How to leave the nest without alarming the Mama Bird:

Parental Perception: You’re still their little girl, going off to face a big bad world—alone.

Reality: You’re thirty-two, single and haven’t sucked your thumb in years.

Tip: Make your parents proud. Take your ragged teddy bear with you.

Parental Perception: You’ll starve to death before week’s end.

Reality: You have enough chocolate to start your own candy shop.

Tip: Accept the groceries they pack for you. It’s just better that way.

Parental Perception: You’ll have no one to contact in case of emergency.

Reality: You haven’t been to the doctor since your school shots.

Tip: Promise you’ll wear a medical ID bracelet.

Parental Perception: You’ll become a hermit. Thus, no grandchildren.

Reality: Guys aren’t exactly knocking down your door.

Tip: Assure parents that at the first sign of Hunky Boy, you’ll schedule the church.

DIANN WALKER

and her husband, Jim, started on a three-mile trek through Amish country in 1997, and at that moment, she had no idea she was taking her first steps toward a new career. Inspired by their walk, she wrote an article, which was published a year later. Other articles soon followed. After studying fiction writing, she celebrated her first novella sale in 2001, with CBA bestselling novellas and novels, written as Diann Hunt, reaching the bookshelves soon afterward. Wanting to be used by God in the ministry of writing, Diann left her job as a court reporter in the fall of 2003 and now devotes her time to writing. Well, writing and spoiling her four granddaughters. She has been happily married forever and loves her family, chocolate, her friends, chocolate, her dog and, well, chocolate. Be sure to check out her Web site at www.diannhunt.com. Sign her guestbook and drop her an e-mail. And, hey, if you have any chocolate…

Blissfully Yours

Diann Walker

MILLS & BOON

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Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will

give you the desires of your heart.

—Psalms 37:4

Special thanks to:

My fabulous editor, Krista Stroever, for the challenges and encouragement along the way. Your response time is amazing and your comments are always helpful. I am blessed to work with you.

My writing buddies, aka coffeehouse friends, Colleen Coble, Kristin Billerbeck and Denise Hunter. I value your advice, and above all, your friendship.

Jim, I am forever Blissfully Yours.

Contents

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

“Come on, Gwen, what better way to start off the New Year? This is a perfect job for you!” Candace Windsor says with more enthusiasm than I’m feeling. She tucks a strand of long blond hair behind her ear and smiles.

Lauren Cantrell sits beside Candace, nodding and stirring her coffee. “It would be so much fun to have you living in Bliss Village, Gwen. We could go shopping together, out for coffee—it would be great.”

“And with me living in Nevada and both of you here, the three of us could get together more often than once a year,” Candace adds.

Sitting near the fireplace, I feel warm and toasty, despite the fact I see snowflakes falling outside the window. Pine logs perfume the air, an aroma with which I’ve become familiar in my annual treks to California’s Bliss Village. The three of us have been meeting in this town every year since college graduation. Now that Lauren and Garrett Cantrell are married, we meet here at their bed-and-breakfast. This year I took some extra time off before Christmas break so I could be with them and still make it home in time for Christmas Day.

The whole idea makes my dizzy. I mean, I’m all for adventure and fun, but leave Tumbleweed, Arizona? My home for almost thirty-two years?

“Besides, with your parents traveling six months out of the year, you’ll be bored stiff if you stay at home by yourself,” Candace continues.

I hadn’t seen that one coming. She’s got a point. My parents retired at the end of the last school year and purchased a motor home in the fall, but I never dreamed they would use it for anything other than occasional vacations. Since I’ve dated most of the eligible bachelors in Tumbleweed, my parents have given up hope of ever having grandkids to bounce on their knees. By the time I get married, my parents will have knee replacements.

How many times has Mom reminded me that my biological clock is ticking and time is running out? As much as that comment annoys me, the thought of not hearing it for the next six months makes me sad. Before my mood dives south, though, I look up to see my two best friends staring at me with hopeful eyes.

I can do this, can’t I? I mean, so what if I have to leave my familiar surroundings; life is all about stretching and growing, right? The twinge of excitement sparks and soon the thrill of a new experience sends a rush of adrenaline through my veins. “I have to admit the idea appeals to me.” I think for a moment. “But what about my teaching position in Tumbleweed?”

Candace waves her hand in the air. “Arizona’s educational system can do without you for a semester. Take a sabbatical. Didn’t you say you went into teaching to please your parents? It’s time to find out what Gwen wants for her life.”

I will miss my church friends, but most of them are married, so it’s not as though they need me. And Candace has given me something to think about. I don’t really know what I want to do with my life. This seems the perfect opportunity to find out. Okay, I’m getting excited here. “This is all so—so—”

“Perfect?” Candace grins again. “Gwen, you know you are a party waiting to happen.”

I feel a smidgen of pride with her comment. I’ve always enjoyed it that people think that about me.

“You love adventure, challenges. What’s that you always say—”

“You can do anything you set your mind to, if you want it badly enough,” Lauren says.

“That’s it,” Candace shouts, with a snap of her fingers.

I reach a hand up to fidget with my hoop earring, causing my colored bracelets to clink against one another. “I imagine your brother will have something to say about this,” I point out. “After all, this is his ski resort.”

Candace waves her index finger in the air. “Ah, but I’m co-owner. Besides, I know he still needs a cook, and if you fill the job, that’s one less thing he has to worry about. You’d be perfect. You already have experience from working at that restaurant in Tumbleweed during the weekends.”

Lauren grabs my hand. “Did I tell you he’d be coming for dinner tonight?”

My heart blips. My gum grinds to a halt. Party animal that I am, I still get all twisted up inside when it comes to men. I’m racking my brain to remember what Candace’s brother looked like. He was never around for our get-togethers. I have seen snapshots of him and Candace, but it’s been so long. If only I could place him….

Lauren and Candace laugh together.

“Oh, come on. I know Mitch has a past, but he isn’t that bad,” Candace teases.

“A past?” I gulp here.

“Well, with women. He’s been a little, let’s just say, indecisive at times,” Candace says.

“As in leaves a trail of broken hearts?” I ask.

“Yes—but that’s in the past. Mitch has really changed.”

Of course his sister would want to believe the best. Not that it matters to me if he’s a player. After all, we’re merely talking about me working for him.

The doorbell rings. “Oh, that must be him now,” Candace says, already rising to answer it.

It could be me, but this seems to be happening too fast. These two already have me moved. Can I do this? My adventurous side says, “Yes, do it!” My cautious side says, “Hold on, don’t move too fast. Think this through.” Yes, I love adventure. Yes, I was complaining that I went into teaching because my parents made a living working in education. Yes, I want to try something new, but move to Bliss Village? Leave my safety bubble behind? I don’t know. It’s taking a huge risk, and, well, I haven’t taken many risks lately.

Okay, try none.

Candace and a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark blond hair walk into the room and come toward me. He could be the star of any action movie on the screen today. I want to ask for his autograph.

“Gwen, this is my brother, Mitch.”

All reason leaves my brain the moment we lock eyes. I’m thinking the adventurous side of me will win out.

“Mitch, Gwen Sandler.”

His hazel eyes twinkle, and I realize I’m gaping. I snap my mouth shut and manage a smile. His strong hand dwarfs my own and sends sparks clear through me. This man needs a cook?

Just call me Betty Crocker.

