New Year's Resolution: Romance!

Because I’ll be too busy counting the minutes until bedtime, when I intend to escort you to my room where we’ll take care of all this wanting and wondering.

“I’m not sure how good I’ll be at that,” Ashley said.

He shrugged. “Critiquing is outlawed.” Leaning close, he put his mouth an inch from her ear and breathed in the cool, sweet fragrance of crushed roses. “And for the record, I think you’ll be very good. As a matter of fact, I’d bet on it.”

She froze, and then her chin lifted. “You’re very practiced at that,” she said, her little smile communicating she wasn’t taking him seriously.

“I—” But he was forced to break off before his denial could be fully uttered as a handful of couples wandered into the room, calling out greetings.

Ashley moved into hostess mode, and the moment was lost. People began peppering her with questions about the nearby ski areas.

“I’m guessing most everyone will hit the snow today,” he said.

“Arch and I are going snowboarding for sure,” June put in. “What about you, Chase?”

Drawing his friends’ cups closer, he poured them coffee. “Not this time. I’ll stick around and entertain anyone who stays at the house.”

June turned her attention to Ashley. “How about you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“Hit the snow.”

June’s brows rose over her pretty brown eyes. “I would think everyone who lives in the mountains skis or boards.”

“Nope.” Ashley’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile.

What it was, Chase thought, was weird. But before he could give it further thought, more guests arrived, and he was drawn into other conversations. A few hours later, he’d sent the bulk of the visitors off with gear or with directions of where to rent gear, and the house had quieted. He found Declan and his wife, Miriam, playing cards in the library. Another older couple was perusing the books arranged on the tables upstairs in honor of National Science Fiction Day.

It didn’t appear he was needed.

Maybe now he could get to work on his own agenda: Ashley in his bed.

No daytime nookie—he still had enough hold on himself to wait until the cover of darkness—but he could seek her out. Soften her up a little.

Tease her in preparation for the night to come.

But she’d disappeared. It wasn’t until afternoon, when the first of the guests returned to the house, that she made her way down the stairs and went about offering up the hot tea, coffee and cookies that Mrs. Erwin had prepared for a snack.

Delicious smells of dinner cooking were drifting from the kitchen, and Chase and the bartender were setting out glassware in the great hall when the house’s landline rang. He strolled toward the phone in the library. Ashley was closer, and he nodded to her when she glanced his way.

“Bradley residence,” she said into the receiver. Then she grabbed the back of her desk chair as her face drained of color.

Alarmed, Chase rushed forward. “What—”

She held the phone his way. “The ski patrol. Asking for you.”

He continued to watch her with concern as he took the call. The information imparted relieved him somewhat, but he remained puzzled by Ashley’s wan face as he set the receiver back in its cradle. “Are you all right?” he asked, placing his hand on her stiff shoulder.

“What’s happened?” she asked, her voice low.

“David Albright,” he answered, naming one of the guests. “He fell, and in doing so sprained an ankle and busted his cell phone.”

“He’s okay other than that?” She searched his face with anxious eyes. “You’re sure?”

“He’ll be fine. I’m going to the ski resort in the limo and I’ll settle him into the rear seat. Then I’ll take the wheel of his car and drive it here. Can you handle drinks and hors d’oeuvres until I get back?”

“Sure.” She released her death grip on the chair and managed a weak smile. “I’ve got this. Don’t worry.”

But he did, both going to and returning from the Mountain Magic Resort. At the Bradley house, David managed to get himself into the great hall just fine on a pair of crutches. As a matter of fact, he looked better than Ashley, who still appeared shaken. She soldiered on through dinner, though, only to disappear on Chase again.

Carrying a snifter of brandy in each hand, he searched the house for her as most of the guests tromped up the stairs toward the playroom in order to try their hand at science fiction. Chase was interested in storytelling, too—but Ashley’s story...the one that had caused her distress.

Maybe he should question this protective side she brought out in him. But instead, he wanted to question her.

It took him several minutes to discover her hideout. As a matter of fact, he’d walked past the half-lit kitchen three times, presuming it was empty because Mrs. Erwin and her staff had left an hour before. But finally he found Ashley, seated at a banquette in one corner of the large kitchen, tucked behind the table and sitting in near-dark.

“There you are,” he said, keeping his voice soft so as not to startle her.

She started anyway, and then glanced over. “Did you need something—”

“Only to find you,” he said, and realized it was true. Skirting the table, he seated himself on the cushioned bench beside her. Not touching, but close enough to settle his unease a little. “I was concerned.”

“About me?”

He took a sip of one brandy and placed the other snifter in front of her. “Why do you sound so surprised? You’ve seemed...off since this afternoon.”

“I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“I don’t think ‘anyone’ did. Just me.” Another truth. From the moment he’d seen Ashley, he’d been attracted. But upon talking to her, he’d somehow...found her wavelength. Or she operated on the same as his. Chase didn’t know. He’d never experienced this with any other woman, this heady rush of recognition.

