Snow Falling on Bluegrass (7 page)

Most of the refrigerated food was still cold: economy-size tubs of margarine, enormous tubes of sliced American cheese, dozens of eggs, and five gallons of milk, ready to expire within the next week. The frozen foods didn't fare as well without electricity, and I just about wept while throwing out enormous melted tubs of rocky road and mint chocolate chip ice cream. But buried under a thawing bag of chicken breasts I found a familiar green-and-yellow box.

“Auntie Nina's!” I exclaimed. “It's the thinnest, limpest, most rubbery cheese pizza on the market!”

Luke seemed disconcerted by my clutching the partially frozen pizza box to my chest like it was an orphaned kitten. “Yes, we keep them on hand for happy hour clients. Paying sixteen dollars for a cheap frozen pizza doesn't sound unreasonable when you've had a few drinks.”

“I lived on these in college. They taste like cardboard, but they bring back good memories.” I sighed, resting my cheek on top of the box. “And you have bacon cheeseburger, my favorite.”

Luke swallowed thickly. “For some reason, you snuggling a pizza box is one of the hottest things I've ever seen.”

“I think you've been out in the woods for too long,” I told him, giving the pizza box one last lingering look. “It's a shame the oven isn't working. A slice of Auntie Nina's would have been a comfort.”

Luke gave the box a speculative look. “Put it with the rest of the cold-storage stuff. Let me see what I can work out.”

Just then, a loud
CRACK
sounded from just outside the windows, followed by the ominous
thump
of what was probably a tree trunk slamming into the side of the lodge near the front entrance.

“What the hell was that?” I cried.

We all ran into the lobby, expecting to find an Ent kicking down the front door. We could see branches smooshed up against the glass like helpless little tree fingers.

“I should probably go out there and check the damage,” Luke said.

“Can we all go?” Dorie Ann asked quietly. “I'd like to see what it's like outside.”

“I'm not going out there,” Gina cried. “It's freezing!”

Ignoring Gina, we geared up as if we were heading out for a polar expedition, with multiple layers of clothes, scarves, hats, and gloves. I put a pot of water on the fire to heat for hot chocolate and coffee when we came back, because we were going to be worse than a bunch of hopped-up, freezing kindergarteners. Gina swept by, slapping me in the face with the sleeve of her coat as she threw it around her shoulders.

“I thought it was too cold for you to go outside,” I said, glaring up at her.

“Like I'm going to let you leave me in the lodge all by myself.” Gina snorted, pulling a stylish knit hat over her hair. Of course, it looked adorable and perfect and made me want to smack her.

I glanced over at Charlie, who was grinning slightly to no one in particular as he tied his boots. It was nice to see that smile again. I snagged my camera bag as Luke carefully popped open the back door to the porch, breaking through a healthy crust of ice.

I was the last out the door by virtue of my camera detour, and I had no choice but to hold on to Gina's arm. I hissed through my teeth as the frigid wind slapped against my cheeks and seeped through my jeans.

The snow was relatively shallow on the porch, but still fluffy enough that it gave way easily under our boots, providing little traction over the thick layer of ice on the concrete. One by one, we carefully picked our way over the slick impromptu ice rink, holding hands to keep the links in our human chain from skittering around like Bambi. My hand slid down Gina's arm to wrap around her fingers. She seemed none too pleased to be holding hands with her semi-nemesis.

“See?” Sadie said brightly as we inched our way down the sweeping stone staircase to the rear grounds of the hotel. “Teamwork! If one of us falls, we all fall. We're only as strong as our clumsiest link. This is like those ropes courses without the annoying gravity issues.”

Unfortunately, just as the words “gravity issues” left Sadie's lips, I reached the second step. And when I reached the second step, my foot slipped out from under me and practically flew forward in a wide arc. And in that moment, rather than holding on to my hand, Gina chose to let go, meaning I had nothing to keep me balanced and my other foot went flying forward in a classic “banana peel” fall. With my momentum throwing me forward, I fell to the next step with a dull, splatting
thump
and bumped my way all the way down the staircase. On my ass.

Ow.

