by Ruth Wind
"Don't worry about me," she said, coolly, but her breathing betrayed her.
He kissed her, hard, and let her go. "Go let them in. I'll be right out."
* * *
Anna fled the small bathroom. In the main room, she had to pause, fighting to control the tears of rage and pain and humiliation that swelled up in her chest, crowding her throat, flooding her cheeks with heat. On the floor were the remains of the meal they'd shared, and the bed was mussed, and she knew she looked as if she'd spent the night doing exactly what she had.
And now she had to open the door to those rangers, and look them in the eye and act as if everything were perfectly normal. Fat chance.
Only the sound of the bathroom door opening spurred her on. Smoothing her wild hair from her face, she hurried to the front door and opened it. "Hi. Sorry it took so long. I wasn't dressed."
The two rangers, one skinny blond man and a woman much taller and even skinnier, looked a little abashed. "Sorry, ma'am," said the woman. "We were told you'd been stranded here. Is that your Jeep by the avalanche?"
"Yes. I walked back here when I couldn't get through the road. It seemed smarter than trying to hike to town."
The man nodded. "You did the right thing."
Anna felt Tyler moving behind her. "Why don't you come in?" he said. "I've got hot water for tea."
"Thank you, but we can't stay. We just wanted to let you know we've got the road nearly cleared, and you can probably hike down there by noon and drive on out."
"That's amazing!" Anna exclaimed. "How did you get it taken care of so fast?"
"Storm blew itself out about midnight, and that's an access road to the communications towers for three counties. It's high-priority."
"Thank you."
She closed the door behind them, carefully avoiding Tyler's eyes as she moved toward the mess by the fire. Stiffly, she picked up the plates and brandy glasses and cups, trying very hard not to let any of it remind her of what had passed between them. Without speaking, she carried them to the sink.
Tyler stepped aside, careful to avoid letting their bodies touch, and the small avoidance pierced her. Emotions crowded into her throat again, and she turned away blindly, determined he would not see how she felt, how much it had all meant to her.
In a voice devoid of emotion, he said, "I saved some hot water, if you want to take a shower. There are towels in the closet."
"Thank you," she said politely, and was proud of the steady sound of her voice.
In the tiny pine-paneled room, Anna was glad of the chance to wash the night from her, wash away the sweat and the stickiness of lovemaking, wash the scent of wood smoke out of her hair and the taste of Tyler's kisses from her mouth. When she emerged, she was again just Anna, who had learned a valuable lesson about lost princes.
When she came out, the long main room had been restored to perfect order: the bed made with its brightly colored Pendleton blanket, the couch cushions straightened and the quilt from Curtis's room evidently returned. Even the dishes had been washed and were draining in a wooden rack on the counter. Tyler was nowhere to be seen.
The light was different now. Since her arrival, the skies had been dark and overcast. Now bright sunlight streamed through the windows, giving the room an entirely changed mood. No longer enchanted, just a simple, comfortable room where a man lived with his son.
The emptiness in her belly felt like the last day of camp. She'd gone every summer to a camp in the Adirondacks, and every year the last day of camp, with the mattresses stripped and the fires dead and the meadows where they'd sung songs all empty, had been a misery to her. There had always been a sense of precious things forever lost, things only lightly touched again when the photos came back.
But then, as now, there was nothing to be done. The idyll was over. This time she didn't even have pictures to remember, only the memories she'd tucked carefully into a secret box in her mind, to be reviewed later, when it wasn't all so raw and strange.
She picked an apple out of a bowl and bit into it, looking out the kitchen window. The house butted so close to the forest that there was no view of sky and mountain, as there would be from the front, only thick stands of old trees, their branches heavy with snow that sparkled in the bright sunlight penetrating in thin shafts through the dense growth. In summer they probably saw deer in that forest, she thought absently. Deer and raccoons and all sorts of other creatures. There would be blue columbines and those red bells and other wildflowers.
