“What?”
His arms went around her, and he lowered his head to kiss her. Evie didn’t kiss him back.
“You forget all about the vision quest and I’ll make love to you every night until you get pregnant. How’s that?”
Evie looked into the dark eyes of the man she loved more than life itself. “Okay, all right, but tonight, I get to be on top.
I heard it increases your chances of having a boy.”
T
HE SNOW AT THE TOP
of Thunder Mountain on Saturday morning was the finest skiing powder Jillian had ever seen. The day was perfect. Sun shining,
no wind to speak of. The slopes smooth and tightly packed.
Below them on the black-diamond trails, expert skiers maneuvered over moguls, jumping and swishing in their colorful ski attire.
A small flotilla of novice skiers followed an instructor down one of the easier, green-circle trails. And at the very bottom
of the mountain, they could see the raw beginners snowplowing madly on the bunny slope. To their left, the ski lift deposited
a new round of skiers and then circled back down for more.
Jillian wriggled her fingers into her ski gloves.
We’re just here to have fun
, she kept telling herself.
It’s nothing more than that. Not a date. Two friends out enjoying the mountain.
“I’m tired of being a gaper. I’m ready for the milk run. Race you to the base.” Tuck grinned and pulled his ski goggles down
over his eyes. “Last one down buys lunch.”
He took off.
Never one to resist a challenge, Jillian’s competitive streak kicked in, and she shot after him.
He hopped over moguls like his ankle had never been compromised. Jillian’s heart momentarily vaulted into her throat, but
when she realized he could handle himself, she deftly maneuvered the mogul. Aha! She still had it.
Tuck had insisted she rent parabolic skis, and they were amazing. The hourglass shape gave her more speed and control, and
they responded immediately to the slightest pressure. Technology had made great strides since the last time she’d been skiing
in college during spring break with Delaney, Tish, and Rachael.
They raced, flying around trees, zipping down the hill, zigzagging over the granular surface soaring toward Thunder Lodge,
the Chalet condos, the bank of metal lockers where skiers stashed their possessions. It felt decadent, this hedonistic, holiday,
cold-weather dash, as if they’d shoplifted something money couldn’t replace—time, a precious memory, happiness. They were
still young, they were free, and Jillian basked in their very aliveness.
The snow was sugar, tempting and white. On their skis, Jillian and Tuck raced, breathless and hungry, muscles charged and
blood pumped with adrenaline. It was a glorious game, and Jillian realized that she did not play nearly often enough.
On the skis, on the mountain, pulling in the cold, crisp morning air, Jillian felt like someone else. It was as if she’d stepped
into the body of another Jillian, this one lighter, giddier, silly even. Gone was Queenie and in her place was …
Who?
She didn’t know, but she liked this new woman, this new sensation wrapping around her, crowding out the cloak of loneliness
she’d worn for twenty-nine years. Something happened to her on the top of that mountain as she played snow tag with Tuck.
Something she could not explain. Something that filled her with hope and expectancy. Something that made her soul sing.
Jillian spurred her body onward, eager to win, determined to beat him. She dug her poles into the snow, pushing faster, aiming
for a shortcut, even though it was steeper than the path Tuck had taken. Jillian had never been afraid to assume risk in order
to claim her prize.
But even so, they arrived at the base at exactly the same moment. No winner, no loser.
Equals.
It was, Jillian decided, the perfect ending to the perfect ski run. Grinning, she took off her ski cap and shook her head.
Tuck sucked in his breath. Jillian’s face was turned in profile to him as she looked back at where they’d come from, her gaze
drinking in the pine trees, the snow, the mountain vista.
She ran her fingers through her hair, and the wind tossed the ebony strands over her shoulder. She looked mind-shatteringly
beautiful in her powder-blue snow-bunny suit that snugged her athletic body like a leather glove, hugging her breasts and
womanly hips, nipping in at her sculpted waist.
He pushed his goggles up on his forehead. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes hidden behind the darkly tinted lenses of her
sunshades. The bright morning light warmed their skin. She tilted her head back to catch the sun full on, briefly shut her
eyes, inhaled deeply, and then looked at him.
“I love the smell of snow,” she breathed.
