I took so long,” Lina burbled, handing her purse and jacket to Nicole to add to the pile next to her. “Did I miss anything?”
“No,” Elisabeth said firmly. “I was just about to tell Nicole that I can’t wait for you both to meet Steven. He gets in Thursday night.”
He was spending a long weekend with her family before leaving to have Christmas with his folks. It would probably be the last holiday they each spent with their respective families.
“Looking forward to it,” Nicole said. She widened her smile to near-manic proportions, no doubt to make up for Lina’s marked silence.
Elisabeth was getting frustrated by her family’s lack of support. She knew this move wasn’t quite what they wanted for her, but these were the same people who had hinted she should settle down and have beautiful babies with Justin Cade. Clearly their judgment was flawed. Justin was never going to settle down. Instead of pining for the wickedly charming ski patroller with his piercing aquamarine eyes, Elisabeth had met a successful man with no commitment phobias.
“Definite progress,” she muttered.
“What about progress?” Lina asked.
Heat flooded Elisabeth’s face. She hadn’t meant to voice her thoughts, but she seized the moment anyway. “I’m making progress,” she said proudly. “My taste in men demonstrates personal growth. Steven is several evolutionary steps above my last boyfriend.”
When it looked as if Lina might protest, Nicole interjected, “We’re behind you one hundred percent. If your heart tells you Steven’s The One, then I’m sure you’re right.”
Elisabeth gave her friend a grateful smile even as she secretly rejected the sentiment. Follow her heart? No. She’d merrily tripped down that path before, smacking into an abrupt dead end. This time she was trusting her intellect.
Hadn’t her parents and teachers told her for years that her keen mind was her strongest asset? Smart people learned from their mistakes, and that’s precisely what Justin had been. A colossal mistake.
* * *
JUSTIN WAS NOT, by nature, maudlin or introspective—he preferred adjectives like fun and uncomplicated. But this year’s annual December gloom seemed even worse than in past years. Joining a few of his off duty search-and-rescue colleagues for a pitcher of beer might be just what he needed.
It looked like standing room only tonight. Apparently, a few teenagers had hoped that, in the chaos, they could slip in with fake IDs. Shaking his head, Justin watched as they were escorted to the back room, where the owner would call their parents. Dumb kids. They should have gone one county over where they wouldn’t have been recognized, the way he’d done at nineteen.
Trey Grainger, the oldest in Justin’s party, was shaking his head for other reasons. “How can anyone stand the volume in here? The noise is shattering my brain cells.”
Justin was glad for the buzz of boisterous conversation. If there was Christmas music playing, it was obliterated by the decibel level.
Chris Hyatt smirked at Trey. “If you don’t like the volume, you should have left your hearing aid in the truck with your cane. Problem solved.”
Trey was only forty, but Hyatt, all of twenty-three, constantly needled him about his age. Trey’s habitual response was to sock the rookie in the shoulder. Hard.
Tonight, Nate Washington responded before Trey could. He smacked Hyatt on the side of his blond head. “Don’t you know to respect your elders, son?” His eyes twinkled as he added, “How would you like it if some whippersnapper talked to your grandpa the way you do to Grainger?”
“Hey!” Trey objected. “I’m not anyone’s grandfather, and you damn well know it.”
Justin ignored the familiar banter while he searched for a place to sit. His group caught the gaze of Mr. Merriweather, a man who’d injured himself on a ski trail last winter. Nate and Trey had given him on-the-spot medical attention. Mr. Merriweather waved the patrollers over to the U-shaped booth he shared with his wife and another couple.
Mr. Merriweather rose from the booth. “We were just leaving. I insist you boys take our seats.” He pulled a dollar from his wallet. “Have a round on me.”
Nate thanked the man and reminded him to always ski with protective gear and well-maintained equipment. All four patrollers sat, with Justin and Trey on the ends. Justin was glancing around for a waitress when his gaze landed unerringly on Elisabeth Donnelly. She was seated with her back to him, but her posture tensed as if she could feel him watching.
He quickly looked away, suddenly wishing he’d gone straight home tonight.
Since when are you a wuss? He ran into ex-girlfriends in Cielo Peak on a daily basis. Every encounter was different—with some women, he was on good enough terms for a friendly hug; with a few, he kept his distance. But the chance sightings never unsettled him.
Thankfully, the three men he was with resumed their harmless bickering. Justin joined in, harassing Washington about how long it had been since his last date. By the time their beer arrived, Justin’s mood had improved.
Grainger kicked his foot under the table. “That leggy brunette at the end of the bar keeps eyeing you.” He sounded wistful.
Justin grinned. “I’m sure you were her first choice until she spotted your wedding ring. From way over there.”
The older man made a rude noise.
Justin didn’t try to make his glance covert. Instead, he simply turned and found the woman in question—a brunette in an off-the-shoulder sweater and a pair of skinny jeans, spinning her barstool in slow half circles. He smiled at her, and she fluttered her fingers in an encouraging wave.
Chris Hyatt was craning his neck, trying to get a look. “Anyone you know?”
“Nope. Never seen her before,” Justin said. “Which means she’s probably visiting and the polite thing to do would be to ask how she’s enjoying her stay. Or maybe she’s moved here, in which case I should welcome our newest citizen.” Either way, as a lifelong resident of Cielo Peak, it was practically his civic duty to go over there. Yet he remained where he was.
She’s not a redhead.
It was an insane thought. He’d always admired women of many different physical attributes, personalities and professions. He didn’t have a “type.” But his gaze strayed back to the corner where Elisabeth sat. The neon sign on the wall above her cast an otherworldly glow on her coppery hair. He toyed with the idea of taking the bull by the horns and marching to her table, just to prove to himself that he could. If it was true she’d gotten engaged, he could buy her table a bottle of whatever passed for champagne here.
He was mulling over the merits of this idea when Hyatt announced in an unsubtle stage whisper, “Incoming hottie.”
The brunette? Justin swiveled in his seat, then sighed heavily. Lina. What had he done to deserve being accosted by her twice in one week? He stood, putting some distance between him and his buddies, potentially shameless eavesdroppers.
With her hair in loose curls over the shoulder of her knit dress, it was understandable that some men found her
