Snow Falls

• Other Bella Books by Gerri Hill
  
• About the Author
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Chapter Twenty-One
  
• Chapter Twenty-Two
  
• Chapter Twenty-Three
  
• Chapter Twenty-Four
  
• Chapter Twenty-Five
  
• Chapter Twenty-Six
  
• Chapter Twenty-Seven
  
• Chapter Twenty-Eight
  
• Chapter Twenty-Nine
  
• Chapter Thirty
  
• Chapter Thirty-One
  
• Chapter Thirty-Two
  
• Chapter Thirty-Three
  
• Chapter Thirty-Four
  
• Chapter Thirty-Five
  
• Chapter Thirty-Six
  
• Chapter Thirty-Seven
  

Copyright © 2012 by Gerri Hill

Bella Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 10543

Tallahassee, FL 32302

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

First published 2012

Editor: Medora McDougall

Cover Designer: Linda Callaghan

ISBN 13: 978-1-59493-316-5

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

One Summer Night

Gulf Breeze

Sierra City

Dawn Of Change

Artist’s Dream

Coyote Sky

Killing Room, The

Behind The Pine Curtain

Cottage, The

Target, The

Rainbow Cedar, The

No Strings

Scorpion, The

Love Waits

Storms

Keepers of the Cave

Hunter Series:

Hunter’s Way

In the Name of the Father

Partners

Mystery Series:

Devil’s Rock

Hell’s Highway

Gerri Hill has twenty-two published works, including the 2012 GCLS winner
Hell’s Highway
and 2011 GCLS winner
Devil’s Rock
and 2009 GCLS winner
Partners
, the last book in the popular Hunter Series, as well as 2012 Lambda finalist
Storms
. She began writing lesbian romance as a way to pass the time while snowed in one winter in the mountains of Colorado. Her first published work came in 2000 with
One Summer Night
. Hill’s love of nature and of being outdoors usually makes its way into her stories as her characters often find themselves in beautiful natural settings. Gerri and her longtime partner, Diane, live in the East Texas woods with two Australian shepherds and an assortment of furry felines. For more, see her website:
www.gerrihill.com.

She turned in a circle, hands held out as she sunk past her knees in the fresh snow. The snow clouds had drifted lower, but up here on the mountain, the sun was shining brightly, the blue azure sky almost an overload to her senses. Two feet of fresh snow. Amazing.

“It doesn’t get any better than this, girls.”

The two Siberian huskies, with their intelligent blue eyes as striking as the Colorado sky, burrowed in the snow around her. She laughed as Kia lunged at Sierra, only to sink to her belly as Sierra jumped safely out of the way. She paused to watch them frolic, a smile fixed to her face. When Nico had died, she’d decided not to get another. It was heartbreaking to lose him, even though he’d only been with her six years. But as much as she relished the recluse tag that still clung to her, she missed the companionship. A rescue shelter in Denver found her these two, both under a year old. They were a handful at first, so full of energy and childlike joy to be up here in the mountains. Now that their second winter together was underway, she’d adjusted to them. And they to her.

She glanced up the mountain toward Cooper’s Peak. It looked heavy with snow, but she’d not lived here long enough to know the mountain yet. After almost six years in Aspen, holed up in a remodeled mining shack outside of town, she’d felt the need to get even farther away from crowds. Especially after running into her brother, of all people, when he brought his entourage up to party and ski.

Hinsdale County—the least populated in all of Colorado—seemed perfect for her. A trip to the tiny town of Lake City confirmed it, and she purchased her property four years ago. Building the cabin proved to be a two-year effort, but she didn’t have to rely on anyone up here. Her solar panels and water well gave her all the comforts she needed.

She’d made the mistake of taking too many trips into Lake City, however. Burgers at Sloan’s Bar had become a treat, and she’d actually made friends, something she hadn’t done in ten years. Reese Daniels, the local sheriff, and her partner Morgan, head of the forest service’s regional office here. They were a few years older than she was, but had become her closest friends and were slowly dragging her out of her hermit ways. She shook her head. She even had a satellite dish and Internet now. What kind of a hermit was that?

The test came when she told them who she really was. She’d agonized over it for weeks. Would they treat her differently when they found out her family name? Would they be full of questions? After all, all of that happened ten years ago. But Morgan had drawn her out of her shell, and Reese was like the big sister she never had. So one warm sunny afternoon last summer, over grilled steaks on their back deck, she told them.

“Catherine Ryan-Barrett.”

“Who?” Reese had asked.

