by Stacy Gail
“Thomas will agree with anything Olivia says because she’s broken him with her deadly combination of freckled cuteness and bossy domination. The man had no chance.” Leaving the doorway, Quinn wandered over to where she stood, frowned down at her, and before she knew what he was going to do, reached out and pulled on a strand of her hair. “Boing.”
Holy crap, he’d pulled her hair.
“Quinn!” Olivia gasped while Mia gaped at him. “I’m telling your mother!”
“A phrase I’ve heard from my brat of a cousin my entire frigging life,” he confided to Mia, who was still staring at him. Her expression seemed to amuse him, because he raised a slow brow at her. “What?”
Did she have to explain? Really? “You just pulled my hair.”
“Don’t tell me no one’s ever pulled on one of your corkscrew curls just to watch it bounce back. I could do that all day and not get bored.” As if to prove it, he reached up to do it again. This time, however, she was ready for it and smacked him on the knuckles.
“You’re right, I have had my hair pulled plenty of times—when I was in kindergarten. That’s when I learned to beat the crap out of anyone who tried.”
“Feisty.” To her shock he grinned down at her, as if her smacking his hand was the most hilarious thing ever. “I’ll bet all the kids who pulled your hair in kindergarten were little boys. Am I right?”
“Maybe.” Almost against her will, her attention shifted to his long hair, a silken black curtain falling over his shoulder. “Any little girls ever pull your hair?”
“Little girls? No. Big girls, however, are a different story. Three guesses as to when they’ve done it.”
“Okay, TMI.” Resolutely Olivia came over to shove Quinn toward the open door, looking like a teacup Yorkie taking on a Rottweiler. “First rule according to Miss Manners, dumbass—don’t freak out your houseguest. She’s going to be here a while, so we want to make her as comfortable as possible.”
“A while?” Mia stepped forward, taking her carry-on with her. “Oh, boy. I guess the airport isn’t open yet?”
The question had Quinn and Olivia glancing back at her, then at her carry-on.
Then they both burst out laughing.
Oh shit.
“Your optimism’s great, but it’s nowhere near reality, Red.” Quinn moved back to where she stood and put his hand over hers where it rested on the carry-on’s extended handle. It was even warmer than it had been when he’d helped her feed herself, and so distracting she almost missed what he said. “The main reason why I didn’t want to take you or any of the plane’s passengers in was because of where we are now—Whiteout Mountain Ski Resort and Spa. It’s an all-amenities luxury resort that’ll be officially open for business on the first day of winter. It’s got seven ski lifts and one gondola literally right outside the resort’s door for ideal ski-in, ski-out access. Those lifts lead to thirty brand new ski runs, ten of them being Black Diamond, and we just finished construction on the snowboard half-pipe just beyond the main building’s viewing terrace when the storm hit.”
“Sounds lovely,” Mia managed faintly, trying to keep the dismay out of her voice. “But, uh… what did you mean about reality?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Like all mountain-based businesses, there’s always a danger of getting socked in during a bad blow like this one. Glacier Park International might be opening again soon, I haven’t been told one way or another. But since we’re higher in elevation and getting our ass handed to us by this storm, we’re not going to be able to get down the mountain until we can see where the road is.”
There was so much information he’d handed her that she couldn’t begin to process it all. The one thing that stood out, however, was the point that mattered most. “Are you saying that I might be stuck here after the airport opens and my flight to Seattle leaves?”
He kept his gaze locked on hers. “Could happen. Don’t know if it will, but yeah. Maybe. I had a choice, Red,” he went on when she simply stared up at him, willing him with all her devastated might to change his answer so that she could get to Seattle and fix what was broken in her life. “And that choice was this—ditch your ass at The Diner Bell, which meant you wouldn’t have slept and would’ve been even more out of it and probably sick with fatigue by then, or get you to a nice warm feather bed with a cozy fire in one of the quiet guestrooms here in Whiteout Mountain’s Presidential Chalet. I chose to get you what you needed the most, and Seattle wasn’t on that list.”