My time with Candace and Lauren quickly drew to an end. Christmas is over, and I’m home packing to move to Bliss Village before the realization of what I’m doing can hit me.

“Gwen, are you sure you want to do this? I mean, if you’re doing this because Dad and I are traveling…”

My top drawer gets stuck on something in the back. I yank out a stray yellow sock and shove the drawer closed. The cinnamon candle on the dresser flickers and sputters a moment. Have I mentioned I’m totally into cinnamon? I love the smell and taste of this priceless spice. It conjures up warm fuzzies in me. I think it’s because it reminds me of Christmas. And, of course, not only does Christmas have great spiritual significance, but it also translates into social gatherings, food and fun.

I take a whiff of my favorite scent and turn to my mom. “No, Mom. I’m glad for you and Dad. I really am. This is good for me. I needed a little push from the nest.” I smile outwardly but grimace inwardly. How pathetic is it that I’m thirty-two years old and still living at home?

Mom bites her lower lip, a gesture she does when she’s unsure about something. “Well, if you’re certain this is what you want to do…”

I walk over to the opened box and stuff my remaining socks to the side. My heart squeezes at the sight of Mom sitting on the bright blue-and-yellow comforters on my bed surrounded by fluffy matching pillows and shams. I look around the room. I’ve always loved the cheery yellow walls. I’ll miss her, and I’ll miss my room. But I’m ready for this.

I think.

“Mom, it’s not the end of the world. I’m moving to Bliss Village, California, not Alaska.” I take the last two sweaters from my dresser, one cherry red, the other dazzling purple with sparkles all over it, and add them to the nearly full box.

With downcast eyes, Mom nods. We’re both struggling here. “We’ll keep in touch, and of course we’ll be back in Tumbleweed during the winter months,” she says.

I’m pretty sure I hear a sniffle, but Mom hides it well. She thinks a moment, and panic sharpens her eyes. “Oh, no! I’ll never see those grandchildren now.”

Mom can be a bit, well, dramatic at times. “Mom, in case you haven’t noticed, there are no grandchildren. I’m not married, remember?” I wiggle my diamond-free left hand in her direction.

She stiffens and hikes her nose in the air. “It’s only a matter of time.”

I stare at her. My mom sometimes lives in a dream world, populated by dozens of grandchildren. Since my brother Spencer and I are both still single, she has to stay in her dream world to enjoy the grandkids. “I’m afraid I’ve exhausted my resources in Tumbleweed, Mom.”

She brightens. “Is that why you’re leaving? Do you know something I don’t?” That’s where I get my positive nature. Mom never loses hope that my perfect soul mate lurks right around the next corner.

The vision of Mitch Windsor hits me then quickly fades. “Nope. No man on the horizon. I’m simply spreading my wings.” I fling my arms open wide and twirl once, causing my hair to lift with the breeze and my dangly earrings to dance.

Mom chuckles in spite of herself, yet concern shadows her face. I sit on the bed beside her and grab her hand. “Look, Mom, I’ve enjoyed being a teacher up to now, but honestly, I went into teaching because you and Dad wanted me to. It’s not really what I want to do.”

She hikes her nose a bit. “Well, education has provided a good living for our family.”

“Oh, I know,” I jump in eagerly. “And I’m thankful for that. I really am.” I try to ease into the next comment. “Only I’m not convinced it’s what I’m supposed to do with my life.”

“But a cook in a ski lodge, Gwen? I should think you got your fill of cooking for a crowd working down at the Oasis Restaurant. I never understood why you used up your weekends working there. No wonder you’ve never found Mr. Right. You haven’t had the time. And what about your college training?”

I know Mom’s emotions are bouncing around the same as mine. We don’t know whether to be excited about the future or cry about the past.

“It’s not wasted. Education is never wasted,” I say, parroting her familiar words. I get up, close the bulging box and pull packing tape across the top, sealing it shut. “I’ll be doing something I truly enjoy.” I smile.

Mom quirks an eyebrow. “We should have sent you to a three-month cooking school. It would have saved us some money.”

My bubble refuses to burst. “I promise I’ll make you proud, Mom.” Maybe I shouldn’t go that far, but, well, I’m beginning to feel good about this decision. It feels right. “Candace has gone out of her way to get me this job with her brother. He’s trying something new. I’m trying something new. This is a good thing.”

Mom keeps staring a hole through me with those dark eyes. “I think Herbert likes you, Gwen,” Mom says, making a last-ditch effort to keep me here.

I cringe at her reference to the owner of Tumbleweed’s only bookstore. Herbert Caudell is thirty-nine years old, wears polyester pants and lives with his mother. I hold my breath. Wait. I’m thirty-two, and I live with my mother. That thought rocks my world for a moment. But I don’t do polyester. I release my breath.

My pet iguana leaves his habitat and saunters onto the bed. Mom shoots straight up to a standing position and turns to him with a frown. “Well, he’s one thing I won’t miss.”

Guacamole and I ignore her comment. I scoop him into my arms and rub his belly. I admit maybe owning a pet iguana is a little eccentric. When my brother presented Guacamole as a birthday gift to me four years ago, I had no idea what I would do with him. As we all know, an iguana is hardly the party animal. A white toy poodle dressed in pink bows and coats? Party animal. An iguana? No.

Still, I decided to make the most of it. He was a gift, after all. And green is one of my favorite colors. Besides, Guacamole’s color reminds me of a dip, and, of course, where does one find dips? At parties. Once that realization hit me, Guacamole and I became fast friends.

Mom purses her lips together and heads for my bedroom door. “I’ve made you a lunch for your trip. Now you be sure and call us along the way so we know you’re all right. I hate it that you’re taking a loaded car by yourself. Everyone will know you’re moving, and you’re traveling alone.”

“I’m taking clothes. We still have to see if this is going to work out before I move everything else.”

My mom has always been a worrywart. That’s another of our differences. I don’t allow life’s circumstances to get me all upset—well, most of the time I don’t. I usually roll with the punches. Life is meant to be savored.

“I will call if I get into trouble, Mom. I promise.”

“Well, before you go, your father and I have something to give you.”

I look at Mom with surprise while she steps out of my room. I can’t imagine what she’s got up her sleeve. Probably a directory of eligible bachelors in Bliss Village.

Guacamole gets restless with my holding him, and he goes into his full-body alligator roll.

“If you don’t want me to hold you, why don’t you just say so?” I complain, watching Guacamole walk across the bed to a sunlit spot where he can do his usual basking. Oh, to have such a life.

I smooth the wrinkles on my bed where Mom had been sitting and wait on her return. She stumbles into my room, and I can’t believe my eyes. There she stands with a broad smile on her face and a brand-new pair of top-of-the-line skis in one hand, a set of poles in the other.

“Just in case you decide to have some fun while you’re there,” Mom says. “I hear you can’t go to Bliss Village without skis.”

I take a hard look at the skis and wonder what I was thinking when I agreed to this.

Chapter Two

“Candace, I didn’t know you would be here,” I say as I stumble inside the Windsor Mountain B&B and Ski Resort with two suitcases.

“Here, let me help you.” She holds the door, then once I’m inside, she lifts a suitcase from my grasp and puts it on the floor. “I had to finalize the joint venture paperwork with Mitch.”

I drop my suitcase to the floor, brush the snow from my coat, then grab the slight bill on my black-and-red checkered hat and pull it off, along with my black gloves. “I can’t believe I’m here,” I say and turn to give her our customary hug. “Sorry, I’m all wet with snow.” I brush the white flakes from my cap.

