by Oliver, Tess
"I'm feeling pretty much back to normal. But I'm hungry."
"Yep, I was thinking the same thing." Holt leaned over me and kissed me. "I've spent the last twenty minutes watching you sleep. Very cute, by the way. And all the while, I was trying to decide just how wrong it would be for me to take advantage of my sleeping snow angel after she'd been through a scary ordeal. But now that you're awake—"
I didn't let him finish. I threw my arms around his neck and pulled his mouth back down to mine. We clumsily hurried to pull each other's clothes off. By the time we were down to underwear, we were both frenzied with wanting each other.
He'd come through the snow to save me. My fantasy hero had rescued me from certain death and now it felt as if he'd carved his initials in my heart. Even if I never saw him again after I left the inn, I would never, ever forget him.
He pulled me beneath him and nearly ripped my panties as he yanked them off. He hesitated long enough to roll on a condom before positioning his long hard body between my legs. His hand rested against my face and his thumb brushed over my eyebrow as he gazed down at me. "Never expected someone like you to walk into my life, Jen."
His words tugged at my chest, filling me with hope that this weekend wouldn't be both the start and the end.
Holt's hand slid underneath my bottom, lifting me to meet his cock. He stared down at me as he pushed inside of me one inch at a time.
"Oh, Holt," I sighed as he landed back in that magic sweet spot he'd awakened.
I lifted my hips to meet his thrusts. The fire crackled at our feet as we rocked in perfect rhythm. A sheen of sweat covered our bodies, and the friction between us grew like the fire in the hearth. It was impossible to think that just hours earlier I’d been so cold I was sure I'd lose toes.
My pussy still ached from the sex we'd had all night and yet each time he slammed into me, I wanted more. The tender pain was the thing that would take me over the edge.
I threw my legs around him and he dove deeper, so deep that a gasp flew from my mouth. Holt froze and looked down at me. "Did I hurt you?"
I reached up and stroked his face. My fingers stuttered over the thick beard stubble on his jaw. "Only in the best possible way." I tightened my legs around him and lifted my hips to him.
I grasped the blankets beneath me, trying to hold onto something, worried that I might just be carried away by the orgasm building in my body.
"Yes, fuck yes," I cried as I felt my pussy clench down around him.
He didn't slow down. As my mind and body tried to absorb the vibrations of ecstasy pulsing through me, Holt groaned and came too.
He lowered himself onto the blankets next to me. The fire was slowly dying and as our skin cooled, the air in the cabin seemed to be cooling with it. "We need to head back before dark. Coco will be worried."
I sat up. "Oh my gosh, I forgot about Coco."
Holt pulled me back down into his arms. "She'll be fine. As you might have noticed, the woman knows everything long before it happens."
"So you noticed that too?"
"Yep, but I stopped trying to understand it long ago."
I pressed my arm against my stomach to quiet the hunger growls. "She was going to make me tomato soup and biscuits."
"Are you trying to tell me something?"
"Yep." I sat up. "Let's go back. I'm starved. Getting lost in the snow took a lot of energy." My mind flashed back to those terrifying moments when I thought I would die alone in the snow and the grim reality of how close I came to a horrid death hit me. Tears sprang loose before I could stop them.
Holt's green eyes darkened with concern. He reached up to wipe a tear from my cheek. "Hey, Jen, it's all right. You're safe now. You're with me. I won't let anything happen to you." He sat up and pulled me onto his lap, and I had a good long cry about it. I couldn't ever remember feeling as safe as I did sitting in Holt's arms.
The ride back to the inn seemed so much shorter than I'd expected. In my mind, I'd trudged through snow for hours. But it turned out I wasn't all that far from civilization. Just really, really lost.
Coco was pulling on a bright red shawl as she came out the back door to greet us. "Hurry into the kitchen, Jen. I've got hot soup and cheddar biscuits on the table."
I looked at Holt as I climbed off the snowmobile. "How on earth did she know what time we'd be back?"
Holt shrugged. "With Coco, it's easier not to question."