He recalled a night out with Arch, very soon after he’d met June. The other man had been drinking heavily, and Chase had come to understand it was because he’d been so knocked on his butt by the brown-eyed woman whom he’d been introduced to at the wedding of mutual friends.

We just...worked from the first moment, Arch had said, as if he could hardly believe it. Our edges line up. She fits with me like a baseball in that old glove of mine.

At the time, his friend and his baseball analogy had amused Chase. He wasn’t laughing anymore.

Slightly unnerved, he focused on Ashley once again, nudging the brandy toward her. “Have a drink of this.”

Maybe she was getting sick, he thought, and lifted his hand to press the back of his fingers against her cheek.

She drew away. “What are you doing?”

“Checking if you have a fever.” Good God, he wasn’t going to admit it was the same move his mother had made when he was a kid. What was it about Ashley that made him want to care for her so? He looked about the room. “Are you cold? Should I get you a blanket?”

“I’m fine.”

“You hardly ate any dinner.” Now he really did sound like his mother. But the thought didn’t stifle his concern. “Ever since that call...” His voice petered out as he realized there was his answer. Since the ski patrol had phoned, she hadn’t been the same. “What’s going on, Ashley?”

She shook her head.

He struggled against his impatience. “Okay. Let’s start over.” Whatever was wrong, he’d fix. “Are you sick?” Whatever it took, he’d make her well.

She shook her head again.

“No? You’re not sick?” He might have growled. “Ashley, talk to me. Your silence is making me nuts.”

“I’m not sick,” she said, looking down at the snifter she was cradling in her hands. Lifting it, she took a sip, then set it down as she shifted her gaze to his. “What I am...is a widow.”

“A widow,” he repeated. A widow? How could someone so young have been married and then...not?

“It happened four years ago last month.”

“I’m—” no, he was never speechless “—so sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” she whispered. “I’ve had time to get used to it.”

“But something about today...”

He saw her fingers tighten on the snifter. “We only had a season together.” She glanced up at him again. “We have those here, you know, not like in other parts of Southern California. We have four true seasons. Stu and I had an autumn of married life.”

“His name was Stu.” Maybe Chase should tell her he didn’t want to hear any more, but of course he did.

“Stuart Phillips. Mountain kid, like me.”

“You loved him.”

“Of course,” she said, lifting her hand. “My first and only love.”

Those words felt like five separate stabs. And he asked for more pain when he questioned her again. “What happened?”

“He was an avid snowboarder. That year...it wasn’t like this one, when snow came early. The white stuff didn’t come down for the first time until mid-December. We were both excited to get on the slopes. Stu couldn’t wait.”

Ah. “You used to go with him? Snowboard?”

“Yes, though not that last time. The conditions weren’t good and I was willing to postpone gratification until another day.”

“But not Stu.”

She smiled a little. A sad smile. “Stu was not about postponing gratification.”

“What was he about?”

“Flash. Fun. Speed.” She sipped from the brandy again. “Everyone loved him.”

Chase decided not to tell her that he didn’t because it was ridiculous to feel like this—jealous, he could admit only to himself—about a dead man. “You like the reckless type.”

“Not anymore. I’ve learned my lesson.” She sighed.

Tossing back the rest of his brandy, Chase decided he had to know everything. “So what happened?”

“He was racing with a friend. Those two were always egging each other on.” Her finger traced the rim of the snifter, going around and around and around. “It was nearing dark and they should have headed back much earlier. They took a short cut... He hit a rock and ended up slamming into a tree. The impact caused a massive head injury.”

“He wasn’t wearing a helmet?”

“As you said, reckless.” She addressed the brandy instead of Chase. “Today, when I took that call...I was reminded of when the ski patrol phoned me.”

Chase couldn’t stand the inches of distance between them. Reaching out, he drew her close. She went stiff for a moment before relaxing against him, her cheek to his chest. Her warmth and her willingness did little to assuage the ache in his heart. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry you took that call today.”

Her arms came around him, their light weight propped on his shoulders. She lifted her chin. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I—”

His mouth came down on hers, stifling anything else she might have said. Chase told himself it was a kiss of comfort, like the hug, but that was only so much baloney. Not when he traced his tongue over the seam of her lips. Not when his heart exulted when she opened for him. The taste of brandy combined with the light scent of roses evaporated his good sense. He hauled her closer, into his lap, as his mouth ate at hers.

Greedy. He was greedy for her.

She made a noise deep in her throat. A moan? He cupped her cheek in one palm to change the angle of her head. His thumb brushed over her soft, heated skin and he felt wetness. No. God, no.

Breaking the kiss, he stared at her. There were tears on her face. As he watched, another rolled over the rim of her eye, caught for a moment in her bottom lashes, then trailed toward her chin.

Oh, God, he thought again, as knowledge hit him like a snowplow knocking over a mailbox. As much as he might want her well, it wasn’t in his power, was it?

Although she wasn’t “sick,” she was definitely hurt. And how could he possibly fix that? Chase was helpless when it came to healing Ashley’s heart.

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