“After living here a while, you’ll get used to it. Snow is a fact of life in Bliss Village,” Candace says with a laugh.

Hearing that makes my stomach flip. “I have to admit I’m excited.” I won’t mention the part about not liking cold weather.

“You’re going to love it here, Gwen. I have a feeling it will work out.”

I have to wonder why she’s so into this. Trying to help out a friend, I guess. That’s the way things are between Candace, Lauren and me—we look out for each other.

“Hey, I like your hair cut that way, Gwen,” she says.

I touch my brown hair, momentarily forgetting that I had it cut to shoulder length with some light layering. “Thanks.”

I look around the room with pleasure and take a moment to catch my breath. I smell cinnamon from a nearby flickering candle. I’m thinking this could be a good sign.

“You like it?”

“It’s incredible,” I say, staring at the massive wooden beams, the stone fireplace, the rustic furnishings, spiral staircase, the wooden tables and chairs huddled on one side where, no doubt, breakfast is served. I think the room could use more color, mostly earth tones, but then that’s just me.

Candace’s gaze follows mine. “It is nice. Mitch has done a good job with it.” She turns to me again. “You’re excited—I can see it in your eyes.”

Whether the excitement comes from the new adventure or the possibility of seeing Mitch again, I can’t be sure. I have a suspicion, mind you, but time will tell.

“Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

I pick up my luggage and follow Candace up the stairway to our left.

“Mitch isn’t here. He had to run some errands,” she says over her shoulder, reading my mind. “Your room is right near the stairway.”

We get to the top of the stairs and walk three steps to our left. Candace places my luggage on the floor and opens the door with a key. She shoves the door open, steps back and lets me go in first.

Inside the room is a spacious bathroom, complete with shower, bath and ceramic tile flooring. A cathedral ceiling gives the bedroom a spacious feel. However, even though the room is very nice and simple, it’s, well—beige has exploded all over the place. A king-size bed with a beige quilt hugs one beige wall, with two small stands on either side. An animal skin of some type hangs above it. Double doors from the opposite wall lead to a balcony patio. A small stone fireplace flanks the right wall. A small chair and stand with the telephone sit near the fireplace.

“Very pretty,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment with the beige attack. My world is not the same without bright reds, yellows, greens and blues.

Candace shrugs. “It’s nothing elaborate, but it is kind of cozy.”

Maybe not elaborate color-wise, but everything looks comfortable. Candace’s idea of elaborate and mine are two different things. We come from different worlds.

“Oh, dear, I almost forgot Guacamole. I have to get him from the car.”

Candace smiles and bites her lip. “You know, I forgot to tell Mitch about Guacamole.”

I stop. “Is that a problem?”

She shrugs. “Too late now.”

She doesn’t seem worried about it, so I figure it must be all right. I run down the stairs and out the door. Opening my car, I grab the handle of Guacamole’s travel cage and decide to come back later for my packed boxes. I’m thankful I’ve wrapped a blanket around the bottom, or he’d be mad at me. Same as me, he hates the cold. I take him inside and up the stairs, where Candace is still waiting in my room.

Her eyebrows lift. “So this is Guacamole in the flesh.”

“Yep,” I say like the proud mama I am. “Haven’t you seen him before?”

“Just pictures.” I notice her face doesn’t look all that pleasant as she watches Guacamole shuffle around in his cage. The good news is his green body stands out in the room, and suddenly I’m thankful he’s not a white poodle.

“I think you’ve found the perfect name.” She laughs. “How long have you had him?”

“Guacamole is two years old. Iguanas can live as long as twenty years.”

“Amazing. That takes true commitment.”

I nod. “If I ever get married, the man will have to love Guacamole, too.” I stick my fingers in Guacamole’s cage and rub his tail. “I have a wooden habitat for him—looks similar to open bookshelves, complete with warming lights. But it’s open in the front so he’s free to roam. I hope that’s all right.”

Candace’s eyebrows lift.

I can’t help but laugh at her expression. “Guacamole is litter-trained, so you don’t need to worry about, um, surprises.”

She relaxes. “What does he eat?” she asks, still looking a little worried.

“Bedposts, wooden chairs. Now, he’s not into pine wood. Mainly walnut, cherry, that kind of thing.”

Candace’s eyes grow large as snowballs.

“I’m kidding.” I laugh. Candace’s shoulders relax. “He eats healthier than I do. Staple veggies such as okra, green beans, butternut squash, acorn squash, mustard greens, some fruit occasionally—bananas, berries, peaches, pears, that kind of thing. Pretty much anything in the produce section,” I say with a laugh. “You’re sure your brother won’t mind, right?”

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it,” Candace says with a lighthearted tone of voice.

We hear the front door open downstairs.

“I think that’s Mitch.”

My heart blips again. I put Guacamole’s cage near the bed and follow Candace down the stairs. I glance at the banister and wonder for a fleeting second what it would be like to slide down it.

At the sight of Mitch, I struggle to breathe. My teeth stick together as though I’ve got a wad of saltwater taffy in my mouth. His thick, wavy hair is pushed away from his forehead with a bit of gel, and stylish sideburns end where his chiseled jawline begins. There’s not an ounce of fat on his body. The word buff comes to mind. I’m sure he must have been a football star at one time.

He extends his hand. “Hey, Gwen, good to see you again,” he says, flashing a grin.

My teeth are still stuck together, so I merely smile and shake his hand. He looks at me kind of funny, and I realize I’m still grasping his hand. I reluctantly give it back to him. Killjoy.

We step away from the door so he can get through, though I’m very tempted to stay put so he has to move me himself. My teeth start to hurt, and I pry them apart.

Mitch steps into the great room, and we follow him.

“So you got everything taken care of at the bank?” Candace asks.

He nods. “I think we’re almost ready for opening day.” He casts a quick glance my way. “We do have one glitch, though.”

I cast my prettiest smile and wonder what that could possibly have to do with me.

“Granny is coming tomorrow,” he says to Candace.

Their eyes lock. “Granny Windsor?”

Judging by the look on Candace’s face, I’m thinking this can’t be good. Yoo-hoo, anyone want to fill me in here?

“Did she say how long she would be staying?”

“Well, you see, that’s the thing,” Mitch says. “She wanted to come and check out my new place. I told her it would be great to have her here. Then the next thing I knew she decided to be the cook for the B and B. I don’t really know how that happened.”

“That’s Granny for you,” Candace says, shaking her head.

Well, this is embarrassing. I’ve barely moved in, and I’m already laid off—before I cook my first meal. Can’t somebody tell Granny I was here first?

“Mitch, you should have told her you had a cook already.”

Hear, hear, Hunky Boy’s sister wins the prize!

“I know,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. I wish I could do that. “But with Grandpa’s death and all, I think she needs to keep busy.”

“Look, Mitch, your compassionate side sometimes goes against your better judgment. We all have struggles we need to work through. Granny will be all right.”

I suddenly realize I’m eavesdropping on a family matter.

Candace turns to me. “Grandpa died about four months ago, and we’re trying to help Granny through it. But don’t let her fool you, she’s a strong one. We have to watch her. She’s usually up to something.”

“She is ornery, but still I want to do what I can to help her.” Mitch looks at me. “That is, I want to help Granny, but I don’t mean to put you out, either. I was thinking you could run Cool Beanz, the coffeehouse, for us. Provide specialty coffees, Danish rolls, sandwiches and soft drinks, that kind of thing. We won’t be serving real meals, other than breakfast, until the business grows and I can add a restaurant.”