Coco reached us. "There's a bowl for you too, Holt. Think you've earned it." She winked at him before taking hold of my arm. She led me toward the inn. "Everything all right?"
I glanced back at Holt and faced back forward. "Everything is just dreamy, Coco. Just dreamy."
15
After I'd filled my empty belly with two bowls of hot soup and three biscuits, I'd headed upstairs for a hot shower. Holt had taken off after the soup for racing practice but promised to return before dark.
I pulled on warm, dry clothes and headed downstairs. Yet another flurry of wonderful aromas met me at the landing. I followed my nose down the hallway to the kitchen.
It happened again, those few seconds where the vision in front of me was of an elderly woman who could have been well past eighty. But by the time the Coco glanced up from the dough she was rolling out, the young, vibrant twenty-something woman had returned.
"Are you feeling better?" she asked.
"Much. Thank you. Between the soup and the hot shower, I'm back to my old self."
"I'm glad. Thank goodness Holt was able to find you out there. I feel terrible about sending you out for a walk. I had no idea Gretel had left her den."
"Please, you have nothing to reproach yourself for. I knew she was out. I saw her last night when I was in—" I stopped myself before finishing and ended my sentence with a hot blush on my cheeks.
Coco was polite enough to ignore the whole thing. She dipped a measuring cup in a bowl of cinnamon and sugar and sprinkled a generous amount on the rolled out square of pillowy dough.
"Cinnamon rolls? When we were kids, my mom made those every Sunday. Then she went on a health kick and decided to switch Sunday breakfasts to oatmeal. It was like switching Christmas morning to a dentist visit."
Coco's laugh was the kind that could be set to music. It had a rich, lyrical quality that would be impossible to copy. "I suppose there is something to say for eating healthy, but it does take away some of the joy in life." She expertly rolled the dough into a smooth tube. "I'll leave some behind for you two tonight. They are Holt's favorite. I thought he deserved a little treat."
"Absolutely. He's a great guy. I've never met anyone else like him." With the exception of the lifelike drawing on my work computer, I added silently. "Are you leaving again?"
"Yes, I'm taking some of these rolls to a friend's house. She lives an hour away, so I usually stay the night. That way we can catch up on things and talk about the good ole' days."
I laughed at the idea of a woman who was no more than two or three decades old having tales to tell about the good ole' days. "What kind of stories would that be? Fighting over the jungle gym at recess?"
Her brilliant green eyes sparkled beneath furrowed brows as if she hadn't understood my humor. Then she smiled and picked up the first tray of rolls. I scooted around the big work island to open the oven door. She slid the pan in and gave her hands a brisk rub across her apron. "Naturally, I've got dinner prepared for you and Holt. Do you like chicken pot pie?"
"Oh yes, but I've only had the frozen kind. I imagine yours is way better."
"If I do say so myself, it's divine. I'll put the timer on so that the pies will be ready at seven. Does that work for you? I know you had soup late in the day."
"Yes," I patted my stomach. "I'm still full from the delicious soup, but I'm sure I can work up an appetite for chicken pot pie at seven." I glanced through the kitchen window. It afforded a view of the backyard and gardens, all covered in a crystal white cloth after today's snowfall. "Do you think Holt will be back by then?
"
"Well, it is Saturday night. He likes to go out to play pool and hang out with friends when he has the weekend off. But, on the other hand, he's got plenty here to bring him home early." Another wink. "If you're interested, there's a well-stocked library on the other side of the entryway. I suggest the large green velvet chair. It's extra comfy and has a great view of the lush fields running along the road. Of course, there's no green anymore, but it's still a nice view."
"That actually sounds wonderful."
"Great. I'll bring you some of my homemade butter caramel tea."
"Wow, I will not say no to butter caramel tea no matter how full I am. Thank you."
