A Snowbound Scandal

As the snow falls, her touch sets him aflame...

“I don’t want you to leave.”

Texas billionaire Chase Ferguson has one regret: leaving Miriam Andrix to protect her from his public life. When a snowstorm strands her in his mountain mansion, their passion reignites, and it’s too hot to resist! But reality—and scandal—arrives with the thaw. Chase turned his back on happiness once. Will he fight for what he truly wants this time?

A former job-hopper, JESSICA LEMMON resides in Ohio with her husband and rescue dog. She holds a degree in graphic design currently gathering dust in an impressive frame. When she’s not writing supersexy heroes, she can be found cooking, drawing, drinking coffee (okay, wine) and eating potato chips. She firmly believes God gifts us with talents for a purpose, and with His help, you can create the life you want.

Jessica is a social media junkie who loves to hear from readers. You can learn more at jessicalemmon.com.

Also by Jessica Lemmon

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A Snowbound Scandal

Jessica Lemmon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07666-1

A SNOWBOUND SCANDAL

© 2018 Jessica Lemmon

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

For John.

There’s no one I’d rather be

snowed in with than you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Extract

About the Publisher

One

Mayor Chase Ferguson’s best friend and head of his security team strolled into his office, sheet of paper in hand.

“Busy?” Emmett asked.

“Extremely,” Chase answered, droll. He’d been staring at the same spot on the wall for going on twenty minutes trying to figure out how to answer the governor’s email.

“I won’t be long.” Emmett wasn’t smiling, but Chase could tell his best bud was amused. Emmett knew Chase better than anyone—better than his own family in some cases. With a flick of his fingers, Emmett dropped the sheet of paper on the desk.

Chase lifted the printed color photo. In it, a delicate, thin woman, mouth open in an angry shout was holding a poster board. On the poster was a photo of a bird dripping with black goo and the words painted around the image read OIL KILLS. An angry crowd in the background held similar signs, but it was the woman in clear focus that snared his attention.

Soft, dark curls blew over fine cheekbones and plump lips. Even now, years later, he didn’t have to try to recall the feel of her elegant, slim body against his. Mimi Andrix was runway-model thin with small breasts and subtle curves. The years had been good to her, depending on how recently this photo was taken.

“When was it taken?” Chase asked.

“Three years ago, in Houston.”

“How did you come across it?”

“One of your campaign staff alerted me. It was mailed to the office alongside a letter threatening to send it to Jamie Holland.”

Chase’s opponent. An all around `not-so-nice guy with questionable ties to big, bad men in Texas, and involved in too many illegal activities to list.

“We’re trying to find out where it’s from, but so far no luck,” Emmett said in the same flat, matter-of-fact tone.

Chase grunted. Ah, election season. He was on his second term and preferred to stay where he was for as long as his city allowed him. Not only was he one of Dallas’s youngest mayors, but he was also one of the few politicians interested in the seat who was unbribable. As a son of the Fergusons and one-third owner of Ferguson Oil, Chase had plenty of money of his own. He didn’t crave power or prestige. He craved justice. Staying in office meant crowding out potentially corrupt politicians. Jamie Holland, for example.

“I recognized her right away.” Emmett tapped the edge of the photo. He’d been on the three-month-long trip where Chase had met Mimi. Emmett was one of the few people who knew what had transpired between them all those summers ago. All that had gone well before it’d gone sideways.

“She should know that she’s a potential target for publicity.” Mimi hated politics. She wouldn’t appreciate being dragged into the mud during his upcoming campaign if and when news of their previous relationship saw the light of day.

“I tracked her down. She lives in Bigfork. You have a trip scheduled for Montana soon, don’t you? Why not tell her in person?” His friend smirked knowingly.

“Somehow I doubt she’d welcome me with open arms.” The last time Chase had seen her, he’d put her on a plane leaving Dallas for Bigfork. Her face was red from a combination of anger and devastation—both of which he’d put into her expression. She’d hated him then and he doubted her feelings for him had warmed since.

“She works for a conservation society. Some environmental group. Her bio on the website mentioned ‘saving the planet.’”

That drew a proud smile to Chase’s mouth. Mimi’s giving and loving heart had been so huge it’d encapsulated not only him, but the environmental causes she’d cared about so passionately. Not until she’d come with him to Dallas did she know the extent of Chase’s involvement in one of the biggest enemies to the environment—her words. The oil industry was his family’s industry.

