Dear Reader

I have failed in every single New Year’s resolution I’ve ever set for myself. In fact I pretty much pick the most extreme resolutions possible and set myself up to fail. Because, like my heroine, I’m kind of flaky. My resolutions usually go like this:

I want to lose weight …

Day One: I RESOLVE TO GIVE UP SUGAR FOR EVER.

Day Four: Where’s my chocolate?!

This year I might actually keep my resolution—or get pretty close to it. I won’t know if I succeed until December 31st, since it’s a year-long career goal and I still have time to pull it off. We’ll have to see who wins—the flake in me or the over-achiever.

It’s fitting that in the first year I have a shot at holding a resolution I also got to work with Tina Beckett (a complete joy for me) and write linked books about besties who go to opposite extremes in setting their New Year’s resolutions … and set them up to fail spectacularly instead of myself for a change. Of course I don’t want to spoil the ending, but they fail in the best way possible.

I hope you enjoy reading my half of the New Year’s Resolutions! duet, and encourage you to grab Tina’s book—HOW TO FIND A MAN IN FIVE DATES—for Miranda and Jack’s story. And I wish you resolutions that work out for the best—succeed or fail.

Amalie

There’s never been a day when there haven’t been stories in AMALIE BERLIN’s head. When she was a child they were called daydreams, and she was supposed to stop having them and pay attention. Now when someone interrupts her daydreams to ask, ‘What are you doing?’ she delights in answering, ‘I’m working!’

Amalie lives in Southern Ohio with her family and a passel of critters. When not working, she reads, watches movies, geeks out over documentaries and randomly decides to learn antiquated skills. In case of zombie apocalypse she’ll still have bread, lacy underthings, granulated sugar, and always something new to read.

Breaking Her
No-Dating Rule
Amalie Berlin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dedication

To Tina Beckett—a great friend, fantastic writer, and an awesome lady to work with! It’s been a blast!

To Laurie Johnson—for giving me the chance to collaborate with a writer I adore, and letting me slip a hippy chick into a book :) You rock.

Table of Contents

Cover

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

PROLOGUE

“I KNOW THAT you want to manage this situation yourself, but you do have to relax at some point. Let me and the universe carry the load for a few days.”

The fact that most of the resort had been abandoned at the first hint of the approaching storm gave Ellory Star more confidence than she might’ve otherwise had in what would be an intense situation at best. Only a handful of staff remained—enough to keep the resort running—and a handful of guests trying to get in as much time on the powder as they could before the clouds rolled in. But it wasn’t like Mira was leaving the premises. She’d be around for catastrophe, her safety net.

“Enjoy your post-coital vacation, spend time with Mr. Forever, Number Five. I promise not to refer to him any more in any way that highlights the fact that I totally won the New Year’s resolution war this year.” Ellory leaned over the bar in Jack’s suite, where she and Mira were chatting, tidied a stack of napkins emblazoned with the lodge logo, and pretended not to be feeling smug about how totally right she was.

Mira—her sister by everything except genetics and actual family ties—was the concierge doctor for the ski lodge where Ellory was now living and working, and her best friend since they’d set eyes on one another as toddlers, when Ellory’s mother had brought her to work at the lodge Mira’s family owned. She was the brilliant one, and rational, dependable, smart, and a lot of other good-sounding words that everybody would use to describe Mira and only Mira would ever use to label her.

“You haven’t won until you figure out your quest. Your project. The thing you’re working on.”

A project Ellory hadn’t explained. “I should’ve just bet you I could go without a man longer than you could keep serial dating. Though I haven’t seen any contenders for sexy fun since I’ve been home. So the resolution is safe.”

But that wouldn’t have served the point of her making the resolution to begin with. Besides, her inability to articulate exactly what was wrong was part of the problem she needed to figure out. She skated through life, largely flying on instinct and ignoring anything that hurt her to the point that she wasn’t even sure what hurt her any more. For the past year she’d been running from some pain she couldn’t name—because ignoring the reasons for pain didn’t mean she didn’t feel it. It just meant she felt it blindly.

Her quest had led her home, and left her with the understanding that she had something to work on. Banishing men from her life kept her from sublimating with sex, kept her from distracting herself. She’d spent a decade distracting herself with a string of different boyfriends, and she wasn’t any closer to finding enlightenment … or just plain old happiness … than she had been when she’d left home, determined to give her life meaning.

Before things got too deep, before Mira picked up on the melancholy lurking in Ellory’s soul, she shifted the subject back to one she knew Mira couldn’t resist. “So, I’m going to have to come up with a new nickname for Jack. I could make some ‘playing doctor’ references, but that’s too obvious.”

Jack’s timely arrival through the suite door was her cue. “Hey, Loooove Doctor,” she called, and then shook her head. “Nah, that’s not it. I’ll keep working on it. Somewhere else now that we’ve got everything hashed out.” She winked at Mira and brushed past Mr. Mira on the way to the door.

Before she stepped out she turned to say something, and interrupted kissing. “Man, I was going to say that I was totally wrong about the resolution—that it just wasn’t that Jack was lucky to be the fifth dude but that I believed he was the one … and would have been if he’d been number twenty-five or number five. Now I just want to give you a safe-sex talk!”

When they both laughed at her she smiled and cooed at them both while closing the door, “Oh, Number Five, you’ll always be number one to me!”

The door clicked before she could get pelted with bar paraphernalia for her pretend Mira-sex-talk.

The universe did like her. Occasionally.

CHAPTER ONE

ELLORY STAR HAD never been a sentinel before, and there were good reasons for that.

But this was where her mission to find herself had led. From the hot, life-laden forests of Peru to Colorado in the winter. To cold legs and a head full of static, hair that stuck to everything, and, of course, to trying to find other people. Correction, she wasn’t even out doing the heavy lifting on the finding. She was just waiting for other people to find people.

The universe had a wicked sense of humor.

A tight cluster of yellow headlights flickered in the far left of her field of vision and soon grew strong enough to cut through the gray-blue haze of hard-falling snow.

The rescue team was back!

She turned from the frosty glass inset in the polished brass doors of the Silver Pass Lodge to face the ragtag group of employees she’d managed to round up after the mass exodus. Most lodge employees had families they wanted to get to before the blizzard hit, and nearly all the patrons had left too—the ones who hadn’t left were the ones the rescue team was returning with. She hoped.

“Okay, guys, do the things we talked about,” she said—the most order-like order she’d ever given.

Usually, she was the last person to be put in charge of anything, and that was how Ellory liked it. She had less chance of letting people down if they didn’t expect anything from her. It probably highlighted some flaw in her character that the only time she was willing to take on any kind of serious responsibility was when her primary objective was guarding her best friend’s sexy rendezvous time.

Ellory—gatekeeper to the love shack.

She who kept non-emergency situations from disturbing the resort doctor while she got her wild thing on with Jack, aka Number Five.

Pure. Accomplishment.

She watched long enough to see the first staff member break into motion, placing another log on the already blazing fire and opening the damper so the lobby fireplace would roar to life.

