CHAPTER EIGHT
The next three weeks went by in a blur. Indian summer waned, and the air turned brisk and chilly. Gray clouds lingered over the Cascades, promising early snow.
Melanie barely had time to notice the change in the weather, let alone eat or sleep. When she wasn’t at the newspaper office, she was working in her studio or at the lodge, where she tried to keep her distance from Gavin. She wasn’t always successful.
Fortunately, he, too, was working day and night. They spoke to each other only when absolutely necessary. She dealt primarily with Rich Johanson, unless he was out of town, and somehow managed to keep her relationship with Gavin strictly professional.
She was friendly, businesslike and cheerful, hiding her innermost feelings. Gavin was cordial but reserved, and glared at her suspiciously whenever she seemed in a particularly good mood.
The tension hovered between them, gnawing at her insides while all the time she plastered a smile on her face.
She was lucky on one count. Gavin and Rich had no trouble agreeing on pictures for the brochure. When she showed them her favorite shots, they weeded out the ones that didn’t fit their image of the resort.
Rich slipped the good shots he needed into an envelope and said he’d take them, along with the copy he’d written for the brochure, to a printer in Portland.
Gavin handed Melanie a sealed envelope with a check inside and said, “Good job.”
The words sounded hollow, and Melanie, despite her fake smile, was miserable. She couldn’t wait to get through the charade and regretted taking the job.
As for the resort, the renovation of Ridge Lodge was on schedule, and the parking lot, lodge and lifts teemed with construction workers. A handful of employees had already been hired for the operation of the lodge and lifts, and a chef, a doctor, building supervisor and an equipment manager were already on staff.
Jim Doel, who had recently returned to Taylor’s Crossing, had been hired as a handyman, and Melanie had kept her distance from him as well as from his son. Though Jim was never openly hostile, Melanie sensed his animosity whenever she dealt with him. And she, too, hadn’t resolved all her feelings toward him. As much as she wanted to rise above it, the simple fact was that he’d killed her mother and robbed her of a normal childhood. Maybe that was Adam Walker’s fault. Her father had spent years bad-mouthing the man.
“So, how’re things going up at the lodge?” Jan asked late one Friday afternoon as Melanie handed her some pictures of people gathered at a city council meeting in city hall.
“I think everything’s on schedule.”
“Good. I’ve got another interview with our friend Mr. Doel next week and I wanted to be prepared. If there’s any trouble at the lodge, I’d like to know about it. But everything’s okay, right?” Jan asked, perching on the corner of Melanie’s desk.
“No trouble,” Melanie replied, carrying the pictures to the layout editor’s desk. “In fact, when you go up to the lodge, I think you’ll be surprised how smoothly everything’s running.”
“Oh really?” Jan’s eyebrows drew together, and she made a point of studying her nails.
“Uh-huh. Looks as if the resort will be a huge success,” Melanie added, wondering why she felt compelled to defend Gavin.
Constance, who had overheard the tail end of the conversation, made her way to the coffeepot and asked, “So, do you know who’ll be invited to the grand opening?”
Jan mumbled, “I wish.”
Melanie shook her head. “I haven’t the foggiest. I’m on the inside, you know, just doing some freelance work for the resort.”
Constance sighed. “I’d give my right arm for a look at that guest list.”
“Why don’t you just ask?”
“I have. I got Doel on the phone yesterday, but he told me very succinctly that it was none of my business. I just thought maybe you had some idea.”
“Not a clue,” Melanie replied.
“Well, I’m going up there Monday and I’ll have a look around,” Jan said, filled with confidence as usual. “Maybe I can convince Mr. Doel that a copy of the list would add public interest. He might just sell a few more lift tickets if people thought some celebrities were staying at the lodge.”
“I wouldn’t bet on getting anything more from him,” Melanie said.
Constance agreed. Refilling her coffee cup, she said, “He’s impossible. It’s almost as if he resents the free publicity we’re handing him.”
“You were the one who pointed out that he was publicity shy,” Melanie observed as Constance’s phone jangled loudly from her desk.
With a dramatic sigh, Constance, said, “Jan, see what you can do.” She hurried back to her desk. “Beg, borrow or steal that guest list.”
“I doubt if I’ll burglarize Gavin Doel’s office all for the sake of a few names.”
“Not just any names. We’re talking names of the famous,” Constance reminded her as the phone rang impatiently. “There’s a difference. A big difference.” Frowning, she picked up the receiver and plopped down at her desk, immediately absorbed in the conversation.