For a second, the wind was knocked out of me and all I could do was sit there, trying to draw breath to my lungs as pain radiated through my tailbone. Charlie, Sadie, and Luke were on their knees in front of me, their voices barely seeping through the fog of “What the hell just happened?”

My speech and my hearing seemed to return at the same time as I grumbled, “Mother . . . fudger!”

“Oh my gosh, Kels, are you all right?” Sadie cried.

“You should stay still,” Charlie said. “Catch your breath.”

“Did you hit your head?” Luke demanded.

“I'm fine,” I insisted, forcing enough air through my lungs so I could speak. “I'm fine. Nothing busted except my pride, I am eighty percent sure.”

I looked up to see Gina holding her phone so she could capture this beautiful moment forever. Bonnie saw what she was doing and none-too-subtly stepped into her sight line to block the shot.

I found two pairs of hands outstretched to help me up—Luke's forest-green work gloves and the TARDIS-themed fingerless mitts that Dorie Ann made for Charlie last Christmas. I waved them both off, bracing my hands against my knees to push up. My ass felt thoroughly busted, but I didn't feel any pain radiating up my back or down my legs. “Eighty-two percent sure,” I amended.

I hoped the snow had been fluffy enough to cushion me against a broken coccyx. I didn't know if I could fashion a donut pillow out of our current supplies. I patted my shoulder, searching for the strap that had been looped around it just moments before.

“Oh, shoot, my camera!” I cried, searching around for my black canvas bag. “Is my camera okay?”

“She flies five feet through the air, but she's worried about her camera?” Luke asked Sadie as we searched the drifts for the bag.

“You don't know how she feels about her camera,” Charlie told him, almost airily. “She calls it Clyde.”

Luke laughed. “Clyde?”

“Hey, show him some respect. Clyde and I have spent some quality years together. If he had a vibrate feature, he would be my boyfriend,” I muttered.

Dead silence. I looked up and realized that everyone was staring at me. And Gina, damn her, was still filming.

After locating Clyde, it took me more than a few steps to shake off the feeling that my ass was about to fall off. The group eventually lost interest in my extraordinary inability to control my limbs and/or mouth and took the time to appreciate the wintry wonderland that had dropped on our heads.

We trudged around the side of the lodge to see that a massive fallen oak had glanced off the front of the building on its way down, but hadn't broken through any exterior walls. And the better news was that it wasn't blocking any of the building's main exits. So the score was Humans: One; Evil Trees Trying to Trap Us Inside the Lodge: Zero.

The huge hotel looked like a Christmas card gone terribly, terribly wrong, with deep drifts of snow and tree limbs hanging askew like broken bones. The wind slashing through the trees, tossing stray flakes against our cheeks, made it seem downright arctic. A cone of silence seemed to have descended over the woods, broken only by the occasional crackle of tree limbs rustling under their icy coating. I had the eerie feeling of being trapped inside one of those snow globes, just waiting for some giant to come shake us up again.

I snapped dozens of pictures of the snow-covered lodge, the cars, the frosted trees. Commissioner Bidwell and any number of bureaucrats would want to know how we spent our time here when we returned to Frankfort. As creative as Sadie was, I knew she would never be able to tell the story of today's events properly. She would need the thousand words provided by my pictures. According to the little display window, I was getting plenty of poignant, nature-y destruction, combined with the relative silliness of my friends trying to walk like polar creatures.

We made a valiant attempt to stick together but eventually wandered off in small groups to marvel. Jacob tossed snow down Tom's collar and gamboled off like he was running in slow motion. (To be fair, it was pretty difficult for Tom to chase him.) Dorie Ann and Theresa made snow angels and sank so deep, we couldn't see them. Bonnie attempted to throw a snowball at Sadie, but Sadie glared at her so sternly that Bonnie turned on her own boyfriend and tossed it at Will instead.

“She's so much meaner than you!” Bonnie yelled as she scampered away.

“At least try to stay in pairs!” Luke called. “Nobody wanders off alone! Use the buddy system.” He glanced down at me. “Are they listening?”