Later she could feel guilty for the amount of carbon she was responsible for putting into the atmosphere today. Right now, her heart couldn’t find a balance between the well-being of people around her and the well-being of the planet.

Some lifestyle choices were harder to live with than others.

Those returning would be cold at the very least, and Ellory prayed that was the worst of their afflictions. Cold she could remedy with fire, hot beverages, hot water, and blankets hot from the clothes dryer—even if all those warm things further widened her expanding carbon footprint and left her feeling like a sasquatch. A big, hypocritical, sooty-footed, carbon-belching sasquatch.

And those kinds of thoughts were not helping. She had no room for negativity today. She had a job, she had a plan, she’d see it through and not let anyone down—especially the only one with any faith in her.

One of them should be having wild monkey sex with someone, and as she wasn’t having any she’d defend Mira’s love shack to the last possible minute. Be the standin Mira today, and do the very best she could for as long as she could. At least until she knew exactly what Mira would have to deal with when it got to be too much for her to handle.

When she looked back at the headlights, they’d grown close enough for her to count. Six sets, same number as had gone out. Good sign.

She fastened the coat she wore, crammed a knit cap on her head and pushed her hands into her mittens. Her clothes might be ridiculous since she hadn’t yet augmented her wardrobe with Colorado winter wear, and her bottom half might freeze when she went out to meet the team, but at least the places where she kept her important bits—organs, brain—would be warm.

As the snowmobiles rolled to a stop in front of the ornate doors, she took a last deep breath of warm air and pushed out into the raging winter. Wind whipped her gauzy, free-flowing skirt around her legs and made it hard to keep her eyes open. With one hand shielding them from the blast of snowy, frigid air, she counted: ten people, one dog.

Should have been eleven.

Another quick count confirmed that all the six rescuers in orange had made it back, which meant one of the lodge’s patrons was still lost in this storm that was forecast to only get worse.

Oh, no.

She’d have to disturb Mira.

People were already climbing off the snowmobiles, rescuers in their orange suits helping more fashionably dressed and slower-moving guests from the machines.

“How can I help?” she called over the wind, approaching the group.

The large man paused in his task of releasing a big snowy black dog from the cage on the back of his snowmobile, turned and pointed at Ellory. “Get inside now!”

Real yelling? Okay … Maybe it was just to get over the wind.

He unlatched the cage and his canine friend bounded out. The sugar-frosted dog didn’t need to be told where to go. Ellory made it to the outer doors behind the massive canine and opened it for him, then held it for people.

It wasn’t technically a blizzard yet. It was snowing hard, yes, and blowing harder, and of course she was cold, but she wouldn’t freeze to death in the next couple of minutes while she helped in some fashion. And she needed to help. Even if all she could think to do was hold the door.

As the man approached, he lifted his goggles and sent a baleful stare at her, stormier than the weather. With one smooth motion he grabbed Ellory’s elbow and thrust her ahead of him into the breezeway, “That wasn’t a suggestion. Get inside now. You’re not dressed for the weather.”

“I didn’t offer to make snow angels with anyone,” she joked, looking over her shoulder at the angry man as he steered her inside.

Stumbling, she pulled her elbow free and pushed through, intent on getting some space between them.

Good grief. Up close, and without fabric covering the bottom of his face or the goggles concealing his eyes, the fact that he was working some kind of rugged handsome look canceled the effect of winter and made her feel like she was dipped in peppermint wherever she touched him.

Ellory didn’t get those kind of excited feelings for anyone ever, not without really working at it. Must be the cold. And now that she was inside, she had things to do besides tingle and lust after Ole Yeller.

A specific list of things, in fact, to look for when checking these people out.

As the group gathered around the fireplace and the hats and goggles came off, she got a good look at how beaten down they all were. Exhausted. Weak. All of them, both the rescuers and the rescued. But those who didn’t do this for a living, the ones who’d been helpless and still had a missing friend, looked blank. It was the same shell-shocked expression she’d seen on the faces of victims of natural disasters—earthquakes, mudslides, and floods. Being lost in a snowstorm probably counted …

Her people stood around, waiting for her. Follower to leader for one day—no wonder they didn’t know what to do. She was supposed to be leading them. Her list of things had hypothermia at the very top as the most important situation to remedy.

“Okay, guys, we need to help everyone get out of their snow suits and boots. Get the hot blankets on them. And hot beverages. Hot cocoa …” she corrected. Everyone liked cocoa, and it was loaded with calories they no doubt needed after their harrowing day.

While the employees did as she asked, Ellory backtracked to the Angry Dog Man. He seemed much more leader-like than she felt, so he got the questions.

In hushed tones, she asked, “Where is the other one?”

He frowned, his left hand lifting to his right shoulder to grip and squeeze through the thick coat he wore. “The other one tried to get back to the lodge when these four wanted to stay put.”

“Where were they?”

“South Mine.”

Ellory winced. The terrain around the mines was left rugged on purpose in the hope of discouraging exploration by guests. The mines weren’t safe, and signs announced that, but they could serve as shelter in a pinch. A very dangerous pinch.

“Did you see a trail or any sign of him?” Mira would want to know everything, so she tried to anticipate questions.

“There is a trail, but it’s the one that they followed in. If he’s wise and we’re lucky, he’ll follow it back. There’s still a chance that he’ll make it back to the lodge while we’re out looking for him. If he does, I need you to call on the radio and let me know. It was impossible to take the snowmobiles directly along that trail, but we’re going to go back out and look. We’ll take a quick peek in the mines between here and there, and hit South Mine again in case he went back to where they all were.”

“After the storm?”

“No.” He looked back and called to the group, all of whom had dove into the drinks and stew to fortify themselves. “Ten minutes and then we’re going back out.”

“You can’t!” Ellory said, much louder than she’d intended. She tried again, quieter, calmer than she felt. “The storm is going to get really bad.”

“We have some time.” His voice had a gravelly sound that sent warm sparks over her ears, almost like a touch. That kind of voice would sound crazy sexy in whispers, hot breath on her ear … Raspy and …

“I’m sorry, what did you say? I think I misheard you.” Or hadn’t heard him at all. God, she had to do better than this.

“Are you a doctor?” he repeated.

“No.” It was time for him to figure out she wasn’t important, or capable of handling this.

“Where’s Dr. Dupris?”

She noticed him looking back at the people in front of the fire, all out of their suits now, which meant time for step two.

Ellory spun and headed for the guests, expecting him to follow. “She’s here, but I’m like triage or something. I have a list of things to wake her up for. And we have water heated in case there were any frostbite cases. Also I read that heating the feet would help get the body temperatures up fast. Actually, I have the saunas roaring too if that would help. I just wasn’t sure whether or not that would be a bad thing or a good thing, and it wasn’t in the books. Do you know?” She didn’t stop, just threw the question out and then went on.

Since the staff had handled her warming requests, she headed for the smallest member of the party, a petite, pixie-like woman who wasn’t drinking her cocoa … and who held her hands above her lap as if they were hurting.