Now, into the snowy landscape, ran an exuberant dog—Charley, doing an awkward, bobbing leap into the trees after a stick. He dived after it joyously, coming up with his nose full of snow, the stick in his teeth.
And behind him came Tyler, laughing as she'd never seen him laugh. His long blond hair had been pulled back, and he looked vigorous, and healthy, and beautiful, as if the land itself had created him from sky and sunlight and the fast-running crystal waters. In response, her heart squeezed hard. He was a prince, she thought wistfully, a prince of the mountain.
Wistfully, she touched her messy black curls and remembered she was after all only a peasant from below, who'd wandered into his realm by mistake, and been given one enchanted night to love him. She'd touched the magic that was Tyler.
A vision of taking his angled, sober, hungry face into her hands and kissing him sweetly floated over her eyes, and another, of him pausing to look at her in perplexity and wonder and pleasure. Watching him dance in the snow with his dog, laughing as he never did with people, Anna realized she had touched him with magic of her own. The enchantment had come from her. She had been given a bittersweet gift, but she'd given one, as well.
The knowledge eased the thick sorrow she felt, and she tossed the apple core into a bag of trash. There had been magic afoot, but it wasn't hers to know what purpose it had served, and it would be churlish to ask for more than she'd been given.
But she paused, watching him through the window. "I think I love you, Tyler Forrest," she said aloud. Then she set about the practical business of getting ready to go.
Back to reality.
* * *
Tyler and Charley drove her down to her Jeep. The cellular phone was working again, and Tyler had called down to his mother to let her know he was going to fetch his son in a few hours. He told Anna he'd feel better following her down anyway, in case there were any problems.
Anna was anxious to get back home. Tyler had not spoken more than the absolutely essential words since they awakened this morning. He didn't look at her, or make polite conversation, or anything else. The awkwardness was driving her crazy.
The Jeep was parked right where she'd left it, a few feet away from what had been an avalanche. A bulldozer was still working on the lower levels, but a path through the tons of earth and snow and tree branches had been cleared.
Tyler whistled softly. "You're damned lucky you didn't get caught in that."
"Tell me about it." She scowled. "I'm not sure I'm crazy about driving through that little tunnel, either. Is it safe, do you think?"
"You'll be fine. That's what all-terrain vehicles are all about."
She pushed the door open. "Okay, then."
"Anna."
A sword of anticipation and worry went through her chest. She looked back.
Tyler looked at her very soberly, his pale eyes full of emotion. "I—" He shook his head. He reached out and touched her cheek, very gently, with the backs of his fingers. She saw him swallow. "Drive carefully."
"Tell your mother I'll see her tomorrow at work," she said, and got out, closing the door gently behind her. As if this were all perfectly normal, she lifted a hand in a casual farewell and climbed into her own truck. It started immediately, and Anna left it running while she cleared the windows of snow and shoved nearly a foot of snow off the hood.
Then there was nothing to do but climb in, and drive down the mountain. It didn't seem to take very long, and when they reached the main byway through town, Anna felt one more cl
utch of sorrow as Tyler turned one way and she turned another.
It was done.
* * *
Louise Forrest was dispensing chocolate chip cookies to her grandsons, Curtis and Cody, when Tyler arrived. In a fine fury, by the look of him as he stormed up the driveway. Smiling secretly, she put the cookies away and composed her face before he reached the door. "Curtis, baby, your daddy is here."
"Oh, boy!" The child jumped down and ran toward the door, hurtling into his father's arms the instant he walked in. "Daddy! I mithed you! Do you got my bear?"
Tyler growled. "I'm a bear," he said, and chomped playfully at the boy's shoulder. "Will I do?"
"No, my real bear!"
"Well, no, I didn't bring it, Curtis. I thought you were coming home with me. Aren't you?"
Curtis looked over his shoulder. "Gramma. You were thuppothed to tell him."
Tyler looked at Louise guardedly. "What?"
"Tamara and Lance have to go to Denver, and I told them I'd keep Cody for the weekend. Curtis wants to stay and camp in the basement. Remember how you boys used to love that?"