Jan turned her attention back to Melanie. “What do you think her chances are of getting the names of the invited?”
“From Gavin? Zero. From Rich Johanson?” Melanie lifted her hand and tilted it side to side, “About fifty-fifty.”
Jan nodded. “Yeah, Johanson’s always been more interested in publicity than Doel. And speaking of our local infamous professional skier, how’re things going with you two?”
“Fine, I guess. We work together. That’s it.”
“That’s it? Really?” Jan arched a skeptical brow. “Come on, Melanie, you can talk to me. I saw how he looked at you, and you said yourself that you’d been serious with him.”
“I think I said I’d dated him.”
“You said you were serious.”
“Did I? Well, if 1 did, I meant I was serious for seventeen.” Dear Lord, why had she ever brought it up?
“I know, but I read between the lines,” Jan replied. “You two act as if you’ve never gotten over each other.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Is it?”
“Of course,” Melanie said, pretending to study an enlarged photograph of wheat fields to the south of town. “Gavin’s not interested in me,” she added tightly.
Jan laughed. “Yeah, right, and I’m the Queen of England! Don’t try to convince me that you can’t see the signs. That man is interested—whether he wants to be or not.”
Melanie didn’t comment and went back to work when Brian called Jan into his office.
The rest of the day she heard snatches of conversation in the office and most of it centered around Gavin. As she drove home, she wondered if there was any way to escape from him.
Unfortunately, Taylor’s Crossing was a small town and Gavin was highly visible and extremely gossip-worthy. She heard about him and the lodge everywhere she went. And it didn’t end when she stopped by her Uncle Bart’s and Aunt Lila’s house that evening.
“The weather service predicts snow in the mountains by Friday,” Bart said, squinting through his kitchen window to the night-blackened sky. Melanie dropped into a chair near the table, and Bart followed suit. “That should be good news for Doel.”
Melanie, tired of all the talk about Gavin, took a swallow from the steaming mug of coffee Aunt Lila handed her.
“Now, Bart,” her aunt said, “you quit fishing.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” Bart asked, one side of his mouth lifting at the corner.
“Of course it is. She’s barely been here ten minutes and you’ve brought up Gavin twice.”
Bart lifted a foot and placed it on an empty chair. “I was just making an observation about the weather.”
“Sure.”
“And it wouldn’t kill me to know how Melanie and Gavin are doing working so close together.”
“You’re worse than a gossiping old woman,” Lila muttered, but smiled good-naturedly.
“Oh, for God’s sake, I am not. I’m just interested in Melanie’s welfare, that’s all.”
“She’s old enough to make her own decisions without any help from you.”
Melanie couldn’t help but grin. Lila and Bart’s light-hearted banter had always been a source of amusement to her, and since she’d lost her mother at a young age, Aunt Lila had stepped in and filled a very deep void. “Well, if you must know,” Melanie said, deciding to end the speculation about Gavin once and for all, “Gavin and I get along all right. We don’t see a lot of each other, though. I deal primarily with Rich Johanson.”
“That stuffed shirt!” Bart muttered.
“He’s okay,” Melanie said. “In fact, I like him. He keeps Gavin in line.”
Bart smoothed his white hair with the flat of his hand. His faded eyes twinkled. “Does he need keeping in line?”
“All the time,” Melanie said.
“And I heard he hired his old man, too.”
This was dangerous ground. Melanie felt her equilibrium slipping a little. “That’s right. Jim does fix-it jobs for the resort—things that the general contractor didn’t bid on, I guess.”
“How long is he staying on?”
“I don’t know,” Melanie said honestly. “We don’t talk much.”
“I’ll bet,” Bart said. “But Gavin can’t be all bad if he takes care of his kin.”
For once Aunt Lila agreed. “He’s helped Jim more than any son should have to.” Then, as if realizing she’d said too much, she added, “You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?”
Melanie finished her coffee. “Another time. I’ve got an appointment later tonight. Cynthia Anderson is coming over to choose some pictures I took of her boys a few weeks ago, but I had something I wanted to give you.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small package wrapped in tissue paper.
“What’s this?” Bart asked as she handed it to him.
“Open it and see,” Lila prodded.
Bart didn’t need any further encouragement. He unfolded the paper and exposed a framed picture of himself and Big Money taken on the day of the fair over a month before. Bart was grinning proudly, while the nervous colt tugged hard on his lead and tried to rear.
“Melanie,” Bart whispered, touched, “you didn’t need to—”
“I know, but I wanted to. This was my favorite shot, but my editor preferred the one that ended up in the paper. I picked it out weeks ago, but it took a while to find the right frame.”
