CA 35 Christmas Past (7 page)

           
She held his gaze, hers
expectant.

           
“You can try again,” he
suggested. The advice was more for him than for her.

           
Molly shrugged.
“Probably won’t be as much fun alone.”

           
The rice tasted like
cardboard in his mouth. He swallowed. “There are guided events.”

           
“Yeah,
right.”
She stuffed a forkful of spaghetti into her mouth and chewed,
then said around it, “If you want to do the wimpy stuff.”

           
A smile tugged at his
lips. “Wimpy?”

           
She nodded. “You know
how it is.
This time of year all the good routes are closed
unless you’re willing to attempt the trek on your own.
The Forest
Service recommends staying away from the tough climbs. I didn’t come here to
tromp around in the snow with a bunch of designer-clad tourists.”

           
He had to laugh. “It
won’t be the end of the world if you don’t do a fourteen this time.”

           
She swallowed. “Are you
kidding? That’s why I’m here.”

           
The woman had her heart
set on claiming a fourteen-thousand-foot summit. “Your vacation’s not over yet.
It could happen.”

           
“What about you?” She
captured another forkful of pasta. “
You going
out
again?”

           
His fingers tightened
on the fork in his hand. The mere thought had his heart rate climbing.
“Maybe.”

           
“You should.” She
downed a gulp of water. “You’re here. Might as well, right?”

           
“Yeah.”
If it were only that easy.
He couldn’t eat. He set the
bowl aside.

           
“You look tense.” She
licked her fork. His gaze followed the movement as if he’d never seen a woman
do that before. “You really should take a soak. The tub jets are fabulous.”

           
Images of her in that
big tub reeled through his mind.
“No, thanks.
I’m
good.”

           
“Too
girlie for you?”
She set her plate aside and studied him.

           
“Something
like
that.”

           
“What made you decide
you wanted to be a driver?” Molly asked, not because she needed to but mainly
because she wanted to know the answer.

           
One corner of his mouth
lifted in a smile—it was the sexiest thing Molly had ever seen.
Slow down,
girl, you’re going about this all wrong.

           
“I didn’t exactly make
the decision. It just sort of happened.” He sipped his water. “I started out as
a flunky for the team. Doing pretty much whatever needed to be done.
Worked my way up.
Al, my team owner,” he explained, “noticed
my instinct when driving was particularly good. He pushed me to challenge
myself and I did.”

           
“Sounds like you and
your team owner are close.” She fluffed her drying hair, combing her fingers
through the damp curls.

           
“The whole team’s like
family,” he confirmed.

           
“So you’ve been here
before?” Molly shifted the conversation back to the here and now. “Done that
same climb we started today?”

           
“Yes. I’ve been here
before.” The tension he felt at the question showed in his posture.

           
The room phone rang.

           
Jason was thankful for
the interruption.

           
Molly picked up the
receiver. “Hello.” She listened a moment. “Sure. Okay.” She got up, held the
receiver out to him. “It’s for you.”

           
Jason pushed up and
walked over to the sofa and took the phone. “Thanks.”

           
She got up, grabbed her
plate and wandered back to the cart. To give him some privacy, he supposed.

           
“This is Jason
Fewell
.” Jason listened as the desk clerk explained there
was a problem with his rental car. The agency had left a document at the desk
for him to review and sign. “Sure, I’ll be right down.” He placed the receiver
back in its cradle. “There’s an issue at the front desk with the rental car.
Some kind of form.
I’ll be right back.”

           
“God, the fruit is
marvelous.” She moaned as she sank her teeth into a strawberry.

           
A new kind of tension
tightened in Jason’s belly. A few minutes out of the room would be a good
thing. This lady was getting under his skin way too fast.

           
“I’ll save some for
you,” she called after him as he headed for the door.

           
“I can always order
more,” he reminded her before slipping out.

           
The corridor was empty.
Who would hang around their room when on vacation in a snow-covered paradise
like this?

           
Other
than him?

           
And
his roommate?

           
Jason shook his head.
He wasn’t sure if she was staying close because she felt sorry for him or
because she was lonely, too.

           
Too…That truth rattled
him.

           
He was lonely.

           
That admission had been
a long time in coming.

           
He hustled down the
stairwell. Tomorrow morning he should run. The thinner air would be somewhat
limiting, but staying in shape was essential.
Too hard to
come back from a few days of laziness.

           
After pushing through
the door to the first floor, he strode across the grand lobby and bellied up to
the front desk.

