Snow One Like You (2 page)

She understood his obligations. Rhys
was in demand. He’d competed competitively in his twenties,
training in his home state, and earning a spot on the U.S Olympic
Ski Team. He’d brought home downhill gold. Snowbound had celebrated
his success as their own.

During the snowmelt the very next
spring, Rhys’s father had suffered an unexpected stroke. Crayton
Forester had never been sick a day in his life. The stroke hit him
hard. His hospital stay was long. His recovery slow. Rhys was an
only child. He couldn’t leave his mother alone. He returned home,
and stayed. Even after his dad was back on his feet and again
managing the lodge full-time.

Rhys kept himself busy. He remained in
the spotlight, pouring his athleticism into individual and group
lessons. Competent and charismatic, women sought his attention. Men
wished to reach his skill level. He was a true ambassador for the
sport.

Allie slapped her palms
against her thighs.
They needed to catch
up. “When will Guy return for you?” she asked him.

“
It’s Christmas Eve. There
are few guests at the lodge, so I’m not needed. My dad built a fire
in the main room, and my mom is serving hot toddies and hot
chocolate. I’ll see everyone tomorrow. Unless we’re snowed in
here.”

Snowed in
did strange things to her. Her heart softened,
warmed. She locked her knees before they buckled. “The loft’s
always available to you,” she offered. This wouldn’t be his first
sleepover. He’d been stranded in town on several occasions, all due
to bad weather. Previous times, her parents had been at the store.
Tonight, they’d be alone. Only a staircase separated their
bedrooms. Her room was located beneath the stairs. His, right
above.

He went on to unzip his mono Maverick
snowmobile suit. The slow slide of the zipper past the yellow
lightning bolt on his chest stopped at his groin. He shouldered off
the top, then bent, drawing down the thigh-high, two-way zippers.
He unsnapped the tabs at his ankles. Unlacing his boots, he
heel-toed them off. A final tug, and he stepped out of the suit. He
shook it out, snowflakes flew. He hung it on a peg beside his
backpack.

He stood before her in an old
University of Vermont sweat shirt, navy sweat pants, and thick,
gray wool socks. His long underwear was visible beneath the collar
on his sweat shirt and above the drawstring of his pants. Frigid
temperatures required layers. The added warmth could save a man’s
life if he got lost or stranded on the mountain.

His lips twitched. “Are our boys in
the barn?”

Mention of their twins brought them
closer together. Here was a bond neither could deny. Neither could
break. She nodded. “They wandered around outside before the
blizzard hit, but came in with the first snowflake. They’re now in
for the night.”

“
They’re warm
enough?”

She loved his concern. “Toasty.
There’s an emergency backup heater. You’ll see.”

“
Do I still have a pair of
Nikes in the mud room?”

She nodded. They were old athletic
shoes. One had a hole in the side; the other was without a lace.
Still, they’d get him from the backdoor to the barn. Thanks to a
short, enclosed walkway that connected the two.

He hesitated, and his jaw worked.
Contemplating his next move. He finally took her hand, twining
their fingers. He’d held her hand countless times. In friendship.
She tried not to read anything more into it now.

She liked the callused feel
of his palm against her softer one. He led her down the center
aisle of the store. She took mental inventory of her stock,
noticing the Pumpkin Spice and Santa’s White Christmas K-Cups had
run low. She’d drawn up a sign,
Teas the
Season
, which had customers smiling as they
chose their favorite flavors. She’d sold out of Holiday Chai and
Apple Cinnamon. She needed to restock; to run an after-Christmas
sale.

A single Silver Frost shower and bath
gel remained. The goats’ milk bar soaps had disappeared. The
women’s rose-patterned flannel nightgowns and matching robes had
flown off the hangers. The reindeer designed one-piece, drop-seat
pajamas were a great holiday novelty.

Men’s slippers, red suspenders, and
front pocket wallets were also big sellers. Those with a sweet
tooth chose Maple Leaf Hard Candy, Copper Kettle Fudge, and Pecan
Divinity. Only one cookie cutter remained. A lone reindeer. All
others had found homes in someone’s kitchen.