His stride longer, he overtook her and scooped up a stethoscope as he passed the tray of first-aid and examination supplies she’d laid out and slung the thing around his neck. Catching it caused a brief flash of pain on his handsome features. He ignored the pain, but Ellory noticed. That was her real job: Physio and massage therapy. Just not today.

He wasn’t the concern right now. He’d been mostly warm when out there in it, though his cheeks looked chapped from the winter winds …

She reached down to gently lift one of the woman’s arms to get a better look at her fingers. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Chelsea,” she answered, teeth chattering. “My fingers and toes burn. Like they’re on fire.”

“Socks off, everyone. Time to check extremities.” Chelsea’s fingertips were really red. Ellory didn’t want to touch them, but she didn’t really know enough about medicine not to investigate fully. Maybe frostbite started with redness?

Gingerly, she wrapped her hands over Chelsea’s fingertips, causing the freezing woman to gasp in pain but confirming that they were indeed hot. This wasn’t frostbite. Though that was probably going to be the next stage. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and let go of the hands, her gaze drifting down to where Angry Leader had knelt at Chelsea’s feet, which he now examined. Her toes were exactly the opposite in color from her fingertips: an unnatural, disturbing, somewhat corpse-like white.

That might be a good reason to call Mira …

“Is that—?” She hadn’t got the question out before he nodded and looked Chelsea in the eye.

“My name is Dr. Graves. Anson, if you prefer. I’ll even tell you my middle name later if you need some more names to cuss me with … This isn’t going to be pleasant. We have to warm your feet fast,” Anson said, his raspy voice much gentler with the woman. “You have the beginning stages of frostbite.”

Chelsea’s gaze sharpened and she blurted out, “Are my toes going to fall off?” She sounded so stricken every head in the lobby turned toward her.

Ellory’s heart skipped.

Anson looked grim and his wind-burned cheeks lost some of their color, but he shook his head. “It’s going to feel like it. It will hurt like probably no one but you can imagine right now, but that’s how you get to keep them.” He didn’t sugarcoat it, not even a hint of the usual discomfort nonsense doctors liked to say.

Chelsea nodded, her eyes welling.

Anson looked at Ellory again. “Get her pants off. How hot is the water?”

“One hundred and ten on the burners.” Ellory answered. That she knew.

He looked surprised they’d been using a thermometer on it. “A little too hot. Add a small amount of cold water to it to get it to one hundred and five and then pour. It’s got to be between one hundred and one hundred and five degrees Fahrenheit all the time. Dip out water, pour more in, or swap out the containers to keep it within range. I know that’s going to be hard to do in buckets, but it needs to be done as exactingly as possible for a full half-hour.” Anson said this to Ellory, who nodded and relayed the orders to her kitchen helpers, then helped Chelsea out of the bottom half of her suit.

By the time Chelsea was down to her thermals, the water had been sufficiently cooled and poured into a large rubber container. Ellory pushed the cotton cuffs to Chelsea’s knees and guided the woman’s feet into the water.

It hurt. She could tell by the way Chelsea’s lower lip quivered, though admirably she didn’t cry out.

With all the time Ellory had spent in disaster zones, witnessing human suffering, she should have built up some kind of callus to it by now, but it tore at her heart all the same. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you … We’ll get you something for the pain.”

“My fiancé is still out there,” she whispered, clarifying in those simple words what hurt worse right now.

Ellory put one arm around Chelsea’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “Let’s get your insides warmed up and see if we can beat the shivering.” She took the cocoa Chelsea hadn’t been drinking and held it to her lips. “We’ll help you with this until your fingers stop smarting and you can do it yourself, okay?”

“Ohh … chocolate,” Chelsea said.

“That’s pretty much how I feel about chocolate too.” Ellory lifted the cup to the woman’s mouth. “Sometimes it’s the only thing that makes the stuff we have to go through bearable. Though I do feel like I should apologize for not making it from better ingredients.” A nervous laugh bubbled up. “You didn’t do anything wrong, that’s not why I’m making you drink preservative juice.” She was doing that thing again, where she lost control of her mouth because she was nervous.

Chelsea looked at her strangely. “Preservative juice?”

She named the popular brand of cocoa everyone knew, then added, “I’m sure it’s fine. I’m just …” What could she say to explain that? “I’m big on organic.”

“Ahh.” Chelsea nodded, relaxing back in her chair.

Great bedside manner. Most of her patients worked with her for a long stretch of time so they got to know her quirks and oddities, and only had to suffer her help with exercise and a program that their physiotherapist designed. All Ellory did was help them through it and massage away pain, she didn’t need to be trusted to make decisions.

Ellory added in what she hoped was a more agreeable tone, “Ignore me. It’s a throwback to childhood.”

“You were big on organic in childhood?” Anson asked from down where he crouched, examining the feet of another patient. Which meant he was listening, and probably losing faith in her with every word that tumbled out of her mouth.

“Yes. In a manner of speaking.”

His eyes were focused on the patient, but it still felt like he was staring at her. “Which is?”

The only way out of this conversation was to pretend it wasn’t happening.

Stop. Talking.

Handing Chelsea’s cup to another staff member, she said, “Please assist Chelsea with her cocoa. I should assist Dr. Graves.” The man needed a different last name. Which she wouldn’t bring up. She probably already sounded like an incompetent idiot to them.

She caught up with him kneeling before the last of the rescued, checking extremities.

As she stepped to his side he looked up, locking eyes with her in a way that said he knew she’d heard him and that he wasn’t going to press the matter.

Message delivered, he got back to work and the potency of his stare dissipated. “Get all their feet into the water. But Chelsea’s the only one you have to keep in the temperature range.”

“What about the sauna?” She rolled with his return to business. As out of her depth as she felt, she did want to do a good job, take good care of them all.

“Maybe later, or if they don’t get warm enough to stop shivering soon, but I’d rather you not put them into the stress of a sauna until a doctor is on hand should things get hairy.”

Ellory nodded.

“I’m going to check on my crew. And Max.”

Hearing his name, the fuzzy black dog currently stretched in front of the fire popped up and looked at Anson.

“Or maybe I’ll get him some water first …” He called to the rescuers to check their feet and while they peeled off boots he took care of himself and the big bushy dog.

Ellory organized the helpers with instructions on the water, her shoulders growing tighter and tighter every time she looked through the door or the windows at the worsening storm. After assigning two people to Chelsea and getting them another round of hot blankets, she finally went to find Anson.

And Max—maybe the dog would listen to her concerns.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT IF YOU’RE not back in half an hour, when they come out of the warm water? And isn’t that weird, a doctor moonlighting as a rescuer?” She’d always considered Mira to be an unusual doctor—fabulous and outdoorsy—so Anson seemed like an anomaly. He had the bossy bit down, at least. But he could be safe and inside during this weather, or out driving his four wheel drive and … smoking cigars. Whatever people did in four wheeled drives, she wasn’t sure.

“Dry them gently and wrap them in loose gauze.” He answered that first, then added, “I don’t moonlight. I work in the ER six months of the year, and the rescue team is my life during ski season.”