I pursed my lips and shook my head. “Nope. But look at it this way: if they get lost, there will be fewer mouths to feed.”

He grinned. “That's a little mercenary.”

“Mercenary, pragmatic. Potato, potahto. As long as I get my fair share of the granola bars, who's to say what's right or wrong?”

5

In Which I Am Attacked by a Cranky Marsupial

I had been so distracted by recording the wacky snow antics that I hadn't even noticed I had inadvertently teamed up with both Charlie and Luke. Luke stayed by my side, keeping up a steady line of chatter, pointing out the different types of trees that had been culled and the animals that might have been hibernating inside of them before they fell. Charlie was contemplative and silent, carrying the fire ax like a club on his shoulder in case we ran across some tree limb that needed to be cleared. (The giant tree resting against the lodge was a bit beyond his scope.) He was our very own Tin Man, though more emotionally available.

Between the ax and the chainsaw Luke was toting, I felt pretty safe. Trudging through the snow was more difficult than I'd expected, and Luke had to grab my elbow a few times to keep me from face-planting. Even through the sleeve of my coat, I could feel the warmth of his hand. I could only hope that my blush was mistaken for rosiness from the bracing wind.

When we finally reached a little crest on the edge of the property, we could make out the entry road in the distance, distinguishable only by the regularly spaced yellow posts that lined the shoulders. The path was one long mess of fallen tree limbs, as if the hand of God had reached down to play a game of pick-up sticks on our only route to civilization. Entire trees had fallen across the path, making it impossible for anything larger than a Vespa to get around them. And that seemed unlikely, since small Italian motor scooters didn't fare well in wintry conditions.

I glanced at the chainsaw Luke carried, then at the trees, and then back at the chainsaw. “You're going to need a bigger blade.”

Luke blew out an exasperated breath. “Yeah, I don't stand a chance of clearing this by myself. We couldn't clear this out if every person here had a chainsaw.”

“And there's no chance of a roaming band of lumberjacks that might happen by and clear it for us out of the kindness of their hearts?”

“Sadly, no,” he assured me. “Well, hell. While we're out here, I'm going to go grab a few things from my cabin.” Luke nodded toward a small cabin in the distance, near the entrance to the lodge. “I'll be right back. You could come with me. Kelsey?” After a long pause, he added, “Chuck?”

I shook my head, holding Clyde up to face level. “I'm going to take a few more pictures.”

Charlie grumbled, “Don't call me Chuck.”

Luke shrugged with a good-natured grin, and I could tell there would be many Chucks forthcoming. “All right, then, back in a few.”

I swept my camera across the horizon, searching for some interesting visual that should be preserved. I listened to the trees groan and pop, almost musical in their complaints, and relaxed into the process of lining up the shot, finding an object to center my composition. A smooth, low voice sounded in my ear.

“How's your pride?”

I started, nearly dropping my camera. “Don't
do
that!”

“Sorry,” Charlie said, offering me a sheepish grin. “I was only asking about your, uh, injuries. You took quite a spill back there.”

“Well, I guess I should thank you for referring to it as my ‘pride,' ” I said. “And I'm fine, really. Thank you for asking. And thank you for coming out here with me.” I cleared my throat as I tried to find the right words while expressing less than Sadie's “marathon of dirty, sweaty monkey sex” sentiment. “I've missed spending time with you lately, Charlie. It seems like you've been really . . . busy.”

Charlie was looking up at the ice-coated tree branches, the cold gray sky, anywhere but at the person who was speaking to him. And frankly, that was kind of irritating.

“I have been busy,” he admitted. “But there have been other things going on too, things that I've wanted to talk to you about, but couldn't, and it's really . . .” He trailed off, cocking his ear toward the trees. Suddenly he put his hands on my shoulders and shoved me sideways, cushioning my head with his hands so I wouldn't whack it against the tree that broke our fall.

Just behind us, where we'd been standing, a tree branch the thickness of my thigh landed with a
whompf
,
sending up a cloud of snow in its wake.

