That was all it could be.
“I agreed to this for one shift only,” he said. “After this fire is contained, you’re out. You do your job without question, just like the rest of my crew. Got it?”
Her chin had tightened stubbornly as he spoke and he prepared for an argument, but she merely nodded. Okay. Something was not quite right with her not saying anything. After all, she’d come over here. So why was he the one wanting to ask questions?
He settled on, “You drinking plenty of water?”
“I’m fine.” She stumbled, belying her words, and he resisted the urge to reach out to assist her. She wanted to see what the job entailed, she better stay on her feet.
“You’ll be more comfortable on the trail.”
“I’ll be all right.”
Damn, she was hard-headed. Determination, he understood. Stubbornness just to prove she could do it was something else. “This is the easy part. We have a thirty-degree incline ahead of us.”
She grimaced. “And when we get there?” she asked, a little out of breath.
He showed no mercy, couldn’t afford to. Besides, if he kept up this pace, maybe she’d go back to the others. How long could he keep up the curiosity excuse?
“You know the drill. We cut line, cut down trees, stop the fire and go home.”
“As simple as that?”
This time he stumbled. “Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t.”
She snatched her hand back from where she’d reached out to steady him. “You really love this, don’t you? The whole ‘my crew can do what no other crew can do’ mindset.”
He cast her an incredulous glance. “Are you giving me attitude, rookie?”
“I wasn’t aware you needed any.”
Now she was giving him mouth. No one in fire camp—outside Jen—had ever spoken to him like that. He kind of liked the awe with which most of the firefighters regarded him.
He kind of liked the attitude too.
He slowed to get a look at her. She already appeared exhausted. She’d removed her fire shirt and wore a white T-shirt so fitted it couldn’t be cool. Her lacy bra was visible through the thin knit. She’d pulled back her hair and locks of it fell toward her face, brushing the skin of her cheek, her throat. He thought, just for a second, to push her hair back into place but tamped down the urge, instead thinking her exposed skin was going to blister all to hell.
He gave his attention back to the trail where it belonged. “So why are you doing this? There are easier ways to get the story.”
“Do I seem the type to take the easy way?” She sidestepped an outcropping of rock with an agility he hadn’t expected.
“I don’t know,” he drawled. “I haven’t seen enough of you to know.”
He bit back a chuckle when she blushed. Had he stumbled onto some guilt over their sexual attraction?
“Put your fire shirt on, Michaels, and go back with the crew.” He kicked at the smoke hanging low on the ground. The smoke could hide the fire; they could come up on it without warning. The sheer challenge of the lethal hide and seek thrilled him. “It won’t be long now.”
The dragon was close.

