by J. M. Snyder
“You and that crush of yours.” Monroe shook his head. “You don’t stand a chance with him, Linc.”
Lincoln scowled. “It’s not about that. I’m just trying to be nice. Jesus. Get out of here, will you?” He clapped his brother on his back and pushed him toward the driver’s door of the Jeep. “And text me when you get home. In fact, if you stop along the way for food or gas or whatever, text me then, too.”
“Yes, Dad,” Monroe said as he opened the door. Just as he slid into the seat, the first flakes of snow began to fall. “Damn it.”
“Just be careful until you’re out of the area. You’ll be okay. By the time you get up the road by Bishop, you’ll be out of the snow for sure. Probably before that even.”
“Okay.”
Lincoln squeezed his brother’s arm. “Text me from Bishop. Just so, you know…”
“Worrywart.”
“Maybe a little, but they keep saying this is supposed to be one hell of a storm up here. The sooner we all get out of here, the better I’ll feel. Bye.”
He stepped onto the sidewalk, shoving his cold hands into the pockets of his jacket, wishing he’d put on gloves before coming outside. He watched as his brother made his way out of the parking lot.
These were pretty rustic condos, really. On the outside, they were covered in wood shingles. They were two stories, four condos to a building. So two on top and two on the bottom. Ellen’s place was on the top right. It had most of the amenities. A fireplace, central heat. A kitchen, living room, dining room, and a balcony with a barbecue. That, of course, was for summer visitors. Then there were two bedrooms on the first level with a rather winding metal staircase that went up to a loft that contained a few more beds, and another bedroom with two mattresses laid out on the floor. No actual bed, just the mattresses. In that bedroom, Ellen also stored tools and old cans of paint as they were forever redoing the place.
Lincoln made his way up the stairs and opened the condo door, coming face to face with Collin in the front hallway.
“Hey. Your brother get off all right?”
“Sure did. Snow’s started, though, so you’d better get going yourself.”
Collin nodded. “I’ve seen worse snow then this, trust me. Right after high school, I lived in Buffalo for about five years.” He grinned. “Now that was snow. Listen, I tried to wake Sam, but he was having none of it.”
Lincoln chuckled. “I’ll take care of it. Drive safe and say ‘hello’ to Patsy for me.”
Patsy was Collin’s wife, and Lincoln had been a groomsman at their wedding three years earlier.
“Will do. She was jealous she couldn’t come along this weekend.”
“Next time for sure.”
Collin picked up his bags, then brushed past Lincoln and went out the door, down the stairs as fast as he could go.
Lincoln closed the door, then wandered to the window next to the balcony that overlooked the parking lot. Collin loaded his bags into his Ford truck, then got in and drove away. Collin lived in Bakersfield now, working for the fire department’s arson investigations.
As Lincoln turned, he saw Winston coming down the winding metal stairs.
“I guess that’s everything,” Winston said as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. In their high school days, Winston had always been the smart one. Still was, really. He worked in meteorology at a weather station close to Yosemite. He was also an expert geologist. “Listen, you and Sam better get out of here sooner rather than later. This place will take a pounding later today and probably for the next couple of days, too.”
“Looks that bad?” He tried to make his voice light, but felt a little uneasy. He was an LA boy.
Winston shrugged. “Well. You know. Just use caution. Guess if worse comes to the worst, you can always shut in here and wait it out.”
He laughed. “We did pretty much over buy on the food. So there are provisions.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that. But now, I’ve got to get going myself. Those roads to Yosemite are among the first ones they close.”
Lincoln gave his oldest friend a hug. They’d grown up across the street from each other and had spent every formative school year together. Winston had been the first friend he’d told about his being gay.
“Call me when you get home,” Winston said over his shoulder as he made his way out of the condo.
As he had done with the others, Lincoln looked out at the parking lot as Winston left. Yeah, okay, so maybe he was the worrywart of the gang.