           
“I’m Jason
Fewell
. You have something here for me to sign.”

           
Two female clerks stood
behind the counter. They exchanged a look that said they had no idea what he
was talking about.

           
“I’m sorry, sir. Did
someone call you?” the one named Carrie asked.

           
Jason nodded. “He said
his name was Austin.”

           
Another of those looks
passed between the two.

           
“Sir, we don’t have an
Austin at the front desk.”

           
Confusion tugged at his
brow. “Maybe he works in the manager’s office or in reservations?”

           
Both heads shook. The
one whose name tag read Ellen confirmed, “No, sir. We don’t have an Austin on
staff at all.”

           
“But the call,” Jason
countered, “was from inside the lodge.”

           
“If the caller knew
your room number,” Carrie explained, “he could use any of the house phones.”
She gestured to a table in the lobby. “Maybe a friend is playing a prank on
you.”

           
Realization tingled at
the base of his skull. He didn’t bother explaining that he didn’t have any
friends here. He knew exactly what was going on.

           
MOLLY PULLED A SWEATER over
her head. She had a bad feeling about this call to the front desk. Why would a
rental agency drop off a form at the lodge without calling
Fewell
first?

           
They wouldn’t.

           
She shoved her feet
into her boots and headed for the door.

           
This was a setup.

           
Walking wasn’t an
option. She ran for the stairwell.
Plunged down the four
flights of stairs.
Her ankle stung but not enough to slow her down.

           
When she burst into the
lobby, the front desk had already called security.

           
A male cameraman and a
female reporter were still shouting questions at
Fewell
even as security hauled them toward the door.

           
“Come on, Jason,” the
woman urged, not ready to give up her quest, “tell me why you came back here
after what happened three years ago.”

           
The security guards
were making quiet promises to have her hauled into the police station if she
didn’t cooperate and leave the premises.

           
Fewell
stood there, unmoving, unblinking.

           
“Do you still feel
responsible for Cynthia’s death?” the reporter shouted, getting in one more jab
before the guards got her out the door.

           
The few guests that had
wandered in during the commotion stared at
Fewell
,
whispering among
themselves
.
One
even going so far as to point.

           
“Come on.” Molly took
Jason by the arm. “Don’t give them anything else to talk about.”

           
He glared at her, his
face pinched in pain.

           
“Come on.” She tugged
at him. “Jason,” she urged. “Just…come on.”

           
Molly hauled him to the
elevator since it was closer than the stairs and the doors on one had just slid
open. When the doors had closed, she asked, “What happened?”

           
“It doesn’t matter.”

           
The hell it didn’t. “It
does matter.”

           
He sent a deadly look
down his shoulder at her. “I do not want to talk about this.”

           
“Okay.”

           
The silence thickened,
making the elevator feel as if the walls were closing in.

           
When the doors opened,
he waited for her to exit.

           
A
gentleman to the end.

           
She shoved the key card
into the lock and opened the door to their suite. “I’m filing a complaint with
the manager.” She kicked off her boots.

           
“It wasn’t the staff’s
fault.” He wandered to the window and stared out at the darkness.

           
The view in Aspen was
beautiful, that was true. But he spent way too much time at that window.
Like a prisoner who longed for freedom.

           
“I know you said you
don’t want to talk about the things that reporter said, but sometimes it helps
to talk.”

           
“Not for me.”

           
“Well—” she moved in
next to him at the window “—if you’re referring to therapy, that doesn’t count.
Not in my book.”

           
He glanced at her, his
face grim. “It’s supposed to help.”

           
“Sometimes it does,
sometimes it doesn’t.” She leaned against the window frame and studied him.
“But it always helps to get it off your chest with someone who’ll really
listen.”

           
“Lady—” he shook his
head “—my team, my family, they’ve all been there for me, but no amount of talk
has changed anything.”

           
Molly took the plunge.
“Who’s Cynthia?” She held her breath.

           
“I guess you’re one of
the few who didn’t read about it. Or watch it on the entertainment news shows.”

           
She shook her head.
“No. Sorry.”

           
He braced a hand on the
window frame. “Cynthia O’Neal was my girlfriend. We came here three years ago
for the Christmas holidays.”

           
“Oh
my
gosh
.” Molly shook her head. “I feel terrible for giving you so much
trouble about the room. I had no idea.”

           
“The room…” He
shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

           
“What happened?”

           
“We had climbed all
over the country. Here, too. She loved the mountains here better than any place
else.”