Ellie woke to the sound of Daniel crying and glanced at her clock. It was just before five in the morning—past time for their next dose of acetaminophen. Struggling against dizziness, she got out of bed and pulled on her bathrobe. “I’ll be right there, sweetie. Hang on.”

She walked to the kitchen, where she swallowed two Tylenol and poured apple juice into a sippy cup for Daniel. When that was ready, she measured out a dose of acetaminophen into a medicine spoon and carried it, together with the juice, to his room. She found him sitting up in bed, his beloved blankie clutched to his cheek. She sat down beside him and pressed her wrist to his forehead.

He was hot—at least a hundred and two, she guessed.

She really ought to take his temperature, but the thermometer was back in the kitchen, and she was too damned tired. “I know you feel icky, sweetheart. It’s time for more medicine.”

He opened his little mouth and took the medicine without a fight, then buried his head against her chest.

“I brought you some apple juice.” She wanted to keep him hydrated and knew from experience that apple juice was her best bet at getting him to drink. “Can you take a few sips for me? I know it hurts to swallow, but your body needs lots of good juice to fight the bad germs.”

He took a swallow, then another, then turned his head away.

“Good job.” She set the juice on his bedside table, wrapped him in his blanket, and held him, stroking his back, her cheek resting against his dark, downy hair. “I’m so sorry you’re sick. You’ll start feeling better soon. I promise.”

“Soon” was a relative term. To an almost-three-year-old, Ellie supposed the word meant “right away.” In reality, they’d gotten their first doses of antibiotics about ten hours ago, so they had about fourteen hours to go before the medicine kicked in.

Exhausted and certain that Daniel wouldn’t want her to go, she made him an offer. “Do you want to sleep with mommy?”

He nodded.

She scooped her son up and carried him down the hallway toward her room. She had just tucked him into her bed when she noticed a scraping sound coming from outside. She peeked out her window to see a man shoveling what had to be more than two feet of snow from her sidewalk. She didn’t have to see his face to know who it was.

Jesse Moretti.

She recognized his parka, his big build, and the Jeep idling at the curb.

He’d done so much to help her. She needed to make sure she thanked him properly with a card or a phone call or something.

She had turned back toward her bed when the thought struck her. Maybe he was the person responsible for shoveling her walk these past two years. When had he moved into the neighborhood?

No. It couldn’t have been him alone. Could it?

She slipped out of her bathrobe, crawled back into bed, and wrapped an arm around Daniel, fatigue and illness quickly dragging her under.

* * *

Jesse stowed the snow shovel in the back of his Jeep then climbed into the driver’s seat, glancing at Ellie’s dark windows as he headed up the highway toward work. He hoped she and her little guy were feeling better.

Jesus.

What a small fucking world it was. Jesse had come to Colorado to get Iraq and Afghanistan out of his mind, and he’d ended up buying a cabin behind Crash’s widow. What were the odds?

Dan Meeks. Crashhawk, or Crash for short.

Jesse was so used to thinking of Dan by his nickname that it hadn’t clicked for him until he’d seen the SOAR patch and had thought for a moment about Ellie’s last name. Crash had been one of the best damned Black Hawk pilots Jesse had ever known. There’d been a good half dozen times when he and his crew had appeared from the sky like avenging angels, raining hellfire down on the enemy and getting Jesse and his element to safety.

Jesse parked in the staff parking lot of Scarlet Mountain Resort and trudged uphill through the dark in almost three feet of fresh powder to the chalet-style building that served both as Ski Patrol HQ and the First Aid Center. Plow crews were busy clearing snow from the sidewalks around the lodge and the massive guest parking lots, sunrise still a good hour and a half away.

Jesse stomped the snow from his boots and stepped through the door. “Mornin’.”

“Hey, Moretti.” Matt Mayes, ski patrol supervisor, sat at the dispatch desk, his avalanche rescue dog Boomer dozing near his feet. A former champion alpine skier, Matt still ripped up the slopes at age fifty-nine. “Coffee’s fresh if you want some.”

Jesse walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup, calling to Matt over his shoulder. “What’s the forecast?”

“At the moment, it’s minus ten on top with a wind chill of minus twenty-five. They’re calling for clearing skies with a high of about thirty.”

That would mean busy slopes. There was nothing like blue skies after a big snowfall to drive the state’s hardcore powder hounds into the mountains. It didn’t matter how cold it was. Of course, the weather in the Rockies could change without warning. That’s why the dispatch desk watched the forecast throughout the day.

Jesse took a sip of his coffee. It was thick and black and bitter—exactly the way he liked it. If this shit didn’t wake you up, you were probably dead. “Hey, do you know anyone who rides horses?”