“I have just the place for this,” Lila said, eyeing the picture lovingly. “Thank you.”
Melanie felt a lump in her throat as she finished her coffee and pushed back her chair. “You’re welcome. Now I’d better run home before the Anderson boys show up and terrorize Sassafras.”
Uncle Bart walked with her out the back door. Rain had started to fall, but the temperature had dropped. Goose bumps rose on Melanie’s arms.
“Despite what your aunt said in there,” Bart said, squaring an old Stetson on his head, “you know she thinks the world of Gavin. He used to do odd jobs around here, you know, and Lila’s pretty soft where he’s concerned.”
Melanie eyed him in the darkness. “You already told me I should be chasing after him.”
“I didn’t say that.” Bart’s teeth flashed and his breath fogged. “But if he decides to do the chasing, I wouldn’t run too fast if I were you.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said dryly as she slid into the car.
Bart slammed the door shut for her, then paused on the step to light a cigarette. Melanie waved as she drove away. So now everyone thought she should try to start a new romance with Gavin. Jan, Uncle Bart and even Aunt Lila. It was enough to make a body sick.
And yet, falling in love with Gavin again held a distinct appeal. “You’re hopeless,” she told herself as she wheeled into her driveway and recognized Cynthia Anderson’s gray van parked in front of the house. “And you’re late.”
As she climbed out of her own car, the side door of the van flew open and the boisterous Anderson brood, dressed in blue and white soccer outfits, scrambled out.
Cynthia herded them toward the front porch. “I know I didn’t say anything when I made this appointment,” she said quickly, “but do you have time to take a couple of shots of them in their soccer gear?”
Groaning inwardly, Melanie nodded. “I suppose.”
“Good, good. Because Gerald would just love a picture of them like this—oh, but, boys, we mustn’t tell Daddy, okay? It’ll be a surprise. For Christmas.”
Melanie wondered how the four boys could keep a secret for ten minutes let alone two months. “Let’s get started.”
“Oh, thanks, Melanie,” Cynthia said, whipping her comb from her purse and pouncing on the youngest one. “Okay, Tim, hold still while I fix your hair.”
“No!” the boy howled. “No, no, no!”
“Aw, knock it off, Mom,” Sean, the oldest, chided. “We look good enough. Besides, I’m freezin’ my tail off out here. Let’s go inside!”
Steeling herself, Melanie opened the front door, the boys thundered down the hall and Sassafras bolted outside, splashing through puddles as he headed around the corner of the house.
Melanie followed the Andersons through the door and hung her coat on the hall tree near the stairs. She didn’t have time to think about Gavin for the rest of the evening.
* * *
The first snow arrived on a Saturday in early November. Large powdery flakes, driven by gusty winds, fell from a leaden sky. Storm warnings had been posted, but Melanie decided to chance the storm, hoping that it would hold off for a few hours. She tossed her chains into her car and carefully placed five huge portfolios in her car.
The drive was tedious. Already tired from spending most of the previous night getting the coloration on the prints just right, and she was anxious to take the pictures to the lodge and finish that part of her employment.
Because you want to see Gavin again, her mind tormented, but she pushed that unpleasant thought aside and ignored the fact that her heart was beating much too quickly as she drove through a fine layer of snow to Mount Prosperity.
Aside from half a dozen cars and a few trucks marked GAMBLE CONSTRUCTION and the snowplow, the freshly plowed parking lot was relatively empty.
Melanie drove straight to the lodge, and because she wanted to protect the prints as well as her car, she pulled into a parking shed that connected with the side entrance to the lodge. Grabbing her largest portfolio, she steeled herself for another cool meeting with Gavin. You can handle this, she told herself as she trudged up the stairs and opened the door.
Inside, the lodge was quiet. The screaming saws, pounding hammers and country music were gone. Only the few workers finishing the molding remained.
Most of the renovation was complete. The high wood ceilings had been polished, the oak floors refinished and new recessed lighting installed in the lobby and bar. Two snack bars boasted gleaming new equipment, and the restaurant had been recarpeted.
Fresh paint gleamed, and new blinds were fitted to the windows. An Oriental rug had been stretched in front of the fireplace, and several couches and lamps had been placed strategically around the room.
Melanie propped her portfolio against a post and eyed the renovations. Tugging off her gloves, she walked over to the bar to admire the polished, inlaid brass.
“Something I can do for you?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Jim Doels, voice. She whipped around. Tall and lined, Jim settled a cap on his head and waited, his face tense, his eyes never wavering.
