She pried her clenched fingers from the steering wheel, visualized the road, covered with snow but safe and solid beneath her feet. The Land Rover rocked as gusts of wind pummeled it. She used her shoulder and every ounce of strength to fight the door open. As she hit it, the vehicle pitched sideways and seesawed for a moment.
Sasha shot a look upward. Im not ready to die, she warned whoever might be listening.
With her arm braced against the door, she switched off the engine and pulled out the keys. Determined to escape, she gave a heaveor started to. Instead of resistant metal, she encountered only air, and toppled out of her seat into the snow.
A pair of gloved hands prevented her from landing facedown on the ice. Grateful despite her surprise, she looked up into a blurred face.
Who? A blast of wind carried her question away. She pushed her hair back. Thank you.
Are you hurt?
It was a man, and he had a nice voice, a very nice voice, even when raised.
I dont think so. He helped her to her feet. Someone in a gray pickup sideswiped me. She batted at the snow on her jeans. I saw five guys crammed into the front seat.
Sheriffll pick them up. You sure you didnt hit your head?
Why? She probed her temple. Am I bleeding?
Hope not. I can rescue your vehicle, but Im not so good with blood.
Love the voice, she thought again, and looked closer. From what she could see of his face, he had an incredible pair of hazel eyes.
Beside them, the Land Rover groaned and slid another few inches downward.
Uh Although she wanted to make a grab for the door handle, Sasha regarded his SUV instead. Now might be a really good time for that rescue.
Ill get the cable. Can you turn my truck around?
If she couldnt, her father, whod been designing North American race cars for thirty years, would disown her.
Drawing up the hood of her coat, Sasha crunched through a frozen drift to the drivers-side door. Six more payments. Thats all she had left on the four-wheel drive vehicle her mother had warned her not to buy. She glanced skyward for the second time. If you have any compassion, you wont let her find out about this.
The strangers truck was blissfully warm, the passenger seat strewn with papers, files, a laptop computer and various other electronic gadgets. A badge sat front and center on the dash. Under it she glimpsed a photo drivers license. Too curious to resist, Sasha regarded the badge. Denver PD. Now what would a Denver cop be doing in the northernmost part of the state. Then she extracted the license and the question slipped away.
Wow. Stunned, she studied the mans picture. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous was all she could think, and, God, this probably wasnt even a good shot.
She scanned the personal info. Dominick Law. Thirty-six years old; six feet two inches tall; brown hairtoo long, but also gorgeous; hazel eyes; one hundred and seventy pounds. That would make him tall and lean as well as stunning.
His features were positively arresting, on the narrow side and highlighted by a great mouth, a straight nose and the hint of a dimple in his right cheek.
Okay, not good. As if singed, her fingers dropped both badge and license back on the dash. Youre on a business trip, Sasha. Its no time to mimic Mommy dearest.
As a distraction, she set the wipers in motion and watched Detective Gorgeous hook the cable to the winch and secure the other end to her rear bumper.
Blustery gusts buffeted the windshield and almost blotted out the sight of her tilted vehicle. She waited for his signal, then maneuvered the truck around and revved the engine. Officer Law kept it very well tuned.
All in all, it took them less than ten minutes to get her Land Rover back on level ground. Well, relatively level. The ruts were treacherous underfoot, and the driving snow stung her eyes.
With her hood up, Sasha worked her way back to him. Youre a lifesaver, Detective.
Saw the badge, huh? Crouching, he checked the cable. Youre good to go now, Ms
Myer. Sasha. She caught her hood before it blew down. Just Sasha.
Nick.
Im really happy to meet you, Nick. Then she noticed a dent in the front end of her Rover and bent to inspect it. That better be fixable. She went to her knees, peered underneath. Did you see any damage?
Other than the dent, no. Where are you headed?
Painters Bluff.
His amazing eyes grew speculative. You have blond hair, dont you?
Courtesy of my Swedish grandmother. Why? Amusement kindled in her as she stood, a mood she couldnt discern in the serious detective. Are blondes illegal in Painters Bluff?
Apparently you never saw Skye Painter in her prime.
Sasha smiled. You mean shes not in her prime now? Could have fooled me. Im going to be working for her, on her resort. She gestured into the blizzard. Up on Hollow-back Mountain.
