Valentine Kisses: A Kiss to Last a Lifetime

by Abigail Drake

  “I love you.” He kissed her again, wishing they were already eating lasagna by the fire with both dogs sitting at their feet.

  “I love you, too,” Emily said. “With my whole heart.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lisa Hahn writes romance novels across multiple sub-genres. She’s interested in stories that take place in either small towns or strange worlds, and she strives to create honest, passionate characters her readers can relate to.

  Currently, Lisa and her husband live in northern New Jersey with their two dogs (Jonas and Cassie) and their cat (Blueberry). When she’s not writing, Lisa can be found reading, practicing yoga, working out, watching professional wrestling, stitching a piece of embroidery, making/eating vegan food, and rooting for the Seattle Seahawks.

  Website: www.bylisahahn.com

  Twitter: @bylisahahn

  FB: www.facebook.com/bylisahahn

  Email: lisa@bylisahahn.com

  AVALANCHE

  Kim Briggs

  OTHER BOOKS BY KIM BRIGGS

  Starr Fall

  Starr Lost

  And Then He: A Psychological Thriller

  Avalanche

  Copyright © 2016 Kim Briggs

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  To anyone who has ever felt lost.

  Sometimes you need to lose yourself in order to find yourself. Don’t ever give up.

  PROLOGUE

  I left the mountains when I was ten. I didn’t leave them willingly. Mom and Dad tore me off my skis and threw me in the back of their new two-wheel drive sedan they bought for the ‘Big Move,’ or as I like to call it, ‘the day my parents drove me straight to hell.’

  The mountains called to me deep in my bones. I longed to glide through knee deep fresh powder. I missed the burn of the wind whipping against my face, and air so cold you lost your breath on the exhale and only caught it once you reached the base.

  Orphaned from my beloved peaks, I searched for solace on the playground, in the water of the community pool, at the skate park, but in the land of scorching heat, kids hid inside their pre-fabed houses with their cookie cutter sod lawns and played the latest X-Games on their Xbox or Playstation or some other video system that promised to be the latest and greatest in technological advancement, ‘so real, it’s like you’re at the mountain,’ but my friends, we are not at the mountain. It doesn’t matter how cold you turn down the air conditioner; if you’ve never been to the mountains, you missed the point.

  As time passed, Mom and Dad became entrenched in the land of red dirt and on-demand sprinkling systems. The mountains didn’t wake them at night. Didn’t yell from the pictures hung on the wall to return home.

  The mountains called to me, and I listened. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want one.

  CHAPTER ONE

  My breath casts icy clouds into the evening sky. Cold air bobs and weaves through the layers of clothing down to my bare skin.

  I let snowflakes land on my tongue—ten years of birthday wishes finally came true.

  I spin round and round on the snow-covered road. Laughing. Dancing. Singing. An old pine tree, the moon, and a distant owl witness my triumphant return. My heart soars through the sky toward the heavens. I am home. I am home. I am home.

  Two bright white lights drag me back to Earth. Tires squeal. The back of an old pickup fishtails toward me but I’m too caught up in my own joyous wonderment to move out of the way. The slam of a car door stirs me into movement. I shuffle off the road, still feeling giddy and silly.

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” A gruff voice barks from behind the blinding headlights.

  I can only make out a dark shadowy outline and icy cloud puffs. “My car slid off the road. I’m stuck.”

  He steps forward. His tall frame blocks most of the light. A rangy beard covers his face. A slouchy red beanie and a plaid flannel shirt provide the only evidence this person is a man and not a relative of the Abominable Snowman. “How long you been out here?”

  I shrug my shoulders.

  “You realize you’re twenty feet from a 500 foot cliff?” He points toward what I assume is the mysterious drop off. The snow’s falling heavier now. I can barely see Lumberjack Yeti-man. “You’ve got no right being out here on a night like this. You probably don’t have chains either, do you?”

  Chains? I never thought of chains. I should probably get some of those.

  “Freaking tourists think they can go anywhere and do anything they want.” He walks to his truck bed, grumbling to himself and returns with a long rope with a scary metal hook at the end slung across his chest and a large shovel.

  My mother’s warnings of strangers and serial killers and serial killing rapists come rushing back to me. He raises the shovel in the air and steps toward me. I sidestep out of the way, trip over my own feet, and land in a snow bank. Wetness seeps into my jeans. He stops at Dot’s trunk. “Arizona?” He throws questions marks like daggers.

  “Yep.”

  He sticks his shovel into the pit eating my tire. Snowflakes swirl around him in a hypnotic welcome home snow globe.

  He clips the hook on something under Dot, the old two-wheel drive sedan my parents bought all those years ago. He stomps back to his truck. Midway across, he stops. “Arizona, are you going to get out of that snowbank? You’ll freeze to death before I free your car.”

  I nod stupidly. My arms disappear into the drift as I try to push up. My feet flail, slipping and sliding, trying to gain traction. I eat mouthfuls of snow after several face plants. I slip and push and finally manage to stand. My flat-bottomed Converses don’t work so well in “wintry weather” conditions.

  I kick most of the snow off, but some’s already melted in my sneakers.