“But…” As much as she wanted to argue with him—and she seriously wanted to argue—she couldn’t deny she’d been at the breaking point. Her body couldn’t have gone on any longer without the sleep she’d gotten.
With that inescapable truth ringing through her well-rested, rejuvenated body, she had the grace to feel ashamed. “I’m sorry, Boom. Of course you’re right.”
“I love hearing that.” The hand on top of hers gave a quick squeeze. “Say it again.”
Damn, the man could be charming, in a pushy, know-it-all kind of way. “Every step of the way you’ve done everything possible to save me, a total stranger, when you didn’t have to. I swear I’m very grateful, and I’m sorry if I sounded like a jerk. It’s no big deal if I miss my original flight. I’ll just book another flight if I have to.”
“If you were trying to sound like a jerk, you totally suck at it, because all I heard was you being sweet,” he murmured low, studying the face she’d turned up to his. Then he took a deep breath and backed up, removing his hand from hers to lean back against a counter. It was crazy, how she had to force herself to ignore how cold her hand was without the cover of his. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t want to leave here, once all is said and done. It’s not every day you get to kick it in a Presidential Chalet, am I right?”
“Can you tell Quinn’s proud of his new baby?” Olivia shook her head as she took in her cousin’s expression. “He fully expects guests to never want to leave once they get here.”
“Cuz, why the hell would anyone want to leave perfection?”
“Oh, I don’t know—families, loved ones, jobs and lives to get back to. That kind of thing.”
“All that shit’s overrated.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “That reminds me, Mia. Since my cousin is a total tech junkie and he wanted this place wired so that even big-time television satellite vans for sporting events could be accommodated—”
“Give me five years,” Quinn broke in, and the sudden fire in his eyes was enough to make any girl catch her breath. “Whiteout’s going to be the place for extreme Alpine sports, and maybe even some summer sports, if I work it right. Whistler, Aspen and Vail better watch their backs.”
“Dude, I’ve drunk the Kool Aid, all right? All I was going to say was that because of your ambitious foresight, we have great wifi and cell phone reception up here. So Mia, if you haven’t already contacted your family to let them know you’re okay, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Mia’s thoughts zeroed in on her aunt, who was expecting her back to work on Tuesday. “You’re right, I need to do that eventually.”
“What you really need to do,” Quinn said, bringing her attention back to him, “is get yourself unpacked, grab something to eat, and make yourself at home. I’ve got something to do at the main building but I’ll be back in about an hour, and I’ll give you a tour so you can see what an epic upturn your life has taken.” Pushing away from the counter, he once again got a hold of her carry-on and headed back toward her room. “By the end of the day, I’ll bet real money you’ll be tempted to forget about wanted to be anywhere else but Whiteout.”
The snow was coming down as hard as ever as Quinn ducked through the sliding glass doors of Whiteout Mountain’s main resort building. Passing through the vestibule—the anteroom where guests could kick off the worst of the snow on the corrugated rubber mats underfoot—he moved through the set of automatic interior doors, shrugging out of his coat as he went.
He loved
walking into the resort. To him, it was walking into his dreams.
The cavernous interior of the lobby had balconies on all four floors looking down into it, and with the railings, walls, stairs and floors done in highly polished wood treated to look as though it had been aged to a golden patina, the lobby had the ambiance of a luxury mountain home. Outlining the main seating area were resin recreations of massive redwood trunks, and they rose all the way to the ceiling decorated with geometric skylights. While redwoods weren’t indigenous to that part of the country, they were his favorite features of the lobby, closely followed by the sunlit atrium separating the conference wing from the main building.
It had taken two years of his life to build this, his dream on Whiteout Mountain. Two years of relying on courage he hadn’t known he had as he sank every penny he had into it. Two years of unbelievable sacrifice and gut-wrenching loss. He’s expected the sacrifice; he’d been prepared to lose his shirt financially, even if the thought made his blood run cold.
