by Jean Oram
* * *
Josh had spent the past forty-five minutes trying to track down Evander and was starting to think the delivery was less about life-or-death and more of a wild-goose chase intended to free up Polly so Dustin could comfort her.
Although if Dustin was telling the truth and it wasn’t about Polly, how much was he getting for the delivery if he was planning to reward Josh with a cool grand? Either way, the package had to be pretty important. Josh gently pressed his fingers into the padded envelope, thinking. Some sort of spy device, or evidence needed to crack a case? It didn’t seem likely, and while the package was light enough to be considered empty, it had a small pebble-like bump, proving it wasn’t. He shook the thing. Nothing. He held it to his nose and inhaled. Smelled like a plastic-padded envelope.
Josh dialed his sister, wanting to remove the sneaking suspicion that he was holding a packaged piece of trash so his buddy would be free to bed Polly while her protective stepbrother was busy. And while the idea might seem extreme, he knew Dustin had a thing for women who were on the rebound, and his sister definitely qualified as she waited for her ex to adhere to their prenup. Polly deserved more than a meaningless one-night stand, which was all Dustin ever offered.
“Polls?” he said when she answered.
“Are you coming over or what?”
“I’m on my way. I just have to do one thing. Is Dustin there?”
“No, why should he be? Is he running from his latest woman’s old man and his shotgun?” She sounded amused. Which meant she’d had two drinks at least. Two more and she’d be looking for a place to nap. He’d better plan on being the driver once he unloaded the dang package. “How long will you be, anyway? I’ve already had five texts from your mom.”
“Only five? We’ve got a few hours before she blows her lid, then.” Josh paused for a second, tapping the envelope against his thigh. Polly knew Hailey. Hailey was Daphne Summer’s sister. Daphne was living with Evander.
Josh may have just found the lead he needed to complete his task.
Phone to his ear, he began hurrying to his truck, the snowflakes drifting down around him growing more grainy than they had been half an hour ago. “Polls? Where’s Evander de la Fosse tonight?”
“Evander? With Daphne. Why?”
“Because he’s not at home and I need to see him.”
“So?”
Josh summoned patience. He could tell from Polly’s tone that she was holding back, playing the straight card. In other words, messing with him.
“Where’s Daphne?” he asked sweetly.
“With her sisters,” she replied just as sweetly.
Despite his focus on getting the package off his hands ASAP, he found himself chuckling. He needed a woman in his life who could dish things back at him like Polly, yet was understanding at the same time. Without the icky, annoying sister part, of course.
Why was he dreaming, anyway? He had a life to get in order, and after that only a certain type of woman would be interested in him. And he was certain she’d be nearly impossible to find.
He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, dislodging snowflakes. “And where are Daphne’s sisters?” he asked, starting his vehicle.
“At their cottage.”
“And where is—”
“You have to go to Nymph Island?” Polly complained. “That’ll take forever. No, wait. The lake probably isn’t even all the way frozen yet. Ha, ha. You have to stay on land and drink with me.”
“Then how did they get there?”
“Helicopters.”
Damn billionaires.
“I’m putting on the kettle for a hot chocolate and Bailey’s right now.”
He let out a laugh at her assumed victory. “I made a promise, Polls. I’ve got to see this through.” He heard grumbling on the other end of the line. “Just an hour. Promise.”
“You and your damn promises. How are you even going to get there?”
That was going to be the trick, wasn’t it? He ended the call, pulling out onto the street.
Forty-five minutes later he found himself crossing a frozen Lake Rosseau on his snowmobile, the local fishermen having assured him that it was indeed his lucky day, as the lake had frozen over early this year, making it safe to sled on.
Josh was going to have to make sure he got Polly a little something extra for her stocking tomorrow morning, because at this rate he wasn’t making it back to her place within the hour he’d promised. And while it was only ten kilometers across the lake to Nymph Island and ten back, he had to take it slow in case there were unexpected areas of thin ice or open water.