Hypnotized by the sight of her, Tuck could only nod. White snow, black hair, ripe body in blue clothes.
She pointed at the ski lodge. “Break for lunch?”
“Guess it’s Dutch treat,” he said.
“I’ll pay.”
“It’s not a date and I didn’t win the bet. We’re friends. It’s Dutch treat.”
“Unless,” she said, “I pick up lunch and you can pick up the tab for the hot toddies after the last run of the day.”
“I can go for that.”
They skied to the lodge, shrugged out of their gear, locked up their skis, and went inside. They were a little early for lunch,
and the place was fairly empty, so the waitress showed them to a table in the lounge area. The television at the bar was tuned
to
The Price Is Right
, but the sound was muted.
The smell of hearty, winter food scented the air—chili, pot roast, hunter’s stew, chicken pot pie. Tuck ordered the chili,
and Jillian went for the chicken pot pie.
“How’s the ankle?” she asked.
“Good as new.”
“I’m having a good time.” She smiled at him over the rim of her coffee cup while they waited for their food order. “Thanks
for inviting me.”
“No problem. I’m enjoying the view.” Tuck looked at her instead of out the window at the majestic mountain, letting her know
he wasn’t speaking about the scenery. He was confused by his own statement. They were forging a friendship. Why was he mucking
things up with the insinuation that there could be more?
She briefly met his eyes, then quickly turned her gaze out the big picture window. She looked unsure of herself. He couldn’t
blame her. He was feeling as unsteady as a toddler taking his first steps. “Yes, it is beautiful.”
“Gorgeous.” He never took his eyes off her face.
She fingered the bracelet at her wrist as if it were a talisman she used to comfort herself when she was feeling off balance.
He’d watched her perform the gesture before. She rubbed her fingers over it like a rosary. Whether she knew it or not, the
woman had faith in something. A power beyond her.
A crackling fire in the fireplace near their table suddenly made a loud snapping noise and spilled a shower of sparks into
the grate. She jumped, slightly startled. Then her gaze met Tuck’s.
“Dry wood,” he explained.
“Ah, we’re back to the subject of wood again.” Her eyes twinkled, teasing him. “It’s a favorite of yours. A regular theme.”
“What can I say? I’m a carpenter at heart.” He chuckled. “Wood is my medium.”
“Medium is fine with me. I’ve found that large is often not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Desire churned Tuck’s stomach as he caught her sexual innuendo. He felt at once both concern and excitement. He wanted her,
yes, but he wanted her friendship even more. The morning they’d just spent together convinced him of that. He wasn’t going
to jeopardize the good thing they had going.
Sex was sure to mess things up.
But the look in her eyes—the look that told him she wanted him as much as he wanted her—cut like razor wire and made him think,
What if, what if, what if?
He was sitting next to her so they could both view the mountain through the picture window. He could see the pulse at the
hollow of her throat fluttering. His own heart was fluttering too. His gaze dropped to her wrist again, watching as she twirled
the silver and turquoise filigree bracelet.
“Where’d you get the bracelet?” he asked.
“Blake. He gave it to me for my law school graduation.”
Tuck snorted, shook his head.
Jillian’s chocolate brown eyes narrowed. “What does that snort mean?”
“He was far more of a father to you than he ever was to Aimee,” Tuck said.
“And you resent that.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“From what Blake told me, Aimee was the one who’d cut him out of her life,” she said.
Anger sparked inside him. “Blake was a shitty father.”
“Maybe. I wasn’t there. But he was the closest thing to a father I ever had. I’m saying that whatever went on between him
and Aimee, it was a two-way street. Aimee wasn’t all sweetness and light.”
“Excuse me, are you disrespecting my dead wife?”
“That’s not what I meant, but you do idolize her memory. No living woman could live up to Saint Aimee.”
Tuck couldn’t believe she was going there. “Don’t,” he said through clenched teeth. “Don’t you say a word against her.”
Her jaw tightened and she turned her head to look out the window. Tuck was startled to see unshed tears glistening at the
corner of her eyes. Immediately, he felt contrite. Reaching out, he put his hand on her forearm.
She stiffened.
