by Oliver, Tess
My heart raced as I considered all the ways this could end. I was stranded in a snow bank on a deserted road, and a menacing man, who looked as if he could use a pine tree as a toothpick, was standing ten feet away.
The rider pulled off his helmet, and some of the earlier fright was replaced with surprise. "Oh my," I whispered to myself. The words left a white puff of air in front of my mouth.
The man set the helmet on the seat. He reached up and rubbed his dark cropped hair with his gloved hand. It stood up all over his head. Swirls of black ink climbed up past the chest protector and along the side of his neck. I was sure there were plenty of tattoos beneath the racing gear. He moved closer. My mind was telling me to back up, but my feet were frozen in place, not from the cold but from shock. His dark green gaze looked familiar, and as my eyes took in the handsome face, with its chiseled jaw and black beard stubble, I remembered where I'd seen the eyes before. Dizziness swept over me, and I swayed back. The giant stranger moved with graceful speed as he closed the gap between us. His arm curved around my back to keep me from falling.
"Whoa there, I've got you."
I closed my eyes to erase the dizzy spell, then opened them slowly, wondering if he'd still be there. Since his steel arm was hooked around me, I was fairly certain of it. The deep green of his eyes held just enough worry to assure me that I wasn't in danger.
I forced a smile. "I'm fine. You can let me go," I said the words aloud, but inside my head I was thinking 'or you can hold me longer too'. I wouldn't complain.
Cautiously, he lowered his arm. "Guess you took a wrong turn somewhere. I can pull your car free with my snowmobile."
"Thank you. That would be great. I'm expected up at Swanson's Ski Lodge. My friends will be worried."
Confusion wasn't a good look on most people, but he pulled it off just fine. In fact, I was sure every expression would look fine on him. I knew that for certain because I'd just spent months designing a video game hero who could easily have been his twin.
"Swanson's Lodge?" he asked. "Don't think I've heard of it."
"How's that possible?"
"Don't know. Anyhow, I'll get the rope."
"Thank you, Mr. Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't get your name.”
He stuck out a huge black glove. My small blue glove got lost in it. "Name's Holt."
My throat went dry, and I had to consciously remember to breathe. "No. No, it can't be."
His perfectly shaped brow lifted. "Yep, I'm pretty sure that's my name."
"That just can't be your name."
"No? Then I guess I should call my mom and let her know she sewed the wrong name into my underwear when I was a kid."
I shook my head and looked around to see if my surroundings were real. Then with some trepidation, I glanced through the back window of my car to see if I was still inside slumped dead over the wheel. Nope. The car was empty. I was alive, it seemed. Only, it felt very much like I was in a dream or having an out of body experience of some kind. It had to just be a crazy coincidence.
"Holt, huh?"
"Yep." He turned around and headed to the snowmobile.
"As long as your name isn't Ziggy," I said more to myself than to him. But my words stopped him in his tracks. Literally. He turned back around and stomped toward me.
This time, I took a step back.
"What did you say?"
I shrugged nervously beneath the puffy down of my coat. "I just said as long as your name's not Ziggy." My head felt light again. "Is it?"
Without a word and with his green gaze glued to my face, he yanked the sleeve of his coat back along his arm. There, in black letters, running along the steel like cords of his forearm, were the letters Z-i-g-g-y.
"That's not possible," I said.
"You keep saying that, and yet, I'm pretty sure this tattoo has been there for at least two years. It's my racing nickname. I tend to zig when everyone else zags. Helps me win races." As he spoke, I felt the blood leave my head. I swayed on my feet again. I'd never fainted in my life, but I was sure I was just one head rush away from falling face first into the snow. Or into the enormous arms of the man in front of me.
Holt took hold of my arm. "You sure look unsteady. My friend owns that inn up on the hill behind us. She'll get you some coffee and something to eat. Let me take you there on my snowmobile. Then I'll come back here and dig out your car."
I looked back at the Victorian house gazing down at us from its snowy hilltop. I had been staring at it when my car went off the road. It was the first in a long string of coincidences that was making me think I really was in a dream.