Matt looked confused. “You want to go riding?”

Jesse shook his head. “SnowFest is coming up in a month or so, and I want to sign up for the skijoring race.”

Forget paragliding, BASE jumping, and slacklining. Skijoring was the most insane sport Jesse had seen in his time in Colorado. Skiers made their way down a snowy street in the middle of town, skiing over big ramps and collecting rings along the way—all while being towed behind a galloping horse.

Yeah. You couldn’t make this shit up.

Most people would have told Jesse he was insane, but Matt just nodded. “I have a few ideas. I’ll ask around.”

“Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”

Other patrollers began to arrive—Travis, Ben, Christa, Kevin, Amanda, Doug, Steve. They shuffled in, poured themselves coffee, and gathered at the dispatch desk.

Matt glanced down at his clipboard, where he’d written the day’s schedule in chicken scratch, assigning each patroller to one or more trails. “We got almost thirty-six inches of new snowfall. We’ve had the snowcats running on the greens and blues. Christa and Travis, I’d like the two of you to hit Little Bear Mountain and mark any hazards.”

“Little Bear again?” Travis muttered.

Little Bear was home to most of the greens and blues—beginner and intermediate trails. Travis had a thing for the expert-only stuff, the black diamond and double-black diamond runs.

Matt ignored Travis. “Doug, you’ve got the blues on Bella Vista. Amanda, work with the grooming crew on the terrain park.”

The freestyle terrain park was the newest addition to the resort and featured jumps, rails, and a 20-foot-long half-pipe. It was a hit with snowboarders.

“Jesse, Ben, and Kevin, head up to Eagle Ridge, throw some bombs, and check out the double-blacks and the glades. We’ve got dry powder on top of hardpack, so the risk of avalanche is sky high. Roger is already up on the mountain, making sure all the patrol huts are shoveled and toasty warm for you. We’ve got miles of terrain to open and not a lot of time. Let’s get to it.”

Matt had trusted Jesse with explosives from the moment he’d joined ski patrol because of his military experience. Jesse had to admit that he much preferred blowing up snow to blowing up people.

Kevin walked over to him. “Get geared up and pack the fuses and charges. Try to steal a thermos of coffee if there’s any left. I’m going to get the sled.”

Ben stepped out of the kitchen, his gaze met Jesse’s. “What a dick. He always drives, and we always ride.”

“It’s called seniority.” Jesse couldn’t help but grin. “But, hey, we get to blow shit up and ski glades on a fresh powder day. I’m not complaining.”

Skiing through glades—stands of trees—was one of the most dangerous things a skier could do and Jesse’s new favorite winter pastime.

Ben acknowledged the truth of what Jesse had said with a nod and a greedy grin. “The stoke meter is on high today.”

Jesse grabbed a radio and hand mic out of the charger, then went to the locker room for his gear. He traded his blue parka for his red ski patrol parka with its yellow cross, then grabbed his skis, boots, and his helmet. Five minutes later, he and Ben were skiing to the locked facility where they kept the explosives. Kevin was already there, sitting pretty on the blue Sherpa, his skis in the rack. The snowmobile had been custom-built so that it could carry a team of four patrollers, together with gear, skis, and a patient on a litter.

“Did you bring coffee?” Kevin called out.

“There wasn’t any left,” Ben shouted.

“Fuck!”

Jesse stepped out of his skis and propped them against the building, then swiped his ID, opened the door, and flipped on the light. It took him and Ben all of five minutes to gather what they needed—a dozen charges, and double that number of fuses and pull-tab igniters. They packed the igniters and fuses separately from the charges and piled all of it onto the back of the Sherpa. Then they stowed their poles and skis in the rack and climbed aboard the snowmobile.

Jesse called up to Kevin. “We’re good to go.”

The Sherpa’s engine roared as they headed up the mountain.

* * *

Jesse watched while Kevin studied the terrain. The man was an expert at knowing when to call a slope safe. It was one of the most important jobs at the resort. If he fucked up, people could die.

Jesse was learning to read the landscape, but it would take years before he’d have anything approaching Kevin’s skill. Still, some things were obvious even to him. That big cornice hanging from the cliff at the top of the ridge would have to be blasted into oblivion. That would dump more snow onto the slope below, which would have to be bombed, too.

Yeah, they had their work cut out for them.

Kevin pointed. “Let’s take down that cornice. Two charges—one high, one low.”

The goal was to trigger a series of small avalanches so that the shifting layers of snow would be settled before skiers hit the slopes.

Jesse prepared the charges. Not much bigger than cans of soup, each held two pounds of pentolite—a chalky mix of trinitrotoluene, aka TNT, and pentaerythritol tetranitrate, or PETN. A single charge could easily blow the three of them to shit if mishandled.

