Nine months earlier

Blaire

“I think that’s a body in the snow.”

Liam grunted at my statement but guided our vehicle to the treacherous shoulder. Whiteout conditions had grown worse in the past hour so I almost missed the royal blue lump so out of place against the white and gray landscape. The snowstorm that was supposed to hit east of Vail decided to take a turn. Judging from how fast the snow was falling and the wind was gusting, we were in for a blizzard.

I pushed open the door and cold needles assaulted my face. My friend slammed out of the vehicle and went to the back of his Suburban to retrieve the sled he kept there for situations where he needed to haul items across snow. If that were indeed a person, the apparatus would come in handy. I saw tracks from several snowmobiles before spotting the transport twenty yards from its presumed rider.

“The fool.” Liam trudged past me as he pulled the sled behind him, reaching the person first. He crouched beside him just as I got near. The man was face up in the snow. He was wearing a helmet with a clear shield and blue ski jacket over jeans.

“Big motherfucker, too,” my friend spoke above the howl of the wind. The unconscious man was easily over six feet. The true bulk of his frame was hidden beneath his coat. However, Liam was no lightweight either. For a man of fifty, he was extremely fit, with solid muscles only years of lifting weights could give him.

“What do we do? Take him to Summit County?” I asked.

“Radio says roads are shutting down. We’ll never make it.” We had been heading into town when the weather took a turn for the worse, forcing us to turn around. Liam started examining the man’s body, starting with his pulse. He tried to rouse the unconscious stranger to no avail.

“He has a pulse and is breathing,” my friend informed me.

“We need to get him out of here.”

“No shit,” Liam muttered. “Get his legs.”

There was no choice but to move him as I bent and took hold of the man’s boots. With the blizzard strengthening, we’d risk getting stuck ourselves and first responders wouldn’t be dispatched until the conditions improved. I imagined the 911 call center was already backed up. This man was either going to be dead, alive and paralyzed, or alive with no lasting injuries.

Liam carefully slipped his hands under the man’s shoulders and cradled his head and neck under his forearms. We tried to keep his spine as straight as possible as I pulled him feet-first onto the sled, but the board was too short for the man’s frame, so parts of his lower limbs ended up dangling. His head, torso, and hips were level on the sled. After securing him with a couple of belt straps, we trekked back to the vehicle, pulling the sled behind us.

“Thanksgiving week brings in the idiotic tourists,” Liam grumbled.

“At least he’s wearing a helmet.” The visor had a crack, so the man must have hit one of the trees. His choice to wear jeans riding a snowmobile was questionable unless he wasn’t expecting to stay in freezing temperatures for long.

“Still an idiot.”

I smiled. Liam did not suffer fools. He had no patience for them. Unfortunately, Vail attracted the privileged rich and had become an everlasting source of irritation for him with their sense of entitlement.

When we reached the SUV, lifting more than two hundred pounds of dead weight into the back presented another challenge. After debating what to do for a few minutes, Liam stooped over and removed the belt straps. He then raised the damaged visor. I finally got a good look at our injured charge and my breathing hitched. Thick lashes, classic Roman nose, and whatever angles exposed of his face were chiseled granite. But what struck me the most was how much presence the man exuded even in his unconscious state. My friend tapped the man’s cheek. “Hey. Wake up.”

The stranger’s brows cinched together before thick lashes lifted briefly to reveal inky blue irises. “What?” he rasped.

“Thank fuck,” Liam grunted. “Can you move?”

The man blinked once as if confused, then, as if belatedly understanding what he was asked to do, he shifted to his side to push up. Liam and I rushed to help him. My friend managed to get the stranger up before the man swore under his breath and started to crash.

“Easy,” Liam cautioned. “I’ve got you.” The man passed out again, leaving us to struggle for a few minutes to settle him into the SUV’s cargo space. By the time I jumped down from the tailgate, my overheated skin felt like it had withstood the flames of a furnace so I welcomed the blast of cold air.

Liam shut the cargo door and walked to the driver’s side.

I got in beside him and stole a glance at our guest. “You think he’ll be okay?”

As if on cue, we heard a groan from the back.

“He’s alive,” Liam muttered and gunned the engine.

“True.”

“We more or less confirmed he’s not paralyzed.”

Again, I agreed.

“Otherwise, I’d have to kill him.”

I snorted a bewildered laugh. “What?”

Liam glanced at me. “He’ll blame us, saying we caused it by moving him. We don’t need that trouble.”

“Liam …”

“I’m already regretting that we had to rescue his sorry ass.”

“Do you see any cars on the road at the moment? He’d die from hypothermia if not his injuries.”

“Our life is already too complicated, Blaire.”