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​

Griffin Douglas leaned back against the side of the hot tub, every muscle in his body aching. Too many hours on the mountain in the cold. Sure, he’d done this his whole life, but he wasn’t as young as he used to be.
Even his toenails hurt.
This year was his last shot, though. He had one more chance at winning the World Cup in alpine skiing, then hopefully a medal in the Winter Games, before he got too old. 
So he was going to have to live with the pain, and learn how to treat it.
Thus, the hot tub.
He leaned his head back and looked up at the stars overhead. Steam rose from the bubbling water, obscuring his vision a bit, making the stars waver and blur. He was glad to have access to the hot tub, on the deck of the Running Deer Ski Lodge. He was even more glad that no one else had braved the frigid temperatures to take advantage of it, because he had the deck to himself. He could let his mind wander back over the day’s skiing. What he’d done wrong, what he’d done right.
One of the things he’d done wrong was going up that one last time. He’d thought he was in good shape after skiing all summer in South America, but man. The courses there hadn’t been outlined the way this one was, and some of those turns had hurt.
He hoped the decision didn’t cost him this weekend in the downhill race. He needed to come in the top five to bring up his ranking to increase his chance of being chosen for the U. S. team. So he replayed the course in his head, the twists, the dips, and worked out how he could improve his time, each step of the way.
The door to the lodge opened—he heard the noise from inside grow louder and then become muffled again—and he lifted his head to see who had joined him. 
The woman who walked toward him was long and slim, even wrapped in the thick robe from the resort. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, revealing delicate features and big eyes. She crossed straight to the hot tub and stood over him, smiling down.
“Hey, mind if I join you?”
Man, he did not have time for a flirtation, for a woman seeking him out. Okay, sure, that sounded conceited, but ever since his first appearance in the Games when he was twenty, well, women had been interested. And he just didn’t have time to deal with the distraction right now. He’d rented a cabin on the property instead of staying in the lodge to be away from people.
But he couldn’t exactly deny her access to the hot tub. 
So he drew his legs in and sat up straighter, lifting his hand out of the water to motion that she was welcome to join him. 
She loosened her robe and draped it over a nearby chair, and he had to concentrate to keep his expression neutral.
Long and slim, yes, but with curves in all the right places in the sporty two-piece bathing suit she wore. Her legs and arms as she stretched to drape the robe were toned, her stomach cut. When she turned back to him, lifting her arms over her head to readjust her ponytail, she smiled.
“Long day on the mountain,” she said, and stepped into the water.
Her big long-lidded eyes closed for a moment in pleasure as the heat seeped into her, then she opened them again and sat across from him, ducking so even her shoulders were immersed. She closed her eyes again, and he knew he should avert his gaze, but he just couldn’t.
No time for this, Griff.
He told himself not to ask questions, not to engage, but his curiosity overwhelmed him. “You’re a skier?” Most people at the resort were. Duh, Griff.
“Yup. Today wasn’t fun, though. Ski patrol put a call out for help finding a missing little boy. It all ended well, though.”
He must have been on the mountain at the time, because he hadn’t heard that call. “That was good of you to go look.”
She lifted a hand. “I do search and rescue part time. The team leader today knows me, knows I was here. I couldn’t say no.”
He leaned forward, his curiosity betraying him. “For real? How did you get into that?”
She fidgeted with her ponytail. “Oh, well, you know, I love being on the mountain, and there’s not really a lot of ways to get paid to do that.”
“So you’re ski patrol?”
Something shifted in her gaze. “No, I used to be, but that’s pretty time-intensive. I’m part time, usually on cases where they need more people, where they need someone who’s a trained paramedic.”
“And you are? A paramedic?” Why was he questioning her? He didn’t care, except yes, he did. 
A slight smile curved her full lips. “I am.”
“So what—if you don’t mind my asking—was the case today?”
“Little kid, separated from his parents, found himself really lost. Took four hours to find him. This time, they just needed bodies up on the mountain searching, no paramedic, thank God. I think the parents are either going to put a leash on him, or tie a bell around his neck or something. They were pretty frantic. And they’re from Texas, so not a lot of experience with snow.”
“Glad it ended well.” He wanted to ask more questions, but the side of him that would remain aloof told him to shut up. She wanted to relax, and he needed to. 
“Yeah, more often than not it does.” She trailed a hand through the bubbling water. “Otherwise I don’t know if I could keep doing it.” 
“That makes sense. So I guess in the summer you’re a paramedic?”
Her face scrunched into a sort of grimace. “Yes, that’s actually harder because it’s a lot more iffy on outcomes. So many car accidents. And, well, it’s not on the mountain.”
The questions just kept piling up in his head, like what made her want to be a paramedic in the first place. But he didn’t ask, instead shifted and eased his head back, closing his eyes and trying to close her out of his thoughts.
“So long day on the mountain for you, too?” she asked. 
“Yup. Too many runs.” But his conversation with her was making him forget the pains, was letting his muscles loosen. He knew his own tension at being able, or not, to qualify for the team was part of the reason he was in so much pain. If he could relax on the mountain, enjoy the skiing like he used to, he could probably do better. But he wasn’t in that mindset yet. 
He didn’t know how to get back there.
“Been there,” she said in commiseration, and leaned her own head back against the edge of the tub.
Because his mind had wandered, a second passed before he understood what she meant.
“I imagine you’ve seen some hairy accidents on the mountain, as well.”
“Oh, sure, but cars do a worse number on the human body than gravity does. I’ve seen plenty of bad accidents, more than my share of compound fractures.”
He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I’ve had one of those.” He stretched his arm out in front of him and pointed to the scar on his right deltoid. He’d been lucky as hell he had broken his arm and not his leg, or that could have ended his career.
Her turn to draw in a breath. “Skiing?”
“Yup.”
She held up her arm, wrist out. “Skateboarding. I was trying to master dropping in on a ramp. Not a compound fracture but I had to have surgery and they put some screws in there. Needless to say, I did not get back on the ramp.”
Skateboarding? He was having trouble picturing her in a helmet and pads. “How old were you?”
“Oh, ten, eleven. My mom took me to the skatepark every week, until that happened. She tried to teach me to sew after that. I was not good at sitting still.”
He chuckled at that. “I have screws in this ankle.” He lifted his leg out of the water and pointed his toes the best he could, because face it, feet were ugly. “Also skiing.”
“And yet you get back on the mountain.”
He shrugged. “I was twelve at the time.”
She lifted her opposite leg and held her toes straight, as he’d done, and what had he been saying about feet being ugly? He had the weirdest urge to stroke his hand down the top of her foot. 
“No screws, but I did have to have surgery when I broke this one. Skydiving.”
That surprised him enough to look away from her shapely leg. “Skydiving?”
She lowered her leg back into the water. “I was convinced I wanted to be a smokejumper. The skydiving part was fun, but one summer on the mountain convinced me I’m a winter girl.”
“You were a smokejumper?” He was incredulous. He’d met some of those guys, and they took some big risks.
She shook her head. “No, a hot shot. I’m glad I didn’t do all that training. I might not have quit and would have just been miserable. But before I joined the crew, I went skydiving just to see if I’d like it.”
“Did you?”
“The first few times. The last time was when I broke my ankle. Have you ever gone?”
He shook his head. “I never have.”
“I have a friend who’s a pilot, if you ever decide to try it.”
Just what he needed, to kill his damn self jumping out of a plane. He’d never make the team if he was broken in a million pieces. But he didn’t want to say that to her. “Maybe.” He leaned forward, the ache in his body a whole different thing now. “What else did you want to be?”
She grinned. “Well, I went from hot shot to park ranger to ski patrol to paramedic to part-time search and rescue.”
He was absolutely riveted. “So you weren’t a paramedic when you were ski patrol?”
Her eyes sparkled in the light from the hot tub. “Not when I was full time, but I saw the benefit of becoming one. I hope to go back to using it full time soon. ”
He wondered what caused that comment. He didn’t recall being so curious about a woman before, but he supposed he’d never met a woman like her before either.
She angled her head at him. “I’ve been doing all the talking.”
“You have a lot more to say,” he countered, and she laughed, her head tilted back, that long sexy neck so inviting. He could almost feel it beneath his lips.
Wasn’t he just telling himself that he needed to stay focused? Like, just now telling himself that? And now he was focused on just one thing.
The wrong thing.
“You want to go get some dinner?”
“Um.” She looked at him, looked up at the stars. “Um. Sure. I guess. Okay. But only since I’ve been doing all of the talking and you’ve done none.” She reached her hand across the hot tub. “I’m Mackenzie. Since we haven’t really introduced ourselves.”
“Griff.”
“Okay, then. Meet in half an hour in the lobby?”
When he nodded, she braced her hands on the side of the tub and launched herself up and out. She did a full-body shake, then reached for her robe. Once she had it wrapped around herself, she looked over her shoulder at him still in the tub.
“See you in half an hour.”
As he watched her walk away without making a move to get out, he wondered what the hell he was thinking.


