The Last Resort

by Ember Leigh

  No wonder when the brothers asked her who she might call, she couldn’t think of an actual soul within a thousand miles who might be able to help her.

  And even still, if she’d been back on the west coast, nearer to friends and family? She had a list of about five people tops she’d consider calling.

  Five, out of billions of people in the world.

  Rose was a loner, but when forced up against the mirror, cheek smashed and rubbing the gritty truth in her face, it stung. No matter how many times she reminded herself she’d made this life.

  Luckily for her, Garrett and Wesley had filled in enough of the story for her. She might not like being called “mom,” but she’d play the part if she had to. Better than explaining the full story, at least. Not like they’d believe her if she told them.

  Garrett reappeared, peering into the car seat. “She’s sleeping, huh?”

  “Like a baby,” Rose cracked.

  “Get in the room and settle in.” He waved her toward the room he’d cleared out. “Man, you don’t have much stuff to settle in, do you?” He paused, clucked his tongue. “We’ll find clothes for you if you need them.”

  She carried the car seat into the room and placed it gently at the foot of a bed. She shrugged, eying the black bag the boys had rescued from the car. It was her emergency bag, placed in the back seat precisely for this contingency. But it would prove only mildly useful here—two T-shirts, a pair of underwear, and some too-large diapers Rose had grabbed prior to rescuing Emmy, not realizing the girl would be underweight for her age. “It’s not a big deal…I figure I’ll be on the road again by tomorrow, right? Once I get a rental and all.”

  Garrett paused, looking up at the ceiling, then down at the ground, and then off to something far, far beyond her shoulder. “Actually…probably not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…this is Pennsylvania. Backwoods Pennsylvania.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he looked between her and the kid. “This is probably gonna be a long haul storm…and, well…let’s say once we made it up here, there’s no getting out.”

  She watched him for moment, trying to judge his level of seriousness. She was a southern girl with two whiteouts under her belt now, but really? “A long-haul storm”? To her, a long haul meant the Red Eye to NYC, thousands of miles spent in a car, or slight delays that pushed back an itinerary by a couple of hours. No physical phenomenon could cause the world to stop turning. And by that logic, she should be able to continue along on her merry way.

  No matter what.

  “I mean, if it’s good enough to get up here, I don’t see why we can’t get down.” She pushed her bangs to the side, already agitated by the direction of the conversation.

  “That’s the thing,” he said. “The snow. It keeps falling. And piling up. By morning”—he jerked his head toward where they’d come from—“you’ll be lucky if you can get out the front door.”

  “You gotta be kidding me.”

  He grimaced. “Sorry, Rose.”

  She plopped onto the bed and let her head fall to her hands. Fuck. Though he couldn’t be lying, part of her still couldn’t accept it. In this day and age, really? She should be able to hire a helicopter to come get her right now if she needed. Emergency plow trucks, or something.

  After all, she had one eager mother waiting for her at the Delaware-Pennsylvania border that night at ten p.m., waiting for the hand off of her beloved Emmy, a child she hadn’t seen in several anxious months. Rose, the savior, the white horse, the hired rescuer, stranded at the half-way point, making no progress anywhere but up a mountain.

  “Hey, listen, you’ll get back onto the road as soon as you can. We’ll do everything we can to help you.”

  Her mind refused to believe the impossibility of a departure date the next day. Things had to work out…somehow. She’d force them to work out at gunpoint if she had to. Though on second thought, her gun still sat in the glovebox of her crinkled sedan, on the side of a nameless highway in a nameless town.

  “I appreciate your help.” She looked up at Garrett and put a smile on her face. “You guys saved our lives.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck again, looking around the room. “Well…I mean…it was the right thing to do, right?”

  “I’ve never wrecked someone in a whiteout,” she said. “I’m not sure what I’d have done.”

  “I can say this is our first whiteout wreck and our last…believe me, I’m not too keen on spending another winter up north.” Garrett eased himself onto the other double bed, watching Emmy in the car seat as he did so.

  Rose sighed and plopped backward onto the bed. “You’re not from here either?”

  “No,” he said, sounding suspicious. “Are you?”

  “Georgia-born.” The ceiling had interesting patterns of stains resembling an extremely dirty and blurry kaleidoscope. Is that what happened to ceiling stains when left for over sixty years? It had practically turned into art nouveau. She might recommend to the boys to leave this aspect as it might complement the waterfall theme nicely.

  “We’re from New Mexico.” He paused. “You were driving up here from Georgia?”

  Her stomach seized and the wheels began turning. “No, of course not. I’ve been living in…Michigan.” She paused, intending to add more, but nothing else came. The littler the better. He could ask for more information if he needed, but she wouldn’t offer up lies unprovoked.

  “Ah.” He made his way to the door and turned toward her, as though he wanted to add something else, but shut his mouth.

  She watched as he leaned against the door frame and poked his head out into the hallway, not surprised to find her heart skip a beat as she got a full load of those triceps through the thin white shirt he wore.

  She couldn’t pry her eyes away. His hair hung, mostly shaggy and unkempt, above his shoulders; he had the look of a high-performing business undergrad turned construction worker. He turned to her.