I’m feeling better. At least I still have a job. “Sure, I’d be glad to do that.” I’m hoping this doesn’t mean a decrease in pay. I’m already way under my teaching wage. And this is starting to feel like a game of limbo.

“I’ll still pay you the same. You’ll keep plenty busy. I have someone else lined up to help you, too.” He gives me a reassuring smile, and I notice how even and white his teeth are. His lips are perfect, too. Not collagen-large or paper-thin. I’ve never liked men with thin lips. Just freaks me out to think about it.

“Where is Cool Beanz located?” I ask. I don’t remember seeing a building like that before I came into the B and B.

Mitch plops down on the sofa. “Oh, it’s at the top of the slope.”

His words slash through my happy moment. I fall onto the sofa across from him. Great. The top of the mountain is encircled in a cloud. The thought of being up that high makes me gasp for breath.

“You all right?”

A Darth Vader sound has entered the room, and I suddenly realize it’s coming from me. I attempt to swallow my fears and simply nod.

He studies me a minute. The look on his face makes my heart skip. “I saw your skis in the car. I figure with a nice set like that, you’ll enjoy the trip down that slope.” He gives me a sort of studly look as though he had something to do with the mountain being so high.

Mountain. I’ll be working on top of a mountain. I’m trying to swallow here but I can’t. Just won’t happen. I’m wondering if this might be a good time to mention that whole vertigo thing. Or maybe my fear of heights. Better still, perhaps he would like to know that I don’t ski. Actually, “never skied” would be the more appropriate response here.

He stretches his arm across the back of the sofa and smiles as though life couldn’t get any better. “Candace, aside from the deal with Granny, things are perfect. I’ve never been so excited about anything in my life.”

Maybe now is not the best time to tell him.

I look at his strong arm stretched across the sofa and imagine for only a moment what it would be like to snuggle in beside him.

“Hey, nice sweater,” he says, pointing to my multi-colored sweater of reds, yellows and blues.

“Thanks.” The man appreciates color.

“Want some coffee?” Candace asks us both, already making her way toward the kitchen.

“Sounds great,” Mitch says.

“Sure. You need some help?” I ask.

Candace waves me away. “You two get to know each other some more. I’ll take care of the coffee.”

I hear myself gulp, then I turn to Mitch and lift a weak smile.

Despite the snow outside, his hazel eyes warm me clear through. Maybe it’s the fireplace that does it, but maybe not.

“We didn’t get to talk all that much at Lauren and Garrett’s the night we met.”

Oh, I like the way he says, “The night we met.”

“So, tell me more about yourself,” he says with a grin that curls my toes.

Well, let’s see, I’m thirty-two, single, and setting my sights on you, Big Guy. “I’ve been teaching fifth grade since I graduated from college. And as you know, I’ve worked part-time as a cook at the Oasis Restaurant back home.”

“Candace tells me you’re taking a sabbatical to try something new.”

I nod.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he says, eyes sparkling. My heart zips to my throat. “I hope this whole thing works out and you decide to stay on with me.” His gaze shoots straight to my heart.

Did he say “Stay on with me”? Forget that whole “I hope this works out” thing. You name the date, babe, and I’m at the church. I put my left hand in full view in case he wants to check out my ring finger. Mom would be so proud.

Candace steps back into the room. “The coffee is brewing.” She sits on the sofa beside me. “Gwen believes you can do anything you set your mind to, if you want it badly enough.”

Mitch rubs his jaw. “Oh, really?”

I’m feeling a tad less confident than usual because of that whole coffeehouse on the mountain thing, but my bubbly side kicks in. “That’s right. But of course, the key is in wanting it enough.”

He smiles and scoots to the edge of his seat. With elbows on his knees, fingers clasped in front of him, he says, “That’s so true, Gwen.”

“Didn’t I tell you that you would get along, Mitch?” Candace says with a wink.

“That you did,” he says, his gaze never leaving my face. “Then you won’t mind managing Cool Beanz for me?”

Is he kidding? I would climb Mount Everest for him. His smile mesmerizes me, and I almost swallow my tongue. “Oh, uh, no, that will be fine,” I hear myself say. I’ll get some DVDs, search the Internet for diagrams, do whatever it takes to get up and down that mountain, maybe even with skis. How hard can that be?

“Great!” He rubs his hands together eagerly.

“Be right back with the coffee,” Candace says, heading once again to the kitchen.

I really want to tell them both that I don’t ski. I mean, they haven’t even asked me if I ski. I suppose they think everyone skis because they’re from Bliss Village. People here probably give skis at baby showers.

Mitch’s brows furrow. “I hope we continue to get snow late into the season.”

“Doesn’t it last a while in the mountains?” I’m wondering why he’s worrying. It’s not exactly Tumbleweed, Arizona, here.

He brightens. “Yeah, you’re right.” Smile back in place. My toes curl again. I’m beginning to feel like an elf.

Candace brings in the coffee and serves us. We settle in for a nice chat. “Don’t forget about the New Year’s party at Lauren and Garrett’s tonight,” she says.

My eyes lock with Mitch for an instant. I wonder if he’s bringing a date.

“I’ll be there,” Mitch says happily.

“Me, too.” I perk up.

“If I know Lauren, it should be fun,” Candace says before sipping from her cup. “Say, Mitch, since you’re not opening for a few days, are you going to give Gwen time to get to know the area?”

Mitch winks at Candace. “I think we can manage that,” he says.

I’m thinking it would be nice if he took me around town.

“Well, with tomorrow being the start of a new year, everything will be closed. But you could check things out the following day. After that, you can look over our place, get acquainted with the area and Cool Beanz. Anything in particular you want to check out?” he asks.

Another swoosh of adrenaline. Maybe this is an offer. “Oh, I don’t know yet,” I say with a sheepish grin.

“Wish I could take you around, but time won’t allow me. Last-minute details, you know.”

“Sure,” I say, though my heart plunges to my knees. Oh, well, the library might be a good place to start. Surely they have instructional DVDs on how to ski.

“You might want to saunter over to Dream Slopes and check out the competition,” Candace says in her business voice. “Get acclimated with how things are done at a resort when it’s open.”

Mitch sits up again. “Say, that’s a great idea, Candace.” He looks back to me. “Dream Slopes is our closest competition. A ski resort about twenty miles down the road. Bigger than ours, but I’m hoping this place, being a bed-and-breakfast and all, will add a little more charm than the bigger resorts. We’ll try to offer that neighborly touch as opposed to the big hotel chain feel.”

“Great. I’ll check it out,” I say. And maybe I’ll take a skiing lesson while I’m there….

Chapter Three

The bright morning light floods into my room, causing my eyelids to crack open. It takes me a full minute to get used to the idea that a new day has dawned. Still, with the holiday over, I’m looking forward to a brand-new day.

I spent all of yesterday unpacking and getting settled into my room. I also browsed through some ski books I found on a bookshelf downstairs. It had been a restful day, but I’m ready to check out the area now that it’s back to business as usual.

Not wanting to get up yet, I stare at the ceiling. Thoughts of Lauren and Garrett’s party make me smile, even though Mitch had not been able to stay long. Some last-minute detail for the business had cropped up, and he had to take care of it.