Lincoln made his way to one of the two bedrooms on the first floor. Sam had crashed in the smaller one the night before after quite the bender.
They’d all been passing around liquor bottles, swigging directly from them, but Sam had helped himself to more than the rest of them.
The night had been cold and they’d known it was their last night together. For a long time anyway, and maybe even forever. Life could change in a minute. They’d learned that as far back as their senior year in high school when one member of their gang had been killed in a car accident.
Last night, they’d all toasted to Charlie in remembrance. But Sam had looked the saddest of all while recalling their long-dead friend, so Lincoln hadn’t been that surprised by his behavior. Sam and Charlie had been close in those days. Both of them members of the Drama Department.
He heard Sam snoring even before he reached the open doorway. He could make out a shock of Sam’s sandy-colored curls just above the curve of a red plaid flannel blanket. Other than that one sandy lock, no other part of Sam was visible under the heap of covers.
Lincoln shook his head and turned away, thinking he’d pack up the remaining food to take with him before waking Sam. The rattle of the bedroom window, however, had him turning back with a frown.
He walked to the bedroom window and lifted the blinds. Since Winston had left, the wind had whipped up something crazy, and the snow had started coming down in weird angled sheets. The grass on this side of the building was already completely covered in white.
He exited the bedroom and went to his cell phone, not at all surprised to find an alert about the worsening storm. “Damn,” he muttered.
After a little more research, Lincoln found they were already shutting down the roads going in and out of Mammoth.
Unsurprisingly, his phone rang, and he saw it was Ellen.
“Hi there.”
“Are you okay? Got word that they’re shutting down the area. Hell of a storm.”
“I’m fine. Everyone got out on time, I think.” Lincoln paused. “Except me. And my friend, Sam.”
“No one else has the place for a couple of weeks. Go ahead and stay there until it passes.”
“You sure?”
Ellen chuckled. “What else are you going to do? You won’t find a hotel available, and with the roads closed—”
“Well, since you put it that way.” He sighed. “Sorry about this.”
“You had nothing to do with the weather, and it’s fine. Like I said, no one else is coming. Relax. Enjoy a few extra days. Hopefully you have enough food.”
“We do.”
“Storm’s supposed to last about three days. Worst should be over by then. Just the usual. Lock up when you’re done and let me know when you get home safe.”
“I will. Thanks, Ellen. You’re a peach.”
Lincoln set the phone on the kitchen counter and went to the window facing the parking lot.
Unsurprisingly, the only cars out there were his and Sam’s. Everyone else had gotten the hell out of Dodge. And now the snow was coming down so hard and fast, visibility was compromised.
And Lincoln was alone for the next three days with Sam Stryker, Hollywood actor and playboy, and the guy for which Lincoln had had a thing since their high school days.
Chapter 2
Since they were likely stuck here for the next few days, Lincoln didn’t bother waking Sam just yet. At this point, he could let Sam wake up on his own.
Instead
, he made himself a pot of coffee.
There were worst places to be snowed in, Lincoln decided. Not that he’d ever experienced any of them. An LA guy through and through, his experience with snow was coming to places like this or to Big Bear. And he’d never been skiing in his life.
But since he wouldn’t be returning to LA just yet, he had a couple of calls to make. So he poured himself a cup of black coffee and sat at the dining room table.
“Mr. Willets?” the soft, tentative female voice came over his phone after two rings.
“Betsy, how many times have I told you, it’s Lincoln? No one is so formal these days. And haven’t been since before you were born.”
She sighed, then chuckled. “I know, I know. Aren’t you supposed to be driving home today?”
“Yeah, which is why I’m calling you on a Sunday. Sorry.”
“No big deal. I’m just watching a movie. I paused it. What’s up?”
“I’m stuck here over the next few days. Snowstorm. Closed the roads. I’ll try for driving back Wednesday to be in the office Thursday, but I might not make it out of here until Thursday morning. We’ll see how it goes. Can you reschedule my appointments?”