She and Gavin’s father had never gotten along. Working at the lodge together hadn’t made things any easier. She pointed to her portfolio. “I’m here to meet Rich. I have those old pictures he was interested in.”
“He’s busy.”
“Then Gavin.”
The older man’s lips tightened. “He’s busy, too.”
“Are they here?”
Nodding, he motioned toward the back of the lodge. “Got some bigwigs with them. Don’t know when they’ll be through.”
“It’s okay,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’ll wait in the north wing.”
“It may be awhile.”
“I’ve got plenty of time,” she replied, not letting him dissuade her. Jim Doel had never said why he didn’t like her, but she assumed it was a combination of feelings—guilt for the death of her mother and anger that she, at least in Gavin’s father’s opinion, had betrayed his only son. He’d never know the truth, so she would have to get used to his glacial glances and furrowed frowns until she was finished with her job here.
Inching her chin up a fraction, she hauled her heavy portfolio off the floor and said, “Please let Rich know where he can find me.”
Jim nodded grudgingly, and Melanie, rather than ask for his help, made two more trips to the car to pick up the bulky pictures. It took nearly half an hour to carry them into the north wing, and as she paused to catch her breath on her final trip, she heard the sound of voices coming from the banquet room.
The door was ajar, and her curiosity got the better of her. She looked into the crack and caught a glimpse of several men, all dressed in crisp business suits, clustered around the huge, round table. Smoke rose in a gentle cloud to the ceiling.
Gavin sat across from the door, and he looked bored to tears. His hair was combed neatly and he was wearing a blue suit, but his gaze lacked its usual life and he tugged at his tie and stuck his fingers under his collar.
Melanie couldn’t help but grin. Where were the beat-up leather jacket and aviator glasses? she wondered, wishing she dared linger and watch him a little longer. She’d never thought of him as an entrepreneur, and she found it amusing to catch a glimpse of him in a starched white shirt and crisp tie, dealing with lawyers or accountants or investors or whoever the other men happened to be.
She made her way to the end of the hall and the north wing. As wide as the lodge itself, the huge room was vacant, aside from some chairs stacked in a corner and a few tables shoved against the windows.
Melanie shrugged out of her coat, then began setting out the photographs that she’d selected for the sepia-colored pictures that were to decorate the main lobby. There were pictures of miners with pickaxes, wagon trains and mule teams, crusty old-timers panning for gold and younger men gathered around a mineshaft. There was a shot of a steaming locomotive and another of a nineteenth-century picnic by a river. She laid them out carefully, proud of her work.
She didn’t hear Gavin walk into the room, nor did she notice when he stopped short and sucked in his breath.
Gavin hadn’t expected to find her here, leaning over the table, her hips thrust in his direction and her black glossy hair braided into a rope that was pinned tightly to the back of her head.
Her lips were pursed, her eyebrows knitted in concentration, and her hips, beneath her denim skirt, shifted seductively as she arranged photograph after photograph on the table.
As if feeling the weight of his gaze, she glanced over her shoulder, and for a fleeting second her eyes warmed and her lips moved into a ghost of a smile.
Gavin’s breath caught in his lungs for a heart-stopping moment, and he had trouble finding his voice. “Are you waiting for Rich?”
He noticed her shoulders tighten. Turning, she eyed him suspiciously. “Isn’t he here?”
“Not now. He had business in Portland.”
Her lips turned down. “But I just saw him—”
“I know. He got a call. There’s some emergency with a case of his. He just took off.”
“Well, that’s great,” Melanie said, motioning to the windows. “I hoped to get out of here before the storm really hit.”
“What’s keeping you?” he baited, and saw a spark flash in her eyes.
“My job. We have a contract, remember?”
“Rich’s idea.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter whose idea it was, does it? Because, like it or not, you and I are stuck with it.”
“You could always leave,” he suggested, and the look she shot him was positively murderous.
“I came here to do a job, Gavin, and I intend to finish it. The sooner it’s done, the sooner I’m out of here.” She placed her hands on her hips.
“Then let’s get to it.”
“Okay, first you need to figure out exactly where you want these hung. For what it’s worth, I think you should hang them in chronological sequence—” Impatiently he listened as she explained about each of the pictures and how each shot had a particular meaning to the forty-niner theme of the lodge. Though she spoke with enthusiasm, he had trouble concentrating and was constantly distracted by the slope of her cheek, the way her teeth flashed as she spoke, or how her sweater stretched across her breasts.