Youre a contractor?
Architect. Beat, Streete and Myer. Were new but extremely innovative, or so our PR claims.
Do you work out of Denver?
The cop tone surprised her. I do, yes. Is that a problem, Detective Law?
His lips took on a slight curve. Beautiful women are usually a problemone way or another.
Unperturbed, she widened her smile. Sounds like the voice of bad experience to me. Thanks again for your help. Now if youll unhook us, we can both be on our way.
His stare seemed to penetrate her skin and made her want to step back. She held her ground and his gaze. Have I broken a law, Detective?
Its Nick, and not that I know of.
Then I can go.
If your vehicle cooperates.
I thought you said it wasnt damaged.
That I can see. The proof will be in the drive.
Unless we freeze to death first. Neither of us is dressed for this.
He half smiled. Tell you what. You take my truck into Painters Bluff, and Ill check out your Land Rover.
Because her teeth were going to chatter in a minute, and he was, after all, a cop, Sasha went with the suggestion. Im staying at the hotel.
Which one?
There are two?
Three. Skye Painters Mountain House, the Hollowback Inn and Annies Barn on the edge of town.
For a moment, Sasha forgot to be cold, and laughed. Let me guess, Annie ran a bordello, right?
Rumor has it Butch and Sundance were regulars.
Spoken like a proud local. She tipped her head. And yet your badge says Denver PD. Are you a man of mystery, Nick Law?
I have my moments. Youre at Mountain House, right? At her nod, he walked her back to his truck and opened the door. Ill go first. Once youre settled youll need to see Sheriff Pyle about the guys who sideswiped you. His eyes caught hers and held.
Sasha shivered. She had the ridiculous feeling that he was stripping away her clothing piece by piece. It felt sexual, and yet it didnt, exciting in a kinky sort of way, but unnerving at the same time. And just plain weird all around.
Before she could comment, hed pulled off his glove and caught her chin between his thumb and fingers. Drive safely, Sasha Myer, and dont stop for anyone.
Before she could comment, hed pulled off his glove and caught her chin between his thumb and fingers. Drive safely, Sasha Myer, and dont stop for anyone.
Then he was gone, and she was alone in a strangers truck in the middle of a blizzard, with Bruce Springsteen pouring from the speakers.
Gorgeous and odd. What was she getting herself into up here?
YOURE NOT NICK.
Barely five feet through the front door of Mountain House, Sasha found herself nose to nose with a blond man in his mid-thirties. He wore jeans, a pale blue shirt and a sheepskin vest. Sky-blue eyes traveled past her to the snowy street, then returned to give her a thorough head-to-toe assessment.
Id know that black 4x4 anywhere. Why are you driving it?
In the warmth of the rustic lobby Sasha pushed back her hood and unzipped her coat. Nicks got my Land Rover. Since I didnt pass him, I assumed hed get here before me. Guess not. She offered the man a perfunctory smile. Who are you?
Dana Hollander. He cast another frowning glance at the street. Im the mayor of Painters Bluff. I also own the feed and seed on Center Street and fix computers on the side.
Sounds like a full plate.
More than full. The sheriff and I have been run off our feet today.
Well, I hate to add to your burden, but five kids in a gray pickup are joyriding out on Hollowback Road.
Kids? Oh, thatll be the Sickerbies.
All five of them?
Six boys at last count, and every one a hell-raiser.
Sasha would have moved on to the reception desk, but the mans expression made her pause. Look, I didnt run your friend off the road and steal his truck, if thats what youre thinking. The Sickerbies left me hanging, literally, and Nick helped me out. He wanted to make sure my vehicle wasnt damaged, so we swapped. He said hed meet me here.
Dana gave a preoccupied nod. Maybe he stopped by Sheriff Pyles office first.
Maybe.
Shedding her coat, Sasha let her gaze roam the lobby. For a small hotel, the place had charm, plus, if she wasnt mistaken, original wood walls and floorboards. The varnished oak was scarred, the river-rock hearth and chiseled mantel massive, and it wouldnt have surprised her to discover that the light fixtures were kerosene conversions.
She looked closer at the seating area. Are those horsehair chairs next to the fireplace?