After slowing to check his GPS, Josh glanced up at the nothingness above him. Earlier in the day the clouds had been gray and low, the temperature dropping, and now with the night fully upon him the chill had intensified, the world had turned eerie and dark.
Back on track, Josh hugged the shore of an island, where he knew the ice would be thicker, enjoying the way fresh drifts puffed up around him like icy confetti. There were worse ways to spend Christmas Eve than riding across the lake. Maybe he’d even go in for a warm drink if those cute Summer sisters were feeling welcoming.
He rounded a small horseshoe-shaped island and spotted his goal, marked by a flicker of light high in the trees. He parked his machine beside the Nymph Island dock, not wanting to drive up the path in case his sled hit something under the snow or he tore up the landscaping. The silence felt almost deafening, but he left his helmet on, knowing that his body heat would escape quickly if he removed it. He flipped up his visor, finding the scent of fresh snow crisp, clean and invigoratingly nippy. On second thought, he might have to skip staying for a drink, as a cold front was definitely coming in. If the weather kept up there’d be whiteout conditions within an hour or two and then it wouldn’t matter how good he was, because if he couldn’t see squat, including his GPS, he could consider himself royally pooched.
Bundled in his helmet and snowmobile suit, Josh followed a trail of footprints up the hill. The only sound breaking the silence of the night was a generator that powered the island, giving the rustic old cottage a homey glow as light poured from its windows.
He trudged up the incline, snow crunching underfoot. He made his way onto the steps that led up to the old cottage’s wraparound veranda. Someone had recently cleared the way, although the odd icy bit had been left behind. As he climbed the stairs he could see through the large porch windows. Four couples cozily enjoying themselves came into view, leaning against each other as they laughed. They were warmed by the flames roaring in the fireplace, a beautifully sad lone woman sitting on the outskirts of the group.
He felt like an intruder. An outsider. Someone who didn’t belong here.
He almost turned away, afraid to break up the scene. His foot fell through the third step from the top, and he caught himself with a muffled thump that drew all eyes to him. A large man placed himself in front of a petite woman and a little girl in a party dress. With surprising speed for a guy his size, he ate up the space between himself and the French doors. Josh whipped off his helmet so Evander would recognize him, then doubted the move. The headgear might offer protection, since the bodyguard obviously hadn’t figured out who he was, and came roaring through the door.
Josh fumbled for the envelope in his snowsuit’s inside breast pocket as the man leaped across the veranda, taking him down before he had a chance to speak. As Josh fell backward, he watched the envelope spin through the air above them. Then the impact of their tumble down the stairs jolting through him and he lost his wind, the big, bulky man squeezing his lungs dry like a sponge until darkness shut him out.
CHAPTER 3
Simone had jumped at the invitation to join the Summers and their men out at their cottage on Nymph Island for an impromptu winter picnic, instead of spending Christmas Eve alone, brooding about the fact that her father and stepmother were going to have a baby. Now she pushed the gawking sisters aside and skittered down the icy steps toward th
e unconscious form lying under a sheepish, protective bear of a man.
“Evander, get off him,” she said, pushing at his large shoulder.
Evander slowly complied, keeping his body as a barrier between her and the limp intruder. Sweet.
But also very annoying. It made her want to rail against his protective actions and prove that she could handle herself, thank you very much.
“Careful, he’s armed,” Evander said as she went to move around him.
Simone froze in her tracks. The unconscious man, blond hair askew over his forehead, didn’t seem like the type to carry a weapon or do evil deeds. He seemed…harmless. And completely unprotected. On top of being unconscious.
Evander cautiously patted down the man, checking for weapons. “He was reaching inside his snowsuit.”
Daphne handed him an envelope with a wry frown. “He was armed with a message.” She tucked a chunk of unruly curls behind an ear and Simone noted that her face looked rounder, more tired than usual. She’d bet Daphne’s hunky man had been keeping her up too late, expressing his love and wearing her out.
