Take My Breath Away. Christie Ridgway

      CHAPTER ONE

      POPPY WALKER JUST wanted something good to come from the next ten days. The next ten days, the first ten in March, when she had to do without the company of the only man she’d ever love. Earlier that morning, she’d worn her game face as she’d waved goodbye to her five-year-old son.

      The tears she’d saved for the ride back from her cousin’s house to the family land, four miles off the mountain highway that served a popular Southern California resort area. One hundred and fifty years before, her ancestors had secured their place seven thousand feet above sea level, and what remained were steep slopes, several acres of pines, cedars and dogwoods, as well as a dozen dilapidated cabins, all currently covered in snow.

      Over the Christmas holidays, when she’d learned that her current place of employment, Inn Klein, was about to invest in a big remodel, it had sparked Poppy’s own bright idea. Then and there, she’d decided to refurbish the family cabins as vacation rentals to generate a supplemental income to share between herself, her two sisters and her brother.

      Unfortunately, her siblings weren’t of the same mind. Instead, they believed in the outlandish and archaic family curse: that nothing good could ever come of this piece of Walker property.

      Ridiculous.

      “C’mon, Grimm,” she called to her Lab-German shepherd mix. Dressed in a cotton turtleneck, thick sweatshirt, old jeans and scruffy work boots, she led him out of the cabin where she and her son, Mason, had moved just a couple of weeks before. It was the best of the dwellings and one of five that ringed a small clearing carpeted with snow. The remaining seven were nestled among the trees in the surrounding forest.

      Her dog pranced beside her, unsure of the game but a willing participant all the same.

      “First order of business is cabin four,” she told him. “We’re going to clean up the inside.” He responded with his doggy grin.

      The initial step in the process was to get the water turned on so she could scrub. That involved opening the small door cut into the siding, pretending she didn’t see the creepy, ropy spiderwebs then twisting the handle that would let the liquid rush into the pipes.

      That went off without a hitch. Inside the kitchen, she pushed a bucket under the spout and turned the faucet handle, expecting a gratifying gush. It didn’t come. “Uh-oh,” she said, feeling a twinge of dismay.

      Grimm seemed much more cavalier than she, wagging his tail as he followed her back to the little door. When they got there, she knew instantly what had gone wrong, as water was spreading from beneath the raised foundation. “Broken pipe,” she informed Grimm, dismay turning to real alarm. Surely that would be a costly repair. Braving the cobwebs a second time, she twisted the handle in the opposite direction and started a mental review of her bank balances.

      On the heels of that depressing thought process, she allowed herself a fifteen-second wallow in self-pity. Then she straightened her shoulders and once again addressed her dog. “Cabin three, it is, Grimm,” she said, reaching for the ring of keys in her pocket.

      The one that fit the only entry to cabin three broke off in the knob.

      That would probably be a much cheaper fix, but it was yet another to add to an already large pile, so this time she went with a thirty-second wallow during which she saw her brother and sisters in her mind’s eye, each of them saying, “I told you so, knucklehead,” in their own inimitable style.

      Once that was over, she marched off to retrieve the wooden ladder leaning behind her own cottage. “Time to check out the roof of cabin two,” she told Grimm as she hefted the old contraption to the dwelling next door to her own. “I’m a little worried about its condition.” Not that she knew what to look for actually, but surely something obvious would stand out.

      She didn’t get a chance to perform her inspection, however. Because even though she chose level ground on which to place the ladder, and even though she took great care to lock the metal spreader in place, when her boot met the third step, its wood tread cracked in two, and she tumbled down, her butt landing in cold, wet snow.

      Poppy lay staring up at the peak of their mountain silhouetted against the deep blue sky, thinking dark thoughts about her siblings and their maybe not-so-ridiculous superstitions.

      But Poppy Walker, cock-eyed optimist, refused to concede defeat.

      “That’s it,” she said to Grimm, who stood looking down at her in some concern. “The real first order of business is lifting the stupid family curse.”

      * * *

      POPPY PUSHED OPEN the door of Johnson’s Grocery, her mind on the list of ingredients she needed per her brief stop at the Blue Arrow Lake branch library. Johnson’s Grocery was located on the same street, so she thought she’d start there.

      Someone hailed her from the back of the store, where a butcher’s case held fancy cuts of grass-fed beef, stuffed breasts of duck and free-range chicken, as well as fillets of salmon prepared for grilling. The store was small—real estate in the mountain resort area went at princely rates—but the narrow aisles were packed with gourmet foods, expensive liquor and fancy wines. Everything and anything a filthy rich Los Angeleno couldn’t do without during a getaway to what was known as “Hollywood on High.”

      Cheaper merchandise could be had if she’d driven to a larger community, but that would have cost her in time and gas money, so Johnson’s was her go-to market.

      The endcap nearest the entrance displayed a selection of expensive children’s toys, everything from miniature fishing rods to expansive LEGO sets for snowbound weekends. Gazing on them, Poppy’s heart squeezed, sending a rush of tender longing through her veins. Mason, she thought, picturing her towheaded boy, who right now was on his way to a vacation filled with such delights as whirling in teacups and flying with Dumbo. Mason, I miss you so much.

      “Poppy.”

      At the sound of her name, she glanced over, smiled. “Hey, Bill.” Bill Anders was a scarecrow of a man, and wore a bibbed, crisp cotton apron with the store’s name stitched on the front, most likely by his wife. She had an embroidery business in addition to the daycare she ran. Like many people who lived in the mountains year-round, the Anderses cobbled together a living out of more than one line of work.

      “Heard Mason went to Walt Disney World with your cousin James.”

      “That’s right. James and Deanne wanted company for their own little guy on a visit to Deanne’s parents. When Mason heard the magic words Mickey Mouse, I could hardly say no.”

      “Heard, too, that you got laid off from Inn Klein until the remodel’s complete. Sorry for it.”

      “Thanks,” she said, hiding her grimace by stepping past the shopkeeper on her way to the

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