Chapter One
Whitetail Mountain, Montana
February
The fresh, cold air stung my cheeks as I stared down the snowy slope through my ski goggles.
“Bloody Nora,” I muttered under my breath, watching mostly kids skiing on what they called the Bunny Hill. There were a few adult beginners but they were with ski instructors.
“You should go out with an instructor,” Catie had said a mere twenty minutes ago, seeming concerned as we strapped on our boots at the rental just across from the lodge.
I’d seen the young instructors, probably college kids making a few extra dollars during the ski season, and they seemed perfectly competent. However, beneath my laidback façade was a great deal of stubbornness and I believed I could do this alone.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t skied before.
I had.
I’d also broken my leg the last time I’d strapped on a pair of skis.
“Bloody Nora,” I repeated.
What was I doing here?
Not here in Montana—here. I only had to lift my gaze over the snowy mountains to know why anyone would want to visit Whitetail Mountain. I meant, what the hell was I doing here? Here in snow boots clicked into the skis, wearing goggles, a hat, thick gloves, and an admittedly adorable emerald green snow suit I couldn’t resist buying.
Because what I really wanted to do was go back to the lodge and wait for my afternoon spa appointments to begin. I wanted to lounge by the pool with a glass of wine and write down my life plan. That’s what I was here for. To get some space from my life back in Glasgow and “find myself” in the snowy hills of Montana. Like a heroine in a Reese Witherspoon movie. Just me and my thoughts. And the occasional third wheeling of Catie and her husband Kyle’s annual holiday.
My friend and her hubby were currently on the top slopes as they were experienced skiers.
“Face your fears, Autumn,” Kyle had said before we got on the chairlift that would drop me on the Bunny Hill.
Face my fears. Yes, I knew that’s what this moment was supposed to symbolize.
When I was fourteen I’d broken my leg on a high school skiing trip and I’d vowed never to get on skis again. But this year had been rough and I’d grown increasingly afraid of facing the fact that I was floundering in life. Strapping on a pair of skis was supposed to help me face those fears. If I could ski again, I could get my life back in order.
But…
“What utter rubbish,” I huffed.
Skiing was rubbish! I hated it. You only faced a fear if it was going to make your life better. How was skiing going to make my life better?
A massage.
A massage would make my life infinitely better.
Decided, I pulled my ski poles out of the snow with a little too much vigor and immediately threw my weight off balance, my skis flying out from under me.
“Oh…oh…” I tried to right my center of gravity but threw myself too far forward. “Oh sh—” Suddenly I was heading down the slope! And I was heading for a woman and a ski instructor and I couldn’t remember how to stop.
“Out of the way!” I warned.
The ski instructor, his expression masked by snow sunglasses, looked up at me and then, instead of getting out of my way, got deliberately in it.
I smacked straight into his large body, winding myself and knocking him off his skis, taking him to the snow.
“Oof!” he grunted, sounding more than a little bit winded himself.
Mortified, I tried to clamber off him. Unfortunately, my knee connected somewhere it shouldn’t.
“Fuck,” he wheezed.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” Somehow I got off him without causing him any further injury and righted myself on my skis as he curled into a fetal position in the snow. “Are you okay?”
He waved me off, apparently unable to speak.
I looked at the woman who hovered over him, wincing. “Is he okay?”
She shot me a dirty look. “Does he look okay? If you can’t ski, you shouldn’t be out here without an instructor.”
“I was trying to leave. I slipped and lost control…” I looked back down at the instructor who was taking his time getting up onto his skis. He braced his hands on his knees for a moment and then straightened, his lips pinched together in pain.
It was then I realized how big he was. And even without being able to see his eyes because they were covered by snow sunglasses, I could tell he was quite a bit older than the rest of the boy-men instructors. “Are you all right?”
“I will be.” He put his hands to his hips as I looked up at him. I was tall for a woman at five foot nine but this guy was just tall. He had to be at least six foot three. And broad shouldered.
Big guy.
And I’d just kneed him in the junk.
Gulp.
“What the hell are you doing on the slope without an instructor?” he groused in an attractively rough American accent.
“Trying to leave. What the hell were you doing deliberately putting yourself in my path? I told you to get out of the way. So, you know, your injury is really your own fault.”
His jaw grew taut a second before he retorted, “You hadn’t had time to build up much momentum but if I let you go flying down the slope you could have collided with another guest and caused them injury and whatever happened you would have gotten hurt. So you’re welcome.”
Feeling foolish but annoyed by his condescending tone, I didn’t offer thanks. Instead, I felt a little petulant. “I said I’m sorry.”
“Get your ass off the slopes and sign up for an instructor.” He jerked his chin, indicating behind me where the chair lift was. I noted that he had a very strong jawline. With stubble. Nice lips, too. “I’m all booked today but they’ll slide you in if I get a cancellation. Just ask for Grayson King.”
“No, thank you, Mr. King,” I replied. “Sorry again.” I turned to leave, throwing the scowling woman an apologetic smile.
“No thank you?”
I glanced back over my shoulder at his tone.
He sounded annoyed.
Very annoyed.
Oh no.
“No thank you?” he repeated. “You’re seriously going to come back out here without instruction?”
“No. I have no intention of coming back out here at all.” I threw an arm out to indicate the expanse of the slopes and my skis slid again. “Ah!” I righted myself, this time not sliding. My heart pounded in my ears. “Oh thank Christ! Aye, okay. Right. I’m heading in before I or someone else suffers serious injury.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
He still sounded irritated.
Dear God, how many times did I need to apologize? “I will!” I threw back over my shoulder, letting him know that now he was annoying me. “Apparently apologies aren’t enough,” I muttered under my breath. “Didn’t even want to come on this stupid slope and then I fall but does anyone ask if I’m okay? No. Where’s the bloody spa when you need it?”