Yes, it is.

“The sooner we get rid of him the better,” Liam informed me.

I peeked at our passenger again. Why do I already feel his loss when I don’t even know his name?

My friend barked a censuring laugh. “No, Wren. He’s not one of your injured birds.” And that was how I earned my nickname. I rescued a Canyon Wren with a broken wing and kept it for a while.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve always had a soft spot for wounded creatures.”

“And you forced me to let them go every single time,” I retorted.

“Wild birds are exactly that, Blaire. They belong in the wild,” Liam sighed.

And him? I did not say and, instead, looked out my window wistfully.

* * *

Grant

Grant woke up shivering. The orange glow of a fire taunted him with its warmth, and yet he couldn’t feel its heat. His bleary eyes tracked a shadow moving closer. A vague figure crouched in front of him and his vision focused.

Hazel eyes assessed him.

“You’re awake.” The voice, coming from perfectly formed lips, was melodious and soothing.

A warm hand touched his skin and he leaned into it. She smelled of some ethereal musk.

An angel.

“You’re not dead, big guy,” she chuckled. “You just have a fever.”

Grant smiled despite the goose bumps that ghosted over his skin. He tried to tuck into himself, yanking at the blankets covering him.

The angel got up.

“Stay,” he said in near panic.

“I’ll be back.”

He fretted and drew the covers around him. This didn’t feel real. Grant had never felt this needy in his life.

She returned, holding a tumbler with a straw. No way was he sipping through that thing like a sissy. He tried to get up, but he was pushed back down.

“I can sit up,” he muttered.

“Quit the macho bullshit,” the angel admonished. “Just drink this.”

Grant gave in and sipped from the straw. Then he spewed everything out.

“What the fuck is that?” he growled, then was immediately contrite because his involuntary liquid expulsion landed on his angel’s face.

“Spruce tea. It’s an old Indian concoction that’s good for respiratory infections.” She wiped her face, emitted a long-suffering sigh, and held the straw to him again.

This time Grant obediently drank the bitter liquid, ignoring the urge to spit it up again. When he dutifully finished, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Blaire.”

“Grant,” he returned. The tea momentarily warmed him, but it didn’t take long for his body to quake with chills again. “Feel like shit.”

“I’ve already given you some meds,” she informed him and then a crease marred her forehead. “Your fever’s not breaking. If the roads were open, I’d take you to a hospital, but the blizzard has shut everything down. What were you doing out there anyway?”

Shit, his family must be worried. Oh, fuck. Val.

“My sister. Did you see my sister?”

“You’re the only person we found.”

Grant pushed the blankets aside and attempted to get up. “She’s out there. She’s … fuck.” He fell back as if a magnet yanked him flat on the mattress. What the fucking hell? His muscles weighed like lead and whatever strength he had initially deserted him. He fought to keep his eyes open.

“You need to rest.”

“Phone?” he muttered.

“Cellular service is down.”

He rallied against the drowsiness but it was a losing battle. “What was in that tea?”

“I didn’t poison you if that’s what you’re asking,” came the pert reply.

“Sass,” he said. “I want to kiss that mouth.” He felt the corners of his mouth tip up. “I’d be fucking an angel.”

“You’re delirious.”

“Cold,” Grant murmured. “Sleep with me.”

He was submerged under water, tangled in a net, his lungs close to bursting and he couldn’t get to Val. She was right beside him, eyes closed. She had given up the struggle moments ago.

“Val!” he yelled. Painful spasms followed the gurgling sound of his voice.

He was drowning.

“No!” Grant came awake to darkness and flame.

“It was a dream,” a calming voice told him. He tried to rise but hands pressed down against his shoulders as confusion overpowered his foggy brain.

He needed to save Val. She was going to drown.

“Val,” he croaked.

“Grant, do you know where you are?”

“Water’s freezing,” he told the voice.

“Shit. Okay, hold on.”

“My sister … why … why is there fire in the water?”

No response. There was a rustle of clothes followed by a presence wrapping him in a shroud of comfort.

“Shh …”

“Save her.”

“Grant, sleep.”

“I can’t … need to save her.”

“You’ll be okay.”

“Drowning …” Darkness sucked him back into the abyss, but his thoughts had quieted, pacified by the warmth tightly wound around him and the fragrance of heaven in his nose.

The next time he woke up, he was covered in sweat but no longer shivering. Grant could feel the heat of the fireplace on his right, and on his left, a warm body wrapped around him. A warm, soft body that cleaved to him in all the right places. If circumstances were different, he’d be sporting wood by now, but he was physically spent battling the fever. Contentment washed over him. His hand circled Blaire’s arm that was draped across his torso; he clung to it like a lifeline, a buoy that kept him anchored in tranquility. He let himself be drawn into slumber once again.