  Lumberjack Yeti-man climbs into the cab and slams the door. The truck roars to life sounding just as grumpy as its owner. Tires crunch the snow as the truck slowly reverses. Poor old Dot shudders and bucks. She won’t leave the snow without a fight. She knows what it means to me. Another growl of the engine, and she releases herself from the embankment.

  Lumberjack Yeti-man returns to the scene of the crime, shakes his head at Dot’s snow angel carcass, shakes his head at snow-covered me, then removes his tow rope from my car. He throws his rescue supplies back into the bed of the truck. “I’ll follow you up the hill to make sure you don’t go off the cliff.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Humpf,” he grunts and climbs back in his truck.

  Dot sputters, then dies. I try again. Sputter, clank, die. Try again. Clank, click, click, click, die.

  Smash. Smash. Smash.

  The knuckles of Lumberjack Yeti-man almost shatter Dot’s windshield. I try to roll down the window, but then remember, no power means no power windows. I crack my door open instead. “I think it might be the battery.”

  He tilts his head skyward, as if praying for the strength to endure my presence just a little longer. He yanks open my door. “Let me try.”

  “If you insist.”

  He tries to start Dot over and over again, but he can’t persuade her any more than I could. “It’s the battery.”

  “Like I said.”

  He lets out an exhausted sigh. “The road’s too narrow to jump your car. I’ll have to pull you up the mountain. Let me get the tow rope.”

  This time he connects the giant hook to the front of Dot. “Get in, stick it in neutral, keep the wheel straight, and try not to kill yourself.”

  I’m just smart enough not to argue.

  Lumberjack Yeti-man’s truck taillights glare their beady, red eyes at me as I steer Dot into the middle of the road. They continue to glower at me as we climb the mountain.

  Dot swerves left, then right on the steep entrance road, but I keep steering her back to the middle. The cliff I didn’t worry about during my dance keeps jumping into my mind now. Dot never would have made it up this road tonight—chains or no chains. I’ll just stay off the roads when the weather gets bad be
cause Dot and I have been through far too much to give up on her because of some icy roads. My parents may have bailed on the mountain, but Dot and I won’t.

  One beady eyes blinks at me. I spin the wheel to the right and Dot glides behind the old truck like an eager puppy who doesn’t know better. He slowly comes to a stop and Dot stops right behind him.

  Lumberjack Yeti-man climbs out, unhooks Dot, then pushes her backward. When she’s safely tucked in a parking spot, I climb out of her. A rush of frigid air freezes the wet fleece to my body. I fight not to shiver. Lumberjack Yeti-man doesn’t need any more ammunition at my lack of mountain preparedness.

  “I don’t think a jump’s going to work tonight—it’s well below freezing. You have a place to stay, don’t you?”

  Again an accusation.

  “Uh…yeah, yep, I do. I’ll just make a phone call and my friend will pick me up.” I pull out my phone and start acting like I’m pulling up my contacts. I pretend to hit send and bring it up to my ear. He crosses his arms. “Hi, yeah it’s Lexi. I’m at Wolf Creek’s parking lot. My car broke down. Can you come get me?” Pause. “Thanks.”

  I click end. “All set.”

  His brown eyes pierce into mine. I wilt under his gaze. “You don’t have a place to stay, do you?”

  I shift away to study the mountain, my mountain. Long fingers of snow-covered trails beckon me to join them. I can’t believe I’m back.

  Lumberjack Yeti-man clears his throat.

  “Yes. Yes, I do. My friend’s coming.”

  “Arizona.”

  “She’s coming. She’ll be here in fifteen minutes. You can go. I’m fine by myself. Thanks for all your help.”

  He clears his throat. “Arizona, there’s no cell service up here.”

  “No, there is. See?” I flash my phone in front of him, with full intentions of shoving it back in my pocket before he’s any the wiser, but he grabs my hand. Rough callouses scratch my snow softened skin.

  He presses the button and waves it in front of my face. “See?”

  Damn those zero bars. “So?”

  “You can’t stay out here. Temperatures are supposed to drop ten degrees below zero.”

  “And?” I wonder how he likes statement-accusation-questions.

  “Your clothes are soaked, your boots…,” he glances down and scowls, “sneakers? Jesus Christ, don’t you care about your life at all? You’ll die of hypothermia if you stay out here, and let me tell you, Arizona, hypothermia ain’t pretty.”

  “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  “You’ve already inconvenienced me. Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You can stay at my place tonight and can call a tow truck in the morning.”

  He jumps into his truck and slams the door. I glance over at poor Dot. I planned to sleep in her tonight, then look for a place tomorrow, but that plan’s shot to hell. I shift back and forth in my frozen Converses. He honks his horn.

  I take one last parting look at my mountain. I’m back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I’m about to open the passenger door when I decide I better ask the Lumberjack Yeti man a few questions, just to make sure he’s not a serial killer or anything. I jog over to the driver’s side and knock on the window.

  The window creaks as he rolls it down. Crank windows—definitely a perk of an old truck. “What Arizona?”

  “Um, so what were you doing out in a snowstorm in the middle of the night?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Are we really having this conversation at 3 o’clock in the morning?”