A dark flicker crossed Tyler's face, and she could see that he wanted the boy home with him. "I don't know—"
"Oh, Tyler Forrest, where is your sense of childhood? Honestly, neither one of these boys has a playmate, and they get lonely."
"Yeah, Daddy," Curtis said guilelessly, putting his hands on his father's face.
"Me, too," Tyler said.
"But you can't be lonely now," Curtis said. "Miss Anna came to play with you through the whole blizzard."
Louise stifled a guffaw at that, but not quickly enough. Hot color rushed into Tyler's face, and seeing it, Louise wanted to run into the privacy of the kitchen to do a little victory dance.
She restrained herself as Tyler put Curtis down. "You can stay, but you boys go on and let me talk to your grandma for a minute."
"Yippee!" they cried, and ran off to the bedroom. Louise met her son's eyes. The stain of his anger or embarrassment—or likely both—highlighted the finely crafted planes of his cheekbones, and she thought with a motherly sense of satisfaction that he was a very handsome man. All three of her boys were good-looking, of course, but where Lance was rakish and Jake dangerous, there was an air of romanticism about Tyler. "Come on in the kitchen," she said, taking the opening move. "I've got some dishes to wash right quick."
"Mother."
The word was autocratic. She raised her brows. "Yes?"
"What were you thinking?"
"About what?"
His eyes narrowed. "Don't play that game with me. I watched you set up Jake, and watched him take that fall, and you may have been right to do it, because I see my brother is a much happier man." His mouth hardened. "But don't you dare try matchmaking me again, do you understand?"
Louise sobered at the genuine anger in his voice. "Tyler, I wasn't trying to matchmake you, just trying to help you see that your world doesn't have to be so isolated."
He looked down, and she had a sense of a struggle coming from him, as hot and wild as she could have hoped for, but she also sensed that she might have been wrong this time. His jaw went hard after a moment, and his eyes were hard crystal points when he raised his gaze. "Mama, she's a nice girl, but that's a heart that could be shattered into a million pieces. Is that what you want?"
Louise thought of the exuberant young woman who had brought so much zest into her life in the past few months. "No, son," she said quietly, and sank down into a chair. "That isn't what I want at all."
"Then stay out of it." His control wavered, and Louise saw a bright, hot pain flash in his eyes before he cloaked himself again in stoicism. "Just mind your own business."
"I'm sorry, Tyler," she said sincerely.
He sighed, then relented and kissed her head. "I know. I'll see you Monday, I guess."
Before he could go, however, Louise had to ask. "Is she okay?"
He looked away, and on the flesh of his neck, Louise saw what his collar had hidden until now, the dark bruising made only in passion. "I don't honestly know," he said in a soft voice.
Pretending she had seen nothing, Louise nodded. "She's a lot stronger than she looks, kiddo. Trust me."
She watched as he made his way back to his truck, feeling a curious mixture of hope and worry at the uncommon disturbance surrounding her son. He'd genuinely loved his wife, and if Louise had always thought Kara a bit too shallow and controlling to be a good wife to Tyler, it had only been her own opinion and hadn't changed the way he'd felt about her. His grief had been acute and deep, and Louise had always suspected that it was only for Curtis that Tyler hadn't given up and followed the woman to the grave.
Thank God.
But his loneliness had begun to eat at her the past year. He likely didn't even know it showed, the way he watched his brothers with their wives, the way he sat off by himself at gatherings. She thought of him, all alone at night, so far from female companionship, and felt sad for him.
Anna had never admitted her crush on Tyler, but Louise wasn't blind. The girl's eyes shone like diamonds when her son appeared. And Louise had not missed the restlessness Ty showed when Anna was around. He couldn't sit still. He paced and prowled and growled like some cornered forest creature, and Louise had thought it was a very good thing. He was attracted to the vibrance of the exuberant Anna.