His admission surprised her. Adrenaline junkie? Extreme sports wackadoo? Both those fit the idea of returning to the outdoors in this weather. Once more, her gaze was pulled to the glass doors. The snow, already heavy before they’d returned, had picked up even worse since. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be better for you all to wait until the storm passes?”

The sharpness that came to his green eyes shut down that thought process completely. Right. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Anson turned to his crew instead. “Five minutes.” He pulled a plastic baggie from his pocket and extracted some kind of jerky to give to the big shaggy dog.

One of the group asked, “Where are we going?”

“Blue Mine and South Mine,” Anson answered, then looked at Ellory. “Why are you not dressed for the weather?”

“I haven’t bought clothes for being home yet, and all the winters in the past decade, I guess, have been in warm places. Before New Year’s Eve I was in Peru. It’s summer there right now. I wasn’t sure if I was going to stay, so I didn’t want to buy clothes I might not wear very long. It’s wasteful.”

He shook his head. “Rent a snow suit when you’re going to be out in the elements … what’s your name?”

“Ellory. And I have one.” It’s the one thing she did have, but it was old, hopelessly out of fashion and not nearly as well suited to the winter as the suits these people wore because she didn’t wear manufactured materials. So it was bulky, and kind of itchy. And she left it at her parents’ after every New Year … so it was musty from storage and …

She didn’t need to share that with Anson. He was covered in layers of modern insulating materials, and while she could understand it and tried not to be jealous of his warmth and mobility, he wouldn’t understand if she explained. Not that his opinion should matter. “I wasn’t going out to stay in the weather earlier, just to meet you all. And I have thermal underwear under this.”

Like he would think well of her if she’d been wearing wool and a parka in her short jaunt into the weather to meet them. She was a flake. That’s how normal people viewed her. So today she was a flake who didn’t dress properly. What else was new?

“Go put it on.”

Ellory didn’t know how to respond to a direct order like that. And she really didn’t like it that the bossiness made her tingle again … Wrong time, wrong place, wrong feelings.

She wanted to blame them on her nerves too, like being nervous amplified all her other emotions, but she couldn’t even lie to herself on that. Ruggedly handsome wasn’t a look the man was going for—he just had it. Some combination of good genes, lifestyle and that voice gave it to him. She tried to ignore that, and the squirmy feeling in her belly she got when his mossy hazel eyes focused on her.

“Anson.” She went with his name, in an attempt to reclaim some power. “It’s not just blowing more, it’s falling thicker. If you guys get all … frozen and stuff, then you aren’t going to help find—”

“There’s still time.” He cut her off. Again.

Rude. Curt. Terse. That should make him less attractive. That should definitely make him feel like less of a threat to her stupid resolution …

He had flaws. The bossy thing, which shouldn’t be hot. What else? He probably wasn’t even half as strapping and impressive as his winter wear made him seem. It was just the illusion of beefy manliness from the cardinal rule of winter: loose layers kept you warmer. It somehow amplified the squareness of his jaw and the scruff that confirmed the dark color of the hair currently hidden by his knit cap.

Her heart rate accelerated and her hands waffled at her side. This was not going the way she’d pictured it while waiting and watching through the windows. She didn’t anticipate having to try and convince someone not to go back out in the storm, and for some reason she knew he wouldn’t care that she was more afraid for the crew than for the missing man.

She could just lock the door and keep everyone safe inside. Except she hated confrontation, and if he told her to give him the key in that bossy gravel voice of his, she’d give it to him. And possibly her undies too.

She could really think of a good way to distract him. It definitely violated her Stupid Resolution parameters, but it was in the name of humanity and keeping people safe. Surely that was a good reason for an exception.

Through all this stupidity, the only communication Ellory managed was skittish hand motions that made her jangle from the stacks of thin silver bangles she loved. Sentinels probably didn’t jingle.

He glanced down at her hand and then back up, impatient brows lifting, urging her to say something else. Only Ellory didn’t know what else to say.

Winter was his job after all. And, really, she’d spent most of the past lots of years in places where her weather awareness had mostly consisted of putting on sunscreen and seeking high ground during the rainy season. She probably wasn’t the best judge of snow stuff.

When she failed to form any other words he started talking instead. Instructions. Things she’d already learned from studying Mira’s medical books when reading up on treatment for frostbite and hypothermia. But it was good to hear it from someone who really knew something about it. Anything about it.

He even gave her additional explanations about signs of distress, outside the cold temperature illness symptoms she’d read about—other stuff to look for that would require Mira immediately, and he capped off the instructions with a long, measuring look. “If you’re not up to the task, tell me now. I’ll get Dr. Dupris down here.”

“I’m up to the task.” She was, she just wished she wasn’t. “Are you? Your shoulder is hurt. I’ve seen you roll your arm in the socket at least three times since you came inside and you’ve been rubbing it too.”

He closed the bag of dog treats and stuffed it into his pocket. “I’m all right. We’ll call if we get stuck. And we’ve got survival gear on the ATVs.”

Movement behind her made her aware that the team had all moved toward the door, ready to go wherever Fearless Leader told them to. They all either ignored what she’d been saying about the danger of going out in the crazy falling snow or were busy building an imaginary snow fort of denial.

Anson held the door and looked at the dog. “Max.” One word and his furry companion scampered right out behind them.

It would be okay. People who risked their lives for others had to build up good karma. The team would make it back, and maybe their karma would extend to the still missing skier. Until then she’d do her best—manage the lobby/exposure clinic, keep the fire stoked and the water heated and flowing, and keep those who’d been out in it warm and safe.

After the team returned, and when the head count was official, then she’d get Mira.

Anson Graves’s snowmobile crept through the falling white flakes. Theoretically, there should be another couple of hours of daylight left, but between the dense clouds and miles of sky darkened by falling snow it felt more like twilight. Zero visibility. He was half-afraid he’d find the missing man by accidentally running him over.

A trip that normally took fifteen minutes was taking forever.

Anson knew only too well how much longer it would seem for the man who was stuck in the cold, counting his own heartbeats and every painful breath, wondering how many more he’d have before the wind froze him from the inside and winter claimed him.

That’s what he’d done.

The blonde at the lodge hadn’t been wrong, he’d just wanted her to be wrong. At least half an hour had passed since they’d started the trek to the third-closest abandoned silver mine, and they weren’t even halfway there yet. She should be getting Chelsea’s feet out of the water and bandaging them by now. He’d forgotten to tell her not to let Chelsea walk … though maybe she wouldn’t try.

If they hadn’t had to take the long way they’d be there by now. But this was the safest route with the snow drifting the way it was.

If the wind would just stop …

The wet, blasting snow built a crust on his goggles, his eyes the only places not actively painful and cold from the wind. He shook his head, trying to clear the visor, but had to use his hand to scrape it off. He didn’t even want to see what was becoming of Max in the back. Snow stuck to his fur like nothing Anson had ever seen.

