Page 2 of Snowed in at Santa's Lodge
I took one hand from my worn steering wheel and turned the dial on the antiquated radio, hoping to hear something good on one of the few stations a person depending on a regular old car antenna could pick up in the middle of nowhere. Part of my trip home involved traversing the mountain country, and my car struggled on flat highway on a bright sunny day. Adding snow to the equation made my route seem impossible. Or foolish.
The radio stations gave me nothing to smile about, their folksy weathermen predicting more snow. More wind. More not going home. I looked in the rearview mirror, making a choice at an intersection between flat roads and mountain roads. I could turn around and try to find a place to hunker down, or I could test my luck.
“Come on, baby.” I patted the steering wheel while cheering my car on. “We can do this. You and me. We can make it home.”I pressed the gas and prayed to whatever god was listening that I would make it. “Here goes nothing.”
An hour later, I was questioning my decisions. To come this way in a snowstorm. To travel during the holidays. My life choices altogether. All of it. I was going less than twenty-five miles an hour, leaning forward, kissing the steering wheel, while trying to have some visibility of what was in front of me.
At some point, adding insult to injury, my heat sputtered out and I groaned. If I made it home, it would be a miracle.
I tried to speed up, since I was getting colder by the moment but after taking a turn faster than I should’ve, I had to slow down again, my miles per hour and my heart. Driving through the mountains in the snow was not for the faint of heart.
“What is that?” I asked myself as a wooden sign became visible in the distance. Candy canes bracketed the words. Red, white, and green paint peeled from the text and candy canes and especially the Santa hat perched atop the whole thing. Squinting, I finally could make out the words:Santa’s Lodge. It might be run-down, but anything had to be better than zero visibility and my bones freezing. Anything.
As I had at the intersection below, I stopped the car and weighed my options. One, I could stop here and probably save my own life. Two, I could ignore it, go on and…oh, hell, there was no second option. I had to stop.
I pulled into the curved driveway until the lodge came into view. It was huge. More like a mansion. Like the sign, the place needed a paint job, but other than that, it looked like a dream to me. Candy cane light poles lined the sidewalk leading up to the entrance. The snow, a nuisance to me earlier, gave the whole thing a Santa’s workshop feel.
Looking around, I noticed only one red truck outside. No other cars parked in the lot. No one moving around outside. If it weren’t for the matching sign on the door, I wouldn’t know thiswas a lodge in the middle of the holiday season at all. Hotels were swamped this time of the year, so why wasn’t this place teeming with guests?
I turned off the car and intended to find out. With my wool cap pulled over my ears, I got out and noticed movement in my peripheral. A man with arms full of firewood walked from the trees on the side of the lodge. He had on a red and black flannel with some brown pants and boots that were worn and well used. No beanie or jacket. The man must’ve been freezing. Then again, maybe all the work cutting firewood warmed him up.
He stopped as I turned and put the firewood down near the entrance. “Can I help you?”
Something about his voice wrapped around me, warming me despite the plummeting temperatures. “I wanted to book a room. Get out of this storm.”
His eyes widened, and he stalked over to me. I backed up a few strides. A big man. Strong, broad shoulders. Chiseled jaw. A beard that made me want to run my fingers through it. As if that guy from the paper towels came to life and owned a Christmas lodge.
Hot damn, he was sexy.
“I’m sorry but the lodge is under repairs. The only habitable place right now is my residence.”
Now that he mentioned it, I could see fresh paint on the facade and a ladder propped against the side wall, a sign of ongoing work. He probably would want to get that thing put away before it blew down. But nothing about him suggested he’d welcome advice from me.
The wind whipped around me, whispering my fate. I had to get back on the road in this storm, with no heat.
“Oh, okay. Do you know of any place that’s open up here?” There had to be something. Even a run-down motel would be better than turning into an icicle in my car. The cold had mademe tireder than I normally would be, and I’d come close to drifting off to sleep several times already. I needed sleep and food and warmth—not in that order. Goddess, there had to be some solution!
He shook his head, but his gaze roamed my form, taking me in. “This is the only lodge up the mountain. I hope business will be good, once I get it running, that is.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Ragnar, by the way.” His voice had softened. Probably my completely pathetic state and junker car inspired pity.
I took his hand and wished I wasn’t wearing gloves. His palms were calloused just like I liked them. Despite the covering, a zip of electricity ran up my arm at the contact. I looked into his deep emerald eyes, stricken by something that made my chest tight. It took a full minute before I could talk or even let go of his hand. He must have thought I was nuts. “My name is Aspen, and I’m sure you’re right.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “It’s a beautiful place.”
“Thank you. It will be. I’m surprised you even saw the sign. It’s in desperate need of a paint job, but one thing at a time.”
I nodded and smiled at him. I might have to come back to this place another time. See how things worked out. Stay for a weekend trip or something. “It’s going to be great. I was really hoping you had a room available. The heat in my car just went out, and the snow is vicious.”
He cringed. “It’s pretty bad. That’s why I was bringing in some more firewood.” The mountain of a man scrunched his nose. “There is one other option…”
Chapter Three
Ragnar
Aspen was way too great looking for his own good.
Or, more accurately, mine.
While living in the city, I’d dated regularly, usually someone I met through work or maybe out at a club, but I almost never went out with the same person twice. Not because I was a horndog or anything—I didn’t sleep with most of them. It was just because no matter how nice or good-looking they were, once they were out of my sight, I felt little interest in spending any more time with them.
And as that happened over and over, I began to doubt my ability to fall in love. Surely, if Fate had someone for me, I would have found them in the crush of the urban life. I went out at least three or four times a week for dining or dancing or trivia night at the pub…so many omegas and not one I wanted for my own.