“Sure thing. I’ll do that first thing in the morning. You have a court case on the docket for Tuesday, though.”
“Damn. Send Jenkins in my place, will you?”
“Yes. You’re not there by yourself, are you? Weren’t you there with a group of high school buddies?”
“That’s right, but they all got out of here. Dummy me is the only one foolish enough to stick around. Well, and Sam.”
“Sam Stryker?” There was a combination of squeal and awe in her voice, and Lincoln wasn’t quite sure how she managed it.
“Yeah. He’s still sleeping.”
“You wouldn’t maybe want to snap a picture of him asleep and send it to me, would you?”
“Betsy.”
“Fine. I know that’s unethical. I just can’t believe you went to high school with him.”
“He’s just a regular guy.”
“Sure he is. And I’m Queen Elizabeth.”
Lincoln smiled. “All right, I’ll let you get back to your movie, Your Majesty. And sorry again about the Sunday call. Bye.”
“Bye, boss.”
With his admin assistant out of the way, Lincoln called his next door neighbor, who was going in each day to care for his cat, Millicent. He owed his neighbor big for having to care for the cat for extra days, but fortunately, he knew her favorite wine. He’d get her a six pack of bottles.
Still no text from Monroe, but Lincoln had no clue how bad traffic might have been getting out of Mammoth before the road closures. And after checking on Sam again, still asleep, he went back to watching the raging snowstorm out the window.
Definitely going to be a boring three days.
* * * *
Sam Stryker woke like he had just recovered from the plague. He felt that crappy. His head pounded. His mouth was dry and really skanky. Every one of his limbs felt achy.
He stared at the ceiling, and for a moment, tried to process which hotel and what city he was in.
Oh, yeah. No publicity tour. He was in Mammoth with the guys. And last night he’d done a world of drinking. Clearly way more than he should have.
And Lord, he needed a shower. Maybe two. He sniffed his armpit. Yeah. Two showers. He struggled to sit upright in the tangle of covers. He wore only his boxer briefs, and as he sat up, he came to the realization there was a definite chill in the room.
He turned his head to look out the window, but the blinds were closed, blocking the daylight.
What the hell time was it anyway?
Sam grabbed his phone off the bedside table and stared at blankness. Dead. He’d forgotten to charge it last night. And there were no damn clocks in the room.
He listened for the sound of the other guys, but he didn’t hear anything. Maybe it was earlier than he thought and no one else was awake.
Reluctantly, Sam forced himself out of the warm bed and to the window. He stuck his fingers through the blinds to peer outside.
“Mother of God,” he swore.
At least a foot of snow covered the ground, and the white stuff was still rapidly coming down.
“Great. Just great.” He released the blinds and ran a hand through his crusty hair. Then grimaced when he couldn’t help but wonder why it was crusty.
He went to the bedroom door, opened it, and looked out. “Hey, is anyone else awake?”
“Sam?”
Lincoln. Thank God. At least Lincoln was the best and easiest of them. Lincoln’s younger brother, Monroe, usually eyed him like he had three heads or something. He was definitely not impressed with Sam. And the rest? Well…
Lincoln came around the corner and stopped only a few feet from Sam. He was already dressed, of course, and wearing jeans and a light gray Henley shirt. His dark hair was swept up in expert salon-style—seriously, did he have to look like a GQ lawyer even while on vacation?—and he had just the vaguest traces of dark shadow over his chiseled jaw. He swept his brown eyes over Sam, making it impossible not to shiver. Probably because Sam had on next to nothing.
“Good afternoon, Sleepyhead,” Lincoln greeted him with far too much cheer.
“Afternoon?”
“Yep. It’s twelve-thirty. Honestly, I thought you might crash for a few more hours.”
“Twelve-thirty? Shit. So everyone’s up?”
Lincoln chuckled warmly. “They’re up and gone, Sammy.”
“Gone?” Okay, he’d just got up, so it was still a little hard to wrap his mind around this conversation. “Where’d they go?”