The only thing he felt good about right now was leaving the four rescues with the hippie chick. Her choice of attire showed a distinct lack of common sense, but she’d picked up on his shoulder bothering him. She was perceptive and paying attention. And he’d seen her hug his frostbite patient. She cared. They’d be safe with her, especially considering the detailed instructions he’d given. She’d be watching them with an eagle eye for any slight changes. Getting Dupris should an emergency arise would be a simple enough task for anyone.

His stomach suddenly churned hard, a split second before he felt an unnatural shifting of the snow beneath him.

He reacted automatically, cutting sharply up the slope, and didn’t stop until the ground felt firm beneath him. Damned sliding snowdrifts.

He’d only reacted in time because he’d been waiting for it to happen. After his harrowing experience, snow had become an obsession to him—learning the different kinds of snow, what made it slide, what made blizzards, all that. And since he’d bought Max and had him trained, he’d probably spent more time on the snow than anywhere else in his life. His instinct was honed to it, and he knew to listen to his gut.

Especially when he couldn’t see the terrain well enough to judge with his eyes …

But he couldn’t trust that his crew would have the same ability, especially with how tired they already were.

Conditions had just officially gotten too bad to continue.

His team had stopped when he’d pulled his maneuver—quickly enough to see how he’d survived it before they tried to follow—but he didn’t want them to try it. They’d follow where he led, but he couldn’t have any more lives on his conscience.

Grabbing the flashlight off his belt, he clicked it on, assuring that they’d see the motion even if they couldn’t clearly see any other details, and gave it a swirl before pointing back in the direction from which they’d come.

Retreat.

He waited until they had all turned around and then started up the slope in a gentle arc to bring up the rear. Not ideal. The best formation had him at the front—taking the dangers first—but at least from this vantage he’d be able to see if anyone fell behind or started having difficulty.

He felt shifting against the cage at his back. Max huddled behind Anson, strategically placing himself to get the least of the cold wind that blasted around his owner, even as the machine crept along.

If it were just him, he’d stay out on the mountain, looking until it was impossible to do anything else, but there were five other human lives under his protection, not to mention his hard-working, life-saving dog.

“I’m sorry, man,” he said to the wind.

They had to go back.

He’d have to tell the others they couldn’t reach the mine. Yet.

They hadn’t gotten far enough to find anyone or signs. Those they’d rescued earlier would just have to understand.

His gut twisted. He’d lost people to avalanches, recently even. But he’d never lost someone to a storm and not found them alive.

Worse, he’d have to lie to those people who’d been through so much. Say he was certain they would pick up the trail again as soon as the snow and wind let up. But the only thing he was certain of was the fear and guilt tearing through him—colder than the Colorado cyclone buffeting them about the mountainside.

Just as Anson had expected, Ellory was doing the job she’d been assigned. She’d been fast out the door when they’d first arrived, but not when they returned.

As quickly as they could, the team shut down their machines, climbed off, and hurried inside. They hadn’t been out in the weather that long compared to their hours of searching for the group, but the wind speeds were now enough that the awning over the front doors sounded like thunder as it rippled in the wind. That, coupled with exhaustion, made it impossible to keep warm.

He stepped through the ornate doors to the comforting heat and the smell of burning wood. The fireplace in the lobby still burned actual wood, something that had surprised him when he’d returned to Silver Pass. It was good. Wood fire dried out the air and cut through the damp better than anything but a shower. Anson loved the crackling and the temperatures for those times, like now, when he just couldn’t get warm enough. The dancing flames. The red coals. The warm golden light, so hopeful … Hopefulness he wished he felt.

Max looked up at him, made eye contact, and then headed for the fireplace at a trot. He always did that and Anson still didn’t know whether it was him asking for permission to do something, or he was just giving Anson a heads-up that he was going.

His crew hit the hot beverages first, the fastest way to heat up your core, leaving Anson to check on his patients and deliver the news.

Ellory had positioned his frostbite patient close to the fire, having transferred her to a fancy brass wheelchair that matched the décor—the lodge kept a few on hand for the really bad skiers—and now sat at Chelsea’s feet, gently patting them dry. She’d kept them in the hot water bath longer than he’d told her to. Not great. The tissue was fragile and being waterlogged wouldn’t do her any favors.

A hot plate sat on the floor about a foot away, which was new. Somewhere closer to keep the water hot for the footbath.

She was taking that temperature range very seriously at least. Probably keeping it better than the whirlpool baths at the hospital.

“Chelsea’s toes are pink now,” Ellory called, on seeing him. It almost helped. “Well, almost all the way pink. A couple of her small toes have a bit of yellow going on. We had a little trouble with the water temperature at first, but once we moved the hot plate closer, it got easier to keep it in the range.”

“It’s not hurting as bad now,” Chelsea added in quiet tones, swiveling in her chair to look the lobby over.

She was looking for her fiancé, as they all were, but she was the one who’d be hurt the most if the man didn’t make it back.

Anson stepped around and crouched to look at her toes. “No blisters have formed yet, so that’s good. You’ll likely get a couple of blisters soon, when they start swelling. But we’re going to take good care of you, and when the storm passes we’ll get you to a hospital.”

“What about Jude?” Chelsea asked, letting him know what she was interested in talking about but not whether she’d heard him at all. Someone would have to repeat the information to her later.

Anson straightened so he could address the group. “The storm has gotten to the point where it’s impossible for us to continue searching. I want to be clear: this is just a suspension of the search, not the end of it. I’m sorry we haven’t found your fiancé yet.”

“Jude.” Chelsea repeated the name of the missing skier, stopping Anson with one hand on his arm.

“Jude,” he repeated, his pulse kicking up a little higher. He knew why it was important to her, but saying the man’s name made it harder to maintain the distance he needed to be smart about this. “Just because we have to postpone going back out to look for Jude, it doesn’t mean it’s time to give up hope. So don’t get ahead of us, okay? You’d be surprised what someone can survive. Those mines are a pretty good shelter. There are also some rocky overhangs between here and where we found you. And some of those might actually be better.”

“How could they be better? You’re closer to the snow,” one of the rescued asked.

He contemplated how much to actually tell them about his experience with this kind of situation. I know these things, I killed someone with snow once wouldn’t inspire anyone to trust him. This had to be about them, not about his fear or guilt. “Small spaces hold the warmth your body makes better, and the wind can’t get into it as fully as it does in the mines, which have a bigger entrance and room for the wind to move around inside. He might still show up here before we get out to him, but as soon as the storm lets up we’ll get back out there. It’s not time to give up hope.” He repeated that, trying to convince himself.

It was time to bandage Chelsea’s toes … and hopefully him moving on would make them take the hint not to ask more questions. He didn’t have any answers or much of a mind left for coming up with more empty words of comfort. He was too busy trying to ignore the similarities between this storm and his storm.

Pulling off his cap and gloves, he squatted beside Ellory at Chelsea’s feet, struggling to hold his calm for everyone else. “Do you have some gloves for me to use?”

