Snow Angels. Fern Michaels
ran it through her long hair and secured it with an elastic band. Checking to make sure both Ashley and Amanda still slept, she quietly made her way downstairs to the kitchen.
She stopped at the foot of the stairs, surprised when she saw Max in the kitchen. Grace felt a tingle trail up her spine as she observed him. He wore a fresh pair of faded jeans with a tight black T-shirt. Chest muscles pulled the fabric so taut that Grace laughingly thought how lucky his T-shirt was. She took a deep breath. He was certainly something to look at, but most skiers were. She remembered going to the slopes as a teen, then later during college breaks. All the cool guys, the ones that really knew their way around the mountains, were hot and handsome. She’d never bothered with the type simply because those she’d met were either so conceited it was pathetic, or they didn’t have an intelligent thought in their heads. She figured Max Jorgenson must be a combination of both because most men living on a mountain in the middle of nowhere planned ahead. The thought hit her then; maybe Max really didn’t care about his future.
The aromatic scent of coffee pulled her away from her musing and into the kitchen. Max poured boiling water from a pot into a European coffee press. “That smells divine,” Grace said upon entering the kitchen. Surprised that he owned such a simple yet sophisticated coffee press, she waited as he pushed the press, slowly sending the dark brown liquid to the bottom of the clear carafe.
“Almost finished,” Max said with a look of satisfaction on his face. He removed a small cup from the cabinet, filled it, then placed it on the counter. “I have sugar but…wait. Here’s powdered cream,” he said as he rummaged through the cabinets. “I didn’t know I had this stuff.”
Max dumped the powder and several spoons of sugar in his coffee. Grace smiled. She’d thought for sure he would take his java straight up.
“Thanks,” she said, sipping her coffee. “Black is fine. This is good stuff.”
“What? You didn’t think me capable of making a decent pot of coffee?” Max said in a teasing tone. Both Huskies ran into the kitchen, barking.
“Down, boys,” Max managed to say. Ice-D and Cliff hunkered beneath the kitchen table, apparently waiting for their breakfast.
“Truly, I hadn’t given it much thought.” She eyed the telephone. “Are the phones working yet?”
“Nope. Just checked. I did hear snowplows about an hour ago. That’s a good sign.”
“How so?” Grace asked, suddenly hopeful.
“Usually that means they’ll head this way. I’m thinking about taking one of the snowmobiles down the mountain to check. While I’m there, I’ll try to locate your van.”
Grace was filled with an overwhelming desire to wrap her arms around her rude host but stopped herself just in time. “Miracles do happen!”
“You think this is a miracle?” he asked, shaking his head, his damp blond curls reaching just below the collar of his shirt.
“You said yourself it could be days before the plows head up the mountain, so I guess this is a miracle. Of sorts. I do know Stephanie, that’s the girls’ mother, is probably insane with worry. I wish…if you can’t get the van here, do you think you or possibly a member of the road crew could call her just to let her know the girls are safe and that we’ll be home soon.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Max replied.
Grace took another sip of her coffee. “I can make breakfast before you leave. I’m sure the girls will want something when they wake up. I can’t believe they’re still sleeping. Poor things. No doubt last night’s hike tuckered them out.”
Max seemed to hesitate. “Breakfast would be good. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal since…” He paused as though he’d lost his train of thought. “Forever. Breakfast sounds good. Thank you.”
Miracles of all miracles! The man said thank you. “Better wait ’till you’re finished before you thank me. It’s been a while since I’ve cooked over an open fire. As a kid I used to love it. My dad would often cook in the fireplace during the winter. He called it ‘campfire night.’ Which basically meant Mom needed a break from the kitchen.” The memory brought a wry, twisted smile to her face.
Max grinned. Grace realized it was the first real smile she’d seen since arriving on his doorstep. His teeth were as bright as the snowcapped mountains. “Campfire night? Never heard of that.”
She explained, “Dad would take ground meat, potatoes, and whatever vegetable Mom had too much of, then he’d wrap the food in aluminum foil and toss it in the fireplace. Sometimes we’d do s’mores or popcorn for dessert. It became a family tradition of sorts. Dad built the fire, and we helped prepare the hobo packs. Maybe for lunch…if we’re still here,” Grace suggested. “Breakfast first though,” she finished.
Max looked at her as though he were contemplating a private memory, his face sobering with whatever thought swirled through his head. “I’d better get out of here before the road crew decides to leave. Breakfast is highly overrated anyway. Come on, guys, let’s go outside.” Both dogs leapt to their feet and raced to the door.
“But I thought…” Grace floundered.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. Take care of your girls. I’ll be back as soon as I check the roads. I’ll need that phone number.”
For a second Grace almost forgot she was stuck in the middle of nowhere with a man she wasn’t sure she even liked, plus two little girls whose mother must be frantic with worry. Mentally shaking herself, she focused on the here and now.
Flustered, she looked around for something to write on. “Is there a pen and paper?”
Max retrieved a pad and pencil from the kitchen drawer and gave it to her. She scribbled out the number with Stephanie’s name. As an afterthought she also added her mother’s cell-phone number. Who knew? They could be out looking for her right that very minute. Grace didn’t want to miss her one chance to let them know they weren’t in any danger. Well, the girls weren’t in any immediate danger, but she could be if she didn’t stop thinking about Max Jorgenson’s personal life and how it might mesh with her own.
“Miss Grace! Miss Grace!” both girls called in unison as they ran down the stairs. “Can we build a snowman? Look at all the snow outside!”
Grace glanced at Max, giving him an, Oh boy, this is where I could get into trouble look.
“I don’t know. We don’t have the proper clothes, remember how cold it is. I was about to make breakfast in the fireplace. How about you two give me a hand? I bet I can find some Christmas music for us to listen to while we’re cooking. How does that sound?” Grace asked, adding an extra dollop of cheer to her voice.
“Okay,” Amanda said. “But I would really, really rather build a snowman than cook. Just so you know.”
Grace burst out laughing. She was shocked when she heard Max’s slight laugh. She didn’t think he had it in him. Wrong again.
“I’ll try to remember that, kiddo. Now why don’t the pair of you run upstairs and get dressed. I’ll need your help in a few minutes.”
The girls raced upstairs, shrieking and laughing. Grace was thrilled to hear their childish gibberish because she knew it was a sign that they would eventually be fine despite the traumatic home life they’d only recently escaped. Kids bounced back quickly after tragedy struck. Too bad some of their lightheartedness couldn’t rub off on Max. Permanently.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grab her keys where she’d left them, turn, and head for the front door, allowing the dogs to come inside after a quick but brisk run.
“Be careful,” she called out to his silhouette, framed in the sunlight. She watched him walk down the steps she’d used just hours ago.
Max Jorgenson was a loner, a wounded man who obviously wanted nothing more than to live his life here on this mountain in the middle