Page 3 of Amelia and Her Prince Charming
Instead, I wandered away from my well-meaning but suffocating friends and into the hands—hoofs? antlers?—of a very tall, very attentive moose.
Moonlight glinted across its raised hackles as it flicked its head to the side but otherwise remained still.
My mystery novels and true crime podcasts had prepared me for serial killers and spurned lovers seeking revenge, not wildlife with antlers bigger than my entire body.
Should I make myself big and loud to scare it off? Play possum and pretend to be dead? Run as if I wasn’t wearing four-inch heels—one of which was caught in a drainage grate and was the reason I hadn’t noticed the moose until this moment?
And why wasn’t the plural of moose meese?
That last one didn’t really matter for my survival, and was probably more a reflection of lack of oxygen from my shallow breaths than actual curiosity.
At least Quinn had stayed inside with her three absolutely besotted honorary uncles. Never had a little girl been showered with so much attention and carbs.
But she’d already lost her dad. She would not lose me too.
As I inhaled a huge breath to scream my lungs out, a hand clamped over my mouth.
“Be quiet,” a low, growly voice whispered next to my ear. He slowly removed his grip from my mouth. Two firm hands took me by my upper arms and his mouth dropped close enough to my ear that I felt his lips graze its sensitive inner shell. “Don’t move.”
I shivered. It had been way too long since a man had touched me. And I was just too dang lonely.
Whoa, Amy. Desperate much?
For all I knew, this could be that crusty pilot who’d brought me and the Peaks Hockey team into Winterhaven this morning sending my heart all aflutter. Or that annoying reporter who kept writing stories about the Peaks.
Or the serial killer I thought I’d know how to handle.
Where were my survival instincts?
I shivered again, but this time because it was cold and I was in real danger, not because the potentially crusty murderer whispered, “Breathe, Amelia. It’s going to be okay.”
Only one person ever called me by my full name. I sagged against Hudson Blaire, never so glad to recognize someone’s voice in my life. He was my late husband’s younger brother and one of my favorite people in the world. I didn’t even know he was in town yet. He wasn’t supposed to get here until tomorrow.
In a calm, gentle voice, he called out to the moose. “Hey, moose friend. We’re not here to disturb you. Just passing through.”
The moose licked its snout, which couldn’t be bad, right?
Hudson swore, and his grip tightened. “Do you see the dumpster over there?” I shifted my eyes to the side and nodded when I spotted the huge, rusted bin about fifteen feet away, right by the restaurant’s back door. “On my count, we’re going to run toward it like a moose is chasing us.”
“My foot is stuck,” I said, my words barely more than air. I’d worn my favorite pair of heels—they were strappy, white leather and wrapped around my ankle and calf and tied in the back. They were magic and made my legs look long and toned.
Death By Strappy Heel. That was a little bit better.
The moose snorted again, and my heart sank into my stomach when I noticed its ears were pinned back. I didn’t have to know a lot about animals to understand that wasn’t good.
Hudson knelt behind me and drew his hand softly along my calf. Then, with a snick of cool metal against my skin, I felt the straps cascade down around my foot.
Before I could stop him—these were expensive shoes—he cut the other strap free of my leg as well.
The moose took a step toward us.
“Run!” Hudson whisper-shouted as he took my hand and nearly dragged me toward the trash bin, his long legs eating up the distance so much faster than mine. I couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of my heart in my ears, but imagined I could feel the moose’s breath on the back of my neck as it charged us.
When we got to the dumpster, Hudson picked me up and tossed me inside it like I weighed nothing more than a bag of library books. He vaulted in after me, landing on top of me as garbage squelched beneath us.
The moose sniffed and snorted around the dumpster for a moment, its antlers scraping against the metal, before we heard it cantering away.
“It must have babies nearby,” Hudson said breathlessly into my neck. His heart pounded wildly against my chest.