Ellory ducked into the bag of supplies she’d packed and fished out the box of gloves. One look at them confirmed they wouldn’t do. Small. He could squeeze into a medium at a pinch, but large were better. “All right, this job has been passed to you.”

To his surprise, she didn’t argue at all, just grabbed a couple gloves from the box and put them on. Crouched so close he was enveloped in a cloud of something fruity and floral. The woman looked like summer, and she smelled like spring. Warm. And distracting. He scooted to the side to give her room.

“What is the job?” she asked, looking at Chelsea’s toes and maneuvering herself so she could gently cradle the patient’s heel in her lap.

He handed the gauze to her and began ripping strips of tape and tacking them to the wheelchair, where she could get to them. “Part of the healing process is just keeping the site dry and loosely bandaged.” He gave short, quick instructions, and left her to it.

She unrolled the gauze carefully and began wrapping. He watched, ready to correct her, but she did it as he would’ve: a couple of passes between the two toes to keep them separate, controlling the moisture level better, and then loosely around the two together.

No matter how out of her depth she looked, she was anything but incompetent. There might even be some kind of medical training there. The cloud of floral scent stole up his dry, burning sinuses and almost made his mouth water like a dog’s.

Awesome priorities. Reveling in attraction to some woman while the lost man was freezing. Maybe dying. He definitely didn’t have the warm comfort of a fireplace and a wench-shaped blonde to take his mind off his failure to get back to the lodge safely, didn’t even know his friends had been saved, so he suffered that additional torment—worry for them in addition to himself.

An inferno of shame ignited in his belly.

Hide it.

At the very least he owed them all a confident appearance. Calm. Strength. Determination.

Meltdowns were something to have alone—a luxury that would have to wait until he was no longer needed.

CHAPTER THREE

ELLORY HAD READ about frostbite treatment so she could anticipate Dr. Graves’s needs for that, but she had no idea what his other needs were. She’d kind of pegged the search and rescue team as attracting the kind of adrenaline fiends in it for the thrill, but Anson looked almost as devastated by returning empty-handed as Chelsea had.

With the bandage applied, she switched off the hot plate, scooted it out of the way and stood. What came next? She didn’t know, but certainly there would be something she would need to do, and being on her feet would help her react that much faster.

“They still hurt, I know,” Anson said to the woman, looking at the toes now hidden by the gauze, the patch of yellow skin surrounded by angry redness hidden. “But most of this might not even be frostbite. The yellow area is, but the good news is that we got to it in good time and it’s very unlikely to leave any lasting damage. I won’t be able to tell for a couple of days if it’s frostbite or the lesser version, which you all have on your fingers and toes … frostnip. We’re going to treat yours as if you have frostbite, just to be safe. I’ll see what kind of antibiotics Dr. Dupris has in her inventory, and some pain medication.”

Good news. She’d take whatever kind of win they could get.

Anson asked the standard allergy questions, got whatever info he needed, and nodded once to Ellory—a kind of do it nod. She had been promoted: triage to assistant, or nurse … or whatever that position was.

“I can check with Mira. Which antibiotic do you need?” If she had to, she could no doubt find in Mira’s books which kind of antibiotic was good for skin infections, but she’d rather he tell her. She wasn’t a doctor. Not by a long stretch. But she knew enough to know that antibiotics were a tricky lot—some worked for everything, some worked best for specific things, and these days a frightening amount were resistant to stuff they used to be awesome at fighting.

“I’m sure she’s got some of the broad-spectrum ones, but I don’t know how well the drug cabinet is stocked for anything obscure.” For some reason she wanted him to think well of her, and she felt more competent even saying the words “broad spectrum.” Like proving to him she wasn’t a complete idiot was important. Probably something to do with the lecture she’d gotten about her clothes …

She didn’t even know the man, had never seen him before today, but as he spoke she became aware of something else: there was a rawness about him she couldn’t name. Something in that raspy timbre that resonated feelings primal and violent.

He rattled off a few medication names that sounded like gibberish to her, and she didn’t ask him to repeat himself, just hoped she could remember them when she came face-to-face with a wall of gibberish-sounding drug names.

Then she’d come back here and keep an eye on the good doctor with the terrible name, because alarm bells were ringing in her head.

Chelsea suffered the whole situation with more dignity than Ellory could’ve mustered, and directed the conversation back to what she really wanted to talk about. “If I got frostbite in the mine and I wasn’t in the snow, Jude’s going to have it for sure, isn’t he?”

“Nothing is ever certain.” Ellory said it too quickly. It sounded like a platitude. She shook her head and tried again with better words. “You can’t compare your situation to his for a couple of reasons: women don’t hold heat as well as men do, and your boots are different. Even if they are the same brand, the fit will be different. If his have more room inside than yours they’ll hold heat better. If he’s taken shelter in a smaller space than you did, like Anson … Dr. Anson … was saying, he could just be warmer …”

Anson pulled out the footrests on the wheelchair and carefully positioned Chelsea’s feet on the metal tray. “Find a pillow for her.”

Ellory knew he was speaking to her, even though he didn’t look at her. She hurried to the main desk and the office behind, where she knew she’d find some. When she presented him with two slender pillows from the office, he put one under Chelsea’s feet and rose. “Would you like the other pillow to sit on?”

“Yes.” She made as if to rise and Anson put his hands out to stop her. “No walking. No standing. When you need to go to the bathroom, someone’s going to have to go with you. Right now, I’ve got you. Luckily, you weigh about as much as a can of beans …” He caught her under the arms and lifted. Ellory slid the pillow beneath and then stood back as he returned Chelsea to her seat, lifting a brow pointedly at him when she saw his shoulder catch again and a wave she could actually name cross his handsome features: pain. His shoulder definitely hurt.

She really had to stop thinking about how hot he was. It wasn’t helping at all. It wasn’t breaking her resolution to think that the untouchable doctor rescue guy was hot, but it might lead her to other thoughts. It also wasn’t her fault that his eyes looked like moss growing on the north side of a tree … deep, earthy green blending to brown. Was that hazel or still green if she looked …?

He was staring at her. It took a couple of nervous heartbeats for her to realize that it wasn’t because he was a mind-reader.

Oh, yeah, she’d made the Ahh, your shoulder does hurt face at him. Because it did. He’d made the pain face, she’d made the ahh face, and now he was making the scowl face.

He didn’t know she was sexually harassing him in her mind.

While she was trying to decide what she was supposed to be thinking, the man pivoted and walked straight through the archway leading to the rest of the resort.

Where was he going?

Crap.

She should have gone after the medicine by now.

He was going to disturb Mira, maybe make her leave the love nest and come down here.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Chelsea,” she babbled, and rushed after him in a flurry of flowing skirts and jingling bracelets, but she was too late to see which direction he’d headed. The elevators all sat on the bottom floor, where she was.

The man was a ninja. A cranky, frosty ninja.

Ducking into the stairwell, Ellory tilted her head to listen, hoping he wasn’t outside earshot. The plush carpeting that blanketed the hallways and stairs made it hard to tell which way he’d gone. “Anson?” Tentative call unanswered, she stepped back into the hallway.

