fine.”
“You hardly ate any dinner.” Now he really did sound like his mother. But the thought didn’t stifle his concern. “Ever since that call...” His voice petered out as he realized there was his answer. Since the ski patrol had phoned, she hadn’t been the same. “What’s going on, Ashley?”
She shook her head.
He struggled against his impatience. “Okay. Let’s start over.” Whatever was wrong, he’d fix. “Are you sick?” Whatever it took, he’d make her well.
She shook her head again.
“No? You’re not sick?” He might have growled. “Ashley, talk to me. Your silence is making me nuts.”
“I’m not sick,” she said, looking down at the snifter she was cradling in her hands. Lifting it, she took a sip, then set it down as she shifted her gaze to his. “What I am...is a widow.”
“A widow,” he repeated. A widow? How could someone so young have been married and then...not?
“It happened four years ago last month.”
“I’m—” no, he was never speechless “—so sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” she whispered. “I’ve had time to get used to it.”
“But something about today...”
He saw her fingers tighten on the snifter. “We only had a season together.” She glanced up at him again. “We have those here, you know, not like in other parts of Southern California. We have four true seasons. Stu and I had an autumn of married life.”
“His name was Stu.” Maybe Chase should tell her he didn’t want to hear any more, but of course he did.
“Stuart Phillips. Mountain kid, like me.”
“You loved him.”
“Of course,” she said, lifting her hand. “My first and only love.”
Those words felt like five separate stabs. And he asked for more pain when he questioned her again. “What happened?”
“He was an avid snowboarder. That year...it wasn’t like this one, when snow came early. The white stuff didn’t come down for the first time until mid-December. We were both excited to get on the slopes. Stu couldn’t wait.”
Ah. “You used to go with him? Snowboard?”
“Yes, though not that last time. The conditions weren’t good and I was willing to postpone gratification until another day.”
“But not Stu.”
She smiled a little. A sad smile. “Stu was not about postponing gratification.”
“What was he about?”
“Flash. Fun. Speed.” She sipped from the brandy again. “Everyone loved him.”
Chase decided not to tell her that he didn’t because it was ridiculous to feel like this—jealous, he could admit only to himself—about a dead man. “You like the reckless type.”
“Not anymore. I’ve learned my lesson.” She sighed.
Tossing back the rest of his brandy, Chase decided he had to know everything. “So what happened?”
“He was racing with a friend. Those two were always egging each other on.” Her finger traced the rim of the snifter, going around and around and around. “It was nearing dark and they should have headed back much earlier. They took a short cut... He hit a rock and ended up slamming into a tree. The impact caused a massive head injury.”
“He wasn’t wearing a helmet?”
“As you said, reckless.” She addressed the brandy instead of Chase. “Today, when I took that call...I was reminded of when the ski patrol phoned me.”
Chase couldn’t stand the inches of distance between them. Reaching out, he drew her close. She went stiff for a moment before relaxing against him, her cheek to his chest. Her warmth and her willingness did little to assuage the ache in his heart. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry you took that call today.”
Her arms came around him, their light weight propped on his shoulders. She lifted her chin. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I—”
His mouth came down on hers, stifling anything else she might have said. Chase told himself it was a kiss of comfort, like the hug, but that was only so much baloney. Not when he traced his tongue over the seam of her lips. Not when his heart exulted when she opened for him. The taste of brandy combined with the light scent of roses evaporated his good sense. He hauled her closer, into his lap, as his mouth ate at hers.
Greedy. He was greedy for her.
She made a noise deep in her throat. A moan? He cupped her cheek in one palm to change the angle of her head. His thumb brushed over her soft, heated skin and he felt wetness. No. God, no.
Breaking the kiss, he stared at her. There were tears on her face. As he watched, another rolled over the rim of her eye, caught for a moment in her bottom lashes, then trailed toward her chin.
Oh, God, he thought again, as knowledge hit him like a snowplow knocking over a mailbox. As much as he might want her well, it wasn’t in his power, was it?
Although she wasn’t “sick,” she was definitely hurt. And how could he possibly fix that? Chase was helpless when it came to healing Ashley’s heart.
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