  “So, does everything look all right? Anything else you need?”

  She propped herself up on an arm and pretended to think. She had half a mind to add, Your ass in bed. “I think I’m fine.”

  Wesley appeared with a large glass of water and a bottle of wine. “Got it.” He placed the glass at her bedside and held the bottle before him like a waiter at a fine restaurant. “Tonight’s selection? Carménère from Central Valley in Chile. Bon appetit.”

  Rose’s eyes lit up as she inspected the bottle. Alcohol had arrived, which meant she might have a slightly easier time of coping with the infuriating lack of physical progress toward the Delaware state line.

  Because no matter how much she counseled herself to accept the reality of the snowstorm and go with the flow, a small part of her raged. Despite all her best efforts, despite her years of training, despite every single life choice she’d made to prevent any type of vulnerability, she’d ended up stranded, trapped, and totally dependent on two strangers.

  And two men, no less.

  Chapter Three

  Garrett and Wesley retreated to their room across the hall. Once inside, Wes took one look at the pile of clothes on the bed meant for Garrett. “Clean it up.”

  “I will, I will.” Garrett couldn’t stop pacing. Rose had said she would shower and maybe run into them later, but he wanted to go back now. A million questions circled inside his chest but none had made the leap past his lips. “Something is strange about her, right?”

  Wesley lifted a brow as he took off his shoes. “You mean, the fact she and her child were nearly killed today? That would make anyone act a little strange.”

  “No, I mean…” Garrett sighed, realizing he had no idea how to say it to his brother without looking like an idiot. What he wanted to say was she captivated him, and it unsettled him. People weren’t supposed to be captivated by the victims of a car crash. Victims of car crashes weren’t supposed to be so damn pretty, either. “She’s got something up her sleeve.”

  “Hm.” Wesley toss
ed his shoes into the corner and sighed. “Didn’t pay much attention to her sleeves, to be honest.”

  This was Wesley’s way of saying she was beautiful—Garrett knew his roundabout compliments all too well. The man had a problem with coming out and saying something, a personality difference that had plagued them practically since they’d learned to talk.

  “What were you paying attention to, Wes?”

  He feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s gorgeous. Just say it.”

  Wesley cleared his throat. “I mean…yeah.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve been able to talk to her at all.” Garrett folded some of the T-shirts that had fallen out of his hastily-made stack.

  A tense silence hung in the air, which let Garrett know his remark had hit Wesley right where he’d intended. Of the two brothers, Garrett was younger, faster, taller, and far better-looking. High school track star, most popular, most dates…Wesley, however, was the smarter of the two. Not that he was bad-looking by any means—something Garrett would never say in Wes’s presence—but he lacked a certain social grace that came to Garrett naturally.

  In high school and through the university years, Wes had struggled to meet and date women. Garrett loved to remind him of this and took a strange pleasure in watching Wesley interact with female acquaintances. The whole thing deserved popcorn and 3-D glasses.

  Wesley didn’t look at him. “I won’t dignify your comment with a response because it is too childish for my vastly more mature ears.”

  Garrett laughed. “Come on, big brother. You know I like to poke.”

  “One can only take so many decades of poking.”

  “Fine. Listen, what’s for dinner? These guys are probably starving, being trapped at the hotel and all. Not to mention Rose and the kid.”

  Wesley shrugged. “It’s your meal night—figure it out.”

  “Well, you handed over the Carménère I planned to use for my wine-based roux, so…you ruined dinner night, Wes. Thanks a lot.”

  Wes rolled his eyes, but Garrett slapped him on the back of the neck. “Lighten up. I’m joking. Listen, I’ll go start something. You down for burnt bacon again?”

  Garrett shut the door behind him, not needing to turn around to see the bemused look on his brother’s face. A lifetime at his brother’s side had taught him exactly what facial reaction to expect in nearly any situation. He thought of knocking on Rose’s door, but figured he’d look like an overeager creep if he did that.

  Any more wine bottles I can bring you? Perhaps a gentle caress on your neck? The woman’s neck was heavenly, a thought he’d never had about a woman before. About anyone before. How could a neck be heavenly? Hers somehow was—it had slopes and it arced and it looked stern. Like it could prop up a grown man while maintaining elegance at the same time.

  On his way through the foyer, a strange chill reached him.

  The front door hung open a crack—enough to let in a slicing winter wind that made him regret the decision to take off four of the five layers he’d been wearing earlier. He hurried toward the door—they’d probably left it open in their hurry to get Rose inside and everyone warm—and pushed against it. The old doors didn’t close easily, but with a final shove of his shoulder against it, the door locked into place.

  Thud-thud-thud. He stopped in his tracks, turning toward the door.

  He wasn’t dreaming. The thudding reappeared—someone knocked on the goddamn front door. Garrett yanked as hard as he could to swing the door open. When it opened a foot or so, Rose slithered inside.

  “Christ.” She hopped from one foot to another, pulling her jacket tighter around her. “Way to lock me out.”

  “Wha—? I mean…” He looked from her to the outside. “What the hell were you doing out there?”

  She opened her mouth to respond but pointed at the door. “You gonna shut that or leave us here to freeze all night?”

