years or so to come up with a plan.”
“Oh, that’s comforting.”
It was true, though; the road to true love had been a rocky one. Tripp had barged into Hadleigh’s first wedding, slung her over his shoulder and carried her out of the church to prevent her from marrying the wrong man. He’d done the right thing. But a pending divorce—his; a sense of outrage—hers; and a job out of state—his again, had all conspired to keep them apart. Until recently...
Hadleigh said, “I couldn’t be happier, but both Tripp and I had to make adjustments. So Jax knows what he wants, and that’s you. Now it’s your turn. What do you want, Charlie?”
Charlotte felt philosophical. “Before this, I probably would’ve said I wanted Jax—but the big-city version, if you know what I mean. I think I knew all along that that wasn’t going to happen. He had a great job. He made enough to pay all his student loans—and he liked New York well enough. He just didn’t love it. Not the way I did. It was hard to imagine him living in the East indefinitely. He missed tending horses and cattle, I could tell, but he missed the West even more. He’s the kind of man who needs a broad sky to look up at, and miles of space in every direction.” She paused, gazing into her empty mug. “Mustang Creek will suit him.”
“Does he suit you? If not, you’re very picky, Charlie Morgan. He’s handsome as all get-out, and he’s obviously nice. Hmm, maybe if he cured cancer or wrote a best-selling novel, you’d be impressed. Come on, Charlie.”
The truth was, she sometimes thought Jax suited her a little too well. She could lose herself in a man like that, become somebody she no longer recognized. She’d seen it happen, had watched, appalled, as smart, capable women gave up parts of themselves, one by one—shedding jobs, opinions, religions, even friends.
Especially friends.
“It isn’t his problem,” she admitted at last, “it’s mine.”
“Now we’re in agreement.” Hadleigh sipped her coffee. “You’re scared, Charlie. Plain old scared. Well, here’s a newsflash—love is risky. For everybody. It’s also worth taking a chance on.” She reached over, patted Charlotte’s hand. “Let’s sum up here. He’s in love with you and you’re in love with him. You’re living in the same house, but Mrs. Klozz is living there, too, so what can possibly happen?” Maybe the next statement made sense to Hadleigh, but it sailed right over Charlotte’s head. “It’s still two days before Christmas. I think you should go skiing.”
“What? Skiing?”
Hadleigh pointed toward the mountains. “See those? That’s where you go skiing. You strap those wooden things to your feet—”
“I know what skiing is.” Charlotte had to laugh. “Do me a favor. Explain why we should go skiing.”
Hadleigh got up and came back with a set of keys. “It’s too late to go today, but tomorrow would be good. There’s all this romantic snow, and Tripp and I have a condo up in the Tetons. Don’t ask, it’s some sort of corporate thing left over from when he owned the charter jet service. Anyway, I refuse to lurch down the slopes with a baby strapped to my chest, and we haven’t even used the place this season. Maybe the two of you could go there and talk.”
Talk. Right. Charlotte was fairly sure they’d just fall into each other’s arms and not leave that condo, never even set foot—or ski—on the slopes.
She took the keys. Slowly, but she took them. “Thanks. I don’t know how much talking we’ll do. Jax doesn’t officially start his new job until Christmas Eve, and I’m currently unemployed. And while this may well be the worst idea on earth, I might eat my weight in pastries hanging out with Mrs. Klozz. A little exercise couldn’t hurt.”
“There’s no better exercise.” Hadleigh twinkled.
Charlotte said drily, “Are we still talking about skiing?”
“Uh-huh.” Hadleigh took another sip of coffee, did her level best to look innocent and failed completely.
* * *
AT SUPPER TIME, Mrs. Klozz—Millicent—served a pot roast that would make his grandmother’s famous recipe fade into the recesses of culinary history, which meant he was never going to mention it to her, and he had three helpings of the mashed potatoes.
Forget Charlie. He might just go ahead and propose to Mrs. Klozz. She was a bit old for him, but still...
“That was better than good,” he told her, when he was finally full. “I think I’m on a food high.” Both Charlotte and Millicent scooted back their chairs to rise, but he stopped them. “No, no, stay where you are. I’ll clean up. Least I can do.”
“You’re a very sweet young man.” Mrs. Klozz relinquished the plate she’d picked up.
Sweet? Not so much. This was an act of self-preservation; he needed to move around before he fell over. He was used to grabbing a sandwich and calling that dinner.
Charlotte ignored his offer, took the plates from his hands and walked to the sink. “Way to suck up, you sweet young man, you.”
He couldn’t help watching the sway of her hips. Those feminine curves really did it for him. “I meant what I said. Let me do the dishes.”
“We’ll do them together. Anyway, you don’t know where everything goes. I’ll dry.”
He relented, but only because he liked the idea of standing next to Charlie. “That’s fair.”
As he washed the dishes, she asked unexpectedly, “Do you ski?”
“I’m from Idaho.” He rinsed a glass and handed it over. “Yes, I ski. Can’t remember when I didn’t. My dad taught me, probably as soon as I could walk. He still loves the slopes, but he’s been told to lay off since his heart attack. Why?”
She hesitated.
Jax waited with slightly lifted brows.
“Oh, hell, here goes,” Charlie said, her eyes reflecting uncertainty. Then the words tumbled from her lips in a breathless rush. “I have friends who offered to lend me their condo near a resort. You met Hadleigh this afternoon. She and her husband, Tripp, have a new baby and haven’t had a chance to use the place this season. I wondered if you wanted to go up there with me tomorrow. I’ve checked the forecast on my phone. It’s supposed to be just like today, cold with intermittent snow flurries. If you have other plans—”
“I’d love to,” he interrupted swiftly, unable to stifle a smile, but trying not to look too elated.
A secluded night with her after a day on the slopes? Early Christmas present for sure. Thanks, Saint Nick.
“I’m a little rusty,” Charlie continued with uncharacteristic shyness. “I went skiing a few times in upstate New York with friends, but it’s been several years.” She put away another dish, keeping her face averted. Was she blushing? God, he hoped so, because that would mean she knew what he was thinking, might even be thinking the same thing herself. “And I’ll have to dig out my skis from the basement. You can rent equipment at the lodge.”
“Are you kidding? Do you suppose I’d come to a place like this, right by the mountains,