Her steps slowed, and she breathed a
sigh of relief. All taken into account, she’d had a strong seasonal
trade. Holiday profits would see her through the slower summer
months.

Rhys glanced over his shoulder, asked,
“Am I walking too fast?”

Allie shook her head, said,
“Cataloguing sales.”

His smile was knowing, meaningful.
“Your parents would be proud of you.”

Proud, and surprised, Allie thought.
She was responsible and wanting to prove her worth in the family
business. She loved the general store. It survived generations.
Retail was in her blood. This was her future.

The first of October, and her mom and
dad passed her the keys. Trusting her to keep the store in the
black. They’d taken off for Barefoot William, Florida. A long
winter vacation. She’d been on her own. And had endured the
holiday.

She followed Rhys to the back of the
building. They skirted the mistletoe. She admired his wide
shoulders, strong back, tight butt, and long legs along the way.
She’d always found him handsome. But never acted on the attraction.
Look, but don’t touch, she reminded herself. She breathed in his
closeness, his scent, mountain air and man.

They stopped in the mud room. A dark
pine bench leaned against one wall, and a thick, outdoor mat
covered the floor. Wooden clothing pegs and a row of shelves
offered a selection of jackets, hats, scarves, and gloves. Rhys
scuffed on his old pair of tennis shoes. She slipped on a thermal
jacket; snagged a pair of colorful mismatched mittens.

“
Treats?” he asked
her.

Allie lifted the lid on a round, metal
container. He reached in, selected two fat pinecones. He slid them
in the pockets on his sweat pants. “Let’s do it.”

He held the door for her. She flipped
the light switch and a single bulb burned in the connecting
walkway. She moved ahead of him. Walking quickly. Frost ribboned
the one small window. The sky was dark. The moon, slivered. Spiky
icicles hung from the roof. The wind roared. Four feet of snow
sloped against the rear of the store.

“
Cold as a snowman’s
balls,” Rhys muttered behind her.

“
The barn will be
warm.”

It certainly was. The old structure
housed the twins. Allie cracked the big, red, wooden door, and the
scent of hay and fur tickled her nose. They peeked inside. “They’ve
gained weight,” he was quick to notice.

She grinned. “Winter weight. They
don’t stop eating.”

“
They’ve got plenty of
food.”

“
A buffet. The landscaping
service you hired delivers potted trees, shrubs, and plants. They
trade out food each week. Our boys haven’t missed a meal. They
favor the white birch and striped maple.”

She eased the door back further, and
they stepped inside. No matter how quietly Rhys shut the door, they
were immediately spotted. Recognition came with low grunts as the
twin male moose shuffled through the hay, coming straight toward
them.

“
Manfred, Maynard.” Rhys
scratched their long muzzles.

In his excitement to see Rhys, Manfred
stomped the man’s foot. “You’re the heavy one,” he joked. “I was
thinking Maynard looked a little thin.”

“
Dr. Brooks stopped by the
beginning of the week,” Allie informed him of the veterinarian’s
visit. “He figures they’re both close to three hundred pounds now.
That’s a good weight for eight months.”

“
You both still have skinny
legs.”

“
That’s not going to
change.”

“
You’ll get antlers in the
spring,” Rhys shared. “Your first set may not be terribly large,
and you’ll lose them once again in the winter. Given time, they
will be huge. Size matters, guys. Mating season, and the females
are attracted to big antlers. You’ll want a rack that’s six feet
wide.”

Allie laughed at his fatherly advice.
She patted each moose, and Maynard nuzzled her shoulder. She loved
the twins. It hadn’t always been easy for them. They had struggled.
She thought back to that April day when she and Rhys had discovered
the abandoned calves while hiking unmarked mountain trails. Rhys
knew the peaks and valleys like the palmistry of his hand. The air
was clear and pristine. Nature unspoiled.