Mackenzie Burton shivered as she hurried through the warm lobby and up to her suite. Even though she and her nephew Paul lived only forty-five minutes away, his coach had wanted him staying in the resort before the race on Saturday. Right now she was both glad and anxious about that choice.
What was she doing agreeing to go to dinner with a strange man?
Okay, well, he wasn’t strange. He was Griff Davis, four-time member of the U. S. Team representing men in alpine skating, three-time medal winner in the Winter Games, if she recalled correctly. So she knew who he was. She just didn’t know the man.
She did find it interesting that he hadn’t said anything about being a professional skier, just acted like he was a regular guy with a tough day on the mountain. She wondered why. But she didn’t mind. Better than him being all, “Don’t you know who I am?” to get his way.
She probably should have skipped the hot tub. Searching for a little kid had taken a lot out of her, and the cold had seeped into her bones. But when James had called her, knowing she was in the area, needing her experience, she hadn’t been able to say no. After the stress of the day, even though it ended in the best way, she’d wanted some alone time.
When she’d seen someone was already in the hot tub, she should have just turned around and come back up to her room, settled for a hot shower.
But when she’d recognized Griff, well, she hadn’t been able to help herself.
She’d always thought he was cute when he was younger, dark-haired with those blue, blue eyes. Age had only improved him, carved his features even finer, and that scruff on his jaw was sexy as hell.
Her heart was jittery as she opened the door to her suite, called out, “Paul?”
Her nephew didn’t answer. He was eighteen now and they’d agreed she wouldn’t keep such close tabs on him. That allowed them each a bit of freedom. Right now she was relieved that he wasn’t here so she didn’t have to explain where she was going. But tomorrow she was going to remind him that she at least deserved the courtesy of knowing where he was as long as they lived together.
Now, however, she was grateful for privacy as she shrugged off her robe, peeled off her wet bathing suit and pawed through her suitcase, trying to decide what to wear. She didn’t want to take too long, didn’t want to make Griff wait, possibly change his mind, so she grabbed a sweater and tugged on her favorite leggings, checking the mirror to make sure they were as flattering as she remembered.
She needed to do something with her hair, which was currently scraped back in a ponytail, and she should at least put some eyeliner on. Maybe some eyeshadow. And mascara. And lip stain. She didn’t know why she’d packed all those things—she rarely used them.
What had she gotten herself into? She hadn’t wanted to impress a man in, well, she couldn’t remember how long. Taking in Paul six years ago had put a crimp in her love life. She’d managed to hook up every once in a while, but she hadn’t met anyone who wasn’t freaked out that she was a package deal with a teenager.
She was overthinking things. She had been fine out in the hot tub, when they had just been flirting. What did she really think was going to happen? He was a celebrity. She was a nobody. 
But who knew? 
The look on his face when she found him in the lobby by the fireplace made the additional effort she’d put into her appearance completely worth the fact that she may have taken over half an hour to get ready.
He motioned to a table on the other side of the double-sided fireplace, set for two, complete with wineglasses. “Since it’s so late, I was able to get us a good table. Okay with you?”
“Perfect,” she said, and let him hold her chair for her, and who did that anymore? “I’m not drinking right now, if it’s all the same.”
“No, neither am I.” He motioned for the waitress to remove the wine glasses and sat back in his chair. “The truffle ravioli is really good here.”
She knew what was good here, since Paul skied near the resort often, but she merely nodded. “Sounds rich.” 
“It is, but tasty.”
“What are you going to get?”
They both decided on a chicken dish with lemon dill sauce, which still sounded rich but less so than some of the other options.
She thought they’d have trouble picking up their conversation from the hot tub, but no, it flowed pretty easily. He wasn’t seeing anyone, had married once when he was younger, but it hadn’t worked out. No kids, a sister who was married to a retired Air Force colonel who lived in Texas now.
“She hated leaving Hawaii, though,” he said. “She had to give up surfing, but he wanted to be closer to his family.”
“Oh, surfing! That’s one thing the beach has over the mountains,” Mackenzie said with a sigh, almost able to smell the ocean.
He lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve surfed?”
She’d actually loved it, and if she didn’t love the mountains so much, she would totally move to the beach. “Oh, yes. I went to California one summer when I was on break from school and learned, and man, is it a rush. Have you gone?”
“I’ve been, but I think my paranoia about sharks probably kept me from enjoying it.”
She leaned forward. “You’re afraid of sharks?”
He turned his attention to the round loaf of bread the waitress brought to the table. “I wouldn’t say afraid so much as aware of the damage they can do.”
She laughed. “I saw a couple, when I was surfing, but they left me alone, thankfully.” She remembered that rush, the danger just a little more adrenaline-pumping than the actual sport.
He folded his arms on the table. “What other adventurous things have you done?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know that I’d call learning to surf adventurous.” 
“I mean, yeah, it is. So is skiing, I guess, and jumping out of planes.”
“You make me sound like an adrenaline junkie.”
“I mean, if the shoe fits.” He lifted his hand to indicate, well, her.
“I just like trying new things. I try to do one new thing a year.”
He narrowed his eyes. “If you’ve only done one new thing a year, based on what you’ve told me in the short time I’ve known you, you’d have to be fifty years old already.”
She grinned. “Well, maybe some years have had more adventure than others.”
“Okay, what have you done new this year?”
“Well. Hm.” She tapped her chin with her finger, enjoying the way he was studying her as she tried to remember. “I’ve done zip lining, and white-water rafting. I’m trying to remember what it was this year. I think it was rock climbing.”
His eyes widened in appreciation, and a warmth flowed through her. She hadn’t set out to impress him, she just liked to try new things. Take a few risks.
Ahem. Like now.

