Page 6 of My Starry Valentine

“Why do you say that?”

“A Marine with long hair? Where else would you find that but San Diego?”

I chuckle at the preposterousness of her statement. “Nowhere if you’re active duty… I guess unless you’re a spook or something.” I scream over the raging wind, opening the Jeep door for her. She piles inside, and I fight the urge to lean forward and buckle her in.You’re not on a date, dummy.

Shutting the door behind her, I round the Jeep carefully to avoid slipping in the snow. Jumping back in, I shift into gear, removing the brake with a click. The wind whips so violently around us now that the vehicle shudders, and I take it slow, crunching along the white lane at a snail’s pace to make out where we’re headed.

“Can you see the road?” she asks in a croaking little voice, leaning forward and narrowing her eyes.

“I’m watching the trees, the boulders, the curves of the embankment that I can make out… Fortunately, I know Ouray like the back of my hand.”

“How? I thought you said you were from San Diego,” she challenges, putting a warmth in my chest I don’t recognize. It’s been a long time. I mean, a really long time since a beautiful woman wanted to know anything about me.

“My grandpa lived up here. I own his cabin now.” The words come out slowly and grumpily as I concentrate on where to steer my tires.

“Unlike me, who drove into the first ditch I could find…”

“A lot of drivers have trouble with that bend,” I grumble, my hands squeezing the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. The conversation dies off after that as we both settleinto the direness of our situation. I wasn’t joking when I said we could end up stuck, too. Fortunately, we have her extra food and water with us. But escaping bigger concerns, like freezing to death, could be problematic.

The woman swallows loudly next to me. She smells of lavender and roses, and I marvel at the strange contrast of her springtime fragrance with the barren, bleakness of this wintry landscape.

She clears her throat, saying in a smooth voice, “You’re doing good.”

The words may be few and simple. But they make my chest swell with pride. A visceral part of me, deep down in the core of my being, longs to protect and care for her. To keep her safe at all costs. The feeling both scares and thrills me.

She asks, “What’s your name?”

“Ledger Brooks.”

“I’m Luna Solace,” she replies.

I nod, biting my tongue hard. Strange thoughts swirl in my head.That’s a beautiful name, Luna. But not as beautiful as you. Luna and Ledger. They sound good together.I don’t know what it is about the angel seated beside me that turns me into a lovestruck teen.

Concentrate on getting her safely to your cabin, Ledger. Don’t mess this up. Or two people could end up trapped in a blizzard tonight.

“And what were you doing today, Ledger, before you stumbled across me?”

“Ice climbing at the park.”

“Ice climbing? You’re one of those guys?” She pronounces the words with awe, making me feel like an instant celebrity.

I nod. “Does that surprise you?”

She looks at me long and hard, focusing on my right bicep, squeezed into my tight-fitting mid-layer. “Not at all. Ice climbing is really impressive. I could never do it.”

I shake my head, entirely unconvinced by her proclamation. “You could. I’ve seen plenty of women out there.”

She shivers next to me. “Yeah, but I’m not a fan of heights.”

“Some of the best climbers in the world—whether ice or rocks—are afraid of heights.”

“There’s no way,” she counters, shaking her head.

“Yes, way. I can show you a couple of climbers like that if we have internet at the cabin. Satellite can be spotty up here, even in decent weather.”

She nods skeptically, eyeing me with an expression that feels an awful lot like admiration. If I’m not careful, I could get used to the glow it inspires in me from the inside out.

At the top of my mountain, I breathe a sigh of relief. Snowflakes dance frenetically, closing us in and inspiring a claustrophobic disorientation. My nine thousand-foot views are non-existent in this thick, wintry weather—the visual consistency of potato soup. “My cabin’s a couple hundred feet that way, although you’d never believe it in this weather.”

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