I swallowed to relieve the dryness in my throat. "That might be a good idea. I'm definitely feeling a little shaky." I looked at the snowmobile and tried not to show fear. Apparently, I didn't try hard enough.
"I will drive so slow you'll be able to catch snowflakes on your tongue."
"Snowflakes?" I squinted up to the sky. Light crystals of ice were falling through the air. "It's snowing. Of course it is. What else? I'll take a quick break at the inn and then I should get back on the road before it's covered with snow."
Holt surveyed my car. "Maybe."
Before I could ask him what he meant, he motioned for me to follow him to his snowmobile. He lifted the helmet off the seat. The silver spikes glistened in the light reflecting off the snowy landscape.
"Mohawk," I said to myself.
He held it up to admire. "Like it? I had it custom made."
I was so dumbfounded, I didn't know how to respond.
"I'd put this on you, but I think you need the fresh air. Besides, it'll be a short, slow trip to the Silk Stocking Inn."
I stood again like a stunned statue blinking at him and trying to reason this all out. "Did you say Silk Stocking Inn?"
"Yeah, that's the name of Coco's inn. Hop on. She told me she was making sugarplum cupcakes today. Not sure what those are, but I guarantee you'll feel better once you try her baking."
"Sugarplum? Naturally."
Holt threw his long leg over and straddled the seat, cradling his helmet in front of him. He scooted forward. I placed my hands on the hard plastic shoulder guards and climbed on behind him.
He glanced back at me. "You never told me your name."
"I'm Jen. Or at least I was this morning when I woke up, but I'm just not sure about anything anymore."
He smiled and it was the first very real thing to happen since I’d plowed into the snow bank. It was spectacular and made me feel just a bit better. "Well, Jen, hold on."
Not wanting to wrap my arms around a complete stranger, I opted instead for the edge of the seat. Holt's back was as broad as any I'd ever seen. I decided that if there was ever a stranger in this world who I might wrap my arms around, if the opportunity called for it, it was the man driving the snowmobile in front of me.
4
Yep, it was the same house from the website. The only thing different was that the house looked a bit more dilapidated than it had on the site, and there were no roses, just dead vines circling the porch railing as if they'd been there for a long time and had no plans to leave.
The ride on the snowmobile, sitting behind a man who could only have been designed by a gaming artist, had cleared my head some. He parked his machine, and, again, I used his shoulders to climb off. He followed.
"How are you feeling now?"
"A little better."
He pushed his gloved fingers beneath my chin and lifted my face to his. The vision of a long, deep kiss drifted through my head. And there it was again. The dizziness. But this time it was purely due to the man in front of me and not the uncanny, impossible to explain coincidences.
"There's more color in those cheeks, so that's a good sign." He lowered his hand, and before I knew it, he'd taken hold of mine. He led me up the stairs to the porch. It was one of those quaint, old-fashioned wraparound porches, complete with a hanging swing and two rockers. Even though everything was covered with ice and snow, it was easy to imag
ine people enjoying a summer afternoon on the porch sipping lemonade.
Holt stomped his snow-coated boots on the welcome mat. The entire porch shook with each step. I couldn't hold back a laugh.
"Yeah, I figure one day I'm going to push a hole right through the planks." He opened the door, and a warm almond fragrance ushered out. It was the sweetest and most mouthwatering aroma I'd ever smelled.
We stepped inside and into an entryway that looked as if it was straight out of the nineteenth century with floral wallpaper and a thickly carved entry table. Even the light fixtures were from an earlier time.
I took a deep breath of the sugary fragrance surrounding me. "Oh my gosh, what is that? Am I in heaven? That's it. That explains everything."
Holt waved me inside. "O.K. then, snow angel, the real heaven is waiting in the form of a fresh cupcake. Just head down that narrow hallway, and you'll find the bakery."
"Wait, aren't you going with me?"
"I've got to pull your car out of the snow before it gets completely buried. Coco is probably in the bakery right now. She'll take care of you."