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Declan O’Hare slapped off the alarm and grunted. Why did he pick a career that woke him up so early in the morning? He should be used to it, since he had been waking at this hour since he was eight years old. Back then, he’d had no choice. Now he made the choice.
He rolled out of his empty bed—because what woman wanted to be awakened at four thirty in the morning?—dragged a hand over his hair in need of a cut, and pushed to his feet. 
After Lexi and Josh graduated high school, or moved on to a more advanced coach, he wasn’t going to take on any more students for a while. Maybe sleep until seven. Stay up to watch the late news. Or even a movie.
But now that school had started again, Lexi and Josh wanted to get in their lessons before their classes, so he met them at the rink at five and they practiced until around seven. They’d be back after school, too, so he’d be at the rink until seven or eight tonight, come home, shower and crash, then do it all again tomorrow morning. His only breaks were on Monday and Tuesday afternoons, when they had dance and gymnastics classes instead.
He shouldn’t complain, he knew, as he tugged on his sweats and padded into the kitchen for a to-go tumbler of coffee. These two ice dancers were insanely talented. They had what it took to go all the way. He’d been coaching them since they were about twelve, but he couldn’t take credit for the natural skill and grace the two of them had, or the work ethic. 
Because he owned the rink, he was paid for both their ice time and for coaching.
He was out of bed and out the door in fifteen minutes, even if he wasn’t fully awake.
He had a staff at the rink, of course, but since he had to be here this early anyway, he was the one to open up, get the lights on.
Yeah, he’d been fortunate to be able to buy this place with the winnings from the endorsement deals he’d gotten after winning gold in Sion. Probably, though, he shouldn’t have banked so much on the notoriety from those days, papering the lobby with his picture, including a big one of him on the podium holding his medal.
At least he’d had the sense—or the pettiness—to block Colby out of that picture.
But he couldn’t block out what had happened next. He had turned to Colby, his partner, on the podium, and went down on one knee. He hadn’t had a ring, but he’d been so overwhelmed with emotion, and they had been America’s Sweethearts at that time, anyway. The crowd had gone crazy. He remembered the confusion on her face, but she’d said yes, and he’d leapt up to fold her into a passionate kiss, and….
Yeah, he wished he hadn’t tied those two events together in his mind. Because everything, everything had gone downhill from there. A lifelong dream, and the beginning of a nightmare. 
He got all the lights turned on in the place—the lobby, where the parents waited, the snack bar, the gym, the rink, the office last. Then he sat behind his desk and reached for his skates. Since he had gotten out the door so quickly, he had time to get some skating in. 
Some days he was able to fit some in later in the day, after the morning rush, when most of the kids who came for lessons went to school, before he went into his office and attended to business, but this morning he needed to be on the ice first thing to kind of center him. He wasn’t sure why.
At the last minute before he stepped onto the ice, he decided to turn on the PA system, plugged his phone in and blasted a classic rock song through the speakers. Then he tossed his guards and skated onto the ice.
Usually he liked the peaceful sound of blades cutting through the ice. But today he wanted the pounding bass, the ringing guitar. He let the music pound through him as he skated the perimeter, gathering speed, before leaping into the air for a quick axel, landing on one blade, the momentum carrying him forward, nothing driving him but the pulse of the music and his love of skating.
Declan had skated with a partner for over twenty years, from the time he was eleven, and he’d liked it, but skating alone was freedom and joy.
The cold air of the rink stung his face, the scent of it more familiar to him than the scent of his own home, the shape of it familiar enough that he could close his eyes as he powered around. He indulged in his favorite jump, the toe pick, because it propelled him forward, and he used that momentum to do a split jump, landed, and skated half the perimeter before lowering his torso and raising his leg to go into a camel spin, his left leg straight behind him as he whipped his body around. Testing his strength, he lifted his left leg in front of him and lowered his body over the spinning skate, his knee giving some protest at the move, but he pressed on. The end of his left skate sent bits of ice flying as he spun before using the last of his strength to stand again.
He was breathing heavily as  he skated to a stop, hands on his hips, his knee throbbing a little. He kept limber with yoga and Pilates, but apparently thirty-three-year-old knees didn’t care.
The applause caught him off-guard, and he looked up to see his students, Josh and Lexi, and their moms, Melina and Cynthia, clapping and cheering as he took a slight bow. 
He didn’t see the fifth person until he skated over, until his phone’s playlist advanced to the next song, even as his brain screeched to a halt.
Colby Martin stood with them, her hands tucked in her puffy silver jacket, not applauding, just staring at him. 
Colby Martin.
His ex-partner, his ex-best friend.
His ex-wife.


