LITMIR.BIZ

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colleagues for a pitcher of beer might be just what he needed.

      It looked like standing room only tonight. Apparently, a few teenagers had hoped that, in the chaos, they could slip in with fake IDs. Shaking his head, Justin watched as they were escorted to the back room, where the owner would call their parents. Dumb kids. They should have gone one county over where they wouldn’t have been recognized, the way he’d done at nineteen.

      Trey Grainger, the oldest in Justin’s party, was shaking his head for other reasons. “How can anyone stand the volume in here? The noise is shattering my brain cells.”

      Justin was glad for the buzz of boisterous conversation. If there was Christmas music playing, it was obliterated by the decibel level.

      Chris Hyatt smirked at Trey. “If you don’t like the volume, you should have left your hearing aid in the truck with your cane. Problem solved.”

      Trey was only forty, but Hyatt, all of twenty-three, constantly needled him about his age. Trey’s habitual response was to sock the rookie in the shoulder. Hard.

      Tonight, Nate Washington responded before Trey could. He smacked Hyatt on the side of his blond head. “Don’t you know to respect your elders, son?” His eyes twinkled as he added, “How would you like it if some whippersnapper talked to your grandpa the way you do to Grainger?”

      “Hey!” Trey objected. “I’m not anyone’s grandfather, and you damn well know it.”

      Justin ignored the familiar banter while he searched for a place to sit. His group caught the gaze of Mr. Merriweather, a man who’d injured himself on a ski trail last winter. Nate and Trey had given him on-the-spot medical attention. Mr. Merriweather waved the patrollers over to the U-shaped booth he shared with his wife and another couple.

      Mr. Merriweather rose from the booth. “We were just leaving. I insist you boys take our seats.” He pulled a dollar from his wallet. “Have a round on me.”

      Nate thanked the man and reminded him to always ski with protective gear and well-maintained equipment. All four patrollers sat, with Justin and Trey on the ends. Justin was glancing around for a waitress when his gaze landed unerringly on Elisabeth Donnelly. She was seated with her back to him, but her posture tensed as if she could feel him watching.

      He quickly looked away, suddenly wishing he’d gone straight home tonight.

      Since when are you a wuss? He ran into ex-girlfriends in Cielo Peak on a daily basis. Every encounter was different—with some women, he was on good enough terms for a friendly hug; with a few, he kept his distance. But the chance sightings never unsettled him.

      Thankfully, the three men he was with resumed their harmless bickering. Justin joined in, harassing Washington about how long it had been since his last date. By the time their beer arrived, Justin’s mood had improved.

      Grainger kicked his foot under the table. “That leggy brunette at the end of the bar keeps eyeing you.” He sounded wistful.

      Justin grinned. “I’m sure you were her first choice until she spotted your wedding ring. From way over there.”

      The older man made a rude noise.

      Justin didn’t try to make his glance covert. Instead, he simply turned and found the woman in question—a brunette in an off-the-shoulder sweater and a pair of skinny jeans, spinning her barstool in slow half circles. He smiled at her, and she fluttered her fingers in an encouraging wave.

      Chris Hyatt was craning his neck, trying to get a look. “Anyone you know?”

      “Nope. Never seen her before,” Justin said. “Which means she’s probably visiting and the polite thing to do would be to ask how she’s enjoying her stay. Or maybe she’s moved here, in which case I should welcome our newest citizen.” Either way, as a lifelong resident of Cielo Peak, it was practically his civic duty to go over there. Yet he remained where he was.

      She’s not a redhead.

      It was an insane thought. He’d always admired women of many different physical attributes, personalities and professions. He didn’t have a “type.” But his gaze strayed back to the corner where Elisabeth sat. The neon sign on the wall above her cast an otherworldly glow on her coppery hair. He toyed with the idea of taking the bull by the horns and marching to her table, just to prove to himself that he could. If it was true she’d gotten engaged, he could buy her table a bottle of whatever passed for champagne here.

      He was mulling over the merits of this idea when Hyatt announced in an unsubtle stage whisper, “Incoming hottie.”

      The brunette? Justin swiveled in his seat, then sighed heavily. Lina. What had he done to deserve being accosted by her twice in one week? He stood, putting some distance between him and his buddies, potentially shameless eavesdroppers.

      With her hair in loose curls over the shoulder of her knit dress, it was understandable that some men found her attractive. But all Justin felt when he looked at her was mild exasperation and confusion about why people called her the pretty Donnelly.

      He kept his voice low. “Come to yell at me some more?”

      She wasn’t scowling tonight. Instead, she leaned into him, beaming as though he’d invented chocolate. “Do you know what I’ve realized? In the entire time we’ve known each other, I don’t think you’ve ever asked me to dance.” She put her hand on his arm and batted her lashes.

      He was tempted to ask how many of the one-dollar pitchers she’d enjoyed. But her gaze was alert and stony, belying the flirtatious tone of her voice.

      “So how about it?” she purred. “Dance with me?”

      As different as the Donnelly twins were, he knew they were as loyal to each other as he was to his own siblings. There was absolutely no way Lina would hit on her sister’s ex-boyfriend, especially not right in front of Elisabeth. So what was going on?

      Curiosity more than anything else prompted him to agree. “One dance.”

      The music was mostly masked by the cacophony of a packed bar, but buried beneath the ambient noise was a discernible bass line. He let her lead the way onto the floor, rolling his eyes when she tottered in a pair of high heels that were ridiculous for December. “You’re going to sprain an ankle in those,” he predicted.

      “Nonsense. They’re new. I’ll be fine once they’re broken in.” She shimmied and wriggled to the beat. “Besides, they make my legs look fabulous.” Pausing expectantly, she gave him a chance to agree, but he was unwilling to engage in the pseudo-flirting.

      He retreated a step. “What are you up to?”

      She sighed. “When I saw you at the ski shop, I’d just found out about Elisabeth’s engagement and my emotions got the best of me.”

      “So you wanted to apologize?”

      “Hell, no. Dancing with you serves a two-fold purpose. Elisabeth recently claimed she didn’t give a rodent’s butt who you date, and I’m challenging that assertion. Let’s see if my dancing with you bothers her.”

      “It’s bothering me,” he muttered.

      “Also, I never got around to what I actually meant to ask you on Sunday. I want you to talk to her.”

      “What?” He froze, abandoning even the halfhearted attempt at dancing. “Bad idea. She doesn’t want advice from me.”

      “She doesn’t want advice from anyone. I think she’s trying to prove something about having control of her life and making savvy decisions but, Justin, I know my sister. She’ll regret this. Steven gets here Thursday night—that’s her fiancé.”

      The word scraped across his nerves like the sharp, unexpected sting of a paper cut.

      “Promise me you’ll talk to her before he arrives?” Lina cajoled. “It’s a long shot, but maybe if you seem sorry you ended things—”

      “I’m

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