I watched as he walked out, leaving a glittery trail of snow behind him as he went. It reminded me of a scene in Hell's Rangers when Ziggy Holt kills a wraith and its silvery blood follows him back to the shadow lands.
The door shut behind him.
"Holt, is that you?" a friendly voice called from down the hallway.
"No, he just walked out," I called back.
"Oh, Jen, you made it."
I stood stock-still trying to decide if I'd actually heard my name. It wasn't possible but then impossible seemed to be the order of the day. I headed in the direction of the voice and quickly found myself standing in a charming bakery where cute tables had been set with antique chairs, white lacy tablecloths and flower filled vases. Pink roses, in fact. Like the ones on the website.
A long glass counter gleamed beneath a row of pendant lights. Its shelves were overflowing with pastries and cakes of every shape and color.
I heard movement in the next room, the kitchen I could only presume because that was where the delicious smells seemed to be starting from.
A woman walked around the corner holding a tray of cupcakes. "Here, let me help you with that." I rushed toward the woman, who had come round corner looking slightly hunched and gray with age. But by the time I'd circled the counter to help what I thought was an elderly woman burdened with a heavy tray, she turned out to be a beautiful, young woman with shiny dark hair and sparkling eyes. The hunched shoulders and stooped posture were gone, as if wiped away by a digital artist's magic eraser.
I lowered my hands. "Oh, I'm sorry. For a moment I thought you were—" I stopped talking, not sure where I was going with it.
The woman smiled graciously and placed her tray on the counter. It was filled with rows of shiny pink cupcakes. Each tiny cake was topped with pink and purple sugar crystals.
She wiped her fingers on her apron and stuck out a hand that was most definitely the hand a young woman. "I'm Coco, the innkeeper." She motioned toward the tray. "And baker. Please help yourself. They're sugarplum."
I took a step back as if someone had just popped me in the stomach. "The website. It was you. But how? How do you know me?"
Coco leaned down and pulled a stack of white napkins from under the counter. The faint smile on her face assured me she wasn't going to divulge any of her secrets. "Let's just say, I know when a heart needs a little mending. And yours needed it. You have been focused on the wrong man. You spend your day creating fantasy characters. It's time you created a little fantasy of your own." Before I could find any words to respond, she held up a cupcake. "Give them a try. I haven't made sugarplum cupcakes in decades. It's sort of an old-fashioned flavor. I'm surprised a young, hip girl like you even knows about it."
I took the cupcake from her hand as I quickly tried to calculate how it was possible that she hadn't baked sugarplum cupcakes in decades when she couldn't have been more than three decades old herself. It was another mystery unsolved, but since it was starting to hurt my head thinking about it all, I decided to give it a rest and try the cupcake.
Like everything else in the place, it was magical. A hint of vanilla in a fluffy cake that surrounded a smooth, fruity filling and the frosting was pure buttery bliss. The sugar crystals on top added just the right kick.
"Wow. I'll be honest. I've never had a sugarplum cupcake. I just made it up. It has to do with a running joke at work." I took another bite, and it melted in my mouth. "But now I know what I've been missing."
"Terrific. I'll get you a cup of coffee to go with it. Then I'll show you to your room." She slipped into the kitchen before I could ask her what the heck she was talking about.
I walked over to a table and sat down. I was still feeling a little shaky, not so much from the accident but from everything that had happened after it, the sudden change of landscape, Holt's appearance and uncanny likeness to the game character I'd been developing a crush on for months and the Silk Stocking Inn being not just a prank but a real life place. And now the finale—sugarplum cupcakes and an innkeeper who seemed to know me better than I knew myself.
Coco returned with a steaming cup of coffee and cream to put in it. She placed it in front of me.
"It's very nice of you to open up a room for me, but I won't be staying. My friends are expecting me at Swanson's Ski Lodge. I'll be on the road just as soon as Holt pulls my car free from the snow."
Big footsteps pounded the hallway floor behind me. "Sorry, Jen, but that's not going to happen."