“Declan, we took your advice and hired a choreographer for the kids,” Melina said, stepping forward, holding one of her hands out.
Why, Declan didn’t know, and he skated back a bit out of her reach, wishing he’d never turned the stupid music on, because it was blasting and he couldn’t think, and he couldn’t get over to the system to turn it off without passing Colby, who was just…watching him. Not saying anything.
“There are other choreographers,” he said, sharper than he intended, skating down to the other entrance to the rink. His guards were on the floor near Josh and Lexi, but he didn’t care. He’d take his skates off. Anything to get the music off.
By the time he reached the other entrance, Josh was there, offering his skate guards, which Declan took gratefully. Not the kid’s fault his mother hired Declan’s worst nightmare.
“No one is taking new clients,” Cynthia said, following her daughter down to Declan.
“Josh, can you shut off the bloody music?” Declan asked through his teeth as he slapped the skate guards on the blades.
Josh seemed just as grateful to get away, nodding and running up the stairs to the PA controls.
And then the place was silent, just the two hopeful mothers, the young skaters who appeared uncomfortable, and Colby.
All the peace Declan had built was erased, and he stormed up the steps to the lobby.
No one else had arrived yet, thank God, but they’d be coming soon. His students had the ice to themselves right now, and he was wasting their time, but really, he was furious.
“Go warm up,” he said to Lexi, gruffer than he intended. Honestly, he wanted to go into his office and slam the door, but he had an obligation to these kids, and to their parents. “Excuse us,” he said to Colby, and ushered the mothers through the door into his office. He knew that didn’t afford them much privacy, since it was a hollow core door. But at least he wouldn’t have Colby looking at him while he confronted the women. 
He took a seat behind his desk in the small room, but the mothers did not sit in the chairs he gestured to.
“You have to know how difficult it would be to work with her,” he said, wishing he’d had more time to think out his response. “You no doubt know our history.”
“Yes, of course, but she said it would be okay with her. She would be fine working with you,” Cynthia said.
He looked at the woman he had known for years like he was looking at a stranger. “Why didn’t you ask me if I’d be fine working with her?”
“The two of you made such a good team! You won gold! I thought it was kismet when she was available,” Melina said.
“She’s available because she’s extremely difficult to work with.” She hadn’t always been, but the better they’d gotten, the more of a diva she’d become. “And who do you think would know that better than I do?”
“I’m sorry, Declan. We just assumed you’d be professional about this,” Melina said with a small, hurt sniff.
Oh, no, they were not going to put this on him. “You thought I’d be professional?” He’d raised his voice and hadn’t meant to. He glanced toward the door, certain Colby was on the other side of it, listening to everything. He decided he didn’t care. No one had hurt him like she did. No one.
“We want the best for our kids. We want them to have the same chances you did. That’s why we hired you, and that’s why we hired her.”
“Look, can she not just devise the routine, and you implement it?” Cynthia asked. “It’s not like you’d have to work with her for long. Or she can work with them, then you can? Take turns? We really did a lot of investigating into this. No one else was taking clients this year. Please, Declan.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.” He couldn’t believe he had to keep saying it. Figure skating was a small world, sure, and he hadn’t had to encounter her in the past eight years, mainly because she had gone to Los Angeles, hoping to make it big in acting. He hadn’t heard she’d come back to Aspen, hadn’t heard she’d come back to skating.
He wondered why.
“Could you talk to her?” Melina asked. “Just see if there’s something the two of you can work out?”
“You’re putting your kids in the middle of this,” he said, one last shot at appealing to them. He honestly wanted to tell them to find another coach, but he’d been working with these kids since they were twelve, and he genuinely liked them. He’d known time would come when he’d have to, if not give them up to more experienced coaches, at least give up some of the control he had, to share them with another coach. But he’d never expected to be forced to work with Colby.
“Please, just talk to her. She seemed to think there would be no problem, so maybe she has a solution you haven’t thought of.”
“I need to get to your kids’ lesson,” he said. “If Colby wants to stick around to talk to me when we’re done, that’s fine. I’ll talk to her then.”
Maybe by then he would have figured out what to say. Or she would give up and leave. 
Yeah. Sure. Unlikely.
As he expected, when he opened the door, she was standing just outside it, still silent, making him want to scream.
But he had to rein it in, get to Josh and Lexi so they could take advantage of their two hour block before they had to go to school. 
“Come back at nine,” he said brusquely, not exactly meeting her gaze, but not exactly avoiding it, either. 
She was still so beautiful, smooth skin, big blue eyes accented with perfect makeup, that shiny hair that was not quite brown, not quite red, piled in a messy bun on her head. Those full lips that brought back so many pleasant memories, and through which such nasty things had been said.
“I’m going to stay and watch,” she said. “I need to know what these kids can do before I design a program for them.”
He grunted, since he’d kind of expected she’d say something like that. He didn’t relish the idea of her watching him, judging him as he worked with the kids he’d coached for four years now. 
“You stay in here, not out there.”
“It’s not right, you know,” she said as he opened the door to the rink, standing in the blast of cold air. “You cropped me out of all these pictures.”
“Not all of them,” he said, and pointed to a picture where just the toe of her skate made it into the photo.
With that, he walked out.