“Holy hell!” I yelped into Charlie's jacket. Charlie was clutching me close to his chest, his warm breath tickling my face as he watched the icy canopy overhead for more branch bombs. His hands remained cradled around my head and his spicy tea scent snuck its way into my nose, and I allowed myself that moment to just burrow in and appreciate the warmth and closeness that tree-driven terror could provide.

Charlie glanced down at me and quickly dropped his hands away from my head.

“I am having the worst luck today!” I exclaimed, because telling someone that it was awesome to have them cradle your head sounded weird and off-putting.

Charlie's gloved hand wrapped around mine and led me to walk through a branch-free safe zone. “Any of these tree branches could snap at any minute. It will actually make the forest stronger over time. Only the trees that are strong enough to survive the storm will be able to keep growing. Like how forest fires actually help the environment by clearing out underbrush and making it easier for new trees to sprout up.”

I couldn't help myself. I smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. “You memorized a list of facts about trees before we came up here, didn't you?”

His lips pursed in that way that meant he was trying to conceal a smirk. And that cold shell I'd tried to build around my heart thawed just a little. “It's possible that I have a veritable encyclopedia of tree-related knowledge learned over my lifetime.”

I snorted. “I'm sure you're a real dendrophiliac.”

“Hey, I know what that means!” Charlie exclaimed. “I have never once had sex with a tree!”

I burst out laughing. “And that is why I enjoyed spending time with you, Charlie. You made me find all-new cerebrally challenging ways to insult you.”

“So glad to be of help,” he said as his lips quirked into a smile. “So have you called Darrell to let him know you're okay?”

“
Darrell?”
I scoffed. “Not hardly.”

“You don't think he deserves a phone call? He's probably worried about you.”

I blew out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a raspberry, which sounded neither mature nor ladylike. An expression of pure disappointment rippled across Charlie's face. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why Charlie would be offended on Darrell's behalf, particularly since Darrell had no room to be offended. He was happily ensconced in 3C having ear-splitting romps with Loud-Sex Shelley.

Oh, wait. Charlie didn't know that.

I sighed and pursed my lips. “I broke up with Darrell. A few weeks ago.”

Charlie's eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. But he said nothing.

“Charlie?”

Nothing.

I waved my hand in front of his face. He didn't even blink. “Okay, then.”

I waited a few more awkward seconds before walking away and snapping a few more pictures. I focused on light, composition, interesting patterns in the trees, anything but Charlie and his damned mood swings. I did wander too far,. I would admit later that looking up and walking backward when I should have been watching my feet was probably what led to my missing the angry snapping at my ankles.

I turned to find a hissing, spitting, angry ball of gray fur that was none too pleased I'd nearly stepped on its leathery pink tail. I yelped, stumbling back a few steps into a tree—which prompted another yelp as I whacked my head against the rough bark. The possum advanced and I practically climbed up the trunk.

“Okay, okay, no need to get snippy,” I told it. “I'm a big fan of marsupials. Captain Kangaroo, even though he was more of a person than a kangaroo. Um,
Noozles
. That Pokémon thing's a marsupial, right? I'm just going to walk around you and go back toward the lodge. You can toddle off on your way and no one gets their face clawed.”

The possum didn't agree. It rounded, hopping mad and rearing for a fight. I turned right, it veered right. The possum was chasing me. I was being chased by a possum. Why was it that none of my women's self-defense courses covered this?

“How are you doing this without sinking in a foot of snow?” I huffed.

Charlie came stomping through the snow, having dropped his fire ax somewhere among the trees. “Kelsey, are you okay?” He looked down at the possum, which was now attempting to stand on its back legs and challenging Charlie to box. “Yearrgh!”

“It's a possum, a really cranky possum. I thought they were nocturnal!” I exclaimed.

“I thought they hibernated!”

“Well, I guess we were both wrong!”

Charlie shoved me behind him, making me collide with the tree
again
, and he picked up an ice-covered branch the size of a pool cue.

“What are you going to do?” I asked. “Play fetch with it?”