They had crossed a stream and climbed
boulders. Allie slipped on a mossy slope, and jerked to save
herself. It was in that moment she saw the moose. Huddled on the
ground, skin and bones, and shaking. They appeared newly
born.

She’d called to Rhys, and they
cautiously approached the two. They weighed barely twenty pounds
each. And were too weak to stand on their own. No mother was in
sight. No mother returned. Twilight slid between the trees. Shadows
deepened the danger. They were vulnerable to the night. To
predators.

Rhys drew out his iPhone, and
contacted Snowbound Refuge. A local wildlife sanctuary and
rehabilitation center. Due to renovations, sections of the shelter
were inhabitable. The buildings that remained were at maximum
capacity with injured wild turkey, a red fox, several deer, and a
bear cub. Although several of the rescues were soon to be released
back into the wild, it would be too late for the tiny moose. They
needed temporary placement. Right then. The situation was
dire.

The veterinarian offered advice on
keeping them warm, how to mix and bottle their formula. Dr. Brooks
later promised daily visits to check on the boys. If a home was
found. The vet cautioned Rhys and Allie that the newborns might not
live. Which left them both with heavy hearts.

Rhys didn’t allow Allie to feel sad
long. They’d exchanged a look, and a decision was made. They became
the caregivers. It was a huge responsibility, yet there was no way
they’d leave the twins on the mountain. They would do this.
Together.

Rhys made a further call to the lodge,
and, within twenty minutes, an employee delivered his Jeep
Renegade. The rear seat folded down, and the cargo space was lined
with a tarp and old, wool blankets.

Rhys then took slow, guarded steps
toward the moose with the reddish fur, short tails, spindly legs,
and hooves that would later serve as built-in snowshoes. He didn’t
want to frighten them, more than they already were. Allie walked
closely behind him, her hand on his shoulder, wanting to assist.
Within minutes, and without protest, the calves were carefully
lifted and loaded in the Jeep.

There were no empty out-buildings at
Forester Lodge, so they decided to house the twins in the
dilapidated barn behind the general store. It was insulated.
Heated. Assessable. Cords of wood stacked one wall, next to a snow
blower. An ancient Artic Cat had seen better days of snowmobiling.
A tall, metal locker housed skis, snowshoes, and ice
skates.

Manfred and Maynard, as they were
named, survived the first week, which was crucial. Rhys lived at
the lodge, yet took up temporary residence at the general store.
They were a team. He helped bottle feed and care for the calves, as
they adjusted to their surroundings. They followed Rhys and her
like pet dogs. The experience was rewarding.

Over the months, the twins grew. And
grew. Soon moving from baby bottles to steamed oats and vegetation.
Stable and strong, they became frisky and adventurous. Their fur
turned brown. Rhys contracted a company to fence a large section of
woods. This allowed the calves to wander in and out of the barn.
Summer tagged autumn. Then came winter. The first snow storm
covered the mountain and drifted into town. Snow plows became as
common as cars on the streets. Snow banks deepened.

Cold days became colder nights, and
the outdoor food supply soon suffered. Icicles hung thickly from
the tree branches. Low vegetation was buried beneath the frost. The
calves stuck their heads out the barn door, but didn’t go far. They
had an indoor snack bar.

Rhys produced the pine cones from the
pockets of his sweat pants. The twins’ ears flickered at the sight
of the treats. He palmed the cones, held them out. Maynard had
manners, whereas Manfred was immediate gratification. Maynard
chewed as politely as a moose could chew, while Manfred chomped,
slurped, as if starved. They nosed Rhys’s pocket, in hopes of
finding another cone.

“
That’s it, guys.” Rhys
stepped aside when Manfred nipped his hip. Then nuzzled his groin.
“Those aren’t pinecones,” he told the moose.

Allie grinned. “They are amazing,
aren’t they?”

He nodded. “We’re both attached to
them, perhaps overly much. They’ll never be fully domesticated. Or
town mascots. We already have a reindeer who claims that fame. In
the spring they’ll be placed at the sanctuary and rehabilitated to
the wild. They need to become the male moose they were meant to
be.”