But she didn’t call it quits between them when she found out. Chase was surprised she’d seen around his inherited billions that had come from the very industry destroying the causes she’d championed, but she had. She’d tearfully told him she didn’t hold it against him and that they’d work through it and that the only thing that mattered was how they felt for each other.

He’d been the one who’d ended it. It’d killed him to do it. Even though they never would’ve worked out, he’d cared about her and would’ve preferred ending their relationship on better terms.

“Do you ever wonder,” Emmett said as he turned for the door, “if you two had married how that would’ve gone?”

“No.” Chase never second-guessed decisions. The point of making one was that you didn’t have to revisit it.

“Seeing that photo made me wonder if she’d have bent to your will and become a proper politician’s wife, or if you would’ve caved to hers and been alongside her protesting the evils of big oil.”

The bagel Chase had for breakfast turned to stone in his stomach. He didn’t like thinking about what would’ve happened. What could’ve happened.

What a colossal waste of resources.

“The first one,” he answered. Which was exactly why he hadn’t continued a relationship with Mimi. She was too good at being who she was to be dragged into politics, having to explain herself or apologize for her past. Chase’s desire to protect her had dominated his decision to put her on that airplane. Clean breaks were best, and he’d told her as much at the time.

Emmett shut the door behind him, leaving Chase in his office with thoughts he didn’t care to have. He’d had plenty of brief relationships in the ten years since he and Mimi had ended theirs. He didn’t know if it was the age they’d been at the time—him twenty-six to her twenty-three—or if it’d been the high of a summer fling, but she stood out in his mind to this day. The rare act of being wrapped in her arms for three months had felt more like three years.

Whatever it was, she’d left a mark. An indelible one.

Back then, he hadn’t been as conservative as he was now. He’d been more like his father, Rider. With a rough edge. His mother, Eleanor, had taken it upon herself to sand those edges down on her boys. It’d worked on Chase, and while Zach fell into line with the company, his wild streak was still strong. Chase’s had been buried long ago. Hell, it was probably on the bottom of Flathead Lake in Montana.

Once he’d become certain of his political interests, he’d gladly gone from rough to refined. If he hadn’t gone the refined route, he imagined he’d have turned out like Emmett, who was best described as rough on the edges and in the middle. Emmett had started out in security—a perfect fit for his bulk and brawn—and it wasn’t long before Chase had asked him to run his security detail.

Emmett was still in charge of security, but his duties now spanned anything that had to do with Chase’s position as mayor. Loyalty was the one luxury you couldn’t buy in the world of politics, so Chase considered himself lucky that a lifelong friend had his back.

He lifted the photo again and tried to imagine himself with Mimi today. It’d been ten years since he’d seen her—since he’d said goodbye. She’d accused him of being a coward. Of being too obtuse to see what she’d seen so clearly. She’d stood on the airfield before boarding the private plane and shouted over the whining engine that they loved each other and were the kind of couple who could last forever.

If you give us a chance.

He hadn’t, though.

Chase pulled the lap drawer on his desk open and locked the photo inside. Despite Mimi’s passionate argument, he’d known then that they couldn’t know if they’d last forever after only a handful of months. No matter how good the sex had been or the way the minutes had folded over into hours and rolled into days and morphed into months.

The smile that found his face now wasn’t one of regret, but of memory. The weeks and months before their bitter end had been filled with Mimi’s laugh and her fingers ruffling his hair. He recalled the way she sighed in his ear, hot and quiet, when he made love to her. She’d dragged him to the lake on more than one occasion, torn off her clothes and his, and talked him into skinny-dipping in the full moon’s light.

Hopefully no photos of those nights resurfaced next.

Yes, he had a lot of good memories from that summer. Like the time they had sneaked onto a massive property overlooking the lake. The house was disgustingly arrogant in its placement and had boasted shamelessly from its many windowed rooms.

Eight bedrooms. Six bathrooms. Fifteen thousand square feet.

He knew because he’d kept a close eye on the property over the years, waiting on the elusive owner to die or move out.

The owner had put the mansion up for sale three years ago, and Chase purchased it for a cool sixteen mil. It’d been completely remodeled by then. During his walk-through he’d been awestruck by the fact that the inside was more immaculate and braggadocian than the outside. Multiple fireplaces, a hot tub alongside an indoor heated pool surrounded by huge rocks and a wine cellar to name a few of the amenities.

With the purchase of the mansion he also became owner of a good slice of the Flathead Lake shoreline. Since he’d purchased the place he’d been there three—no, four—times. He tried to visit once a year, minimum. During those trips, thoughts of Mimi didn’t cling to him like moss on a rock, but passed by like a leaf on the surface of a stream. He didn’t linger on memory or the past. What was the point?