  I cross my arms and wait. He releases an exasperated sigh. “I just got off work. Now, would you get in already?” Before I can respond, he rolls up the window.

  I run back over to the passenger side. A long, narrow snout pushes into my cheek when I open the door. I slam it shut and run back over to the driver’s side.

  He rolls back down the window. “What now, Arizona?”

  “So, the giant wolf, is he going to eat my face off?”

  He growl sighs. I didn’t know people could do that. “Satan will not eat your face off. I, however, will leave your frozen ass behind if you don’t get in right now.” He starts to roll his window back up.

  I jump up and grab the top of the window. “Wait!”

  “What?”

  “Can I at least know your name?”

  “Gabe. Now get in.”

  I jog back over. The long, narrow snout pushes into my cheek again when I open the door. I keep still, afraid to make any sudden movements while the monster wolf sniffs my face.

  “Satan, come.”

  Satan leaves a trail of dog-snot as he withdraws into the interior of the truck. His name doesn’t exactly elicit strangers to want to pat the top of his head or sit in close quarters with him. He puffs out his chest as he sits down, makes a royal turn of his head, and shows his big, white, all-the-better-to-eat-you-my-dear teeth. I’m not sure if it’s a smile or a snarl, and I’m not too keen to find out either way.

  “Let’s go,” Gabe growls on the other side of a large cooler, a thermos, and the giant wolf.

  I slide into the passenger seat. Well, I slide into a tiny corner of the duck-taped bench seat. Satan leans over and kisses my cheek. He plops his head on my shoulder and whimpers. I tentatively scratch him behind the ears. He takes this small display as an open invitation to shove his head and half his body under my arm. Heat radiates off him and reminds me how cold I am.

  I slide closer to him.

  “You cold?” Gabe asks, though I think I will continue calling him Lumberjack Yeti-man in my mind. The name suits him.

  “N…no,” I say.

  He releases another exasperated sigh as he reaches over and blasts the heat. Satan drapes his body over mine. A wolf-size radiator. Soon my frozen face is no longer frozen, and I’m no longer a Lexisicle. I’m a wet rat.

  The engine roars as Gabe guns the accelerator. The rear tires fishtail back and forth across the snow covered road. I’m positive we will tumble over the cliff he warned me about. I clutch Satan to me.

  He spins the steering wheel in the direction we’re spinning instead of against it, then jerks back the other way. Within a few short hair-rising breaths, the truck straightens out. I seem to remember mom and dad doing that sort of thing when I was a kid when we skidded on icy patches. Goes against common sense but it obviously works. I’ll have to remember that.

  “What the hell were you doing out so late?” he asks.

  Just my luck, I get saved by a judgy lumberjack. If some gorgeous ski instructor rescued me, we’d probably already be cuddling by a fire somewhere drinking Hot Toddies, but instead I’m here with Gabe and his dagger collection.

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I already told you. I was working.”

  “Do you work at a bar?” I can’t imagine he’d do well with tips given his poor people skills.

  “I work at Wolf Creek Ski Resort.”

  My eyes slide over to him. Maybe I did find my gorgeous ski instructor. His bushy beard covers his entire face, but his arms and chest fill out the flannel shirt rather impressively. “What do you do? The mountain closes at 4 pm.”

  His rough-edged laugh fills the cab. “The pretty boy instructors and ski patrolers go home. The rest of us stay to clean up their mess.”

  “So you’re a jani…custodian?”

  “I groom the entire fucking mountain.”

  There’s over seventy-seven slopes and more than 1,600 acres of terrain. (I’m not a total nerd, but I did just Google Wolf Creek Mountain last night.) “Wow, that’s a lotta work.”

  He grunts. It almost sounds like he agrees with me. That’s progress. “I want to work at Wolf Creek too.”

  He snorts. “Yeah? As what?”

  “Ski instructor.”

  He snorts again. “Good luck with that.”

  He leans over and cranks up some loud thrashing song with lots of screaming, eliminating a
ny chance of future conversation. Guess I won’t be using him as a reference, but I wouldn’t mind if Satan came home to live with me.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Gabe tromps through the snow in the direction of a cute small log cabin. Given his hard features and cranky personality, I assumed he lived in a hole carved with his bare hands out of the granite mountain. A cabin is much more comfortable.

  I stop to take in the cabin with the snow swirling around and the mountain peaks as the backdrop. The setting’s out of a fairy tale. “Come on,” Gabe growls from inside the cabin.

  Except in place of Prince Charming I get the ogre. I swallow hard before taking one hesitant step after another into the cabin.

  All my nerves disappear the moment the warmth of the cabin encircles me like a familiar embrace and welcomes me in. Satan nudges the back of my legs. He’s as impatient as his owner, though much nicer about it.

  If the exterior blew my impression of Gabe to the Klondike, the interior blasted it to Mars. I’ve lived with various people the past few years. Male or female. They’re all the same. They toss jackets across chairs, drop bags by the door, kick shoes off and leave them where they fall, and curl up with blankets on the sofa and never refold them. The only time we clean-up is when we know we’re having company, and sometimes not even then.