“. . . and that picnic, it’s my favorite,” she was saying. “It took place at the base of Mount Prosperity sometime in the eighteen-eighties, I think, much later than forty-nine, but it still has a certain flavor.” Her voice drifted off, and her face angled up to his. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” she charged, lips pursing angrily.
“Does it matter?”
Her eyes flashed. “I suppose it doesn’t. I just thought since you’re the owner of this place, you might be interested. I guess I was wrong.”
“Go on,” he suggested. His thoughts had taken him far from the photographs on the table. He knew that he and Melanie were virtually alone in the lodge. Rich had left with the accountant and investors, the workers had the day off, the carpenters who had come in were now gone, and even his father, after gruffly announcing that someone was waiting for Rich in the north wing, had left the premises.
Vexed, she placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the ceiling. “I don’t know why I try,” she muttered as if conversing with the rafters in the vault high overhead.
Gavin motioned impatiently at the table. “Look, they’re all fine. You just tell me where to hang them and we’ll do it.”
“You and me?” she asked.
He felt one side of his lip curve up. “Face it, Melanie, we’re stuck with each other.”
She paled slightly. “But you’re still laid up—”
“My ankle’s fine.”
“And you don’t mind risking breaking it by falling off a ladder?” she said, sarcasm tainting her words.
“Won’t happen,” he replied, noticing how anger intensified the streaks of jade in her eyes. “Just give me a minute to change.”
She didn’t have time to protest. He dashed off, leaving her with the photographs. Don’t argue with him, she told herself. Take advantage of his good mood. But she glanced through the windows to see the snow begin to drift around the lodge. Most of the mountain was now obscured from her view. They’d have to work fast. The railing of the deck showed three inches of new snow, and the wind had begun to pick up. Maybe she should just forget this and come back when the storm had passed.
Not yet, she decided. She had too much to do to let a little snow bother her. She’d grown up around here and she knew how to drive in the snow. She’d be fine. She hazarded another glance outside and decided she didn’t have any time to lose.
By the time she’d hauled the photographs back to the main lobby, placing each matted print on the floor near the appropriate wall space, Gavin reappeared, tucking the tail of his blue cambric shirt into faded jeans. He strode quickly, without the use of a cane, to the huge fireplace on the far wall. Bending on one knee, he began stacking logs on the huge grate.
“Do we really need a fire?” she asked, glancing at her watch.
“Probably not.”
“It’ll go to waste.”
Ignoring her, he struck a match. The dry kindling ignited quickly, sizzling and popping as yellow flames discovered moss-laden oak. His injury didn’t seem to bother him, and when he straightened and surveyed his work, he nodded to himself.
“Now that we’re all cozy,” she mocked, hoping to sound put out, “let’s get started.”
“You’re the boss,” he quipped, gesturing to the stack of prints she had started positioning around the main lobby.
“Remember that,” she teased back.
“Always.” His eyelids dropped a little, and Melanie’s breath caught in her throat as he stared at her.
Clearing her throat, she pointed to a picture of a grizzled old miner and two burros. “You can start with this one,” she said. “It should go near the door. And then, I think, the picture of the locomotive on the trestle. Then the mine shaft . . .” She walked around the large, cavernous room, shuffling and reshuffling the prints. Gavin was with her every step of the way, and her nerves were stretched tight. She felt the weight of his gaze, smelled the musky scent of his aftershave and saw the set angle of his jaw. Dear God, help me get through this.
When she finally decided on the placement of each picture, he took off in search of a ladder. Melanie sank against the windows and felt the cold panes against her back. Just a few more hours. She glanced anxiously through the window and noticed the storm had turned worse. The higher branches of the pines surrounding the lodge danced wildly in the wind, and the snow was blowing in sheets.
When Gavin returned with the ladder, his face was grim. “I just listened to the weather report,” he informed her. “The storm isn’t going to let up for hours.”
Melanie’s heart sank. Nervously, she shoved her bangs from her eyes. “Then I should leave now.”
“No way.”
“What?” She looked up sharply.
“It’s nearly a whiteout, Mel. Winds are being measured over forty miles an hour. I’m not going to let you leave until it’s safe.”
“It’s safe now. Not that you have a whole lot of say in the matter.”
“Just wait. We’ve got a lot of work to do. Maybe by the time we’re done, the winds will have died down.”
“Is that what the weather service said?”
Tiny brackets surrounded his mouth, and he shook his head. “Afraid not. In fact, they predict it’ll last through the night.”
“Then I’ve got to leave now!”