My fingertips explore the tangle of hair on my head, and I groan. How can I work up such a snarl in one night?

Guacamole scoots around on the bathroom tile and pulls my attention to him. “Good morning, Guacamole,” I call from my bed. He ignores me completely.

Reptiles can be so cold.

“Well, it’s time to wake up and smell the coffee,” I say, yanking off the down-filled comforters. I happily step into my red slippers and red polka-dotted robe, and walk over to the window. The view makes my breath stick in my throat. I think I’m on top of the world. Then I remember. Um, no, that would be where I’m going to work at the coffeehouse.

A blanket of white covers the mountain and distant slopes. Coming from the deserts of Arizona, I can hardly believe I’m here. Not to mention the mere thought of Mitch makes me drool. That usually only happens when I think of cashews. Yeah, I know. Most women crave chocolate and shopping. Now don’t get me wrong. I love chocolate, too—would never turn it down, as a matter of fact. Still, if I had to choose between chocolate and cashews, well, chocolate would just lose, that’s all. I’m thinking I have definite issues.

Allowing my mind to wander, I stare outside when I suddenly realize someone is waving at me. To my horror, it’s Mitch. He’s dressed in a thick black coat and ski cap and doing that jock kind of quick hand wave. It makes my heart act as though I’ve skied down a two-mile run. All right, so I don’t know anything about that, but I do know about the heart-racing thing. I jerk away from the window. Not only do I not want Mitch to see me, but I’m afraid a giant bald eagle will swoop down, crash through the window and take residence upon my head.

I walk into the bathroom, step around Guacamole, look into the mirror and try not to scream. The man who marries me will either need strong drugs in the morning—espresso straight up, venti size—or have a vision problem, as in, blind. I’m sure it’s the only way we could cohabitate.

Unfortunately, I don’t see Mitch Windsor qualifying for the position. “What’s the matter with me? I mean, it’s not as though I have a chance with this guy anyway,” I say to Guacamole, who is checking out the shower stall. I look back at the mirror. “Besides, he will hate me once he discovers I’m a fair-weather, feet-on-the-ground kind of gal.” I’m talking to myself in a mirror, and I have a bird’s nest on my head. How good can this be? I sigh and seriously consider going back to bed. I’m not officially reporting for duty today. Still, I can’t be a slug. It’s not in my nature.

I haven’t really had a chance to visit Martha Windsor, Candace’s granny, aka the new cook. She arrived last night, and I stayed in my room to give them some family time together. So I figure now might be a good time to get to know her. Once word gets out on the B and B, I suspect we’ll be pretty busy.

After directing Guacamole back to his habitat—not that he’ll stay there—I grab a bright green sweater and khaki pants, and head for the shower.

The scent of strong coffee and spicy sausage greets me as I descend the stairs. The polished wooden banister still calls out to me, but I ignore it. I am, after all, a grown woman.

Martha brings a tray of breakfast dishes to one of the tables in the great room, as Mitch walks through the front door. He walks into the dining area—his face red, and his eyes vibrant. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he teases me when he steps inside. I like that he teases me. At least, I think I do. I hope he doesn’t think of me as a kid sister.

“Hi,” I say with a smile.

Mitch pulls off his black gloves and rubs his hands together. “Granny, that looks great.” He gives her a peck on the cheek.

Oh, I’ll take one of those, I want to say, but of course, I keep silent.

“Mitch, you’re cold,” Granny says with a mock frown. “Get your coat off and come join us.” She turns and stares at me, and to be honest, she doesn’t look all that friendly.

“Hi, I’m Gwen Sandler,” I say, extending my hand.

She shakes her head. “I’ve got to keep my hands clean while I’m handling the food. I hope you like sausage, biscuits and gravy, because that’s all I’m fixing.”

I look over at Mitch, who shrugs and offers an apologetic smile.

“I love it.” Feeling a little nervous, I scoot into my chair. I watch as Martha lifts the dishes from the tray and arranges them on the table. I would help her, but I figure she’d go into this speech about the germs on my hands. I fold my hands and hide them on my lap. My fingers turn the colored bracelets on my right wrist, a habit I acquired shortly after my thumb-sucking days ended.

Soon the table is spread with a feast fit for a king.

“This looks fantastic, Granny,” Mitch says.

She snaps her head forward. “Well, what did you expect? I’ve been cooking for fifty years.” She throws me a look that says, “Try and top that one, sister.”

I’m wondering if I’ve done something to offend her. I retrace my steps and can’t imagine what. She hasn’t known me long enough. She doesn’t seem rude, really, just a granny with attitude. Sort of the Granny Clampett type. Come to think of it, she kind of resembles her, too. Hair pulled back in a tight bun, her body thin and wiry.

Out of the blue she says to me, “Don’t call me Martha. Everybody calls me Granny.” I almost see the hint of a smile here.

Mitch slips into his chair beside me. I shiver a moment for no reason at all. Well, except for the fact Mitch is so close I can smell his cologne. It reminds me of the great outdoors, fresh and energetic. Intoxicating. I want to lean into him and take a deep whiff, but then I remember my manners.

Without another word, Mitch and Granny join hands, then Mitch reaches for mine. They bow their heads, and he begins to pray for the meal. I try hard to concentrate on the prayer, I really do, but my palm is getting all sweaty, and I’m wondering if he’ll notice. Plus I can feel the pulse in my fingers. And it’s very fast. This is so embarrassing. He’ll think I’m nervous, that I lack confidence. That I’m a wimp—or worse, that I have an artery problem.

I hear him say “amen,” and I lift an apology heavenward for failing to participate in the prayer. I toss a quick smile to Mitch, hide my sweaty palm under the table and quickly wipe my hand on my khaki pants. Probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done.

Granny picks up the plate of biscuits and passes them.

“So you’re going to Dream Slopes this morning, you said?” Mitch asks as he takes a couple of biscuits and passes the plate to me.

“Thanks.” My bracelets rattle as I take the plate. I remove one biscuit. I’d rather have three, but I want to appear the dainty female, even though I’m not. “Yeah. I wanted to check it out.”

“Great,” he says.

I feel proud that he’s happy with my decision. Funny that it’s important to me to please him. But after all, he is my boss.

He scoops some scrambled eggs onto his plate and smothers his biscuits with gravy. “They have a nice place, there’s no denying that. But ours will be nicer.” He looks at me and winks. “I’ll take you to Cool Beanz when you get back.”

I try to ignore the goose bumps crawling up my arm and take a tiny little bite from my naked biscuit. Did I mention I passed up the gravy? After the meal I think I’ll sneak into the kitchen and lick the pan.

“Monica Howell does a fine job of running the place, but she doesn’t always play by the rules,” he says.

“Oh, don’t tell me that girl is still up to her tricks.” Granny spreads some jelly on her biscuit. “That one sure does need prayer,” Granny says before taking a bite of her biscuit.

“I know,” he says with a sigh. “Sometimes she gets me all stirred up, and prayer is the last thing I think about when it comes to Monica.”

“From what your family has told me, she could try the patience of Job,” Granny says.

They’ve piqued my interest in Monica. I’m wondering how old this woman is, what kind of personality she has, what she does that gets Mitch all stirred up.

He turns to me. “Monica is thirty-four, divorced and drop-dead gorgeous.” Mitch must have read my mind.

Excuse me? Do I want to hear this? I’m thinking no.

“I went to school with her. But her charm is only on the outside, believe me.”

