Fresh Tracks

Fresh Tracks

Seven women, seven days. A lot can happen. There are three things that Amy

Forrester loves most in the world: Jo, her wife of fifteen years; spending time with

her closest friends; and her cabin in the woods. What better way to spend the week

between Christmas and New Year's than having all three! When she invites her three

best friends to join her and Jo in their mountain hideaway, all she expects is good

food, fine wine, and lively conversation.

Unfortunately for Amy, there are three things that she doesn't count on: her best

friend's relationship is falling apart; her two other friends share a secret that causes

nothing but conflict and discomfort; and the arrival of Jo's fly-by-the-seat-of-her-

pants niece Darby, who has a habit of leaving broken hearts in her wake.

Childhood friends, new lovers, and old rivals share beginnings, endings, and the

uncommon bonds of friendship in a story filled with romance and possibility.

Monday, December 26

PREPARATIONS

The weather looks like it's going to be beautiful for the whole week, babe." Jo Cooper

sipped her coffee as she read the paper. She was a beacon of calm in the otherwise

hurricane-like whirlwind of her wife. Whenever they had to ready the house for guests, Jo

affectionately referred to Amy as The Cleaning Machine. The rules were simple: stay alert

and stay out of the way or you'd be sucked up and disposed of with the rest of the grime.

"Any snow?" Amy whipped a cloth over the small dining table as she asked the question.

Jo raised the paper and her cup without missing a beat, her eyes never leaving the column

she was reading. After fifteen years with Amy Forrester, she knew the maneuvers well.

"Probably around Wednesday and then a little more toward the end of the week. No big

storms in the area, though. Should be perfect."

"Thank God." The last thing Amy wanted was for her friends to either be snowed in and regret ever coming, or to not be able to get there at all. The cabin wasn't terribly far from the city—a little over an hour—but the snow could be a very^ deterring factor when it

came to driving any farther than a few minutes, even for those born and raised in upstate

New York and used to the winters. Driving in a snowstorm was nothing to fool with, and

their location was fairly remote. Better safe than sorry. "I'm going to need you to get the extra table leaf—maybe two of them—from the basement for me," she said as she

regarded the small table. "And the chairs."

"Whatever you want." Jo finished reading and folded the paper neatly, holding her

lukewarm cup between her hands while she watched her wife with a smile.

Amy's wavy red hair was pulled back into a haphazard ponytail, wisps of it escaping and

dangling around her ears. Her face was devoid of any makeup, the peaches-and-cream

complexion dotted all over with faded freckles. Nobody would ever peg her for a day over

thirty-five, but in reality, Amy was forty-two and just as sexy and beautiful as the first

time Jo had ever laid eyes on her. Dressed in what she called her "cleaning sweats," she flitted around the house, dusting tabletops and straightening knick-knacks. She'd pulled

the sleeves of her long-sleeved black T-shirt up to her elbows and the old, ratty gray

sweatpants clung to her hips like a small child to its mother. Jo felt a familiar tingle low in her body as Amy bent to pick up a dust bunny from the floor. When she made her way past

the table, Jo hooked a finger into the waistband of the sweats and pulled back until Amy

plopped into her lap.

"Honey, I'm cleaning," Amy whined in protest.

"I see that." Jo buried her face in the crook of her neck and nuzzled.

"Stop it. I'm gross."

"You're never gross. You're gorgeous."

"Oh, please."

"I love the way you smell." Jo inhaled deeply to prove her point.

"Like Pledge and Windex?"

"Exactly. It's intoxicating."

Amy slapped playfully at her. "I've got work to do, you brute. Let go."

Jo nipped at the side of Amy's neck as her long fingers ventured under the hem of the T-

shirt, gently teasing over the bare skin. "Nobody will be here until later."

Amy squirmed and her voice was suddenly hoarse as she felt Jo's hand sliding up her torso.

"Joanna." Trying for sternness and failing miserably.

"There's plenty of time."

Amy closed her eyes. She was used to her inability to resist Jo's touch, but her brain

surprised her by taking control away from her untrustworthy libido. She caught Jo's hand

through the fabric and stopped its progress just before it could close over her bare

breast. She pecked Jo on the cheek and hopped off her lap. Jo blinked in surprise and then

narrowed her eyes, smiling with playful wolfishness.

"Later." Amy held her hands up in a placating gesture. "I promise."

"Don't think I'm not going to collect on that."

"I'm counting on the fact that you will." Amy's eyes twinkled.

"It's really not fair that you wear your cleaning sweats with no bra or underwear. You know that, right?"

Amy winked and dragged the vacuum cleaner from a nearby closet. "Hey, I have to keep the upper hand somehow."

"You always have and always will have the upper hand. And you know it."

Amy clicked on the machine, the smug expression of satisfaction on her face saying she

knew Jo was exactly right about that.

"And you use it to your advantage every chance you get," Jo shouted over the humming.

Amy grinned, but didn't look up from the floor.

Jo got to her feet and headed for the back hallway, reluctantly moving her thoughts to the

tasks she needed to complete outdoors. The cold air would do her good, help to cool her

heated blood. Her sexual attraction to her partner had never let up, not once in all the

years they'd been together. They seemed to have the healthiest sex life of any of their

friends, a fact of which she was absurdly proud. She knew how common it was for the sex

drives of women to taper off as they aged, but hers had stayed strong through her forties.