“Jillian,” he murmured. “I don’t want to fight with you. We’ve had such a great day. I just wanted …”
He looked down at her wrist, at the bracelet that represented the wall between them. His love for Aimee, her loyalty to Blake.
Ghosts sat in the two vacant chairs at the table. Ghosts of the past, mucking up the promise of a hopeful future.
“Don’t try to figure me out, Tucker Manning,” she said. “Save your efforts.”
“I can’t.” Tuck lifted a hand and slowly traced the back of one finger down the side of her cheek and along her tensed jaw.
He was encouraged when she didn’t pull away. In fact, she swiveled her head around to meet his gaze full on.
“You fascinate me, Jillian Samuels,” he said.
The breath left her lungs in a small sigh.
He knew he shouldn’t do it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. She looked so hurt, and he felt so compelled to smooth things
over between them. He brushed his lips against hers. A breezy, hardly there kiss.
The touch of their mouths sent a shudder clean through him.
She sighed a second time.
He lowered his head, slid his arm around her back, pulled her closer, and kissed her more firmly.
Jillian parted her lips, but she didn’t lean into him, and she kept her arms stiffly in her lap. Tuck touched the tip of his
tongue to hers, but she closed her mouth and drew back.
“No,” she whispered.
Tuck pulled his head away. “I … I …” He didn’t know what he wanted to say. Words seemed empty, useless tools with which to
try and scale this … this …
thing
between them. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, but her eyes never left his. Her body radiated a bizarre combination of self-discipline, anger, desire, and fierce
melancholia.
The waitress interrupted, depositing their food on the table. The earthy aroma of cumin-rich chili scented the air between
them.
He looked at Jillian, at the regal set to her shoulders and the hooded expression in her dark eyes, and he felt so inadequate.
His heart hammered and his gut twisted and his mind spun.
What in the hell am I going to do about this feeling?
Just as he was pondering that question, he got a glimpse of the weather report on the television. At the same time he noticed
the ominous weather pattern outline on screen, the bartender took it off mute. From the looks of the Doppler radar, the blizzard
would be slamming into them within the next three to four hours. Luckily, Salvation was only an hour’s drive away, but they
needed to get a move on in order to get down the mountain safely.
“Hunker down, folks,” the weather forecaster announced. “Because within the next three hours, the blizzard of the decade is
headed for Thunder Mountain all the way down to Boulder.”
A
LL DAY LONG
, the talk at the Bluebird had been of the coming blizzard. By the time Evie closed the café early, the snow swirled like
heavy lace throughout the town. She got home to find Ridley had stocked them up on firewood and supplies in case they lost
electricity.
“I got a bastard of a headache,” he told her. “I’m going to bed early. You coming?”
Evie went with him, but her mind was so keyed up she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about the blizzard, about Thanksgiving
dinner, about the babies she wanted so desperately, about the vision quest Ridley refused her. The more she thought about
that last part, the more irritated she got.
By midnight, she was still wide awake, and the blizzard hadn’t yet hit. Evie made the decision she’d been on the verge of
making for weeks. She tiptoed out of bed and slipped into the sweat lodge.
She’d only been inside it once, right after he built it. She had to admit the symbol of her husband’s spirituality bothered
her on a gut level. Intellectually, she didn’t care. She told herself she liked that he practiced what he believed. But emotionally?
It made her feel left out. She didn’t have faith in things unseen the way he did, and his adherence to this custom she didn’t
know or understand was a wedge between them.
You have to get over this. You’re hoping to have a baby with him. Ridley’s going to want to share his beliefs with his child,
and you can’t deprive him of that. It’s time you understood your husband’s faith
.
She started a fire in the fire pit with the piñon wood, turned on the gas-powered sauna and battery-powered MP3 player. The
sound of low, steady drumbeats spilled from the speakers. In the dark of midnight, with only the flickering firelight for
a guide, Evie took off her coat and her flannel pajamas in the sweat lodge. It exuded the musky, masculine smell of her husband.
Stripped naked, she sat on the bearskin rug.
After peppering Tuck with questions about his vision quest, Evie tried to emulate the conditions. She crossed her legs in
lotus position. She inhaled deeply of the piñon wood smoke. She hummed a mantra—
baby, baby, baby.