Morgan had nearly spit her beer out. “Are you
kidding
me?”

“
Who
?” Reese asked again.

Ryan smiled, then laughed out loud. Both dogs turned to look at her curiously, but she waved them away as she trudged after them. Morgan had remembered the tabloid stories. In fact, she’d read her book. Reese, on the other hand, simply said, “I don’t care who you are. I refuse to call you Catherine.” Ryan didn’t offer that her childhood nickname was Cat; she despised the name.

But that was that. Morgan had become her instant therapist, and Reese became the best buddy she never had before. For the first time in her life, she had friends. Not friends brought about by the Ryan-Barrett name but real friends. And they helped her heal. And she was finally writing again, something she’d been afraid to even attempt after all the scrutiny of her first novel. So yeah, that reclusive woman who lived on the mountain was becoming anything but a recluse. She was starting to open up again.

Except this winter. This winter she wanted to immerse herself in her writing. Nothing as deep as
Dancing on the Moon
. Written when she was ten years younger, it still had taken a lot out of her. No, the one she’d been toying with the last few months was much lighter. And as soon as Cooper’s Peak dropped its load of snow—and after this latest storm, it could be any day now—she’d be stuck on the mountain until the spring thaw. Not that she wasn’t already stuck. It was a three-hour hike through deep snow just to get to the lower part of the road. But once the avalanche ran, it would bury the forest road until spring. Last winter, she’d gone to the tropics, staying until her brother showed up. While they got along well enough, two weeks of his partying and never-ending string of women drove her back to the mountains. She stayed with Reese and Morgan until the roads were plowed high enough for her and the dogs to hike back up the mountain to her cabin. This year, though, she was writing. And being stuck up here for a few months, longer if she wanted to wait to get her Jeep out, was going to give her the time to finish the manuscript, she hoped. But after her first book, with the thrill of the Pulitzer Prize—and then the controversy afterward—she wasn’t sure she wanted to publish it. Right now, just the fact that she was writing was enough. For now.

“Great,” Jen murmured. “Just great.” She stopped the rented SUV, glancing out the windows in all directions, seeing nothing but snow, snow and more snow. Surely this wasn’t the road to the lodge. She reached for the map, printed only as an afterthought. The directions seemed rather simple, and she thought even
she
couldn’t get lost. Of course, not knowing where she was, the map was useless. “Writer’s workshop. In February. In the mountains.” Sure, sounded good on paper. She checked her phone again. Still no signal.

She got out, her boots sinking past her ankles into the fresh snow. She saw a road sign, its face covered in snow. She headed for it, then sunk nearly to her thighs; she was obviously off the road, the sign still five feet from her. She turned and struggled back to the SUV, then stomped her boots, knocking the snow off. Looking around, she realized she had only one option. And turning around wasn’t it. She blew out a frosty breath, then got back inside, thankful she’d at least had the foresight to rent a four-wheel drive vehicle.

She drove on carefully, slowly, realizing too late that she had no idea where the road was. Minutes later, the front tires sunk like a rock.

“Oh no.
Seriously
?” She threw the car in reverse, only to have the rear tires spin uselessly.

***

Ryan frowned as the sun reflected off of glass. She reached in the side pocket of her backpack and pulled out the compact binoculars she always carried.

“What the hell?” she murmured. A black SUV was buried up to the front bumper in snow. “What idiot tried to drive up here?”

The dogs whined beside her, ready to continue on with their hike. She reached down, petting them both absently, her eyes scanning the white landscape. She was torn. Someone could need help. But with the fresh snow from the other day, even using the snowshoes, it’d be a hard forty-five-minute hike to reach the SUV. Not to mention the forest road was right in the path of Cooper’s Peak’s avalanche chute. She’d been taking this route daily for the last week, hoping to witness the run, but she didn’t want
that
close a view.

She figured they must have followed the snowmobile route up the mountain. Morgan had told her they’d closed the road in early January to vehicle traffic after they’d ceased plowing it. She scanned the area again, not seeing any movement. She was about to go on, assuming whoever was crazy enough to drive up the mountain in the first place had hiked back down on the same route, when a flash of blue caught her eye. She brought the binoculars up again, focusing well past the SUV.

“Hey,” she yelled, waving her arms. “
Hey!
Get the hell out of there!” The person stopped, looking around for the sound of her voice. “Here,” she yelled, waving her arms again. The idiot finally spotted her and waved back. Ryan lowered her binoculars with a shake of her head. “Damn tourist,” she murmured. “Come on, girls.”