Voices.

Hushed whispers.

Blaire was gone from his side and though his fever had abated, his whole damned body hurt as if he’d been run over by a freight train—from the almighty headache, sore throat, aching chest and ribs to the throbbing in his left leg. How much damage did he sustain? Then he remembered why he was in this predicament in the first place and concern for his foolish sister surged to the forefront of his mind. Val had taken off in a snowmobile after a fight with her boyfriend. As for that useless prick, he decided to disappear in the opposite direction, so it was left to Grant to make sure Val came back in one piece. Then he recalled his dream when he was delirious. It was a recurring nightmare from when Val almost drowned. Except in that dream, his sister always died. But something felt different this time and he hadn’t awakened to hopeless despair. Instead, his body recalled that moment of soothing calm as Blaire wrapped herself around him.

Shadows moving by the open door pulled him out of his thoughts.

“It was a mistake to bring him here,” a man’s voice growled.

“Road conditions were treacherous,” Blaire replied. “We could have been stuck in a ditch. State Highway Nine was almost shut down by then, remember?”

They must have moved further away because Grant couldn’t hear the man’s reply. Who the fuck was that guy? He hadn’t stopped to think that Blaire might belong to another man. A strange emotion pierced his chest.

Grant didn’t know how long he’d been at the cabin, but it was time he found out. Every bone and sinew protested as he pushed himself from the bed. He managed to stand up, his surroundings spinning for a few seconds, and he stood still until he found his equilibrium. Taking a step forward and putting weight on his left leg was a mistake.

“God fucking dammit!” he cursed as he crashed to his right knee. The only reason he didn’t fall flat on his face was because he managed to brace himself with his right arm. The jolt wasn’t pleasant either, but he swallowed back another curse.

Blaire and a man he didn’t recognize appeared at the door.

“Why did you get up?” she snapped. Blaire was about to walk up to him when the man she was with blocked her.

Grant didn’t like that one bit and his face must have shown it.

The man before him had a head of cropped salt and pepper hair. Weather-worn lines creased his forehead and the corners of his eyes. But the tight thermal he was wearing did nothing to hide the muscles bunched underneath. He was a fit man who looked to be in his late forties or fifties.

“Who are you?” Grant demanded.

The man snorted. “None of your goddamned business, Thorne.”

Grant didn’t remember giving his last name to Blaire, neither had he taken identification on him when he took off after Val. He picked himself up from the floor just as Blaire shook off the newcomer’s grip. She attempted to guide him back to the bed, but Grant wasn’t about to display any form of weakness. He stood tall, his six-three height topping the other man by at least three inches.

Blaire rolled her eyes at the blatant show of testosterone. “Liam and I found you,” she explained.

“Yes, we know who you are,” her friend said. “It’s all over the local radio. Senator Thorne’s billionaire son missing. Search teams are organizing as we speak.”

“How long since I was reported missing?”

“It’s been thirty-six hours since we found you,” Blaire replied. “Look, as soon as the roads are passable, Liam here will take you to Summit County Hospital.”

“Phones still out?”

Blaire nodded. “Cell service has always been spotty up here and the landline is down.”

“Valerie Thorne … my sister, is there any news about her too?”

“No. There are other tourists missing, but I don’t think your sister was one of them,” Blaire said, laying her hand on his arm in a show of comfort. Her touch startled them both and she quickly stepped away seemingly flustered. “I’m…I’m going to check on dinner,” she muttered.

That gesture of kindness tugged at an unfamiliar muscle in his chest, and he had an odd desire to make her stay when she turned to leave. His eyes followed her retreating form until Liam moved and obscured his view.

“Hey,” the other man snapped his fingers in front of his face as if to break Grant out of a trance. “Don’t even think about it.”

He narrowed his eyes at the older man. “Snap your fingers at me that way again and I’ll break them. You saved my life. I’m thankful. But don’t get between Blaire and me.”

“What did you just say?” Liam growled, taking an intimidating step forward.

Grant didn’t back down and, instead, stared down his nose into angry gray eyes. “You’re protective of her. I get that. But I’m not some psycho you guys rescued who’s gonna hurt her.”

Liam snorted.

“You have a problem with me, Liam?”

“Only rich assholes.”

“When have I wronged you?”

“I know your type.”

“I assure you,” Grant replied, gritting his teeth because he was in no shape for extended verbal sparring with this man. “You’ve never met my type.”

“I haven’t gotten you to the hospital yet,” Liam threatened before he backed away, continuing to hold Grant’s gaze, until he reached the door before turning to leave the room.