Biting her lip, Louise wondered if she'd been wrong. Anna would pay the price for this matchmaking attempt, not Louise. Louise had only wanted to give Tyler a chance, to let him find out he was still really alive, but she hadn't stopped to imagine what the consequences of failing would be.
For Anna. Louise had not thought enough about poor Anna.
* * *
Chapter 9
« ^ »
Winter in the mountains was long, and as much as she enjoyed it, by the end of January, Anna was beginning to weary of it. They would not see real spring until almost May, and the thought depressed her. Worse than the snows and the long, gloomy nights were the falsely bright January days that brought skiers to town in droves, crowding restaurants and the streets and even the grocery store, where Anna had to wait in line for what seemed like hours even when she ran in for a gallon of milk.
She supposed it was self-defense that made her so sleepy. Like a bear, she would just hibernate the rest of the season. For a week now, she'd been slow to awaken, lost in a thick dream world where flowers bobbed on the high slopes and the skiers had mercifully departed until next season.
One morning she overslept, never even stirring when the alarm went off. Only heaven knew how long she would have drifted in that sunny, narcotically spring-scented world if the phone had not awakened her.
"Anna?" It was Louise, and for a long, long minute, Anna couldn't seem to drag herself close enough to the real world to even speak. She nodded, blinking, then realized Louise couldn't see her.
"Honey, did I wake you up? Do you know what time it is?"
She looked at the clock. As if splashed with water, she sat straight up, remembering that it was Saturday, and in exactly one hour and forty-five minutes a special living-history presentation would begin at the museum. Anna had about twenty stops to make between now and then.
"I'm up," she said. "I'm sorry, I overslept. I'll be by in twenty minutes for the baked goods. Are they ready?"
"Do you want me to have someone else come fetch them? Or I can take them down in about an hour, if that would be easier. The last bit of peanut brittle is almost done, but I can't leave it."
Anna tossed her hair out of her eyes. "No," she said. "I'll just jump, in the shower and be there in a minute."
"Are you all right?"
Anna laughed bemusedly. "I feel great, except I sleep like a hibernating bear."
"You'll feel better when spring comes." Louise paused. "You aren't going to run off on me like all the rest of them, are you? You will get used to the winter here in time."
Anna smiled. "I have no intention of going anywhe
re, Louise. I signed a contract for three years, and I won't leave you. I'll get used to it—or at least learn to live with it."
"You will. We all get the blues this time of year. Trust me, if an old Texan girl could get used to it, it'll be a piece of cake for a New Yorker."
"I will, Louise. Don't worry. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
She raced through her shower, and left her hair to do its wild curl bit on her shoulders, without bothering with a barrette. She didn't have to be dressed professionally, since she would change into a costume when she arrived at the museum, and it was a good thing, since nothing fit. Her appetite had also increased—as if she really were going into hibernation, she was ravenous all day long. She hadn't checked the actual gain on a scale, but by the fit of her clothes, she'd put on about ten pounds in a couple of months. At this rate, she'd be as big as a bear by spring. She scowled and resolved to pay attention to what she put in her mouth from now on.
Naturally, because she was running so late this morning, the one bra that was still relatively comfortable broke a strap when she put it on, and she had to squeeze herself into another one that she hated, not only for the strangling fit, but also for a weird thread problem that always irritated her skin. Her good jeans were in the laundry, and she had to toss through the drawers looking for another pair that would still button.
At least her red sweater was clean, and it loaned her enough color that she could get away without makeup, which saved another ten minutes. Scrambling through the cupboards, she found half a sleeve of pecan sandies and two apples. The fridge was even worse—a chunk of cheese and a bottle of lemonade.
She'd start paying attention to her diet tomorrow, she thought, and grabbed everything and tossed it all into a canvas bag. Taking the list of errands from the bulletin board on the wall, she hit the Jeep at a run, her boots squeaking on the frozen snow in her yard.
In spite of the irritating need to rush, once she got outside, her spirits soared. It was a crisp, cold day, the sky blazing with bright morning sunlight that made of the mountains an elegant blue-and-white tapestry strung across the horizon.