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Abby O’Rourke kicked what was left of the passenger window out with her one foot that still wore a shoe. She didn’t know if the other shoe had come off in the crash. She didn’t see it in the cab of the truck, not on the floor among the broken glass, not on the seat. Maybe it had flown out the broken windshield, but she’d never be able to find it in the snow.
Well, she might be able to, but did she want to take the time to find it? 
She looked over her shoulder at Andrew, whose head lolled to the side, blood trickling down the side of his face, his hands limp at his sides. If she was a good person, she would reach over to feel if he was still alive, but she needed to get away. If he was dead, well, she was sorry for it, but he had brought this on himself. The things he’d said to her since he’d dragged her into this truck when she’d been trying to get into her car after leaving the gym would ring in her ears the rest of her life.
Hopefully the rest of her life would last a good long time, not the short amount of time he seemed to have planned.
He’d told her she wouldn’t belong to anyone else. He’d warned her. She would belong to him, or no one. He’d make sure of that.
She wasn’t sure what his intention was, exactly, but she’d known if he’d gotten her to his cabin on Round Lake, she wouldn’t have escaped.
She climbed out of the window, dropping ankle deep into the snow. She reached back into the cab. Her coat was gone—she must have dropped in the parking lot of the gym when Andrew surprised her. Her phone was gone. He’d tossed it out of the truck miles back, probably thinking someone would be able to track her location. She found a light knit jacket behind the seat of the truck. That wouldn’t do much against the cold temperatures, much less the wind and snow. But she didn’t have a choice. 
One shoe, her gym clothes, a gross limp jacket. Andrew wore a jacket, but she wasn’t going to risk rousing him to take it, if he was still alive.
She had to go.
But where? She was in the middle of nowhere, in a snowstorm. 
She knew this road, since they’d driven it to Andrew’s cabin in the past. Cabins were tucked in the trees all around them, and farmhouses in the stretches of land between the lakes. She just had to find one where someone lived.
Staying on the road was risky, if Andrew roused and followed her. She headed off the road toward the tree line. She’d walk along there until she saw another option.
She didn’t know how long she’d been traveling when she skidded to a stop at the edge of the lake, her one shoe drenched and filling with snow. She glanced back and looked at the path she’d left. She’d hoped the falling snow would have covered her footsteps, but because of the trees, the snow wasn’t reaching the ground on her path. It certainly was reaching her, though, soaking through her thin jacket.
In her moment of hesitation, she listened to the…well, the nothing. The falling snow muffled whatever sound might be around, but what she noticed most of all was the darkness. Darkness all around, except for one pale light on the other side of the lake. 
Someone’s cabin. This was a lake, so other cabins were likely situated between her and it, but probably empty. She could hide in one, break in. She would hate doing that but she was desperate. But what if the people had turned off power, water, their phone?  Would she be that much better off? Her best chance was that light, and she hoped it wasn’t just a porch light or something. 
She looked across the lake, considering taking that route. The surface should be frozen enough to walk upon, but she would be in the open and Andrew would see her. 
The path she’d left made her vulnerable enough, but she dared not retreat to erase it. She didn’t know how long Andrew would remain unconscious. She couldn’t risk coming out in the open. She was going to stick to the edge of the lake, in the shadows of the trees. 
She had never been so cold, and putting one foot in front of the other in her wet sock and slightly less wet gym shoe was hard and painful in the drifts. She was soaked practically to her knees, but she had no other choice. He would kill her if she went back. She was sure of it. She would rather die out here.
The sound of the wolf howling pierced through the sound of her own labored breathing. She stopped short, trying to figure out where the noise had come from. How far away was he? Was he alone, or did he have a pack? Were wolves like the velociraptors in that dinosaur movie, where one let his presence be known as the others moved in for the kill?
Freezing to death was one thing, but being hunted—that was something way different. Heart pounding as adrenaline surged, she moved a little farther out onto the lake, aware she risked being seen, but the snow was not as difficult to trudge through. She picked up a branch, because she knew she needed to hide her tracks, hide the direction she’d gone. She had chosen the lake because she thought Andrew would hunt for her down the road first. The road had more cover, but here at the lake she could see the other cabins. 
For all the good that did her.
She looked over her shoulder to see the branch was doing a piss-poor job of hiding her tracks, unlike what she’d seen in the movies, but if it disguised them just a bit, the snow could hide her path and buy her time.
The wolf howled again, and this time he seemed closer. But which direction? To her right? The direction she was heading? On the other side of the lake? She just couldn’t tell, and her terror would not allow her to stop to try to figure it out. 
Her next step was lower than expected, and she dropped like a rock. At first, she thought she’d broken through the ice, but no, she was just in a deeper drift, and now she was wet to the waist. 
God, she hoped that house was occupied and warm. It certainly didn’t seem to be getting any closer, though the howl of the wolf and the echoes of his companions certainly did. She had to get out of this weather. Her hands were growing numb, and her feet. But frostbite was way better than whatever Andrew had planned for her.