He stood from his desk to take in the city outside his office window. Dallas sat fat and happy, calm and cooling down for autumn. He was eighteen months out from reelection, and though reelection efforts were always in swing, they wouldn’t be in full swing for a while.

His scheduled trip to Bigfork was likely his last chance to flee town, to untangle himself from the political spider web for a bit. If the worst happened—if Mimi became embroiled in political mudslinging, it’d be best if he were here in Dallas, not in her backyard.

He contemplated skipping the trip for all of two seconds. He could handle the press—good or bad. It’s how he’d been elected. He wasn’t shying away from the trip because of Mimi, nor was he going there for her.

The past was the past and the future was all that mattered.

Decision made.

Bigfork, here he came.

* * *

“Honestly, Stefanie.” Eleanor Ferguson tsked her only daughter from across the dining room table.

Stefanie rolled her eyes. Her mother tended to bring out the child in her. Probably because she was treated like one whenever they gathered for holidays. Or a pseudoholiday like this one.

She slid a glance over at her brothers. Chase, in a suit and tie, fresh from working late, sat rigidly in his chair. He hoisted one regal eyebrow at her but otherwise stayed silent. Zach sat next to his wife, Penelope, but he was too preoccupied with his ten-month-old daughter to pay attention to his bickering mother and sister.

The other party at the table wasn’t family at all. Emmett Keaton, Chase’s head of security and best friend, sat at the head of the table opposite her father. He silently ate a few forked green beans and watched her, expressionless as per his usual.

God, he made her crazy.

He’d been breathing down her neck since that unfortunate run-in with one of Chase’s sworn political enemies. Emmett had watched over her like a hawk since. She’d been so aware of his presence lately, she looked forward to any event that didn’t include him. Yet here he was.

“This doesn’t count as Thanksgiving,” Stef dropped her napkin on her empty plate and her mother, who’d been insisting she take the serving spoon, dropped it back into the mashed potatoes with a sigh.

The chef-prepared meal—Mom didn’t cook—was top-notch. Golden, buttery turkey, stuffing, French green beans, and a gravy boat brimming with brown gravy. There was only one problem.

“Thanksgiving isn’t for another two weeks. This is just...” Stef shook her head. “Wrong.”

Emmett grunted what might’ve been a laugh and she sliced him with a glare. He shoveled another bite into his mouth and chewed.

“Why is he here?” she asked the table collectively.

“Rider. Remind your daughter she is to have manners in this house.” Elle looked over at her husband.

“Stef, sweetheart.” Her dad smiled. “We’re all making sacrifices. You think I want to be on a boat during my favorite holiday of the year?”

“It’s a cruise,” her mom corrected.

“Em’s here because he can’t turn down a free meal,” Chase said conversationally.

Emmett grunted again. Stef guessed that was his way of agreeing with his friend.

Neanderthal.

“It doesn’t seem right for everyone to leave during Thanksgiving.” Sacrilegious, even, but she didn’t want to be melodramatic. But honestly, did tradition mean nothing to anyone but her? Chase was vacationing at a lake in Montana by himself; Zach and Pen were traveling with their daughter Olivia to visit Pen’s parents in Chicago, which was, okay, fine, excusable; and her parents were going to be floating in the Atlantic Ocean wearing bathing suits and drinking mai tais.

“I’ll be here,” Emmett offered.

“Lucky me.” Stefanie mimicked his sarcastic smile and he went back to his food. She’d rather eat a microwaved frozen meal by herself than take him up on a shared turkey-day dinner.

“Stef, my parents would love to have you if you want to come to Chicago with us.” Pen lifted her fussing daughter from the high chair. Zach shot his wife a look that said they hadn’t talked about this.

Her brother’s wife was sweet and thoughtful and sharp and beautiful. If Zach hadn’t pulled his head from his rear and married Pen, Stef would’ve seriously considered it. Penelope Ferguson had granted them all a beautiful niece-slash-granddaughter, and Pen’s presence at parties made Stef’s life a lot brighter. As much as she’d love to hang with Pen over the holidays, however, Stef would never dream of intruding on Pen’s time with her family. This would be their first Thanksgiving with Olivia.

“I appreciate that,” Stef smiled over at her sister-in-law. “But I’ll be all right. I’ll just...decorate for Christmas early.”

“You mean late,” Zach said. “You barely waited until Halloween last year before you adorned everything that crossed your path in red, green and gold.”