16
I turned the corner into the library. My gaze circled the entire room, taking in the polished cherry wood floor to ceiling shelves, the oil paintings framed with antique gold frames and the ornate, ivory-colored ceiling tiles. Even the furniture looked like perfectly preserved pieces from the past. It seemed my hostess took accurate and authentic restoration to a whole new level. There was even a large painting of Coco, masterfully done. She was dressed in a Victorian style dress complete with high collar and black velvet choker. Even her hair was done up with a mass of loose curls. I stepped closer to the painting. The style, the furnishings, even the pink blush and rouge on her lips made it seem as if she sat for some early nineteenth century portrait artist, which was, of course, impossible. No details had been missed. There was even a crackled look to the thickly painted colors.
I walked along the shelves. Most of the books were old classics like Wuthering Heights and Moby Dick. Astonishingly, they all looked like first editions, bound with leather and titles embossed in gold. I wondered if Coco collected the rare books or if she'd inherited them from a relative.
I ran my fingers along books and stopped at a title that I hadn't seen before. "The Matchmaker's Handbook." I pulled the book from the shelf. It, too, was bound in leather, but the letters were embossed in pink. Unlike the rest of the collection, this book was worn and faded as if it had been read many times. The top edges of the cover were frayed, and a thin purple ribbon was pulled down the middle holding a spot like a bookmark.
I carried the book to the green velvet chair, which was indeed comfy. During the short walk to the chair, I could have sworn I breathed in a sweet fragrance like brown sugar or possibly molasses. It made perfect sense if it was a book that Coco had read often. She always had some delicious scent circling about her. But then with all the amazing, award winning books in the library, why would she spend so much time browsing one that had obviously been written as a tongue and cheek how-to book?
I opened the pages and soon discovered the book had been written in some foreign language. Which language, I had no clue. It wasn't anything I'd ever seen before and some of the characters were not the usual alphabet letters. I continued on, hoping to find something, a note or pictures, to help me understand the book's contents but I found nothing. It was like looking at manual written for another time and place.
I brought the book closer to my nose. Mixed in with the sweet smells was the pungent odor of ink. It had been handwritten. Maybe it was some type of code or maybe it truly was meant to be just gibberish, a joke book.
I was about to close the book when I remembered the ribbon. I pushed my finger between the two pages that were separated by the bookmark. A picture fell out and landed in my lap. Before I'd even picked it up to look at it, I could tell by the paper and worn corners that it was a very old picture. I turned it over. My guess was verified by the faded brown and white picture on the front. It was three people, a couple dressed in the hats and clothing of the nineteenth century and another woman standing next to them in front of a house.
I brought the picture closer and gasped in surprise. It was the Silk Stocking Inn, looking much more pristine. The pink rose vines were so heavy with buds they nearly obliterated the porch. But there were no pine trees surrounding it. The landscape around it looked more like farmland, flat and treeless. Was it possible the surrounding forest was only a century old? But the tree I'd clung to for warmth had to have been well over a hundred years old. It was just too big to be less than that. It was almost as if the inn had been moved from its first location to the one here in the forest.
As I pondered all the explanations, my eyes drifted to the other woman in the photo. This time my shock caused me to drop the picture. It floated to the ground and beneath the chair. I got down on my knees, stuck my hand under the chair and reached around for it.
"Did you lose something?" Coco's voice came from behind.
I sat up fast. "Uh yes, I mean no." I rubbed my hand over the tufted rug on the floor. "Just admiring the craftsmanship of this rug." I got to my feet.
Coco lowered the steaming tea cup onto the small reading table next to the chair. Her gaze caught the book that I'd left on the chair. "Oh, that book won't do you any good. It belonged to an old aunt. Not even sure what language it’s written in." She picked it up and returned it to the shelf.
"Yes, I noticed." I was flustered and feeling a bit guilty, like the kid who just got caught reading the 'no-no' book from her dad's bookshelf, the one with the bad words and grown-up content.
Coco walked over to the window and drew back the heavy curtains. In the distance, I could see a cloud of snow as if someone was racing through it on a snowmobile.
"Looks like Holt will be back soon. See, I knew he wouldn't be kept away long. I'm going up to get dressed and then I'll be on my way."