Can anybody really be all that bad? I always believe the best in people. I can’t help it. Innocent until proven guilty is my motto.

Granny and Mitch share a glance.

“See, in high school Monica and I dated. She never quite forgave me for losing interest and moving on. Still, we’ve maintained a civil relationship through the years. It doesn’t help that I now have a business in direct competition with hers.” He plops the last bite of biscuit in his mouth and shrugs. “That quote about a woman scorned sure is true.”

“You got that right,” Granny says with an ornery chuckle. “But in all fairness, from what I hear, she hasn’t had it so easy.”

“Yeah, must be tough growing up with all that wealth,” he says with sarcasm.

Granny raises her eyebrows. “And you’ve lived in poverty?”

Mitch grins. “All right, so you’ve got me there.”

I’m enjoying their conversation, even if I feel a little excluded at the moment.

“Enough about Monica.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Thanks for breakfast, Granny. It was delicious. I’ve got to get back out there and check the rope tow and ski lifts—make sure everything is running as smoothly as a beginner’s slope.” He scoots out his chair and puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll see you in a little while.” Putting on his coat, he grabs his hat and gloves and heads out the door.

My shoulder tingles where his fingers had been, and I linger there a moment.

“You want anything else?” Granny asks as she rises from her chair and starts to clear the table.

“No, thank you.” I want to add that I’m stuffed so she’ll think I eat next to nothing, but that would be a flat-out lie. I’m not stuffed. I’m starving. I consider throwing myself on the biscuits and gravy, but decide against it. Instead, I lift some dishes to help clean off the table.

“Nope, this is my work,” Granny says with a possessive edge to her voice.

My hands have been slapped so I will know my place around here. I’ll have to work my way into her heart. In the meantime, I go to my room to get ready for my trip to Dream Slopes. Once inside, I see Guacamole nosing around the handbag that I had left on the floor. “Oh, no, you don’t,” I say, scooping it up. I have to keep everything out of his reach, or he’ll hurt himself.

Which reminds me. I haven’t told Mitch about Guacamole yet. Good grief. He doesn’t know about my iguana. He probably won’t mind, but an iguana is hardly a normal household pet. He also doesn’t know I can’t ski. The man will throw me out. I have to tell him. And soon.

The cold air stings my cheeks as I purchase my ski ticket at Dream Slopes and head for the entrance. My fingertips hide in my gloves and tingle from the chill.

Skiers and alpine trees dot the mountainside, giving the scene a winter wonderland feel to it. The sky boasts a vibrant blue with only a smattering of shredded clouds drifting lazily along. God creates the most incredible color. I take a satisfying breath. Before leaving the B and B, I changed into my new purple ski suit, new gold-colored coat, gold-and-purple stretchy band around my head and matching ski gloves—complete with the leather strip for grabbing the rope tow. I feel quite the skier. My snow boots keep my feet warm as I trudge through the snow toward the rental building.

I could get into this. In fact, this is downright fun. The air invigorates my spirit, and I’m convinced I’ve done the right thing in taking this job. If I were back in Tumbleweed, I’d be in a stuffy old building, standing in front of a class of rowdy fifth graders, trying to make my voice be heard in hopes of teaching them a lesson or two.

I take a deep breath of the mountain air and feel thankful down to my toes. I think there’s something to this whole mountaintop experience thing.

Once inside the rental building, I have to fill out some sort of card, giving my height, weight, experience as a skier, that type of thing. I’m not real excited about telling my weight to a total stranger. I mean, social security number is one thing, but weight? Anyway, the young woman looks nice enough, so I figure I can trust her not to spread the news.

She directs me to the next person, who looks over the card and looks at me as though I’ve lied about the weight thing. I didn’t fudge, not even a little bit. I figure I’ll never see these people again. Who cares if they know I’m not a size two? It’s obvious anyway. With all these winter wraps on, almost everyone could be a candidate for plus-size clothes.

The woman directs me to the ski boots and then tells me how to proceed to get my skis. I admit it. I’m excited. This is totally out of character for me. Not the excited part, but the stepping out and doing something out of the ordinary. I mean, I enjoy a challenge, adventure, all that, but within the confines of my safety bubble. But away from home? Away from what I know and hold dear? That’s a completely new adventure for me. A bit risky. Kind of scary and invigorating all at the same time.

I spot my ski boot size and pick up a pair that seem to match the weight of a cement truck. What do they put into these things? How can I possibly stand up in them? Deep breath, Gwen.

I find an empty spot on a nearby bench, sit down and pluck off my snow boots. Then I shrug on the ski boots. I strap them tightly around my ankles, and I wonder if my legs will turn purple. I’ll never know since I’m wearing purple pants. I look around to make sure no one is watching, and then I attempt to stand. Success. I don’t even wobble—okay, maybe a little. Dragging my feet along, I slog over to the ski station with all the grace of Igor.

A middle-aged woman with rosy cheeks and large, brown-framed glasses greets me with a smile. I hand her my little paper with the pertinent information. She reads it, then walks over to a row of skis, and lifts a pair from the slats. I could have brought my own skis, but I want to see how they do things in the rental building and all, so I decide to play the tourist for now. She then goes over and retrieves a set of poles and brings everything to me. “Here you go,” she says brightly.

“Thank you.” I almost fall over with the awkwardness of the skis, the poles and the heavy boots. I smile my apology and trudge out of the way. I have to not only stay up in these boots, but I have to carry all this stuff?

I like challenges, I like challenges, I repeat over in my mind.

Finally, I make my way through the exit and step into the bright sunshine once again. My heart feels lighter, despite my concrete boots.

I see some workers standing nearby and manage to approach them. “I’m interested in a private lesson. Who would I talk to about that?”

A dark-haired man in his thirties with chin stubble and a glint in his eye smiles brightly. “I can help you with that,” he says. He takes my credit card to pay for the lesson and, before I can blink, we begin.

The good news is the bunny slope is small, so my vertigo and fear of heights should be at a minimum. However, five minutes into the lesson, it becomes apparent to me that I’m in over my head.

I’m at Bliss Village, on top of a mountain—well, a hill on the mountain, but I’m at a ski resort, mind you, attempting to ski. That’s right. Me. Gwen Sandler, wearing a pair of skis and actually considering going downhill in them.

Would somebody please call 911? I think an alien life form has taken over my body.

Chapter Four

My first trip up the rope tow nearly scares the living daylights out of me. I had visions of a gentle ride up a nice little hill. Um, no. Picture me grabbing hold of a rough, thick rope, being jerked forward and hanging on for dear life. I am convinced my grasp on said rope is the only thing standing between me and the afterlife.

Still, about halfway up the slope, I have to admit a sense of accomplishment overtakes me. When the wind hits my face, I feel like a kid on a bike who raises her arms from the handlebars and says, “Hey, look at me!” I feel so alive.

But when I see the top of the hill coming toward me at breakneck speed, I realize that could all change in a heartbeat.

Before I can consider what to do, I reach the top and let go in a flash, causing my backside to crash down with a thud. My instructor, whose name is Greg, skis up behind me.

Despite the pain, I laugh for a moment, figuring this is all part of the learning process.

“That’s all right, Gwen. You did a great job,” he says with encouragement.

I scramble to get up. Greg stares at me. I struggle once again to rise, my arms growing weaker by the minute, and nothing happens. With my eyes, I plead to him for help, but he continues to stare back at me. I’m at a definite disadvantage here, but once I get all this stuff off, he’d better run.