The cold wind cut through the thin jacket, felt like knives in her throat, in her nose. At least it wasn’t too cold to snow, though she had no idea what the temperature was, what the windchill was. She didn’t know how long she could be out here without dying, without losing her feet to frostbite. She just knew it couldn’t be too long.
As she approached the cabin she’d been focusing on, she noticed it was higher than the lake, on a ridge. God, was she going to have to climb a hill once she got across the lake? She looked behind her, and thankfully, she appeared to have come farther than the distance she had yet to travel, and while she could still see part of her path, the snow was obscuring it farther away.
What if…what if Andrew thought she had fallen through the ice? What if, once she reached the other side of the lake, she threw a rock or something to break through the ice, making it look like she’d fallen through? Would he stop looking for her?
If she even had the strength when she reached the other side. 
The presence of the wolves still worried her. She wouldn’t be able to hear their footsteps because of her own breathing and the rustle of the branch behind her.
The branch she could barely hold onto anymore. She’d dropped it twice, had to retrace her steps when she realized she no longer was carrying it.
Wasting precious steps, precious time, with no indication the effort was worth it. 
Her ears hurt. She wore nothing on her head, no protection, and ears could get frostbite too, right? She did not want to lose her ears. She loosened her hair from its braid to fall against her skin, hoping just the little extra protection would help.
That ridge, the closer she got, was looking higher and higher. She wasn’t going to have the strength. She was going to die here. She only hoped she froze to death before the wolves found her.
She stumbled and went down hard on her knees. The hand that wasn’t holding the branch. The impact knocked her breath from her, and the temptation to stay down, to give up, was nearly overwhelming. She’d never been so tired in her life.
Only her determination that goddamn Andrew was not going to kill her pushed her to her feet again. 
She was on the shore. She could feel it now, the unevenness of the ground beneath the snow. The cabin was above her, and, hallelujah, she found a staircase leading up the hill.
She pawed around in the snow until she found a boulder. She pried it free from the mud with fingers that were numb and aching. Lifting it was hard, too, because she felt like her arms were going to snap right off. But she lifted it over her head and heaved it with as much power as she could muster toward the lake, was disappointed when it didn’t crash through the ice, only made an indentation in the snow and bounced away a few feet. 
No way would Andrew think she’d fallen through the ice from that feeble attempt. But she didn’t want to dig around for another boulder. She needed to get to shelter.
She dropped the branch when she reached the bottom of the stairs. She had no way to hide her footsteps going up them, her grip on the wooden rails, so she wasn’t going to waste the energy trying. She needed all of her strength to put one foot in front of the other. She fell twice, once because she slipped on a frozen patch and once because she just couldn’t lift her leg high enough.  God she was so tired, and everything hurt.
And when she reached the top of the stairs, well, she was still going to have to maneuver a winding uphill path. She slid back more than once, and dropped to all fours to climb the last few feet to the yard.
She stood and looked up at the cabin. No wonder she could see it from across the lake. The place was pretty imposing, like the prow of a ship, the bottom covered with rocks, then a deck over her head, and above that the lovely lighted windows. 
She didn’t see a door, so rounded to the side of the house, and yes, there was a porch, with more steps. No cars in the driveway, but she saw a detached garage, so please, God, let the vehicles be inside.
She wasn’t thinking of the wolves anymore, or of Andrew, or even of the cold as she dragged herself up the stairs using the log rails.  
When she stood in front of the door, she imagined she could feel the warmth from within. She thought she heard a dog barking through the thick walls, but maybe that was the wolves. She was having trouble focusing. 
She suddenly found herself afraid of what was within. Someone who wasn’t expecting her, someone who lived out in the middle of nowhere, who might greet her with a gun.
But she couldn’t survive out here much longer. She didn’t have a choice. 
She raised her arm, wrapping her hand in the sleeve of the wet jacket, and banged on the door with her forearm. 
The door opened much faster than she expected, and a man filled the door frame.
Her gaze went to the chrome-plated handgun first, not pointed at her, but the tension in the tendons of his wrist let her know he was ready to use it. She stepped back, her hands up in front of her in surrender. Her foot slipped, and he lunged forward, catching her elbow, drawing her toward the door. She grabbed onto the front of his sweater and looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Dark shaggy hair fell forward around his face, a beard shadowing a strong jaw. Her fingers flexed in reaction. He was big, and strong because he was still holding her up, off the ground, so she struggled to get her feet under herself so she had some power, at least. 
He guided her up and set her on her feet, but once she was standing, he looked around the exterior of the cabin. The gun, she saw then, was still in his hand.
“Are you alone? Why are you dressed like this?”
Now that she could feel the actual warmth from inside the cabin, she started shivering, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.
Still she managed to say, “I escaped.”
​