You have a good eye. They were made in Salt Lake City in 1883. Belonged to Skye Painters great-granddaddy. He kept them in his mountain cabin. Skye used them up at the lodge until a nephew tried to perform surgery on one of the arms. Seemed safer to bring them down here. A sudden smile appeared. Youre her architect, arent you? Sasha Myer from Denver. Skye told us youd be coming. Youre a bit late.
Three days, Sasha agreed. She started for the desk. Ill call Ms. Painter after I check in.
Dana accompanied her across the plank floor. You can call, but you wont be meeting up with her anytime soon. She left town late yesterday morning. Lucky woman, he added, in an eerie echo of Barbaras earlier sentiments.
Lucky because she missed the blizzard?
That, too. Dana addressed the redheaded receptionist. April, this is Skyes architect from Denver. Give her a good room and a hot dinner on the house.
Thats very kind of you, Mr. Hollander, but I dont want to take advantage.
Dana, and youre not. He returned his gaze to the door. Are you sure you didnt pass Nick coming in?
Very sure. I was watching, for both my SUV and your Sickerbies.
The lobby phone rang. Tucking the receiver into the crook of her neck, the redhead handed Sasha a key. Room 27, second floor. She raised her voice. Hang on, Dana. Sheriff Pyles on the line. Hes asking about Detective Law.
Who isnt?
Sasha debated as he took the handset, then gave his arm a tap. Do you have Nicks cell phone number?
Hang on, Will. He covered the mouthpiece. He didnt answer when I called, but go ahead. Its the Denver area code and NICK LAW.
Straightforward and simple, she acknowledged. Two qualities she admired.
Taking out her cell phone, she walked away from the desk.
A moment ago, a woman had been sitting in the brown horsehair chair. Now two men stood beside it. The one with dark hair combed away from his face and a short, tidy beard struck her as vaguely familiar. The other had his collar turned up and a stained cowboy hat pulled low on his forehead. His shoulders hunched as he shuffled his feet. He kept his hands in the pockets of his parka and used his elbows to gesture.
Head tilted, Sasha studied his companion. She felt certain shed seen or met him somewhere. He had a bookish look about him. Maybe he was a friend of her mothers.
When he caught sight of her, his brows went up. He said something to the man in the hat and started toward her, his right hand outstretched.
Sasha Myer, hello. Ive been waiting for you.
Head cocked, she lowered her phone. Its Max, isnt it?
Max Macallum. Im flattered you remember me. Or did Skye tell you she hired my company to work on the access problem for her resort?
Skye and I havent spoken about anything except design features and layout. Her eyes sparkled. My memory of you involves our respective Christmas parties unfolding at the same time in the same restaurant. Your party ran out of vermouth before dinner, so you, being partial to martinis, snuck in and raided our bar.
Then collided with you in my rush to escape unnoticed, and caused you to break a very expensive high heel. I hope you got it repaired.
The bartender helped me out. Have you been in town long?
Three days.
Waiting for me, huh? She grinned. I feel so guilty.
You are a little late.
Its been mentioned. She leaned her hip against a support beam. I got tied up on a site in Minnesota, then it snowed and they closed the airport. Flights got canceled, fog rolled in. More delays. I called Skye five times. She didnt seem put out.
She likes your work. It doesnt matter, anyway. Shes not here. Left town yesterday, missed all the excitement.
It was the second cryptic remark shed heard since her arrival. How much excitement can there be in a town of only three thousand residents?
Max spread his hands. Id have asked myself that same question until
Dana cut in. Will Pyle hasnt seen Nick! Neither have his deputies.
Look, I promise I didnt drive past him on my way in. Although Sasha gnawed on her lip my Land Rover is white, and sos the snow. And the road. And everything else. She considered for a moment, then shook her head. Id have seen him.
Did you try his cell phone yet?
Dialing now.
To get better sound, she walked toward the door. She noticed the man in the stained cowboy hat had vanished.
Nick answered on the fifth ring. Law.
Myer. Pulling off her long wool scarf, she shook out her hair. Where are you?
Do I detect a note of concern in that lovely voice?
Not unless you habitually confuse concern with irritation. Theres a guy here named Dana whom Im sure thinks I coldcocked you and stole your truck. The sheriffs already called the front desk looking for you. Some kind of excitement is brewing, and it seems as though Skye Painter and I are the only ones who missed it. So I repeat, Detective Law, where are you?