“Well, it's a better option than your mountain man over there would give you, which would be
Roastin' it up with some sweet pataters!
”

I shouldered him aside so I could escape the “damsel in distress” position. If I was going down, it would not be related to unprovoked possum fury. I poked a gloved finger in Charlie's face, nearly smacking him on the nose. “One, that is the worst Yosemite Sam impression I have ever heard. Two, I don't know where you're getting this ‘mountain man' stuff. And three, none of this is helping us resolve the current possum situation!”

“Fine, fine, I'll gently nudge it away with this stick,” he said, stepping toward the gray ball of pissed-off fur and very gingerly moving his branch toward it. The possum responded by hissing and spitting and doing some sort of aerial somersault that almost yanked the branch out of Charlie's hand.

He raced back to my side. “It will not be nudged.”

“Well, that's it. We're just going to have to live out here,” I deadpanned. “I'll start building a shelter from sticks and—oh, nothing else, because everything is frozen.”

“Nonsense, we'll simply backtrack a mile just to get around him. That's reasonable, right?”

I looked up at him and giggled, making him burst out laughing. The possum seemed to take this personally. This was not a possum to be nudged
or
mocked. It charged at us, taking a swipe at my jeans. I let out a sound that was half scream, half laugh and jumped at Charlie, wrapping my feet around his left leg and my arms around his shoulders. And then I let out another scream, because scaling Mount Charlie was murder on my injured behind. His arms swept around my waist, holding me awkwardly against his hip. His slender legs almost buckled under me, and my cheeks flushed red. I tried to disentangle my legs from his, but he adjusted his grip and wrapped his hands under my thighs, pulling me closer.

I stared at his collar, because I couldn't look him in the eye. I could see that his head was tilted toward me, his lips
this
close to brushing my cheek. And in that moment, I was very aware that I had not showered in twenty-four hours. Charlie, on the other hand, smelled absolutely fantastic, and if I wasn't careful, drool was going to start leaking out the side of my mouth. And that was a look that was good on no one.

Don't look up
, I told myself as his breath feathered over my cold skin
. Just don't look up.

But I couldn't help but look up, to see those green eyes entirely focused on me, brows knit together like I was some sort of puzzle Charlie couldn't solve. The warmth of his hand seeped through my clothes and left an electric, tingling spark at the small of my back. I wanted this. I wanted this so much and here he was. It was all I could do to keep completely still to avoid doing something foolish. Well, more foolish.

Closing the distance between our faces, pressing my mouth against his, that would be wrong . . . right?

“You broke up with Darrell?” he whispered.

I nodded.

He lowered his face until I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips. I clutched at his jacket, making this embarrassing little whimpering noise as I felt the first brush of his mouth against mine, practically on a cellular level.

A loud, deep voice broke through the possum's chatter. “What's going on?”

Sonofabitch.

Luke was standing a few feet away with a duffel bag and a rifle slung over his arm. Spotting Charlie's hands curved near my butt, he raised an eyebrow. “You okay, Kelsey?”

“F-fine,” I stammered as Charlie gently set me on my feet. The moment my boots connected with terra firma, all of my sense (and blood) flooded back where it belonged, and I was able to scoff at the silly, self-destructive detour my brain had just taken. I could not keep having these thoughts about Charlie. There was no chance there, and if I kept throwing myself at him (literally), I would end up the sad, lonely target of a creepy office nickname. “Just an encounter with the local wildlife.”

“It's just a little old possum,” Luke said, gently nudging the creature back with his boot. The possum took umbrage and swiped at Luke's foot with his claws. But when Luke didn't cower back in terror, it gave one last huff and waddled away.

Luke shook his head, as if deeply disappointed by our lack of woodsmanship. “All that fuss over nothing. His little possum house probably got knocked down last night and now he's all confused.”

“It was a highly aggressive possum,” Charlie told him. “It could be rabid for all we know.”

Luke snickered. “Sure, Chuck.”

“Don't call me Chuck!” Charlie snapped, though I believed (or at least hoped) that his hostility had more to do with the interrupted kiss than with the unwelcome nickname. Frankly,
I
was a little irritated with Luke for interrupting the kiss. Sexual tension years in the making almost fulfilled, and then undone by a pissed-off marsupial and Dudley Do-Right.