But the loss…
That had surprised the hell out of him, and not it a good way. For a long time that loss had been devastating. Crippling, even.
But he’d survived.
Grim-faced, Quinn hardened his heart when the first stirrings of pain tried to ooze its way to the surface. Fuck them, he thought viciously. Fuck them all, the haters who hadn’t supported what he’d needed to do with his life. When he’d first started out on this project two years ago, he’d had a family as well as a girlfriend who’d been in and out of his life since high school. He’d assumed that they were the people who could always be counted on to be there.
Now he knew better.
That was fine. He didn’t need people he couldn’t count on. He didn’t need anyone. He’d built his dream alone, and in two weeks his dream would finally become a reality. Whiteout Mountain would be open to the public.
He couldn’t wait.
Couldn’t wait for his dream to be realized.
Couldn’t wait for Lorette and all his so-called family to go fuck themselves.
“Uncle Alex.” Rounding the front desk, Quinn came up to fifty-something Alex Muir, a big, burly man with sandy-gray curly hair that needed a trim, and half-glasses perched on his nose. A frown etched itself between the older man’s bushy brows as he counted a stack of boxes and checked things off on a clipboard he held. “Please tell me everything came in yesterday, ‘cause there’s nothing going up or down this mountain for the next couple of days. It’s brutal out there.”
“You got it, bud. The last shipment of pro shop stuff that we’ve been expecting came right before the storm hit. That means Emma is going to start earning her keep around here and learning what the word inventory means.”
“Sounds good.” Quinn had serious doubts about whether his young cousin, a high school senior who’d never had a job in her life, was ready to do a day’s work for a day’s pay, but he was willing to give her a chance. Considering that many on the Kingfisher side of his family had decided he was now dead to them, he had to take what he could get.
Again the bitter fury tried to rise up like the poison it was. He froze everything inside him until he felt nothing. That anger wouldn’t own him, or distract him. The only thing he’d ever allow it to be was the fuel that fired his determination to accomplish everything he’d set out to do.
Success, as far as he was concerned, would be his greatest revenge on everyone who’d left him like he was nothing.
“I hear you took a delivery early this morning yourself.”
That brought his attention back to his uncle. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Khrys, down at the diner.”
He should have known. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Said you were getting mighty cozy with one of those plane people that got stuck here—a redhead that was snuggled right up to you. Does Khrys have that right, or was she seeing things?”
“The lady I was with was definitely a redhead, though if you ask her, she’ll give you some crap about being a strawberry blonde.” He shrugged and ignored the fact that he hadn’t answered the question. “You haven’t seen my mother around here by any chance, have you?”
Alex pointed his pen in the direction of the offices behind the counter, his mouth pinching just a little in irritation. “She said she wanted to go over the personnel roster with you. She sounded happy, but then she usually does. So, what’s the redhead’s name? Did you really bring her here to Whiteout? Is she cute?”
“Mia Flowers, and yeah to everything else.” With a wave of farewell he made his escape to the offices, inwardly shaking his head. Maybe it was for the best the majority of his family had bailed on him, he considered as he made his way through two rows of desks to the very back, where his private office was located. The one thing he hadn’t missed these past two years was the affectionately nosy interference of a family that basically populated the northwestern portion of Montana.
“There you are.” Bright-eyed and smiling, his mother straightened from where she rested on the edge of his desk, a tablet in hand, and gave him a quick hug with her free arm. Elise Muir-Kingfisher, a product of Billings, Montana was still a statuesque blonde who could turn heads, but she had always seemed completely unaware of it. The one thing she did seem to be aware of was her much-adored husband, a fact which had amused Quinn and his older brother Brody while growing up. Now, however, it was something he did his best to ignore. “You’re going to be so thrilled. The official Housekeeping roster is now full.”