TWELVE YEARS LATER


Lacey Davila’s heart thundered in her chest as she sat before her computer monitor and opened Skype. The pregnancy test trembled in her hand as she logged in. Jesse would not be happy with the news. They hadn’t wanted to start a family yet, and she was taking birth control, but the last time he’d been on leave…
She had debated waiting to tell him, but she knew he’d get mad if she kept the news from him, too.
So she waited until he came on the screen, and forced a smile. She couldn't pretend to be too happy, or he’d think she’d planned this to trick him into marriage. But if she wasn't happy to see him, he would read something awful into that reaction as well.
Funny how he could frighten her with his moods from five thousand miles away.
“Hey, baby,” he said in a quiet voice, with a gentle smile. “Good to see you.”
Some of the muscles in her stomach loosened at that. He was in a good mood. For now.
She started the conversation focusing on him, what he’d been up to, because that’s what he liked. What did she have to share, living in a small town like Broken Wheel, Texas, anyway? He was the one living an adventure, deployed on the other side of the world.
Though to be honest, when he was talking about traveling to towns near the base in Germany, it didn't sound all that different than living in Broken Wheel. But she listened with an interested smile on her face until he turned the conversation to her.
“What’s new with you? You look terrible.”
Of course she looked terrible. She couldn't eat or sleep because of the morning sickness, which was really all-day sickness. “Well, I have some news.”
“Yeah? What? Something exciting happen in BFE? A new menu item at the diner or something?” He chuckled at his own cleverness. 
God. She was going to be tied to this man forever. What had she done? Why hadn’t she broken free when she had a chance, before she got pregnant? For a moment, she considered not telling him, keeping the news to herself. But she’d worked up the nerve, something that had taken her all day, and she was going to tell him. The consequences be damned. Her life was changing one way or another.
“I have some exciting news,” she modified. If she was excited, maybe he would be, too. She held up the pregnancy test, willing her hand not to shake, all the while watching for his reaction.
His expression froze, and for a moment she thought—hoped—it might be the computer. 
“You’re going to be a daddy,” she prompted.
“Whose is it?” he said through his teeth, and even thought she’d expected the accusation, the vehemence behind it gave her a jolt.
“Yours. Of course it’s yours.”
“Bull. We always use birth control. Why are you trying to pass someone else’s brat off as mine? You want my benefits or something?”
She would not see how his words hit her. She forced her chin up, and concentrated on keeping her voice steady. “I’m not. I’m on the pill. Or, I was until I took the test. But we always doubled up on protection, and before you left we…didn’t. So this baby must be meant to be.” She cursed the tears that filled her eyes  because he would read them as guilty.
It didn't matter. She already knew, before he started calling her names—names she’d heard before, and new ones, each one hitting her like a blow.
She didn't know why she sat and listened until her friend Poppy walked into the room, flipped him off on the screen, and ended the call.
“Why do you let him talk to you like that?” Poppy demanded, leaning against the desk and crossing her arms over her chest. “God, how I wish you’d never met him. You deserve so much better than that, Lace. I wish you could see that.”
She could see it, and many times over the last few months, she’d wished she had the strength to leave him. But then she remembered how devastated her dad was when her mother left, and she just couldn't bring herself to do it, not when Jesse was overseas. 
And now it was too late. She was tied to him forever.
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Summer was always a magical time for me growing up. Why? Because of books.


Most of my summer memories revolve around books.


Loading up the back of my dad’s car with my Trixie Belden collection because what if I ran out of things to read.


Going to the library at my elementary school, the one morning a week it was open. The school was one of those open concept ones from the 1960s, you know, and the library was the hub. All the classrooms were dark. The building was cool and quiet, and I pretty much had the place to myself. I’d walk out every week with armloads of books. Honestly, I don’t know how many times I went. Maybe it was only once, but the memory is strong. I can smell it, even now, nearly fifty years later.


Learning that the library would MAIL books to you. I remember getting a book about The Beatles, and it was mailed in one of those padded envelopes that sheds everywhere. 


Picking out books in the five and dime, my first Harlequins, usually chosen because of the horses on the cover. 


Most of my summer memories revolve around not just one book, but stacks of them. I was always happy to have the assurance that I’d have plenty to read. I don’t read real books very often now, but my Kindle is loaded with books. Now…to take the time to read them!

Yesterday I went on a winery trip with some of my teacher friends. We all used to teach together at some point, and I don’t remember how the winery trips started. But we’ve been doing them for five or six years now. We missed last year, of course, and we missed another year in there because we just couldn’t make our schedules work. We also meet for each birthday (again, we missed last year, except for Mary B.)


What’s most interesting about our group is the age gap. The oldest is 74, the youngest is 37. Three of us are retired (and all named Mary!) and the youngest of course is still teaching. Susan, the youngest, was born the year I graduated high school so it’s really three generations. The three who are retired have been retired less than ten years. 


We hadn’t all gotten together since about three days before everything shut down, when we celebrated Mary B’s birthday. But after a few minutes, it was like we’d never been apart. 


We went to the first winery in Johnson City, Texas, where we bonded with the server, also named Mary, and teased Susan we were going to swap her for a new Mary. We laughed and cried and moved to the next winery, where we enjoyed a sangria slushy and talked and looked at pictures of kids and grandkids and dogs. Talked about boyfriends and weed and health and online school.


We had brought snacks, but weren’t allowed to consume them there, so we drove into Fredericksburg to the park and had a picnic. Talked about principals and memories, traveling and plants, exchanged birthday presents.


We were going to go to one more winery, but it was already nearly four o’clock, so we headed home. When we parted, we gave each other extra hugs, because even though we plan to see each other next month, well, we said that last year, and it didn’t happen.


We spent about seven hours together and it went by in a blink. I am still on a high from the time spent with such good friends.

What are your favorite movies? I saw a meme about The Mummy the other day, and was reminded why it is my favorite movie. Right now we are watching Fellowship of the Ring and man, do I love this series.


I saw this article about comfort movies and I think my favorite movies fall more into this category, movies I can watch over and over again. 


So I was thinking about the rank. I aimed for 10, but couldn’t stop.

1. The Mummy
2. The Lord of the Rings trilogy 
3. The Last Jedi
4. Jaws
5. Star Wars: A New Hope
6. Tangled
7. O Brother Where Art Thou
8. Raiders of the Lost Ark
9. Jurassic Park
10. Romancing the Stone
11. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
12. Money Pit
13. So Proudly We Hail
14. Ghostbusters (both)
15. Bridget Jones’s Diary

I like the Marvel Universe as a whole, but couldn't say which movie is my favorite. Maybe the first Iron Man, maybe the first Guardians. 


I also have a number of chick flicks I like that I didn’t include: Two Weeks Notice, The Back-Up Plan, both Mamma Mia movies, Pitch Perfect.


What movies do you love? Are your favorites that because they’re just so good or because they’re something you can watch over and over?