Simone had tried dating a former military type like Evander once and it most definitely had not worked out, the man finding her inability to accept his help insulting. What she really needed was a guy with enough confidence to be the yin to her yang as needed—to be soft, caring, and understanding. Unfortunately, she had yet to find that in a straight man.
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” quipped Maya, the second eldest Summer sister, from her perch at the top of the staircase.
Simone watched Evander slowly bring himself down a notch. His training in the military had served him well as a bodyguard for Daphne and her daughter, Tigger, earlier that year, but at the moment his over-the-top reaction left Simone feeling unnerved.
She understood why Evander was still acting protective—he obviously loved Daphne and thought of Tigger as his own, and with the silence that had settled after the whole blowup last summer, he was likely waiting for some sort of surprise counterattack. But this wasn’t the navy or secret intelligence. It was Daphne dealing with the father of her five-year-old. While her ex was a big, spoiled, confused jerk, Simone didn’t think there was going to be any more trouble. And as opposite as Daphne and Evander seemed to be, they connected on a level Simone hadn’t quite figured out yet. But whatever it was, it was good and she didn’t want to see it end by him overreacting and trying Daphne’s patience.
“Come on, let’s get him inside,” Simone said, nudging Evander, who immediately stooped to lift the man slowly being covered by gently falling snow.
“Maybe we shouldn’t move him,” Daphne said, worry lining her brow.
The man in question groaned, his eyes not opening, as he gave a feeble attempt to shift position.
“No spinal damage. He can move. Get him inside,” Simone commanded. “Come on, chop, chop. Maya, hold the door. Connor, help out Evander.” She stepped aside, hugging herself as Maya’s husband came forward. There was moisture in the air that hadn’t been there earlier and it was cutting through her fitted sweater like miniature blades of ice.
“It’s Josh Carson,” Hailey, the eldest Summer sister, said in surprise as the inert man was carried past her.
“JC? Polly’s half brother?” Simone hurried up the step to take a better look at their friend’s sibling. They’d all gone to the same high school—the Summers, Simone, Polly, and JC—and Simone remembered JC as a fighter she’d wisely steered clear of. Some sort of issues at home, if she recalled. While handsome and a bit of a player, he’d had a quickness that had shifted from sunshine and roses to a fierce fighting stance at the drop of a hat. She’d never figured him out, and luckily, their paths hadn’t crossed very often.
“Hasn’t he been away fighting forest fires?” Maya asked.
“Smoke jumping,” Hailey stated.
Simone shivered, walking alongside, taking in JC’s good looks. He was still as cute as all get-out. She’d give him that. Handsome.
Dangerously so.
“Didn’t he go to jail or something?” she asked. There had to be a reason this man was bad for her.
“That was Lix Levenson. Failure to appear,” Melanie said, straightening as she closed the door behind the group. “They used to run in the same crowd.”
“Didn’t you date Lix?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Melanie’s mouth formed a tight line. Her fiancé, Tristen Bell, gave her a one-armed hug in support, his teenaged daughter, Dot, rolling her eyes at the display of affection.
Lix’s story was slowly coming back to Simone. The jerk was the one who had started the whole insecurity thing Melanie had going on with her Marilyn Monroe-esque body. A few comments at the wrong time and her friend was still reeling all these years later. However, thanks to an inadvertent combo move of Simone plying Melanie with homemade 1950s style dresses and her fiancé noticing how sexy they looked on her, she had definitely come into her own. Add in the fact that Tristen had helped her open her own legal aid office and the woman was on top of the world.
The men laid JC on the old orange couch near the fire, then stood back and stared at him. Five-year-old Tigger, who had been silent through it all, brought JC’s snowmobile helmet and laid it on his chest, her expression remorseful.
“Evander killed the bad man.” She looked up at her mother with large, round eyes, her bottom lip trembling.
“No!” Daphne collapsed onto her knees, hugging her daughter tightly. “He’s not dead. Evander just knocked him over, but he’s a friend, honey. Evander was just being…careful.” She gave her boyfriend a look, but he stood as still as a mountain, hands loose at his sides.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“He’s not like Grandma Summer?” Tigger asked, placing her hands on either side of Daphne’s face and staring at her.