Okay, so he didn’t go upstairs by any means, he wasn’t heading for Mira and Jack’s suite.

Mira’s office? He did want antibiotics for Chelsea. She turned to the right, the shorter hallway, gathered her skirts to her knees so they’d stop the damned swirling, and ran. No yelling. Yelling disturbed people. And every single person in the lodge, except for maybe the two upstairs sheltered from all this information overload in their love nest, were disturbed enough with the current situation.

One turn and then another, she reached the final hallway just in time to see Anson reach the end and turn toward the wall outside the clinic.

Before she could call out to him, he reared back and slammed his fist through the drywall.

The loud slam and cracking sound stunned her into staring for a couple of seconds. Long enough for the pain to reach his brain and make him pull his hand out of the hole while the other gripped his poor shoulder. If it hadn’t hurt before he’d done that …

“You broke the wall,” she muttered as she trotted forward, no longer running. She was not at all sure how to respond to this masculine and aggressive display. She didn’t know anyone who hit walls when they were upset. Generally, she kept company with people who avoided violence. “I have the keys to Mira’s office, we can get whatever you need for Chelsea. I’ve been keeping an inventory of supplies.”

He finally turned to look at her and she saw it again—he wasn’t just upset. She saw desolate, blind torture in his hollow eyes. It robbed her of any ability to speak.

Whatever she’d thought earlier about his motivation behind taking this kind of work, she was now certain: It had nothing to do with being an adrenaline junkie or any kind of fixation on the dream of being the big hero. This mattered to him. This hurt him.

She did the only thing she could, reached out and touched him. Tried to ground him here with her.

Contact of her palm with his stubble-roughened cheek sharpened his gaze, bringing him back from wherever he’d gone.

“Don’t worry about the wall. We’ll fix it. Everything will be okay.” She whispered words meant to soothe him.

It took him a few seconds, but his brows relaxed and he nodded, looking down at the bloody knuckles on his hand and then at the wall. “That was pretty stupid. She’s going to give me hell, isn’t she?” He mustered a smile while simultaneously pulling his head back from her hand.

He didn’t want her touching him … Okay. It’s not like they really knew one another, and some people just didn’t like to be touched.

It wasn’t about her. It wasn’t judgment on her.

Ellory pulled her thoughts away from the vulnerable nerve he’d accidentally struck and played along, faking a grin with her tease. “You have no idea. She’s going to make you cry like a baby.”

His smile was equally slight, but it was a start. And it reminded her of where she should make him focus. Sobering, she reached for his hand but didn’t touch him, a request, open palms. “Can I see it?”

Okay, that might’ve been a test.

She’d been rejected more times in her life than any person ought to be—it wasn’t anything new to her—but the second she’d found out that he was a doctor he’d become her partner in dealing with this and keeping Mira out of it. She needed him to actually connect with her and be her partner in it. And a good person didn’t abandon her partner when he was hurting.

When he placed his large, bloody-knuckled hand in hers, her relief was so keen she had to fight the urge to squeeze and wind her fingers in his. He didn’t shun her. Recoiling was about something else. He didn’t find her lacking.

Nice skin, and considering she hadn’t had any male contact since she’d come back from Peru it wasn’t surprising that she wanted to relish the contact a little bit.

She forced herself to examine his knuckles before he caught on, paying careful attention to the cracked and rapidly swelling skin. “Can you move your fingers for me?”

He made a small sound as he got his fingers going, but his fingers moved smoothly at the knuckle, despite the swelling. “Well, we both know that it’s an old wives’ tale that you can’t move something that’s broken. Can’t know for sure that it’s not, but it looks good. Sorry, have to do this …”

Still holding his injured hand for support, she stroked her fingers over the abused skin, just firmly enough to feel the structure. She knew it hurt, he stopped breathing until she stopped touching it. “Don’t think it’s broken. Everything feels intact. Could be some hairline fracture, though. Guess we’ll have to take a wait-and-see approach on this, along with poor Chelsea’s toes.”

Breathing resumed, and he pulled his hand back, nodding. “I don’t think it’s broken either, but I’m a fan of X-ray …”

“Come on. Let’s get this cleaned up, then we’ll get Chelsea’s medicine into her, and I’ll go and tell Mira what’s going on so she can join the fun later. While the storm is here, you two will keep watch over our patient guests in shifts so she can have time with Jack and you can have some rest. Welcome to your first rotation at Silver Pass Blizzard Clinic, Dr. Graves.”

“Time with Jack?” he asked, as she turned toward the door.

Ellory fished the keys from her coat pocket, unlocked the door and stepped inside, flipping on one set of lights as she went. “The past six months have been really hard for Mira, not that she’d admit it to anyone. Her fiancé was a louse. They broke up and the universe rewarded her for choosing to take care of herself.”

“Jack from the avalanche, or do you mean her reward is having to do jack-all?”

Ellory peered at him. “Have you never heard the name Jack before?”

“I have and I’ve met a guest called Jack. But it’s also a noun or an adjective.” He followed her into the clinic. “Your manner of speaking is unusual. I’m looking for landmarks.”

She decided not to comment on that—he didn’t seem like a big talker and she had jobs before her. She talked strangely. She dressed wrong. Blah-blah-blah.

“I’ve been making notes of the supplies I took to the lobby. We’ll just write down whatever we need, I’ll go tell Mira and you can get the medicine for Chelsea. We should probably start charts for everyone too, but since your hand looks like hell, you tell me what you want it to say and I’ll do the writing.”

Anson followed her, enjoying the floral wake. The tropical scent reminded him she’d said something about Peru earlier. “Were you on a medical mission before you came here?”

She unlocked the drug cabinet and opened the doors, then flipped on a light above it and pointed at the bottles to direct his attention. “Medical mission? Oh, no. You mean in Peru. No, I was at a …” She looked sidelong at him, her expression growing wary. “I was at an ayahuasca retreat.”

The word was familiar somehow, but between the pain in his hand, the pain in his shoulder and the headache he’d been nursing since he’d decided to turn the group around he couldn’t place it. “I know I should know what that is, but it’s eluding me.”

“It’s a place you go to have …” She stumbled along, clearly hedging and not really wanting to tell him.

People who avoided a direct answer had something to hide, either because it embarrassed them or they expected disapproval. Which was when he remembered what ayahuasca was. “Ayahuasca is a hallucinogen, isn’t it?”

Her sigh confirmed it. “It’s not like LSD or hard drugs. It’s a herbal and natural way of expanding your consciousness. I went there for a spirit quest under the care of a shaman—someone who knows about use of the plant and how to make the decoction properly. Someone who could help me understand everything I needed to know beforehand. And before you say anything, I’m not a drug user. I don’t smoke anything. I only drink alcohol once a year—champagne on New Year’s with Mirry. And nothing else remotely dodgy the rest of the year.” As she spoke, her volume increased, along with the tension between her brows. “My body is a freaking temple, Judgy McGravedigger.”