Ben bent down to watch. “Did you work with pentolite as a Ranger?”

Jesse chuckled at the idea of Rangers throwing soup cans. “Uncle Sam had more powerful shit for us to play with.” He inserted the fuses, then attached the igniters. He held out one charge for Ben, kept the other for himself. “You ready?”

Ben nodded. “Let’s do this.”

They got into position, then synced their movements, igniting the fuses at the same time. They had 90 seconds to throw and take cover before the charges exploded.

Kevin watched from behind. “Jesse, you throw high. Ben, go low.”

“Got it. On three,” Jesse said. “One, two, three.”

He threw his charge, aiming for the top of the cornice. “Fire in the hole!”

They skied away, taking cover behind a large boulder, the seconds ticking by.

BAM!

A cloud of snow fell around them, bits of rock striking the boulder.

They skied out from behind their cover to find the cornice gone, its weight of snow scattered on the slope below them.

Kevin opened his mouth to say something but was cut off.

WHOOMP!

A deep rumble filled the air as the snow on the slope below them shifted.

Kevin grinned. “This slope is primed to slide.”

“So … more charges then?” asked Ben.

“Yep.”

Jesse got to work building more bombs.

* * *

By late afternoon, Ellie’s sore throat and fever were gone. Daniel was feeling better, too, judging from the way he bounded around the house in his Superman pajamas, little cape fluttering behind him.

Thank God for antibiotics.

Certain they all needed something healthful and restoring for supper, she decided to make chicken soup from scratch using some frozen chicken stock she’d made during the holidays. Her vision of how the evening would go—the kids playing peacefully in the playroom while she cooked and listened to NPR in the kitchen—was not at all how things turned out.

She’d just begun sautéing an onion when she heard Daisy wail. She wiped her hands on a towel and hurried to the playroom to find her little girl in tears.

“Danny fwoo a bock,” she sobbed, holding her right cheek.

“Let me see.” Ellie kissed her. “You’re going to be okay.”

Then she turned to Daniel, who stood there looking like he might cry, too. “Did you throw a block at your sister?”

Daniel wasn’t yet as verbal as Daisy, which left him at a distinct disadvantage when it came to these situations. “Day boke it.”

“She broke something you built?”

He nodded, despair and tears filling his blue eyes, his lower lip quivering.

“That’s not a reason to hit your sister. You hurt her. See?” She touched her finger to the red mark on Daisy’s cheek.

This was too much for Daniel, who probably hadn’t meant to hurt his sister. He began to cry, too.

Ellie resisted the urge to hug them both and stayed focused on the lesson. “Tell Daisy you’re sorry.”

He managed to get the words out amid his tears. “Sowwy, Day.”

Ellie looked at her daughter. “You upset Daniel when you knocked over his blocks. That wasn’t a nice thing to do.”

Daisy’s lower lip quivered. “It was too taw.”

“Too tall?” Ellie had to bite back a smile. “Daniel can build whatever he wants to build. You don’t get to decide what’s too tall. That’s not your choice to make. Now, what do you say to your brother?”

“Sowwy, Danny.”

And peace was restored.

Unfortunately, she’d left the stove on, and the onion was burned, leaving her to start over.

Ten minutes later, Daniel tripped and bumped his head on the floor. Then Daisy shut her finger in the toy box. No real damage was done in either case—except to Ellie’s nerves. In the end, she did what she swore she’d never do. She popped in a DVD and left Elmo to babysit the kids while she made dinner.

Life as a single mother was anything but graceful.

* * *

Jesse dropped down the ridge into Snow in Summer, a dense glade that cut from Eagle Ridge toward the double-blacks below. His skis surfed through the powder, sent it billowing into his face, a cloud of cold white. Face shots and fresh powder. Did winter get any better than this?

Of course, he wasn’t up here to have fun. It was closing time after a long and busy day. His job now was to sweep the double-blacks and glades to make sure no guests were left behind when the slopes closed. He’d already caught a pair of losers trying to make their way uphill outside the resort boundary for one last run. They hadn’t liked him much when he’d revoked their season passes for two weeks.

“You want to break the rules? You gotta pay.”

But now the slopes were empty, not a soul in sight.

Jesse let skis and snow carry him, the day’s tension melting away.

A glimpse of red.

Jesse stopped, then skied off into the trees for a closer look. Someone had probably lost a glove or something.

No, not a glove. It was a boot—and the boot was attached to a leg.

Adrenaline shot through Jesse’s veins. “Son of a bitch.”