Stef curled her lip at her brother. Zach smirked.

“If you change your mind, let us know.” Pen excused herself from the table to take care of Olivia and Zach stood with her.

“Need help?”

“No, I have her.” She kissed him and he smiled, adoration on his face.

So. Stinking. Sweet.

“I’m not inviting you to Montana.” Chase scooped more mashed potatoes onto his plate. “So don’t ask.”

“I don’t want to spend Thanksgiving with you, anyway,” she teased.

He pointed at her with his fork when he said, “Good.”

Her oldest brother had always looked out for her, had always been there for her. She could guarantee if she wanted to abscond to Montana with Chase, he wouldn’t hesitate taking her along. But he deserved a break, too. There’d been so much fatigue in his eyes tonight. Must’ve been a hell of a week in the mayor’s office.

“How are you spending the holiday, Emmett?” Elle asked.

“I’ll be on call. Security never sleeps.”

Stef eyed him over the rim of her water glass, trying to decide if that was true or not. She didn’t know Emmett that well, only that he and Chase had been friends for years, and that Emmett was part of the backdrop of nearly every big event in recent history. She assumed that behind those hulking shoulders and permanent scowl of his, she’d find a loner who worked 24/7, and not much else. He didn’t seem to have a life other than one involving the Ferguson family.

Not five minutes later, Penelope returned without Olivia, explaining her daughter had missed a nap and was too tired to deal with dinner.

“It’s Zach’s turn so I’m off the clock.” She refilled her wineglass with dark red wine and gestured to Stef with the tipped bottle. “Join me?”

“Always.” Stef allowed Pen to fill her glass, feeling a ping of loneliness. Stef was used to her family being around, to big parties and to-dos year-round. Save when Zach had lived in Chicago for a stint, they’d been together as a family most of the time. The business they held stakes in kept them in each other’s orbit.

So, yeah, Stef wasn’t used to being alone, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be. This year she’d embrace Thanksgiving on her own and build that muscle.

It was time her family started seeing her as a twenty-nine-year-old anyway.

Two

Bundled in her knee-length pea coat, Miriam Andrix marched up the asphalt-covered parking lot, her head down to thwart the icy wind. She was born and raised in Montana, but every winter she experienced here made her a bit less tolerant of the cold. Which was ridiculous. She was only thirty-three, for Pete’s sake. It wasn’t as if she was her seventy-five-year-old grandmother who kept the thermostat set on eighty degrees at home.

She peeked up from her trudge so that she didn’t mow over a shopper who’d just overspent on groceries, and then tucked her chin again and watched her laced boots move her forward. Her destination? Whole Foods Market in search of fixings for sweet potato pie, as assigned by her mother. This was the first year Miriam had been placed in charge of dessert. Typically, she made a side dish like potatoes au gratin or cranberry sauce.

Mom’s rules were anything but simple when asking her four children to participate in the preparation of Thanksgiving dinner: no canned ingredients, organic if you can. She also provided the family recipe cards for the requested dish—tweaked by each generation to add an extra dash of cinnamon here or an additional crushed garlic clove there. And since Miriam was responsible for a dessert she wasn’t comfortable making, she wasn’t taking any chances on shopping at the corner market. She might well spend her entire paycheck in here, but at least she could guarantee that only the most beautiful sweet potatoes would go into her pie.

At the entrance of Whole Foods, the automated doors swished aside and the fragrant scent of mulled cider wafted out. She lifted her head and closed her eyes to inhale her most favorite scent—autumn—when a competing smell mingled with the cider.

Sandalwood. Pine. A touch of leather... And eerily familiar. As was the voice that crashed into her like a runaway shopping cart.

“Mimi?”

She snapped her head up and her gaze collided with a man taller than her by several inches, his devastatingly handsome face broken up by the frown on his forehead and additional lines at the corners of his gray-green eyes. His jaw sported a barely-there five o’clock shadow, and his hair was in the same disarray she remembered from ten years ago—the one crooked part of Chase Ferguson that couldn’t be tamed.

“Chase. Hi.” She blinked again at the man in front of her, having the half-crazed thought that she’d summoned him with her mind. A week ago she’d received a photo of herself in an envelope she’d had to sign for. Along with the photo was a letter from the mayor of Dallas’s office—Chase’s office—that was signed by a woman’s hand. Miriam had read the two neatly typed paragraphs and tossed the letter into the trash. There was no action step for her, merely a “making you aware” note that she might be mentioned in Mayor Chase Ferguson’s upcoming campaign and “may be called upon in the future” for her cooperation.