  Garrett pressed his shoulder into the door once more until it clicked heavily into place. “Nobody else out there with you, right?”

  “Of course not. Nobody would be so stupid.” She blew air from her mouth up toward her nose to rid the snow accumulation on the tip of her nose and eyelashes. “God dang, that stuff falls fast.”

  “I wasn’t kidding.” The clear blue of her eyes distracted him, and something somersaulted in his gut. He grabbed her elbow and headed toward the kitchen then thought twice about the aggressive directive and dropped it. “Come on, let’s go inside. What the hell were you doing out there? Trying to get locked out forever?”

  “Seems like I’ve avoided death twice today,” she said. “Sorry. I didn’t tell anyone I went out there, my bad.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “I was trying to make some calls.”

  “Any luck?” They rounded a corner to another hallway.

  “Nope.” She shoved the cellphone back into her pocket and sighed. “I might be screwed.”

  “We have a landline,” Garrett said. Her face lit up like a child on Christmas Day. When he noticed the look of desperation on her face, he added, “But don’t get your hopes up. It works only half the time. We scheduled the phone company to come out to replace the wires this week but, well…weather happened.”

  “Christ.” She slowed her pace as she followed him.

  He turned to look at her. Long, brown hair hung limply over her shoulders as the snowflakes transitioned to water. Her bangs looked like they’d been shoved off her forehead plenty of times, with stray hairs seeming to gallop away from her face. Her eyes met his. “Where are you going?”

  “Kitchen.” He jerked his head down the hall. “Wanna help? If you can, that is.”

  “What, you trying to say I can’t do anything in the kitchen?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Actually, no…” He laughed in spite of himself. “I meant because of Emmy.”

  “Oh…” A strange expression crossed her face, but she wiped it off. “Right. Well, she’s sleeping. Though I should probably keep her near me, in case she fusses…”

  Garrett watched her for a moment, again distracted by the clearness of her eyes. Something shifted inside of him when he made eye contact with her, like her small hands had somehow snaked inside his chest to pull at a couple ribs.

  “Oh, man.” He brought his hand to his forehead. Could it be possible? He and Wesley were geniuses without even realizing it. “You won’t believe this…but…we have a freaking baby monitor.”

  She arched a brow. “Seriously?”

  He laughed. Ridiculous, but true. For two men that very likely would never produce offspring, a baby monitor formed an integral part of their business model. “We can’t work without it. Our jobs are usually on these huge old buildings…in the interest of saving time, and energy, we started using them a few years back so we could keep each other in the loop. Without having to walk back and forth a million times. Plus, some of these gigs have questionable cell signals, but the monitor always works.”

  She looked impressed. “Wow. Good call, Garrett. You guys are entrepreneurs and innovators.”

  “Well, what can I say? When you’re handsome and successful, it wouldn’t be natural to leave genius out of the mix as well.”

  When her brows knitted in response, instead of the giggle he’d been expecting, he added, “That was totally a joke, Rose. I’m not so egotistical, I swear.”

  She cracked a grin, and he laughed in spite of himself. “I’ll get the baby monitor now, and you can help me in the kitchen without neglecting your motherly duties. Trust me, I might be handsome and successful, but I still need help in the kitchen.”

  “It was funnier that time,” she said.

  He sighed with relief. “Thank God. I was beginning to think you were a tough crowd.”

  ****

  Rose sat wedged between over twenty burly men in various stages of undress, all of whom had their heads bowed in grace. She looked over at Emmy, who blinked up at her. Do you understand any of this, kid?
>
  “Grace.” The men tore into their food at breakneck speeds. Across the table from her, Wes and Garrett eyed them wryly.

  “I hope you enjoy today’s menu at Hotel Monteblanco.” Garrett donned a French lilt and lifted his glass to her. “As you had a hand in preparing some of this meal yourself, at least we all know the blame can’t fall entirely on me if nobody likes it.”

  Rose cracked a grin, reaching for the glass of Carménère she’d brought from the room. “True, I am thirty-three percent responsible for the failure of this meal if that comes to pass.”

  “With Garrett’s cooking around here, I’m sure you’re responsible for far less.” Wes lifted his glass as well. “Thanks for joining us, Rose, not that you had much of a choice.”

  A majority of the workers stopped in their grubbing to clink glasses then continued to eat. A couple sent sly winks her way, a gesture she’d been warned by Garrett not to take personally since the guys hadn’t seen an actual female within arm’s reach in months.

  As Emmy fumbled with the plate of food in front of her, panic seized her. She had no idea of Emmy’s exact age, much less what she should or shouldn’t be eating. What if she had developed a specific allergy in the months since her mother had last assessed her eating habits? She and Garrett specifically selected steamed vegetables as a side so Emmy could enjoy them, but maybe the baby had a horrible hatred for all things green like supposedly all children?

  Being a baby bounty hunter didn’t require an intimate knowledge of child rearing, and certainly didn’t mean feeding kids any more than a snack in the backseat or stopping to indulge a whiner with a candy bar here and there. All the different things to consider—allergies, eating schedules, bowel movements, and more—made Rose’s head spin. How did mothers do all this?