Snow Angels. Fern Michaels
she’d already spent days in the kitchen baking cookies, cakes, and pies for several of the soup kitchens in Denver. And she wouldn’t tell him how much money she had spent on gifts for Stephanie and her girls. What kind of person didn’t like Christmas? Maybe he’d had a rough time as a child. Those incidents had a way of haunting one, even as an adult. As a professional she knew that. As a woman, she couldn’t imagine being with a man who didn’t celebrate and enjoy the Christmas season as much as she did. Christmas was the highlight of the year for her family.
Max peered out the kitchen window. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere come morning. Look.” He gestured at the window.
Reluctantly, Grace went over to the window and stood beside him. She couldn’t help but notice the smell of winter and pine emanating from his skin. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a moment, wondering, then jerked her eyes open. The cold was getting to her. She glanced outside. Snowdrifts were at least three feet high. Big fluffy flakes of snow swirled through the inky night sky like miniature fairies with wings as light as a spider’s web.
“I suppose a snowplow would be too much to hope for,” Grace observed as she turned away from the window. Another time this might amuse her. However, with two girls whose mother was probably frantic with worry, she was anything but.
“Yep, it would be. Like I said, I’m not very prepared for this. I came here to…” He paused. Grace waited for him to finish, but he didn’t.
“Whatever your reason, I, for one, am glad I found you,” Grace added, hoping a compliment of sorts might draw him out of the black mood that seemed to hover over him.
Max removed the contents of the bag, placing them on the counter. “I’m not much of a cook other than bacon and eggs. You might want to see if there’s something here you and the girls would like.”
Grace was about to tell him bacon and eggs were fine with her, then thought better of it when she realized that, without power, they wouldn’t be able to cook anything.
“I’m going to get the fireplaces going. There’s more wood in the shed,” Max said, before wandering outside again. At least he’d had the foresight to see to the wood supply. Or someone had.
She wondered if Max was incapable of taking care of his own needs. She knew his reputation on the slopes. Ski or die. She remembered Bryce telling her this during the Winter Olympics years ago. Why would she remember that now? Bryce was in high school then. Grace calculated it’d been at least twelve or fifteen years ago.
She could cook using an open fire. Searching through the food supply, she found several packages of meat. Bacon, a whole chicken, a roast, and a package of hot dogs. The latter might come in handy for a weenie-roast for the girls she thought as she proceeded to check the food supply. There were bags of frozen vegetables. Carrots, potatoes, peas, and there was even a container of frozen chicken stock. Loaves of French bread, white bread, and wheat bread. Peanut butter. Someone had known what they were doing when they’d stocked Max’s freezer. In the cupboard she saw at least a dozen cans of soup, two boxes of saltines, and jars of strawberry jam and grape jelly. Max was prepared for a storm whether he realized it or not. Grace made fast work of storing the breads and peanut butter in a cabinet. Since it was below freezing outside, she repacked the meats and vegetables, placing them back in the bag before taking them to the front porch. She hoped there weren’t any coyotes or bears in search of their next meal. If so, they were all in trouble.
Hurrying back inside, she observed Max as he placed more logs on the fire. Bright yellow flames shot up the flue, sending tiny red sparks shimmering everywhere. The woodsy smell reminded her of her father. He’d always kept a fire burning in the winter. They’d popped corn and made what her father referred to as hobo packs. Aluminum foil filled with ground meat, potatoes, and whatever vegetable they wanted. They’d toss them in the fire, then they’d finish off their campfire meal with either s’mores or toasted marshmallows. One of Dad’s burnt marshmallows would taste good, she thought as she watched Max from a distance. She hoped he knew what he was doing. According to Bryce and those trophies and medals she’d seen upstairs, his expertise seemed strictly limited to the slopes. Briefly, she wondered what skills he brought into the bedroom.
What is wrong with me? she thought as she watched Max. It hadn’t been that long since she’d had a date!
“Like what you see?” Max asked.
Grace was sure he referred to the roaring fire. “Yes, it’s perfect. And I think it’s time we went to bed. I’m beyond tired. I doubt the girls will sleep late. Kids their age never do.”
“You seem to have a lot of experience with kids for a woman who doesn’t have any of her own,” Max observed.
Grace wasn’t sure if this was an invitation to reveal more about herself or just his way of making polite conversation. Something told her she could trust him even though he’d been rude and had frightened the girls. She recalled the look of pain etched on his face. He had suffered in his life. And not just physical injuries from his profession. He’d walked through the fires of hell. Grace wasn’t sure if he’d completely returned.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Max asked.
“I’m sorry. Professional habit I guess.”
“So you stare at people for a living? You an artist or what?” he inquired with a trace of humor.
Grace took a deep breath, unsure of how much she should reveal to him. While her gut told her she could trust him, she had to consider the safety of the girls and their mother before she revealed too much about herself. Not wanting to lie or reveal any details about Stephanie and the girls, Grace opted for a simple version of the truth. “I’m a counselor.”
“I see. So”—he took the fire poker from its stand and pushed several logs aside before adding more—“in your professional opinion, exactly what did you see when you were staring at me?” He waved a hand in the air. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’m sure you see what everyone else sees. A burnout who’s screwed up his life and doesn’t care.”
Grace couldn’t have been more shocked by his words. “Actually, I saw nothing like that at all.” She could tell him the truth, there was no reason not to. “I see someone who’s been hurt by…a tragedy.” She paused catching his eye. “You’ve suffered a personal loss so…consuming that it’s taken over the person you used to be.” Grace waited for a response, a reply, anything. He perched on the hearth, shaking his head.
“Well, you’re wrong, lady. I’m the man I’ve always been. Nothing will ever change that. Trust me. I like to drink and sleep. Nothing more.” Max hesitated for a moment as though he was testing her reaction. “A real prize, huh?”
Taking a chance Grace replied, “I think you were a real prize, Max Jorgenson, at one time. Whatever happened to strip away your self-confidence, it’s still there. You have to want it back.”
He looked at her for several minutes, a tense silence filling the space between them.
“Yeah? Well, you’re wrong. I don’t ever want to be the man I was. Never.” He looked down at the pine floors. “Never,” he added in a low, husky voice.
Grace wanted to say, “Never say never,” but it wasn’t the right time. With this man, she wasn’t so sure there would ever be a right time.
Putting concerns about her host’s mental status on the back burner for the remainder of the night, she told him good night and went upstairs. As soon as her head hit the soft down pillow, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 6
Blinding sunlight filled the bedroom, casting a burnished glow across the pine furniture. Grace sat up quickly when she realized she wasn’t in her room at Hope House. Then it all came back. The roadblocks and the loss of communication with the world.
She looked at the girls next to her. They slept like babies. Careful not to wake them, she pushed her hands down on the mattress in order