He bent down, moved snow away with his hands, and found a young man upside down in a tree well, dried blood on his forehead. He reached down and felt for a pulse, certain the kid was dead.

The lucky bastard was still alive.

Jesse reached for his hand mic. “Forty-two to dispatch.”

Matt’s voice came back to him. “Go ahead.”

“Code 3, Snow in Summer. I’ve got an unconscious man, probably mid-twenties, upside down in a tree well. It looks like he hit the tree with his head as he fell headfirst into the well. No helmet. Suspected head injury, possible internal injuries and spinal cord trauma. We’re going to need a chopper.”

“Copy that. Patrollers are being dispatched via snowmobile to help prepare for chopper transport. Hang tight. Do what you can.”

“Forty-two out.” Jesse shucked off his pack, reached inside, and pulled out the emergency blanket. He didn’t dare move the kid by himself. All he could do until other patrollers arrived was try to keep him warm and monitor his pulse. He wrapped the blanket around him as best he could and listened for the sound of the approaching snowmobile.

* * *

By the time Ellie got the kids fed and bathed, read them bedtime stories, and got them to sleep, she was exhausted, the lingering effects of illness leaving her sapped.

She was about to retreat to the sanctity of sleep when the phone rang. It was Claire, her younger sister. A massage therapist, Claire lived in Boulder with her husband, Cedar, a computer engineer.

“Hey, sis. Mom says you’re having one hell of a weekend. What’s going on?”

Ellie told Claire the whole story—how Daisy had caught strep and passed it on, how the car had died in the middle of the snowstorm, how Jesse Moretti had given her a ride, how Dad had gotten the car towed to the garage and arranged for a rental. “He was out there at five this morning, shoveling my walk.”

“Dad needs to watch it. At his age—”

“Not Dad. Jesse Moretti. I heard a scraping sound and looked out to find him shoveling my walk.”

“Oh. Oh! I want to hear more about this guy.”

Ellie knew what her sister was thinking. “It’s not like that. Jesse is just my neighbor.”

A tall, good-looking, thoughtful neighbor, but Claire didn’t need to know that.

“Oh, well.” The disappointment in her sister’s voice almost made Ellie laugh. There was a moment of silence. “But is he single?”

Hope sprang eternal with Claire where Ellie’s love life was concerned.

“Yes—at least I think so.” He hadn’t mentioned a wife, and there’d been no ring on his finger. Yes, Ellie had looked. “He’s with the Team and works as a ski patroller. I heard he used to be an Army Ranger.”

He had that military bearing—an intensity, that constant awareness, a hint of aggression. She had noticed that despite being sick.

“So he’s brave, ripped, and super athletic, but broke. Hmm.”

“Claire, he’s my neighbor.”

“So much the better. He won’t have far to go when you hook up.”

“We’re not going to hook up.” Even as she said the words, Ellie’s pulse skipped, an image of Jesse standing shirtless at the reservoir flashing through her mind.

The man was blazing hot.

“It’s been almost four years, sis. Four years.”

Ellie tried not to get irritated with Claire. Her sister had been her rock after Dan’s death, flying to Kentucky, staying with her for six weeks. She’d helped Ellie make the funeral arrangements and held her hand through the service when Ellie had been broken with grief. She’d helped Ellie put her house on the market. Once the house had sold, it was Claire who’d dealt with the movers.

“You don’t think I know that? But if I were going to get involved with someone, it wouldn’t be a man who does risky things for a living. I lost one husband. I couldn’t survive losing another.”

“We all lose the ones we love, and they lose us. If you stop caring about people, you’ll miss out on happiness. If you could go back in time, would you avoid getting together with Dan?”

“No, of course not! What a stupid question.”

“I know you miss Dan, and I know you love those kids, but you need some adult time—if you know what I mean, and I think you do.”

Oh, yes, she did.

Sex.

She hadn’t been with a man since the night before Dan deployed that last time in 2013. His death, her pregnancy, and the birth of the twins had made sex the farthest thing from her mind. But lately…

Still, the idea of getting naked with some random guy held no emotional appeal. Dan had been the love of her life. When she imagined having sex with another man, it only made her miss him more. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to enjoy it. Her heart just wasn’t in it. Apart from sexual frustration and the love she felt for the twins, she had long since gone numb.

“Maybe you should invite Jesse over for dinner—you know, just to thank him.”

Yeah … no. That wasn’t going to happen.

But she did need to call him or send a thank-you card.

“On that note… ” Ellie got up from the sofa and started toward her bedroom. “I need to get some sleep.”

She thanked her sister for checking on her and ended the call, then brushed her teeth, tears filling her eyes when she met her own gaze in the mirror.

Almost four years. It felt like an eternity.

Oh, Dan.