“Hold on,” he said firmly, one hand clamping over her arm. “If there’s a lull, I’ll drive you out of here in one of the trucks with four-wheel drive.”
“I’ve got my car here. I’ll—”
“You’ll stay put!” he said, his eyes gleaming with determination. “Until it’s safe.”
“Oh, so now you’re the one giving orders.”
“While you’re up here in my lodge, you’re my responsibility,” he said quietly.
“I’m my own person. I don’t need you or anyone else telling me what to do!”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Then use your head, Melanie. You know how dangerous a storm like this can be. Just wait it out. We can finish here.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but at least you won’t be in a ditch somewhere, freezing to death.”
“No, I’ll just be suffocating in here while you keep ordering me around.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“Damn right!”
He laughed then, and Melanie was taken aback at the richness of the sound. “So be it,” he muttered. “Now, come on, quit complaining and let’s get to work.”
She hated to give in to him, but the thought of driving out in a near blizzard wasn’t all that inviting. “All right,” she finally agreed, “but I’m leaving the minute the winds die down.”
He didn’t comment, just started up the ladder. She was afraid his ankle wouldn’t support him, but he didn’t once lose his balance, and slowly, as they hung picture after picture, the rust-tone prints began to add flavor to the lobby.
As she watched him adjust a picture of oxen pulling a covered wagon, she noticed how quiet the lodge had become. The only sounds were the scrape of the ladder, their soft conversation and the whistle of the wind outside. “Where is everyone?” she asked.
“Gone.” he replied, glancing down at her from the top of the ladder.
“Gone?”
“Yeah. It’s just you and me.”
He was still staring down at her as she shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
“Does that bother you?” he asked, one foot lower on the ladder than the other, his denim-clad legs at her eye level.
“Nope,” she lied. “As long as I’ve got one self-centered egotistical male bossing me around, I’m happy as a clam.”
“Good.” Gavin struggled to keep from smiling. He stepped up, and she tried not to watch the way his buttocks moved beneath the tight denim. “I figured the sooner this was done—”
“The sooner I’d be out of your hair.”
He made a disgusted sound. “I was going to say, the sooner you’d be happy. If that’s possible.”
She didn’t bother responding. And she tried to drag her gaze away from him to keep from noticing the way his shirt pulled across his broad shoulders and the lean lines of his waist as he reached upward. His hips, too, under tight jeans, moved easily as he shifted his weight from one rung to the next.
Without warning, the lights in the lodge flickered. Gavin froze on the ladder. “What’s going on . . .” But before he could say anything else, the only illumination in the entire building came from the fireplace. “Son of a bitch!” He shoved his hands through his hair, then climbed down the final rungs of the ladder. “Stay here,” he ordered. “We’ve got an emergency generator, but I don’t think it’s operational yet.” He started down the hall, his footsteps echoing through the huge old building.
Melanie watched him disappear into the darkness, then walked anxiously to a window. Snow, driven by a gusty wind, fell from the black sky to blanket the mountain. It peppered against the window in icy flakes.
Now what? she wondered, shivering. Rubbing her arms, she walked back to the fireplace and checked her watch in the firelight. Gavin had been gone nearly fifteen minutes.
The old empty lodge seemed larger in the darkness. The windows rose to cathedral spires and reflected gold in the firelight, and the ceilings were so high overhead they were lost in the darkness.
She heard the clip of Gavin’s footsteps and saw the bob of a flashlight. “Well, so much for the generator,” he said, his lips thin in frustration.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing that some new parts won’t fix, but that’s not the bad news. We have a ham radio in the back, and I listened for a few minutes while I found these.” He held up several kerosene lamps and a couple of flashlights. “The storm is worse than they expected. High winds have knocked down power poles and some of the roads are impassable.”
With a mounting sense of dread, Melanie said, “Then I’d better leave now, before things get worse.”
“Too late,” he replied. “The road to the lodge is closed. I called the highway department. A falling tree took out several electricity poles and has the road blocked. This storm is more than the electric company can handle right now. The sheriff’s department and state police are asking everyone to stay inside. The weather service now seems to think that this storm won’t let up until sometime tomorrow at the earliest.”
Her stomach dropped. “You mean—”
“I mean it looks like you and I are stuck here for the night, maybe longer.”
“But I can’t be. I’ve got work and my dog’s locked in the house and . . .” Her voice drifted off as she saw the glint of determination in his eyes.
“You’re staying here, Melanie,” he said, his voice edged in steel. “You don’t have any choice.”