Page 6 of Stolen By the Mountain Man

“How far do you live from here?”

“We live about five minutes away.”

I wondered if she caught that I’d switched to the plural when I responded.Welived five minutes from the lodge, not just me. My home was her home. She was my fiancée.

As the day had worn on, that fact had sunk in. When we were emailing back and forth, and even the one time we talked on the phone, none of it had seemed all that real. I guess I told myself I could always back out.

But with her here beside me, an unexpected change had happened. I wanted to marry her and spend the rest of my life with her. She wasn’t just a picture or some words landing in my inbox every day. She was the love of my life—the person I’d be with until the day I died. And as crazy as it sounded, I could already feel myself falling in love with her.

“It’s a little slick in spots,” I said. “It’s been snowing here off and on all month.”

“Well, it is a ski lodge,” she said. “Although I assume they have to manufacture some of the snow.”

I nodded. “That’s what I understand. Not as much as some other ski resorts in this part of the country, but we don’t get the same kind of snow as ski resorts in the northwest.”

I knew very little about ski slopes, even living in a town that pretty much revolved around one. But I logged plenty of hours on that barstool at the Glacier Bar and Grill, the restaurant inside the lodge. I was just hoping they were so busy nobody would call out to me as I walked in. I didn’t want her to think I was one of those guys who spent every night drinking.

I wanted to put a hand on her back so badly my palms itched. I flexed my fingers but continued to walk without touching her, focusing instead on the slight chill in the air.

It had been warm enough earlier today to sit on my deck, but the temperature was falling fast, and it wouldn’t surprise me if we had another snow or two before spring sprang.

“Do you ski?” she asked.

I paused watching out for icy patches long enough to look at her. “Never have. I’m more of a summer guy.”

“So, you’d rather be sitting in front of the fireplace reading too.”

Oh. That was what she had in mind for the lobby. Driving down here to sit in front of the fireplace. I had a fireplace, though, and I’d start a fire anytime she wanted. But although I had nice views, it wasn’t the same as the big windows overlooking the ski slopes at the lodge. So I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to hop in the car and come down to relax for a few hours every now and then.

“I’m not much of a reader,” I said. “I spend most of my time in the basement, if you can’t tell.”

“I thought as much.” She smiled. “I’ll get you into reading, though.”

I was holding back a smile as I stepped through the automatic doors at the entrance to the lodge lobby. As always on a Sunday night, the place was bustling with activity as people rushed around. Only a couple of people remained in ski attire at this hour. Most had probably gone to their rooms and changed for dinner.

The area in front of the fire was mostly empty, though, which was a good sign. Only a couple of women holding drinks that I assumed came from the restaurant. When the restaurant had a long wait, those sofas would be packed with people on the waitlist—some holding drinks, some holding menus, some just staring at their phones in a trance.

The hostess had a booth available—over by the window, no less. This place was busy, but I assumed we’d gotten here just early enough to beat the worst of the dinner rush.

“Maybe I’ll order a cocktail,” Daphne said, staring at her menu.

Something about the way she said those words got my attention. It made me wonder if drinking was something rare for her. She was twenty-seven, but sometimes she seemed younger. I couldn’t explain why. Things like this, maybe. Lighting up at the thought of a drink. That sounded more like someone who’d only been of legal drinking age a short time.

But it could just be she was someone who rarely drank alcohol. That was a thing, especially for someone who worked as a nurse—and was in a management position, no less.

The server came by, and Daphne ordered a Cape Cod, while I asked for my usual scotch on the rocks with a splash of water. The server had barely gotten two steps from the table when Daphne was leaning forward to say in a hushed tone, “I just never get a chance to drink. I’ve been working so hard. This is going to be nice.”

She sat back then, smiling, while I stared at her. My mind was working out what was going on with my body. She’d just leaned close to me—the closest we’d been to each other. Although technically, I supposed we’d been close when we sat side by side in my home theater watching the movie. But her leaning toward me, her face near mine, had me thinking about kissing her, and now it was all I could think about.

“Your work must be pretty challenging,” I somehow managed to force out.

She’d lowered her gaze to her menu, but now she returned her attention to my face. I would swear I saw panic in her expression before she seemed to get it in check.

Why would she be panicked about discussing her job with me? Was there something I didn’t know about it?

“Definitely,” she said. “But most of my work is office stuff. Being on the floor was a whole heck of a lot harder. Anyway, I don’t really want to talk about work. I’m taking a week off to justrelax and not even think about it. Then I’ll start worrying about my job search.”

I nodded. I’d actually researched what I thought were old folks’ homes in Adairsville and Boone. There wasn’t anything in Adairsville that came close to what she’d described as the facility she managed. I’d actually started to wonder if it was a job she could do from home because the commute to the closest large-scale senior living community would be a bitch.

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