Page 8 of Snow Storm

“Okay. So…are you trying to warn me about him?” Claude asked her.

Lyric rolled her eyes. “No. I’m just saying he’s one of four guests here, and at least it might get interesting this Christmas.”

That wasn’t exactly something he was looking forward to. Claude didn’t really do any guest relations. That was Aminah’s job as the front desk manager. Claude tended to avoid people at all costs if he could help it, though owning the ranch made it so he couldn’t do that all the time.

Sometimes—when it was the slow season and guests were bored—Aminah could talk him into giving basic French and German lessons since he was fluent in the first one and reasonably fluent in the second. Once, she’d asked him to do a chair fitness class, but he’d declined that.

He’d taken a few of them early on after his injury, but he never quite mastered the art, and he wasn’t willing to be responsible for hurting guests because he was shit at his old PT.

He’d been a cane and wheelchair user for fifteen years now. On his thirty-fourth birthday, Anabelle had talked him into going on a hike to celebrate. Claude hadn’t been big on the whole outdoorsy thing back then, but he knew it would make her happy, so he said yes. He’d obviously had no idea that a slippery rock and a tumble down a short embankment was going to change his life forever. But it had.

He shattered his hips, broke his back, and the pressure of the breaks damaged his spinal cord, leaving him almost completely paralyzed from the hips down for months. Eventually, he regained some feeling, and with a lot of work, he regained the ability to walk.

But he hadn’t been cured.

His legs still spasmed on his rougher days, and he didn’t have a lot of feeling below his injury line.

He felt good about his progress, but he realized that his wife hadn’t recovered as well as he had. She was short with him and quiet. During therapy, she confessed the guilt ate at her because she was the one who pushed the issue. But no matter how often he reassured her he didn’t blame her, she never did let it go.

The strain defined their marriage, and she blamed that for seeking love and attention from someone else, but Claude often wondered if maybe she was just waiting for a catalyst. He had a strong feeling in his gut they wouldn’t have lasted this long even if he hadn’t fallen.

But he didn’t really think about that often. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was living his comfortable hermit life where summers were warm and sunny, autumns were breezy, winters were cold with mountains of snow, and springs were rainy and full of brightly colored forest blooms.

It was ideal.

It was everything he’d ever wanted—minus, he supposed, being in love. Because for all that he wondered if he had ever been in love—and sometimes he wondered if he was even capable of it—he still wanted it. He was content to live a life all on his own. Content to not put all of his baggage on someone else. But that didn’t mean he didn’t dream of the perfect person sweeping into his life when he least expected it and turning his world upside down in all the best ways.

He didn’t give that fantasy a lot of room to rent in his head though. His life was better this way. He preferred his heart in one piece, beating in his chest. He wasn’t sure he’d ever trust anyone to hold it again.

“Okay, well, you’re boring, but I guess I should have expected that from the resort hermit.” Lyric pushed away from the desk and shoved her hands into her pockets. “I’m going to go bother the kitchen. They’re more fun, and they appreciate me.”

He gave her a passive wave as she headed into the side door that led to the kitchen corridor. They were definitely more fun than he was. They were also a little giddy because it was nearly the holidays, and most of them were going home for a long two weeks to be with family.

The only people staying over were the volunteers—most of them for the time-and-a-half holiday pay, and all of them without any real family to celebrate with. Claude could be a bit of a storm cloud on his best days, but he did try to keep things festive for them so no one felt like they were missing out.

They were putting up the tree tomorrow, and he had a massive collection of gifts to wrap in his cabin for everyone. He’d been sneakily asking them what they wanted all year, so even if they couldn’t be with loved ones, they’d know they were his family.

Pushing back away from the desk, he grabbed his cane and grimaced as he stood. His spinal cord was as healed as it would ever be. His legs were weak, and his hips ached during the colder months, thanks to the pins that would always be lodged in his bones that had kept them in place while they healed. It took extra time to get his feet moving and steady, which was a sign he should have used his chair, but he liked walking.

And his doctor recommended it since he was getting closer to the age where he’d have to worry about arteries and clogs and other bullshit he wasn’t ready to face.

Aging wasn’t the worst. But it also wasn’t any fun. It was harder watching all the adorable young couples venturing to the spa for weekend getaways and honeymoons. He remembered being like them. Well, a little. He and Anabelle had never been particularly romantic. He’d proposed because she expected it, and she expected it because their relationship made sense.

They rubbed along well enough, they shared three languages fluently, and they both liked to travel. She didn’t bother him when he needed alone time, and he was happy to let her indulge in all her hobbies. He just hadn’t realized that his passive acceptance that their life was life and the absolute lack of passion was the thing driving her away the fastest.

The worst part about realizing that was coming to terms with the fact that even if hehadknown, he likely would have ended it instead of offering to change. He hadn’t wanted to become a different person for her. He didn’t want to twist himself into the shape of whatever man was her ideal.

He wanted to be loved for who he was.

And, well, it was likely she wanted to be loved for who she was, and it was clear he’d never be able to give her that.

Ah, hell. Turning the corner on seven years, and he wasstillthinking about her every now and again when it was quiet.

He really needed a cat. Or maybe a new hobby. He could take up knitting. Or cross-stitch.

Grimacing, Claude headed into his office, where he had his ergonomic chair that took all the pressure off his sore spots. He had a mountain of paperwork waiting for him, time cards to sign off on, holiday bonuses to deposit, and yet another Christmas snowstorm up in the mountains to prepare for.

Alone.

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