it. Maybe to others it was the same peaceful lakeside resort it had always been.
She forced her maudlin thoughts away, refocusing on Karen. “Sarah isn’t going to fire you for going home when the weather is like this.”
“I guess you’re right. And it is getting slippery out here. If you need me to come this weekend, I can. It might be good to have an extra set of hands since you’ve got a renter now.” It might be, but there wasn’t money for it. At least not in Sarah’s coffers. Since Jasmine’s mother-in-law didn’t believe in taking handouts, even from family, that was the only way the extra help could be paid for.
“I’ll give you a call if I need you. Now hurry up and tell Sarah you’re leaving. I don’t want you out on the roads when it’s this slippery.” She forced a smile, waving Karen back toward the house, her stomach churning with anxiety and frustration. Things were bad. Worse than she ever could have imagined when she’d agreed to come help Sarah recover from surgery. Payback for staying away so long? Probably. And probably Jasmine deserved it.
Icy wind sliced through her thick sweatshirt and heavy parka, stealing her breath and reminding her of home. New Hampshire would have snow this week. Here in Lakeview, there’d be frozen rain, drizzle, thick clouds. The lake. Memories of Christmases and laughter. The girls dancing around the living room of Sarah’s modest home. John. Solid. Dependable. All three frozen in time, suspended in her mind as they had been, not as they might have become.
Three years tomorrow.
Maybe she shouldn’t keep track.
She forced the thoughts and images from her mind, refusing to dwell on the past or to contemplate the empty future. One moment at a time. One day at a time. That was the only way she’d survive.
The first of Sarah’s five guest cabins was just up ahead. Small, cozy, great view of Smith Mountain Lake, it was the perfect place for solitude and peace. It wasn’t what the renter had wanted though. He’d done his research online and called with a particular rental in mind. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, set on a hill overlooking the lake, Meadow Lark cabin had always been reserved for large families. In years past, a single-occupant renter would have taken a smaller cabin or looked for a rental somewhere else. Things were different now. Sarah couldn’t afford to turn business away, and Eli Jennings was welcome to Meadow Lark.
Wind buffeted the cabin, shaking windows and shutters as Jasmine stepped inside. January wasn’t kind. It brought gray clouds. Cold weather. Loneliness. Death. Maybe Jazz was in the minority thinking that, but she doubted it. There had to be plenty of other people who’d just as soon skip the month.
She pulled linens from the closet, inhaled staleness and age. They’d have to be washed. She’d do the curtains in the bedroom while she was at it. No sense doing a partial job. It was an adage her mother had lived by. One she’d taught Jazz. Lately, though, doing nothing seemed preferable to doing anything at all.
Three years. Ticking by. One slow moment at a time. Drifting through her fingers like air. Gone.
And now she was back where it had all begun. Back where she’d met John, where he’d proposed, where they’d spent every vacation for thirteen years, where the girls had laughed and giggled, learned to fish, to boat, to dance in the moonlight and in the sun.
Jazz blinked back tears and shoved the linens into the small washing machine, started the water and realized too late that she didn’t have detergent with her.
“Wonderful. Now I’ve got to go back to the house.” Back to the modest rancher and its memory-filled rooms. Back to Sarah and her broken hip and strangely blank eyes. As much as the retreat had changed, Sarah had changed more, fading, shrinking, becoming a shadow of the vibrant woman she’d been.
Jazz shoved the cabin’s door open with more force than necessary, stepping out onto the covered front porch and nearly walking into a tall, broad-shouldered he-man. Dark blond hair cropped short, hazel eyes surrounded by lashes any woman would be proud of, a scowl that sharpened the hard edges of his jaw and cheekbones.
Handsome.
She shoved the thought away as quickly as it came. Noticing men and what they looked like felt too much like a betrayal. “Can I help you?”
“That depends.” He had a deep Southern drawl that was much warmer than his expression.
“On?”
“On whether or not you’re Jasmine Hart.”
“That depends.” She leaned back against the door.
His scowl deepened. “On?”
“On who wants to know.”
A tiny smile flicked across his hard features before it disappeared. “Eli Jennings. I’ve got reservations.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jennings. I’m glad you made it here with the weather being so bad, but, as I told you last night, check-in is at three.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind letting me check in early. Mrs. Hart down at the main house didn’t seem to think you would.”
“Sarah would be right on most occasions, but the cabin hasn’t been used in a while. It needs to be aired out and cleaned. I’ll need time to do it.”
“I’ll take care of it.” The finality in his tone refused any further argument, and Jasmine shrugged.
“You’re welcome to move your stuff in now, then.”
“Glad to hear it.” There went the tiny smile again, a subtle tilting of his lips that softened his hard features, but didn’t ease the coldness in his eyes.
He’d said he was a writer when he’d called the night before, but his broad, muscled frame and taut expression belonged on a military man, a cop. A career criminal. Whatever he was, whoever he was, that was his business. As long as he paid the rent on time, she’d leave Eli Jennings and his secrets alone. “I’ve started the linens and curtains. I’m just running down to the house to get detergent.”
“I’ve got everything I need in my truck.”
Jazz pushed away from the door. “Here’s the key then. You’ve got a phone line. Dial-up Internet access. Television with cable. Nothing fancy.”
“If I wanted fancy I’d be at the Hilton.” His smile took the sting out of the words and stole the breath from Jasmine’s lungs. Not a tiny smile this time. A full-blown, melt-a-woman’s-heart smile. No man should have a smile that warm, that decadent.
She blinked, took a step away. It was definitely time to leave.
She strode toward the porch steps, forgetting the icy rain until her foot slipped and she fell backward.
Hard hands wrapped around her waist, jerking her upright, reminding her of what a man’s touch was like—strong, steady, sure.
“Better watch your step, ma’am. The ice is making things treacherous.”
Ma’am? She was thirty-three. Not ninety. And unless she missed her guess, Jennings was a few years older. “Jazz is fine. Or Jasmine.”
His cold hazel eyes raked her from the tip of her scuffed