Turning fifty last year hadn't changed a thing—she still felt the urge to chase Amy around

the bedroom, and did just that.

Smiling at the thought, she stepped into her boots, donned her coat, and tromped through

the snow in the back yard of the cabin to the giant pile of split wood stacked neatly near

the edge of the trees. Although she loved their house in the city—there was something

wonderful about the hustle and bustle, being five minutes from everything, knowing your

neighbors—the peacefulness she felt at the cabin was incomparable. She could literally

feel herself breathe a sigh of relief whenever she pulled into the driveway, every muscle in

her body relaxing and every worry on her mind flying right out of her head to be dealt with

at another time. She needed this respite from everyday life and tried to get out to the

cabin as often as possible.

Jo stopped walking and stood completely stil . The sky was a bril iant blue, the fresh snow

blanketing the ground in a blinding white, glistening as though there were tiny pieces of cut glass sprinkled across the surface. She inhaled the cold, crisp air, letting it freeze her

lungs and awaken her senses. The gentle quiet filled her ears, broken only by the

chattering sound of the winter birds feasting at the feeders Amy had scattered around

the property. In the distance, she could hear something else, another inhabitant of the

woods working diligently. A squirrel, perhaps? A small deer? She let the peace of nature

wash over her and felt...home.

The cabin had belonged to Amy's family for more than a century. It started out as nothing

more than a shack and gradually, additions were built, walls and foundations were

reinforced, the garage was added, more land was cleared.

The Forrester family owned a total of seventy-five acres around it, so the peacefulness

was guaranteed. Nobody would be building next door. Ever, if Jo had any say. Amy's mother

had died when Amy was just a teenager and ownership of the cabin was passed down to

Amy, her brother, and her sister in equal shares after their father died five years ago. It

soon became clear to everybody that Amy's siblings had neither the time nor the desire to

visit the cabin,- and it made perfect sense for Amy to buy them out. She had done so

happily and over the past three years, she and Jo had spent as many weekends and

vacations as possible fixing, repairing, and remodeling the place.

Sometimes Amy was too busy with the restaurant she owned and Jo came up alone, whiling

away her spare time by lovingly transforming the house into what they wanted. It could

hardly be called a cabin at this point. It was nicer than most people's homes. The giant

master suite in the back on the first floor was Jo's pride and joy. She had surprised her

wife with a sunken Jacuzzi tub surrounded by windows and skylights. Soaking in the tub

encircled by candles was Amy's favorite way to relax after a long and stressful day; Jo

would never forget the look on her face and the grateful tears glimmering in her eyes when

she saw the newly remodeled master bath for the first time. It made her thank all the

gods above that she'd decided on a career as a contractor.

The second floor held two more bedrooms and a full bath tucked between them. A large

stone fireplace and hearth was the centerpiece of the living room, perfect for creating

ambiance at this time of year. There was a furnace, but Jo preferred to heat with wood

whenever possible. The beige and deep hunter green kitchen was state-of-the-art, with

nothing but the best Corian countertops, ceramic tile floor, and the most modern

appliances for Amy, who was the most fantastic cook Jo had ever known.

I am a lucky woman. The thought crossed her mind as she loaded up an armful of logs. Life

had been good to her. She didn't like to dwell on the fact, for fear she might jinx things,

so when the phrase did go zipping through her brain, she'd often freeze and then glance

around in paranoia as though expecting a bus to come speeding out of nowhere and run her

down or a plane to plummet from the sky and squish her into a pancake.

Back in the cabin, Amy was still cleaning feverishly, a fine sheen of sweat covering her

forehead. Jo dumped the logs into their cast iron holder near the fireplace.

"Do you want me to start the fire now, Your Highness?"

Amy quirked a brow at the title. "Why yes, lowly servant. That would be lovely."

Jo shed her winter outerwear and went to work with newspaper and kindling. "Who's

coming first?"

"Molly and Kristin should be here this afternoon." Amy ticked the guests off on her fingers. "Sophie will be here tonight. Laura can't make it until Wednesday morning."

"Wel , the place looks terrific."

Amy looked around. "I hate to say it, but I think I'm done."

Jo grinned as she struck a long match against its flint. "Honey, you've been cleaning

nonstop since six o'clock this morning. The place isn't that big." She set flame to paper.

"And frankly, it wasn't that dirty."

"All the sheets are clean. All the rooms are vacuumed. Everybody's got fresh towels. I've got enough food."

"More than enough food."

"We've got enough alcohol."

"More than enough alcohol."

"More than enough alcohol." As if pulled magnetically, Amy dropped her butt onto the plaid couch and finally let out a whew.

"Nice work, baby."

"Right back atcha, love."

"I didn't do much. Watching you clean is hardly work."

"Snow-blowing the driveway is tough. Don't sell yourself short. Plus, the way you build a fire is practically an art form." Amy watched

her wife's hands as they expertly placed small logs, coaxing the fire to consume more.

Could it be considered an art form? Fire building? It should have been, as far as Amy was

concerned.

She studied Jo as she crouched in front of the fireplace. Jo's curly, chestnut brown hair

just brushed along the nape of her neck and had begun to show just the slightest sprinkling

of gray over the past couple years. Her skin was smooth and her brown eyes were soft and

kind. Amy allowed her eyes to linger on Jo's strong back before traveling along the

deceptively powerful body. Jo was nearly six feet tall and very lean. But lean wasn't the