“Keep your skis perpendicular to the slope, put your poles to the side and push yourself up,” Greg says.

Easy for him to say. I strive to do that, but somehow in all the grunting and moving, my skis get turned. By the time I get myself up, I wobble a couple of times, glance at Greg, who is exchanging a smile with a pretty skier standing close by, and before I know it, my instability thrusts me forward. I go sailing down the slope, arms and poles waving wildly in the air, my legs splitting so far apart, I could win a national cheerleading competition. My scream punctuates the air and people scramble to get out of my way. It seems an eternity, but I zip to the end of the slope and plop hard upon the ground, my derriere growing intensely uncomfortable by now.

People around me stare, point and laugh. Two thoughts come to mind.

I hate skiing.

I might have to hurt somebody.

“Uh-oh, did somebody forget the perpendicular ski thing?” Greg says, flashing his handsome smile.

Just how much do you enjoy those pearly whites, buster? My thoughts are turning ugly, and I need to rein them in. I merely smile and this time, he helps me up.

“Now, Gwen, we’re going to try this again. Try to push your shins into the tongue of your boots, keep your knees bent. You forgot the snowplow/wedge position. Any time you feel yourself sliding downward, snowplow your skis. Remember, front tips are almost touching, back of skies bowed outward.” He demonstrates.

I don’t want to try this again. Ever. I’m cold, hungry and my arms are shaking. Still, I’ve paid for this lesson, and I’ve got to follow through. Besides, if I don’t learn to ski and the ski lift at Windsor Mountain malfunctions, I’ll have to stay in Cool Beanz all night on top of the mountain where bears and moose might decide to drop in for a late-night snack. I have to learn to ski.

Greg takes me through several more runs down the hill, teaches me a few more tricks of the trade—or tries to, anyway—and then our hour is up.

“Listen, I know this is your first time, but you did a good job, really.”

“Thanks,” I say, knowing he’s getting paid to say those things.

“I would suggest you try to go down the beginner slopes and get a feel for real skiing.” His smile is back in place.

I nod, say my goodbye and turn to look for the flattest ground to scoot across. Forget the practice business, I want some lunch, and I want it now. A little hot chocolate or a mocha sounds pretty good, too.

It takes me a good half hour to get myself out of all the skiing paraphernalia, retrieve my handbag from my locker and head to my car—with my dignity barely intact. I could have stopped at their restaurant, but I figure when I’m getting paid room and board, why pay for food somewhere else? Besides, I need a nap.

“So how did it go?” Mitch asks, as I climb out of my car. Is this guy eager to hear about the competition? Nervous? Worried?

“Oh fine. I did a little skiing,” I say, confident that I have not told a lie. I did do a little skiing. Very little.

He looks worried. “I know their slopes are bigger, better and all that.” He looks around. “I think we’ll do fine, though, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” I assure him, as though I know what I’m talking about—which I don’t. “Ours will be a cozy establishment,” I say, feeling embarrassed that I said ours instead of his. He looks at me and flashes a grin.

“Please don’t take this as harassment of any kind, but I’m really glad you’re here, Gwen.” He walks with me up to the B and B.

If this is harassment, baby, bring it on.

“Thanks.”

I slip on a slight incline in the snow, and Mitch reaches out and grabs my arm to steady me. “So do you think you can be happy here?”

I try to gather my wits about me, but I can’t get past the touch of his hand. I know he has his gloves on, but I still feel the heat of his hand.

I take a deep breath, stare at the snow and mentally shake myself. I have to tell him about the whole ski problem. “Mitch, listen, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?”

“Hey, you two,” Granny calls out the back door. “You’d better get in here. Your food is getting cold.”

“We’re coming, Granny.” Mitch’s hold on my arm tightens as he helps me through the snow so we can get inside quicker.

My heart sinks. I have to let him know that I can’t ski, and I have to tell him about Guacamole. I hate to spring it on him before opening day. One thing for sure. He’ll be furious with me no matter when he finds out.

“We’ll have to talk later. When Granny ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy,” he says with a laugh.

It’s nothing compared to how you’re going to feel when I tell you what I have to tell you, I think to myself. Suddenly, I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.

I’m fairly miserable through lunch, picking at my food, wondering how I’ve gotten myself into this mess.

“What’s the matter, aren’t you hungry?” Granny asks, pointing to my hamburger minus two bites, and the full stack of chips and apple slices still on my plate.

I look at Mitch and see concern in his eyes. Though I hardly know him, I know that I don’t want to hurt him. He can hardly wait for opening day, and I don’t want to ruin it for him.

“I’m fine. Just not very hungry.”

Mitch relaxes. “I’m meeting with the workers in a few minutes. That should take about an hour. We’ll be going over last-minute details and such. They’ll check out their equipment. After that I’ll show you around, and take you to Cool Beanz. You need to meet Lisa Jamison, the woman who will be working with you. She’ll only be here on an as-needed basis, though. That’s the best she can do since she already has another part-time job, and attends community college.” He shrugs. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Obviously. He’s hired a woman with a fear of heights.

“If things get really busy, we’ll hire more help later.”

I nod.

“Lisa will be training you. She’s taken care of a lot of the setup, but you need to get started before the crowds roll in.” He grins.

I was hoping to stall the inevitable by working on menu plans, taking inventory, placing orders and such at the B and B, but I guess that’s not going to happen. I can do this. I can do this.

We finish eating our meal, and I’m praying for ways to tell him my, um, less than strong points.

Mitch wipes his mouth with his napkin and scoots away from the table. “Great meal, Granny.” He turns to me. “I’ll be back and get you in an hour.”

I nod then look to Granny to offer help with cleaning things up but one look at her tells me she might hurt me. She shakes her head before I can say anything and starts clearing the dishes.

“I’ll go up to my room for a while,” I say.

“Take your time. I’ll be back and get you,” Mitch says. His words are soothing.

“Thanks.” I trudge my way up the stairs and think this might be a good time for a word with the Lord.

“Moms whose kids are in school fill the positions needed in the rental building.” Mitch’s words come out in frosty puffs as we make our way around the mountain. He introduces me to the new employees along the way, we put on snow boots and skis, and I’m thinking life as I have always known it—you know, where you breathe and eat, that sort of thing—is about to come to an end.

Dressed in all the ski stuff, we shuffle toward the lift. “I’ve invited some friends to ski this afternoon so we can kind of have a trial run with all the workers here. Tomorrow will be much the same. Candace and I will wander about, making sure everything is in place and running smoothly,” Mitch says, pointing to the various work stations.

I glance at the employees as they mill around the area. The place looks alive with business, and I can’t help feeling excited for Mitch. Must be wonderful to live out a dream. I don’t even know what my dream is.

I watch a lift float heavenward, and I gulp out loud. Fortunately, there’s enough distraction that Mitch doesn’t seem to notice.

I want to go home. To my Tumbleweed, Arizona, home.

Now.

My heart quickens, and I’m sure I will have a coronary right this very minute. My knees wobble, and I have to give myself a pep talk.

“You doing all right?” he asks.

This is my way out, and I know it. But how can I let him down at a time like this? He needs me, right? I can do this. “I’m fine.” So maybe I’ve had better days, but why worry him?

He smiles, and I schlep directly behind him toward the ski lift. The lift looms ominously before me. Marie Antoinette comes to mind.