The room grew hushed at the mention of the recently departed Catherine.
“No, honey,” Simone said, reaching down to squeeze Daphne’s shoulder as the sisters all fought against tears, their grief still raw and whole. Maya busied herself straightening magazines on the nearby card table, forcibly clearing her throat. “JC’s going to be okay,” Simone added. “He’s just resting after bonking his head.”
The figure on the couch moaned again as if to prove his vitality and Tigger squealed and hid behind Evander. He reached behind him to scoop the little girl into his arms, then carried her away from the group, mumbling soothing words. Simone saw tears brim in Daphne’s eyes again, but this time out of love instead of grief.
Simone wanted that. Big time.
But she was too self-reliant, too strident. She may as well live with brick walls around herself for all the luck she’d had in the dating world. Thank goodness for modern medicine. She could have a baby with donor 8753 and live happily ever after—without some man harping at her about her inability to show him some love. She could love just fine, thank you. Men just couldn’t recognize it because she didn’t swoon.
She sighed, then, realizing she was wallowing in self-pity, cleared her throat. “Well?”
“Should we call 911?” Melanie asked.
“Why?” Daphne, still hazy with grief, looked up.
“He’s unconscious,” Melanie replied drily.
Hailey’s husband, Finian Alexander, an A-list movie star, wrapped his arms tighter around his pregnant wife.
They all stared at JC for a long moment, then Simone headed to the kitchen. It was cooler in that part of the cottage, as the kitchen had been added on decades ago and barely benefited from the warmth flowing from the fireplace, the cottage’s only heat source. With the pump turned off until spring so the pipes didn’t freeze, Simone dug through one of the coolers they’d brought for a bottle of water. She uncapped it, taking a swig to ensure it was nice and brisk.
Perfectly refreshing.
She rejoined the crowd gathered around Josh and, without pausing to take in the way his five o’clock shadow looked devastating against his pal
e skin, dumped the contents of the bottle on the man’s face.
He jolted and sputtered, his hand swiping over his strong jaw in response. His helmet rolled off his chest, hitting the area rug with a thud. He started to sit up, but grew pale and eased back, wincing.
“Simone!” Hailey whispered harshly, giving her a glare before stalking to the kitchen, her maternity jeans slipping lower in her haste. She gave them an impatient tug, quickly returning with a tea towel.
Simone shrugged. He was conscious now. Problem solved, right?
“What happened?” JC asked. His voice was groggy, as though he’d been sleeping for days, and the roughness in it sent ribbons of pleasure down Simone’s spine. She quickly banished them. It was just the hormones talking. Which meant they were working. Which meant she’d be pregnant soon and holding a baby by next Christmas. But not with JC. Nope. No way.
Why would she even think that? Of course she wouldn’t be here with him. She was having a baby with donor 7658. Or was it 8753? 7857?
Maybe if she could look away from the drops of water clinging to JC’s stubble she’d be able to remember. While his hair was light, his facial hair was darker, like an untold secret not everyone knew. The darkness brought out the paleness of his blue eyes, giving his handsomeness an unexpected edge that revved Simone’s engine.
“Evander thought you were armed,” Daphne said gently, taking the towel from Hailey and dabbing at the water on JC’s chin. Simone found herself moving closer, resisting the urge to elbow her friend out of the way so she could take over the gentle ministrations. But instead of allowing Daphne to help, JC took the towel, swiping it along the back of his neck where the water was trailing into his snowsuit.
“You should get out of that,” Simone said, her voice cracking. She coughed to clear her throat. “Let it dry.” She shrugged when his eyes met hers, and glanced toward the windows, to see the snow still coming down, sticking to the glass. Going out with a wet base layer wasn’t smart. Even she knew that. She crossed her arms so she wouldn’t be tempted to help him strip.