“Home. They all wanted to beat the storm.”
“Storm,” Sam said faintly.
“Maybe you’d better get into a nice hot shower. I’ll make you some coffee.”
He nodded. “Shower.”
Lincoln pointed the bathroom right next to the bedroom where Sam had crashed. “I left a towel in there for you.”
“Lincoln—”
“Yeah?”
““Never mind. I think I need that shower.”
“Good idea.”
Sam decided as he stumbled toward the bathroom that Lincoln was definitely amused by him. Sam’s headspace was still a little fuzzy, so he figured it would all make sense after he drowned himself in the shower.
He reached past the curtain and turned on the shower knob and made sure the temperature was set to super-hot, then removed his boxer briefs, and got in.
* * * *
Lincoln lingered outside the bathroom door much longer than he should have.
But damn. Sam in nothing but underwear did things to him he should most definitely quash. Now.
He made himself busy brewing more coffee in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure if Sam would be up for eating or not, though he hadn’t looked too green around the gills.
He brought out the mix for the pancake batter and prepared to go over the directions, when his cell rang with Monroe’s specific ringtone.
“About time,” he muttered upon answering.
Monroe chuckled. “Yeah, sorry. Traffic’s pretty snarled. Especially out of Mammoth. Decided to give you a call instead. It’s raining. Was pouring cats and dogs, but it’s calmed down some. I’m at that bakery in Bishop. The famous one. Damn, it’s crowded even with the rain.”
“At least you made it out. We’re stuck.”
“What? You and Sam?”
“Uh-huh. Winston barely made it out before they were calling it. Ellen contacted me, told me roads were closed, and to just stay here.”
“That’s nuts. You got enough stuff?”
“Yeah, you know we went a little crazy with the food. Anyhow, Sam’s in the shower, so I’m making pancakes.”
“Trying to take care of Sam still, huh?”
“Monroe.”
His brother laughed. “I know, I know. Look, it’s almost my turn at the register and I want to get this bread and be
on the road. I’ll call you when I get home. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
“There’s nothing you won’t do.”
“I know.” Even though he couldn’t see his brother, Lincoln imagined Monroe wore a big old grin. “Bye, bro. Talk soon.”
Lincoln shook his head and disconnected, setting aside his phone.
By the time Sam emerged dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, rubbing a towel through his dark blond hair, Lincoln had already finished grilling about a dozen pancakes. He spotted a renewed twinkle in Sam’s blue eyes. It was probably unfair for someone to look that good after being that smashed the night before.
“Hmm. Great. I’m hungry,” Sam announced, with a grin that likely set his fans hearts aflutter. Not Lincoln’s, of course.
“Have a seat at the table and I’ll bring over your coffee and breakfast. Well, brunch, for you.”
Sam dutifully shifted to the table and Lincoln noted he wore no shoes. Or socks.
“Aren’t your feet cold?”
Sam shrugged. “Not yet. If they get that way, I’ll put something on.” His gaze strayed to the window looking out over the parking lot. “Wow, the snow is really coming down. How long has it been like that?”
“A few hours. Started with just a few flakes as my brother was leaving and has gotten worse by the hour. Ellen contacted me just after Winston left and told me to go ahead and stay. Roads are all closed anyway. No word on when they’ll reopen.”
Sam smiled a little as Lincoln brought over his coffee, filled to the brim with cream, just how Sam liked it. “Storm of the century, huh? Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Yep, seems like quite the blizzard. For here, anyway. Can’t say how it compares to some place back east.”
“Generally I stay to the tropics. Not a fan of cold.”
“Why’d you agree to come on this weekend then?” Lincoln asked curiously.
“Basically, I could drive here, and anyway, I wanted to see everybody. It’s been a long time.” He gestured to the snow. “Admittedly, I didn’t expect this.”
“None of us did. Except maybe Winston. Guess we should’ve paid more attention to the news. Butter and syrup?”