I spun around. Holt's shoulders spanned the entire doorway. He'd taken off his racing gear and stripped down to a black and white sweater that hugged every bulging muscle. The black snow pants and snow boots topped off the look. He truly did belong in a video game.
He lowered my suitcase to the floor. "You tweaked your front axle when you flew off the road. I towed the car up to the inn. I have a mechanic friend a few miles down the road. If you want, I can have him pick it up with his tow truck. Won't take him long to fix it."
"That would be wonderful. How soon can he be here?"
"He'll be back on the mountain tomorrow."
"What? No. That's not soon enough."
"Sorry. He's down in the city visiting his mom."
"Jeez, I knew I shouldn't have come up here. I should have listened to my more reasonable self and stayed home."
"Nonsense." Coco placed her hand on my shoulder. "You won't regret the trip up the mountain. I promise. Grab your coffee and I'll show you to your room."
Coco had this way about her that you not only didn't have a chance to protest, but you sort of didn't want to. She had such a welcoming, confident way about her, it was hard to say no to her.
Coffee in one hand and suitcase in the other, I trudged behind her, almost in a trance about everything that had happened. One minute, I was standing at my computer trying to decide why I would even consider spending the weekend in a ski lodge with Stan. The next, I was in some strange place surrounded by a flurry of impossible coincidences, including a six foot two one, who just happened to look like the game character I'd finished creating.
Was it possible I’d hit my head when the car went off the road? Even if I had, it wouldn't explain anything. Maybe what I needed was a nap. Tanya was never going to believe this.
I stopped two steps up. "Wait. I have to call my friend. She'll be worried. I think my cell phone is in the car."
"It won't matter." Coco was standing several steps up. “The inn doesn't have much reception. We are what you tech people call 'off the grid'.” My gosh, she even knew I was a techie. I should have been creeped out, but oddly enough—I wasn't. She just didn't have a creepy aura to her. She had more of an 'everything is much greener on my side of the world' thing going for her.
"If you don't mind climbing back onto the snowmobile, I can give you a ride to the gas station down the road. Best reception in a five mile radius." Holt's voice had
that deep, smooth sound that could lull even the most uptight woman into an erotic spell. It sounded even better as it rumbled off the narrow stairwell.
I turned back to look at him. "As long as you don't mind. I feel like I've already cut into your racing practice. I hate to take any more of your day."
"No problem at all. Just meet me out front. Dress warm. The snow is falling harder now."
I hurried my pace and caught up to Coco on the landing.
She pushed open the door to a bedroom at the top of the stairs. It was lushly decorated in antiques, quilts and pillows. Even the curtains on the window evoked a nostalgic feeling of a past life when houses like the inn were richly decorated in floral brocade. In the center of the big room sat a massive bed with intricately carved posts and a lacy canopy dangling overhead. It was almost impossible to see the bed beneath the sea of pillows.
I stepped into the room and lowered my bag to the floor. "Do you want my credit card now or when I leave?"
"What would I need your credit card for?" Coco busied herself fluffing the already fluffy pillows on the bed.
"Uh, for the bill?"
She patted the final layer of pillows. "This is a complimentary weekend. No credit card needed."
"But—"
Coco pushed open the door to the bathroom. It was elegant and surprisingly modern, complete with a kickass soaker tub positioned under a window.
"Oh wow. Best bathroom ever. Am I allowed to use the tub?"
She laughed. "Of course. Bubble bath and a robe are in the closet. And if there's anything else you need just let me know." She headed to the door but stopped and pointed back at me. "Is homemade lasagna all right for dinner?"
"Homemade lasagna? It's my favorite."
"I know. That's why I'm cooking it." She flashed a smile, and for a second, some of the lines around her eyes that I'd seen on first glance returned. But they vanished in an instant. Then she slipped out the door. I stood in the center of the room, dumbfounded and speechless and excited as heck to try out the tub. But first I needed to ride with Holt to the best phone reception in town. Tanya would be wondering where the hell I was, and when I told her, she was going to think I'd lost my mind. And maybe I had. But if this was what crazy felt like, then sign me up for the asylum.