Anson lifted both hands, trying to put the brakes on the situation before she got really angry. Obviously he’d hit a nerve, she’d gone from quiet and somewhat babbly to angry because he’d called it a hallucinogen. “I’m not judging, but I am curious. And I agree your body is a temple.”

Smooth.

When she turned back to her task he focused on the cabinet again and the array of medicines, and changed the subject. “Well stocked.”

She went with it and didn’t comment on his completely unacceptable remark about her body. “Mirry’s a planner. She likes to be prepared for anything. She’s always been good like that, never lets anyone down.” A clipboard hung inside the cabinet, but where he’d expected to see an inventory sheet had been clipped a single piece of notebook paper, a list of supplies in a scrolling, extravagant script. She picked it up and began writing again.

Mirry? Always been?

Ellory wasn’t a nurse …

Sister? “Are you Ellory Dupris?” Anson put the two names together as he plucked one bottle of antibiotics from the shelf and set it on her clipboard so she could get a good look at the spelling and dose of medication.

“Ellory Du …? Oh, no. My name is Ellory Star.”

She scribbled down the medicine then put the bottle into a little plastic basket. “You look for any other medicines, I’m going to get the supplies to clean your knuckles up.” Before she headed away she turned back to him with a little pinch between her brows. “I’m sorry I made fun of your name. It wasn’t nice. But in my defense it’s kind of a terrible name. You should change it. Pick something more positive.”

Pick something? “You picked Star, didn’t you?”

“Yep.”

Okay … He’d think about that later. “You do work here, though.”

“Licensed massage therapist, which is my primary occupation, I guess. I’ve completed training and passed boards to be a physiotherapy assistant in Texas, but I haven’t done any office work on it or taken boards here. The closest I came was a mission where the leader had back trouble and I helped her with the daily exercises her actual treatment prescribed … helped her handle being out in the field,” she answered, fishing a badge from under her sweater and answering the question that he’d been working toward.

Anticipating. She really was perceptive. And the occupations fit. But then again, she could’ve said artist, pagan priestess, or tambourine player and he would’ve believed her. So, a massage therapist who called the owner’s daughter and resort doctor ‘Mirry.’

He plucked another medication from the cabinet, the mildest prescription-level pain medicine Mirry … Dr. Dupris … had in stock, and put it on the clipboard. “I put another medicine there for pain for Chelsea. Frostbite pain is monstrous.”

Shrugging out of his coat, he pushed his sleeves up and stepped over to the sink to wash his hands, paying special attention to the puffy and bloody knuckles. He gave his fingers a few more slow flexes. Burning. Tenderness. But no bone pain. He knew about bone pain, just as he knew about frostbite pain. So she was right, even without having that information at her disposal. Good eye.

“Oh, my God, that’s all you …”

He turned away from the sink, hand still under the water. “What’s all me?”

“I was hoping that the coat was puffier than it seems to be.”

He briefly considered not asking her for clarification, but he needed all the information he could get to keep up in conversation with this woman. “Why were you hoping my coat was puffy?”

“You’re seriously beefy. Shoulders a mile wide, muscled. It’s going to make working on you hard. I was hoping that some of that was your gear, your coat … I’ve got pretty strong hands and upper body, but you’re going to be a tough case.” She’d put a tray on the table, an array of antiseptics, gauze, tapes and ointments on it, and then went to write the medicine on her special clipboard.

“No, I won’t. I don’t need to be worked on.” He didn’t mention the compliment. Best ignore that attraction she’d all but said was mutual.

“How’s it feeling?”

Good. She wasn’t going to push the subject. “Nothing broken but the wall and my self-control. Bruised. Some abrasions …” He dried his hands on paper towels and wandered toward the table. “Maybe a mild sprain.” He’d hit the wall hard.

“After you give the medicine to Chelsea, I want you on my table.”

“Ellory, I don’t need it.”

“Suffering for no reason doesn’t make you tough, it makes you stupid.” She made a noise he could only consider a verbal shrug, “Your shoulder needs working on. If you want that thing to heal up so you can get back out there to find Jude when the snow lets up, let me help you.”

He should’ve seen that coming. Her vocation was one hundred percent hands on, and from what he could tell by having observed her, she was on a mission to take care of the world.

The idea had some appealing qualities. Not the least of which the prospect of having her hands on his body … She might be dressed like a crazy person, considering the season and latitude, and conversing with her might be like running a linguistic obstacle course, but strangely neither of those things made her unappealing. And neither did the revelation about her spirit quest.

But he didn’t really deserve comfort, and it was possible that his shoulder would calm down on its own in a little while.

“Maybe later. I should stick around the lobby. Keep a watch on them and the weather.”

“Have you seen the radar? The storm is going to be with us for a while, hours and hours. We’ll leave one of the radios with your people in the lobby and they can call us if …” The lights flickered, stopping her flow of words and her hands. When the power steadied and stayed on, she continued, “We’re going to lose electricity.”

“Maybe. We should see about making preparations, on the off chance …”

“It’s not an off chance, Anson. It happens in every bad storm that hits the pass. Summer. Winter. Doesn’t matter what kind of storm. It’s not the whole town, but the lines to the lodge are dodgy, always breaking or going out for some reason. Tree limbs. High winds. Accumulation of heavy snow or ice …”

“I thought you were just in Peru.”

“And before that Haiti. And before that the Central African Republic. Before that Costa Rica. But I was born and raised in Silver Pass. I needed to come home after my retreat, and Mira offered me a place to work. I have a history with the lodge. I know what I’m talking about. Nothing ever changes here. The power will go out.”

“What does a massage therapist do in those places?”

“Dig ditches. Build dams. Distribute food, clothing, or whatever the mission is. And I help at the end of the day when people are worn out and hurting from all the manual labor.” She disappeared into the office, and after some mucking around in there came out with a file folder, some forms, and another clipboard. “And there have been a few projects where I ended up with the same project leader, and I think she took me along as much to help keep her on her feet as to help with the actual project.”

She left him to clean and dress his hand and made some notes in Chelsea’s chart.

She’d grown up at the lodge, which explained why she was on such intimate terms with the owners. “You knew Dr. Dupris growing up?”

“Yes, and before you dig further she’s my best friend. I love her more than anyone else in the whole world and if I’m upsetting you by making you help with the skiers, or making you let me help you, you’re just going to have to get over it. She’s having some much-needed downtime, and I’m going to take care of her people. Right now you’re one of them, Dr. Graves. So suck it up, get the medicine into Chelsea and meet me at the massage therapy room. It’s three doors down. There’s a sign.” She locked the drug cabinet and then turned and tossed her keys to him.

He instinctively caught them with his right hand, and regretted it. The combination of flying metal hitting his throbbing palm and the quick jerk of his arm tweaking his shoulder doubled the pain whammy that followed.

“Fine.” Not fine. Annoyed. But as annoying as it was, she had a point, and if she could help, he’d make use of her.

“Lock the door when you leave. And turn off the lights. No wasting fossil fuels.”

At least she didn’t gloat.

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