“Seriously?” Quinn couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he pulled up to the desk while she sat on the other side of it. “How’d you manage that?”
“A friend of a friend who moved here from Billings with her sister not too long ago was just right for the executive housekeeping position, and her sister decided to join us in the laundry. Now all we need is a nighttime manager with concierge experience and we’ll be all set.”
Satisfaction curled through him. Another problem checked off the list. “If we have to, I can pinch hit the graveyard concierge position until we can find someone else. You’re a freaking miracle worker.”
She beamed. “I am, aren’t I?”
“You know it. Anything else?”
“Yes.” She leaned her arms on the desk with a confidential air. “Tell me all about the redhead.”
Damn it, Khrys. “I take it you mean Mia Flowers?”
“Oh, what a cute name. Did you really bring her all the way up here to Whiteout?”
“State Highway closed the roads by the time we headed out for the airport, so I didn’t have a choice. She’s taking being stranded on a Montana mountain really well, considering her plans were to have a quick weekend in Seattle.”
She made a sound of sympathy. “Poor thing. She must be stressed out of her mind.”
“Like I said, Mia’s taking it like a champ.” And she was. He’d expected drama worthy of a daytime soap opera, and he’d seen the emotional storm rising when he’d told Mia she wasn’t going anywhere. But she’d sucked it up, then startled the crap out of him by thanking him. She’d been suffering inside, but instead of making him pay for it, she’d fucking thanked him.
Lorette never would have done that. His ex would have done her best to break him in two.
His mother’s face pulled into a concerned frown. “You said she was headed to Seattle? Does she have the right clothes to wear? We don’t want her to freeze while she’s here. Though maybe she won’t be here long enough to worry about that sort of thing.”
“Let’s dig into the pro shop stuff that came in and get her about a week’s worth of clothes—turtlenecks, hoodies, jackets, whatever. Everything, really. Wait, did we order yoga pants?” Mia would look hot in yoga pants. Those mile-long legs of hers were just about the hottest damn things he’d ever seen.
She burst out laughing. “Good grief, yoga pants? I take it the young lady has a nice figure?”
“The best.” Since his mother was going to see Mia an
yway, he might as well be honest. “Get this. She’s even taller than you are.”
“Wow, and I’ve always been a giant.”
“She can almost look me in the eye, and when she does there’s a lot to see. She’s got these pale blue eyes that are this close to looking like glacier ice. And she might be one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.” Then he thought about the reason why she was headed to Seattle. “At least in some respects.”
As he spoke, his mother’s smile grew and grew until it was a wonder it didn’t split her face. “You like her.”
He rolled his eyes. “Anyone would like Mia. She’s almost perfect.”
“Almost?”
“She thinks she’s engaged to some dude in Seattle, but there’s no ring.”
“No ring, no problem,” came the swift reply, surprising him. “All’s fair in love and war, so turn on that killer Kingfisher charm and see what happens. Oh, I can’t wait to tell your father about this.”
That shut him down like nothing else could. “Don’t. It’s none of his business, or anyone else’s, for that matter.”
Watching his mother’s smile trickle away was a sad thing to see, and Quinn laid that squarely on his father’s doorstep. “Quinn—”
“No.” He looked around his desk to make sure there were no immediate loose ends he needed deal with. It was crazy, but he had the weirdest urge to get back to Mia just to make sure she was still there. “Was there anything else?”
“Grand opening is in a couple of weeks. Why not invite your father?”
“One, because he wouldn’t come. And two, because I don’t want him on my mountain.”
She expelled an angry breath. “He’s your father, young man.”
“And I’m his son. But when I bought Whiteout Mountain, do you know what Dad had to say about it? Nothing. Not one frigging word. He wouldn’t even return my calls. Overnight, he went from my father and best friend to a goddamn ghost. I’m amazed he allows you to work here with me, he was so obviously pissed off that I didn’t follow in his footsteps and turn into a Kingfisher corporate drone like good little Brody.”