There must be a trick to getting onto these ski lifts. I’m praying whatever it is, I can do it, and quickly. Have I mentioned I’m a klutz? Not horribly, but I do have my moments. Right now I’m praying this isn’t one of them.

The wind is still, almost as though creation is holding its breath. Mitch and I step up to board the ski lift. My pulse beats against my temple. My hands feel clammy inside my gloves, and I’m tempted to take them off, but fear holds me perfectly still.

It would be a cinch to board without the skis, but when you have contraptions the size of California redwoods attached to your feet, well, it changes things, that’s all.

I dare a glance at Mitch. He’s smiling and waving at friends. His eyes dance; his face glows. This lifestyle agrees with him. Me, on the other hand? Let me serve hot coffee, throw around a few balloons and I’m in my element.

“Here it comes,” he announces, causing my stomach to flip.

I’ve seen people do this on TV. They step in place and allow the lift to scoop them on board. I watch Mitch, and he takes the same stance. I follow suit. The lift takes me unaware, but I’m on and that’s half the battle. I hear Mitch let out a contented sigh.

“Isn’t this great, Gwen? I’m actually running a ski resort here.” He scans the area in almost disbelief. For a moment, I forget my worries and concentrate on him. I want this to work. He’s a nice guy. I mean it. Aside from the fact he’s gorgeous, and my heart somersaults with the sight of him, he’s truly a nice guy.

“You’ve got a great place here, Mitch,” I say, keeping my eyes on him and thinking how great it feels to sit next to him this way. True, I’m holding the bar in a death grip, but at least I’m sitting here. Hopefully, I can let go when the time comes to get off.

I finally look around, not down, mind you, but around. “You know, something else that would be cool is sleigh rides. I think kids would like it, and couples would enjoy it in the evening.”

He smiles. “That’s a good idea. I’ll have to check into that. Oh, speaking of kids, I wanted to talk to you about Friday. Someone told me we may have a high school class coming in. Knowing how kids gravitate toward coffee shops, I’m thinking you’ll be plenty busy. Lisa will be here to help you, and Candace said she could help with the schoolkids if you need her. She’s not going home until Saturday.”

I nod. I see the top of the slope approaching, and as long as I keep my eyes lifted forward, I think I can do this.

“Hey, look, somebody wiped out,” Mitch says, pointing almost directly below us.

Without thinking, I follow his gaze downward and see a dot on the slope. The lift rocks a little with Mitch’s movement. As I bend slightly to see the skier, I notice my dangling feet, and the reality of where I am and what I’m doing hits me like an avalanche. My pulse bangs hard against the backs of my eyes. I break into a cold sweat. Vertigo takes over. My right hand grabs the side of the lift while everything around me starts to spin. My left hand clutches Mitch’s arm in a death grip.

“Gwen, what is it?”

I can’t talk. Everything around me is spinning. I can’t tell if I’m up or down, and I know we’re approaching the top of the hill. I think I’m going to die. I’ve not written out a will yet. Guacamole will become a ward of the state.

“Gwen? What is it?”

“I—I—I’m going to be sick,” I manage through clenched teeth.

“Sick?” He says the word as if I’ve hit him in the face with a snowball.

By now I’m terrified. I’m all out of balance. What if I slip forward? I hold my breath for fear the slightest whisper can cause me to fall. I try to focus on Mitch’s face, which looks the way mine feels, but I can’t stay there long. His face keeps swirling around me. I try to close my eyes.

“Hold on to me, Gwen. Do you want to get off at the top, or do you want to risk riding this back to where we got on?”

I feel myself slipping. My arms tingle; my neck is wet beneath my hair. The thin air makes me gasp for every breath.

“Gwen, hang on! I’ve got you.” Mitch grabs me hard against him.

I’m going to fall. I know I’m going to fall. I should have stayed in my classroom, on the ground, on precious soil. I slip another notch. Oh God, please help me.

“We’re getting off here. I’ve got you, Gwen. Everything will be all right.”

I hear him, but his words blur with the clouds around me. His fingers press through the layers of my clothes and pinch my ribs. I clutch his leg.

Mitch must have motioned to the lift operator, because I sense that the lift has stopped, but things around me continue to spin.

“Come on, Gwen, let’s get off here,” Mitch says, trying to pry me loose from the lift.

“Don’t touch me.” I hear the sharp growl of my voice and wonder how that could have come from me. My mother would be appalled.

“Gwen, you have to let loose. You’ll be fine. Let me help you.”

The only way he can pry my fingers loose from the bar is to chop off my hand.

Mitch has jumped off the lift, and I’m almost doubled over sideways. “I’m not getting off. I want to go down to the base,” I say. I can’t stay up this high. I’ll never make it. I’ll freeze to death or fall, or even worse, become bear bait.

“Hey, you guys all right?” the operator wants to know.

“She’s sick but wants to stay on and go to the base.”

“You want to ride back with her?” he asks.

“Absolutely. I can’t leave her alone this way,” Mitch says.

“I’ll start it up again and radio down to the attendant at the base. He can watch for you and stop the lift so you can get her off.”

“Thanks, man.”

I hear what they say, but I can’t steady myself. My stomach’s churning. I feel as though I’m trapped inside a kaleidoscope. Colors swirling all around me. Swirling, swirling.

“Can you lift up a little, Gwen?” Mitch’s voice sounds distant—as though he’s in a faraway tunnel.

I raise my head slightly, and he slips in, scooting me up farther. He puts his arm around me and grips me tight against his shoulder. Under difference circumstances, I could get into this.

It seems to take forever but finally the nightmare comes to a halt. Mitch gathers me into his arms and lifts me out. I feel him carry me away.

“What’s wrong?” I hear Candace’s skis swoosh up beside us. Her voice is tight with worry.

“I don’t know. She’s sick. Something happened in the lift. Probably the flu or something.”

“Oh, no. Gwen, are you all right?”

I want to answer her, but my stomach, the dizziness, the spinning.

When we reach the B and B, the episode subsides. My world sits upright once more, and the avalanche in my stomach begins to quiet. Granny opens the door, and Mitch takes me to the sofa.

“I’ll get her a warm cloth,” Granny says, already scurrying off toward the bathroom.

I take some deep, cleansing breaths while my equilibrium levels out. Once my world is back to normal, it’s confession time. “I’ve made a mess of everything.” I pull my hands to my face.

“Hey, it’s all right. You can’t help it,” Mitch says, smoothing the hair from my forehead. “Don’t worry about it.”

Candace pats my arm. “Gwen, honey, it’s all right.”

“You don’t understand,” I mumble between my fingers. “I should have told you.” Reluctantly, I pull my hands away.

I see them exchange a glance then look at me. “I’m so sorry,” I say.

“It’s all right, Gwen,” Mitch says, the look on his face making me almost willing to go through the whole vertigo thing again to keep him happy.

Almost.

Granny returns and places the warm cloth across my forehead.

“Gwen, what is it?” Candace asks, reminding me of what I have to say.

“I wanted to tell you. I really did. I even tried to tell you.” If You want to open the earth and swallow me whole right about now, Lord, I’m okay with that.

Mitch smiles and pats my hand. “Tell me what, Gwen?”

I don’t hear the ground crack, not even the slightest rumble. I guess I’m on my own here. I take a deep breath and look up at Mitch.

“I’m afraid of heights, I have vertigo, and until this morning, I’d never skied a day in my life.”

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