“Try not to take anyone else out.” If I wasn’t mistaken he now sounded as though he were amused.
Now he was laughing at me? My cheeks burned. Him being angry was much better than him laughing at me.
I dug my poles into the snow and hoofed it further up the slope. The distance allowed me some bravery. “You better remember to nurse your manhood, Mr. King!” I reminded him about his recent painful injury.
“You nursing it for me sounds better!”
My lips parted on a huff and I looked back over my shoulder in outrage.
Even from a distance I could see him grinning at me.
“There are children in the vicinity!”
“You’re the one that mentioned it!”
Dammit, I was. Muttering under my breath again I made my way back up the slope to the chairlift and looked anywhere but at Grayson King.
Well, this trip was going super well so far.
* * * *
“Hey, sweetheart.” My big brother’s voice was a welcome sound as I sat on the end of my bed and stared out over the miraculous vista.
I was independently wealthy and I hated why.
It did mean, however, being able to afford a stunning suite on the top floor of the Snow Ghost Lodge. My hotel suite not only had a huge four poster bed, a sitting area with a gas fire, and a massive, luxurious bathroom with a roll-top bath tub, it had floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the valley. I could see the town of Cunningham Falls and the lake from here.
Just wow.
Between that and Killian’s voice in my ear I was feeling much, much better than I had been an hour ago.
“You’re home then?” I said.
“Safe and sound. Skylar’s crashed out or I’d let you say hi.”
“No, let her sleep.” I would have liked to say hello but I knew for a fact that my brother’s girlfriend needed rest. The last two years of her life had been crazy, the last few months even more so, and the last week, intense.
Skylar Finch used to be the lead singer of a hugely successful pop-rock band called Tellurian. Skylar became tabloid fodder pretty quickly, mostly because of an on-again off-again relationship she had with her guitarist. She’d hated the fame and she’d hated their toxic relationship. To hide her unhappiness from her mum—the person she loved best in the whole world—because she felt she owed her mum for all the sacrifices she’d made for Skylar, she’d pushed her away. And then her mum and stepdad were victims of a highly publicized burglary that ended in their murder. Skylar left the band and disappeared off the map. Until Killian, my big brother and label executive, found her in our home city of Glasgow. She was busking and homeless. We helped her get her life back together. Because of our own less than idyllic upbringing, Killian was pretty closed off emotionally. At that point the only person he let in was me. So when I saw him and Skylar falling for each other, I was worried he was going to royally screw it up.
He almost did.
But my big brother loves Skylar Finch. And I mean he loves her in a way I didn’t know existed outside of movies and romance novels. And she loves him with the same intensity. I adore that for Sky because she’s special and she deserves happiness after everything she’s been through. But I love it for Killian more.
When the paparazzi found Skylar a few months ago things were crazy! But they settled down somewhat and the three of us had a lovely Christmas together. And then Killian and I accompanied Skylar to Los Angeles to see her ex-bandmates and tie up some professional and financial stuff. We’d then stood by her side when she returned to her hometown of Billings in Montana so she could visit her mum’s grave.
It had been a tough and extremely emotional time but I was glad we could be there for her.
Afterward, they headed back to Scotland and I travelled to Whitetail Mountain to hang out with Catie and Kyle.
“You get to the lodge okay?”
I had. Even though I’d been a little nervous (okay, a lot!) as the commuter bus drove up Whitetail Mountain. It was well paved and sanded but there were these treacherous, narrow hairpin turns that they called switchbacks here and I’d felt my whole body tense as we wound up the mountain. However, I was not tense enough to miss the view or the cute B&B we passed called The Hideout, thinking I would have liked to have stayed there. But when the bus drove into the snow village where the lodge was located I realized why Catie and Kyle holidayed at the Snow Ghost every year.
I could see ski lifts on their climb to the summit, the snow-covered evergreens, a building complex that looked like it housed rental apartments.
There was a ski rental shop and a café, as well as a few little independent stores.
The bus had parked in a lot before a beautiful lodge that somehow managed to be grand and rustic at the same time. The Snow Ghost Lodge.
I loved the name. As soon as Catie sent me the lodge website link so I could book a room, I fell in love. The lodge sat right at the base of the ski lifts so guests could shimmy out on their skis and set off right away.
“Yes, and I think this might be what heaven looks like,” I replied.
“I was worried about you going up that mountain.”
I wasn’t going to tell my brother I had been, too. “Well I’m fine. Although decidedly not going to ski.”
“Why not?”
I told him what happened and then had to wait for a few minutes for him to stop laughing. It was nice to hear my big brother laugh, just not at my expense. “Are you done?”
“Only you”—his voice still trembled with amusement— “could knock a man off his feet and knee him in the ’nads within seconds of hitting the slopes.”
“Hey, I’m usually very graceful.”
“Until there’s snow.”
“I broke my leg once. One time!”
“Aye, skiing. What about two winters ago when you took out three people in the supermarket car park when you slipped on ice and fell into a load of trolleys?”
“I could have killed someone, Killian. That’s not a funny story.”
“I just don’t understand how someone who dances like an angel suddenly has no grace whatsoever when white cold stuff hits the ground.”
I glared at my view. “You could have reminded me of this when I told you I was planning on coming here.”
“Why? You need time for yourself. I’m glad you’re out there. But for my peace of mind… promise me, no more skiing.”
“I’ll stick to the spa.”
“Thank you.”
“You must be tired. I’ll let you go.”
“Okay. Check in with me tomorrow.”
I rolled my eyes at his protectiveness. “Or the next day.”
“No, tomorrow, Autumn.”
Hearing the sternness in his voice I nodded and then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Tomorrow.”
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