LITMIR.BIZ

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realized, staring at him, that what she needed to do was not think about the future or project her romantic nature onto it. She needed to remember the past, and how her ability to fill in the blanks had brought her nothing but grief. With Peter. And with her mother.

      She needed to remind herself what grief felt like and to know that the unfathomable darkness that swam in the man’s eyes promised her more of it.

      “I have to go,” she said, leaping to her feet, remembering guiltily her true love now, her house. “I have to put more wood on the fire at my place or the water will freeze for sure. But Ryder can stay.”

      “No, I’ll go with you.”

      Something shivered along her spine. “No, it’s fine.”

      “I’m not letting you go over there by yourself.”

      Emma could tell Tim approved of that. The independent woman in her was strangely silent.

      “Let Tess stay the night here then,” Mona said, as if it were all settled, “there’s no sense waking her up and sending her into the cold.”

      Ryder hesitated.

      “Okay,” he said, reluctantly, obviously weighing out what was better for Tess.

      Emma was newly taken by his tender protective attitude toward Tess. It probably wasn’t good to be heading over there, just the two of them, feeling like this.

      So aware. Her shoulder still tingling from where he’d touched it an hour ago! Woman-scorned told her to go home and throw out every one of those romantic movies she’d been collecting. They had obviously filled her head with nonsense.

      “There’s an extra snowmobile in the shed next to the house,” Tim said. “My son’s. Take it over.”

      For a moment, all the laughter was gone from the room, and Emma could feel how much this family wished Tim, Jr., home.

      “I’ll be over first thing. We can get started on the pond,” Tim decided. “We should at least be able to clear a section of it for skating.”

      “I’ll bring breakfast,” Mona said.

      And then Emma and Ryder were outside, the moon full and bright above them, the air crystal-cold and clear, the stars sparkling, close enough that she felt she could reach out and put one in her pocket.

      Ryder did up his jacket against the brisk breeze that was blowing. “There’s something incredibly admirable about those people. Father, husband, son called to war, power out, roads closed, they just handle everything with a certain calm courage. I admire that.”

      “I think you handle crisis about the same way.”

      He looked at her. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. He went to the shed, got the snowmobile out of it and then mounted it and patted the seat behind him.

      She climbed on, trying to keep the dangerous awareness somewhat at bay by grabbing onto the bar behind her.

      “Hold on tight.”

      So she did, wrapping her arms around him, burrowing her cheek into the strong curve of his shoulder. Surrendering.

      They surged through the night, her hands wrapped around his belly. He opened up the throttle and she was sucked even closer into him.

      The cold air, the glory of the night and him.

      She felt exhilarated. Free. As if there had been no moment before this one, and there would be none after. Her senses gave her mind, always too busy, a much-needed rest. Her senses dismissed the caution she was trying desperately to resurrect.

      And maybe he felt that way, too. Because of what he said next.

      “Do you mind if I take the long way home?” he shouted over the roar of the engine.

      She honestly didn’t feel that she cared if they ever went home. This felt oddly like home. Being with him. Feeling his warmth and his strength penetrating through his jacket, feeling the play of his muscles as he guided the snowmobile around debris, picked a route that snaked through fallen trees up the ridge behind both her and Tim’s places.

      The world was a place of sharp and almost mystical contrasts, the cold sting of night air on her cheeks in contrast to his warmth, the beauty of the moon making the broken trees glitter silver, the forest where she had walked many times damaged now and seeming like a place she had never been before, a place that could hold equally promise or destruction.

      He stopped at the crest of the ridge and cut the engine. The silver, black and white vista below them was beautifully silent. They could see the dark silhouette of her inn, Tim’s place looking brighter with the yellow glow from the oil lamps lighting his windows. Beyond that, they could see Willowbrook.

      “You could almost imagine it was the little town of Bethlehem,” she said, the town looking so pretty and peaceful.

      He snorted but not with the same amount of derision as he would have done so last night.

      “The lights are on in the town,” he noticed. “They have power there. And look, you can see headlights moving on the road west of it.”

      It could take days for those things to happen here, but it was still a reminder that this was all temporary, an illusion of sorts, that would come to an end.

      He turned and looked back at her, and then he took off the thick snowmobile glove and scraped his thumb across her lip.

      She leaned into it, something flashed through his eyes and he moved his hand away, faced forward, put the glove back on.

      He shook his head, and his voice was remote. “I think for both our sakes I should take you back to Fenshaws’. I can look after things at your place by myself tonight.”

      “You go back and stay at Fenshsaws’,” she said, thinking I’m as bad at this as I am at charades. How could he not understand what she wanted? Or worse, understand exactly what she wanted and reject her?

      “You can drop me off,” she said stiffly. “The inn is my responsibility and I’m not turning it over to you.”

      “If you knew how badly I wanted to kiss you right now,” he said softly, “you’d go back to Fenshaws’.”

      She totally forgot that good sense was her middle name.

      “Would I?” she challenged him.

      “Yeah,” he said roughly, “you would.”

      “I think you’re wrong. I think I’d kiss you back.”

      He sighed, his breath harsh, impatient. “Emma, let’s not complicate things.”

      He was right. He would be a terrible complication in the world she was building for herself. It was too soon for this. He was being the reasonable one.

      But that’s not how she acted. Instead, she got off the snowmobile and went around to the front of it, facing him. She leaned into him, took his face in her gloved hands, pulled his face to hers and brushed his lips with her own.

      The first time she had seen him, last night, under the mistletoe, she had wondered what his lips would taste like. Now she knew, and they did not disappoint. Like the other contrasts of tonight, his lips were like ice and fire, steel and silk.

      For a split second the force of his will was enough to resist her. And then it collapsed, and his lips accepted the invitation of hers, his hand curled behind her neck and pulled her deeper into him.

      To Emma, it felt as though the stars fell from the sky, as if the snow around them turned to fire, as if her heart had been bound in chains and broke free of them.

      She had a moment of intense clarity, as if she had lived in a fog, and the sun shone through.

      It felt as though every experience of her entire life had led her to this moment, had made her ready for this moment. It felt as if every bad thing and every betrayal

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