She grabbed Ashley’s hand. “I believe Miss Ashley gets to choose the tree. Come on, girls, let’s hurry before—” She started to say before our luck runs out, but given the girls’ past, thought better of it, and said “—they go to bed,” instead.
As they trudged through the snow, their shallow breathing created swirls of fog in the cool night air. Grace wasn’t sure how much longer the girls could stand the bitter cold and wind. Off to the left, Grace spied a road sign telling her they were approaching Blow Out Hill. Great, she thought as she pulled the girls along. She’d had a blowout all right. She’d blown the entire evening. Stephanie and the girls would never trust her again.
Heart pounding with every step, Grace rehearsed what she would say to Stephanie. She had to be out of her mind with worry by now. It was almost two in the morning. Angry at herself for her stupidity, she calmed down enough to knock loudly on the door of the biggest log home she’d ever laid eyes on.
Chapter 2
Max Jorgenson jerked awake from a sound sleep when Cliff and Ice-D, his two Siberian Huskies, placed four heavy paws on his chest as he lay sprawled out on the leather sofa. When the pair saw that his eyes were open, they started barking and running around in circles.
Glancing around the great room, Max raked a hand through his hair. He’d fallen asleep again, with the lights on and the television blaring. Correcting himself, he mentally changed the words “fallen asleep” to “passed out.” Who cared? He sure as hell didn’t. Cliff nudged his hand with his furry nose as Max heard a soft pounding at the front door.
“What the heck?” he said as he rambled toward the front of what he referred to as his giant cabin. If there was an emergency at the resort, the management knew not to come to his retreat, knew there would be extreme consequences. He’d have someone’s ass in a sling for this unwanted intrusion first thing in the morning. He peeked at the clock above the fireplace. It was morning already.
The muffled pounding continued. “Eddie, if that’s you, you’re fired!” Max yanked the heavy log door aside expecting to see Eddie, his manager at Maximum Glide, the exclusive ski resort he owned in Telluride.
What he saw left him speechless.
Taking several seconds to recover from his surprise, as was his habit when flustered, he raked both hands through his unruly brownish blond hair. “You must have the wrong house.” These were the only words he could come up with as two little girls bundled in Pepto-Bismol pink jackets and matching hats and both with huge chocolate-drop eyes and their mother, their gorgeous, green-eyed mother, stared at him.
“We need to use your phone,” Grace stated in a firm voice, then stepped to the side as both Cliff and Ice-D bumped her free hand with their muzzles.
“Yeah, ’cause our daddy—”
“Not now, Ashley,” Grace interrupted.
Realizing the trio must be freezing, Max stepped aside. “Down, guys,” he said to the dogs, then to his unexpected guests, “Come inside, you’re letting in the cold air.”
The woman took both girls by the hand and led them inside. Their faces were just a shade shy of burgundy when they stood in the bright light.
“How long have you been out in this…weather?” He wanted to curse but stopped himself when he glanced down at the two girls.
“There are several roadblocks in Eagle along I–70. We were directed this way, and somehow I missed the turnoff.” Grace touched her purse strapped around her neck like a bayonet. “My cell-phone battery died.”
“I bet your car broke down, or you ran out of gas, too,” Max accused Grace.
Inching her chin up a notch, just enough not to appear too haughty, Grace answered in a firm voice, “Neither.”
With a trace of sarcasm Max asked, “So you decided to take your kids out for a midnight stroll during a snowstorm?”
He could see by her expression that he’d made her angry. He hadn’t meant the comment to come off as offensive, and didn’t care, but really, what kind of mother dragged her children out on a night like this?
“Actually, when I couldn’t find the turnoff…I just need to use your phone, then we’ll be on our way,” Grace explained. “As soon as—”
He gestured with his hands, preventing further conversation. In an impatient tone, Max said, “Follow me.”
“Miss Grace, can we pet the dogs?” Amanda asked when the pair of Huskies blocked their path.
Grace looked at the dogs, then their owner. She’d always been fond of animals but knew some were skittish around strangers. That didn’t seem to be a problem in this case, but one never knew. She’d already put the girls at risk once tonight.
“Go ahead,” Max replied to Amanda. “They’re harmless.”
Both girls looked to Grace for permission. “If Mr.—” She stopped, realizing she didn’t know his name. “Yes, you both may pet the dogs while I make the phone call.”
“Name’s Max Jorgenson,” he offered.
Grace looked at him oddly, then held out a slim hand. “Grace Landry.” He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t place who.
Their host, if you could even call him that, was beyond handsome. With golden brown hair that hung way below his collar and robin’s-egg blue eyes rimmed with long black lashes most women would die for, “sexy” didn’t begin to describe him. Then there was the body. Grace couldn’t help but admire the broad shoulders that tapered down to a slim waist. She’d also noticed that his faded Levis clung to his rear end like a glove.
Max reached for her hand, then stopped. He’d promised himself after Kayla’s death he wouldn’t touch another woman. At the moment, that promise seemed irrational and stupid. He was thirty-six years old. Did he really think he could live the rest of his life without touching another woman? Without companionship? Without love? Without sex? It was just under two years since Kayla had died. He hadn’t given women much thought before tonight. And then this…snow angel appeared on his doorstep. Literally.
“The phone’s in the kitchen. This way,” Max said gruffly.
Without bothering to see if his guest followed, Max proceeded to the kitchen. He viewed his home as they made their way to the kitchen. Thick round pine logs made up most of the walls throughout the custom-built home. In the daytime, sunlight filtered through large floor-to-ceiling windows facing the mountains, revealing blue skies, puffy white clouds, and snowcapped mountains. The designer he’d hired to decorate used deep shades of forest green, with bright splashes of candy-apple red. With the custom-made pine cabinets, splashes of red and green in framed pictures of bright red apples, and pottery in matching shades of red and green from local craftsmen, the desired effect of hominess and cheer would have been complete had there been any personal touches added. Like a shopping list stuck to the bright red refrigerator with a magnet or a tea towel draped over the sink. Maybe a few unwashed dishes in the sink. Instead, the kitchen looked like it had the day he’d moved in, something right off the pages of one of those catalogues he’d seen advertising log homes. Max couldn’t remember ever making a real meal in the kitchen.
“Phone’s over there,” he said, pointing to an area in the kitchen