"The tea smells wonderful," I said as she walked out.
Coco stopped in the doorway and glanced back. "I think the picture is near the back leg."
I knew my chin was on the floor as she left, but it took me a second to draw my mouth shut.
I dropped back down to my knees and reached to the back legs. My fingers plucked out the picture. I looked back to make certain Coco hadn't returned. I was alone.
I walked the picture to the window for better light. It was her. It was Coco, dressed like the couple in nineteenth century fashion. It wasn't a costume party. It wasn't a staged photo from an amusement park or photo studio. It was genuine.
The buzz of snowmobiles drew my attention from the picture to the scene outside. Two riders were racing over the icy landscape, kicking up snow and jumping over dips and hills as they went. It was easy to recognize Holt from the funky Mohawk helmet.
As they drew closer, the other rider waved and turned right to head another direction. Holt headed back toward the inn. He took off on a big jump. Defying physics, the heavy, unwieldy machine flew through the air. But the landing wasn't quite so smooth. Holt hit hard. I covered my mouth in alarm as I watched him fly over the handlebars, eventually coming to a jarring stop in a mound of snow.
I hurried to the bookshelf and pushed the picture back into the book. There was no time to grapple with the inexplicable photo now. I raced out of the library, out the front door. I had to push roses out of my way as I flew down the front steps.
The crash had happened just a block away, but I was hardly dressed for a jog in the snow. My feet were wet and my hands were frozen by the time I reached the giant mound of snow and man.
I released the breath I'd been holding when I saw him sit up and take off his helmet. "Fucking hell," he said to himself. His face shot my direction when he heard me approach.
I stopped and shoved my hands in my pockets, as if worn denim was going to be any kind of protection out on the ice. "That was pretty. Are you all right?"
"Got some bumps and bruises but I'll live." He grinned up at me. "Of course, I might need some tending once I get back to the inn. I'll bet those lips of yours will cure anything that ails me."
"Yep, you're all right." The same illogical thought process that let me think the jean pockets would provide warmth, prompted me to stick out my hand and give him a hand up. He laughed at my gesture but then took hold of my hand. Instead of me helping him up, I went down, right into his lap."
"Now this
is what I call first aid." He kissed me on the lips.
"I would say that was a great kiss only I'm not sure because I can't feel my mouth or any other parts, for that matter."
"Guess it is kind of cold out here." He helped me up, and with a groan of pain, pushed to his feet. He squinted back at the mound of snow that he'd used for his ill-fated jump. "That was all your fault."
"My fault?" I asked. "How the heck was that crazy stunt my fault?"
"It wasn't a crazy stunt. I fly over that mound every time I ride back to the inn. I've never screwed up the landing. But, there I was, sailing through the air, then without warning, an extremely hot woman appeared in the window of the inn. I lost my focus and boom. Next thing I knew, I was in the snow."
We walked back to his snowmobile which had landed right side up and was still running. "Well, since you used the phrase extremely hot woman, I won't be angry about becoming your excuse for a spectacularly bad jump."
He rested his helmet in his lap and climbed on. I straddled the seat behind him. My plans to cuddle against him for warmth were scrapped by the realization that his clothes were wet with snow.
We chugged back to the inn. Coco was just packing up her car. "I've left the timer on for the chicken pot pies. There's vanilla bean ice cream in the freezer to go with the fudge sauce I left on the stove," she called as she climbed into her car.
"Did she just say fudge sauce?" I asked.
"She did."
"God, I love that woman."
"She's a magical lady, that's for damn sure."
As he said it, my mind went back to the picture, the picture of long ago where Coco looked the same age she looked right now. Maybe she had a great aunt or great grandmother that looked exactly like her. That wasn't unheard of at all. That was it, I decided firmly. It could be the only explanation. Now everything else that had happened—no friggin' clue. I couldn't explain any of it. And frankly, I didn't want to waste a second thinking about it. I had a magnificent man who needed some 'tending' and there were chicken pot pies and fudge sauce. Fudge sauce. Naturally.
