A Gift of Snow Read online

  A Gift of Snow

  It’s Christmas Eve and Jennifer Donovan is alone. A sudden, strong blizzard has left the mountain submerged in snow and closed the roads up or down, ruining her mother and sister’s plans to come up to Jennifer’s cabin. Resigned to keeping warm and entertaining herself for the night, she’s startled by someone pounding on her front door—a handsome stranger needing shelter from the storm. Will is the opposite of Jennifer’s late husband and awakens a passion within her that she welcomes, even though it takes her by surprise.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The right of Missy Maxim to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First printed 2010

  First Edition

  All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons--living or dead--is purely coincidental.

  By Missy Maxim

  Published by Missy Maxim at Smashwords.

  Copyright 2010 Missy Maxim

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  A Gift of Snow

  Of all the days for a friggin’ blizzard. The plan was to play the gig at the lodge and go home, but in trying to leave, I came out to see my car already coated with snow. The road wasn’t closed, yet, so I scraped the ice off the windows and started the car.

  “Come on, baby, just get me down the mountain.”

  I drove slowly, my tires crunching the snow. Leaning over the steering wheel, I tried peering through the white blur, the wind gusts sending the flakes sideways. The headlights gave me maybe five feet ahead to see.

  “Not good, mate. Not bloody good.”

  Turned the corner.

  There was a streak of something crossing the road.

  My car slid on a patch of ice into a drift. Not hard enough to cause any damage, I thought, but I was probably stuck without help.

  “Shit.” I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal, but the tires just spun in the snow. “Wonderful.”

  The snow was falling fast and furious. I could be buried in my car, or risk finding shelter outside. My heater died two years ago, so that was no help. No blanket in the car and only a leather jacket to keep me warm.

  “Here goes nothing.”

  I grabbed my guitar case off the passenger seat, turned off the engine, and shoved my door open. Pulling the hood on my sweater up didn’t give me much protection, but it’d keep my hair dry for a little while. Carrying my beloved guitar, I crossed the road toward flat ground and hoped I’d find a house before I froze to death.

  ****

  Of all the days for a freakin’ blizzard. Mom and my sister, Shelley, were supposed to come up for Christmas and all the roads were closed.

  “I’m so sorry, Jenny, but with this storm, they aren’t letting anyone up the mountain. Shelley and I will try to come up as soon as we can.” Mom’s regret was clear over the phone.

  “I know, Mom. It’s just that it’s Christmas Eve. We’ve always had our tradition, you know?” I tried not to sound too disappointed, but I don’t think she bought it. It was my first Christmas without Lee.

  “Are you going to be okay up there alone tonight, honey?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got plenty of firewood and stuff. I’ll probably just pop in a movie and make some cocoa. See you soon, ‘kay?”

  “We’ll try to head out first thing in the morning. Merry Christmas, Jenny. We love you.”

  “Love you, too, Mom.”

  All alone on Christmas Eve. Bah humbug.

  The snow was already piled six feet high beyond the shelter of the trees. The flakes fell sideways with every wind gust. I flicked the radio on to try picking up a status report, but all that came out was static.

  Everybody up here just had to huddle in and wait for the plows to dig us out.

  “This monumentally sucks.”

  I walked into the kitchen to ladle some stew into a bowl, then turned the crock pot off. The teakettle whistled for my hot chocolate. I’d just settled on a showing of White Christmas on TV when something pounded on my front door.

  “What the hell?”

  A dark, person-sized, shape stood at the door to the snow room. I unlocked the door, the man darting into the snow room as soon as I opened it.

  “What are you doing out in this?”

  “C-c-car broke d-down. Stuck,” the man said, pointing off into the white. “S-saw your lights.”

  Stupid townies. Always thought they’d be the one person to drive through a blizzard. “I’m about a quarter mile in from the road. You’re lucky you didn’t wander in the wrong direction.” I opened the house door. “Stamp the snow off your boots. I don’t want you getting my floor wet.”

  “B-b-bless you, l-love. Thanks.”

  English, eh? What kind of moron came up to the mountains in a leather jacket, a sweater, and jeans? He held a guitar case.

  I left him on the porch and retrieved a blanket. His coat hung on the rack and he’d pushed the hood of his sweater off his head to reveal bleached hair. He had a nice, chiseled face and the hairs trying to curl at his nape were cute. I handed him the blanket and walked into the kitchen.

  “What were you doing on the road in this storm?” I filled another bowl.

  “Had a gig up at the resort earlier. Was supposed to be a quick thing and I’d drive back down to L.A. The storm came out of nowhere.”

  “You couldn’t leave that thing in the car?” I asked, nodding to the guitar case.

  He shook his head. “It’ll crack in the cold. I flipped burgers all summer for that guitar when I was sixteen. Where I go, she goes.” He took a seat at the table and tucked into the stew. “Thanks.”

  “Not used to snow, are you?”

  “Not in a long while.” He offered his right hand. “I’m Will, by the way.”

  I shook it. “Jennifer Donovan.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Jen. And thanks for the stew. You got anything to drink?”

  “Uh, I can make tea or cocoa, or coffee if you want to wait.”

  “Maybe something a little stronger to warm the blood.”

  “No.” There would never be alcohol in this house again. I stood, collected the empty bowl, and walked to the sink to rinse it. “You’re going to have to be warmed by temperature, not alcohol.”

  “Okay… Cocoa would be fine, then, if you have any of those little marshmallows.”

  “Sorry, I only have the big ones, and those are going on the yams tomorrow.” I lit the fire under the teakettle.

  “Right…it’s Christmas.” Poor guy looked as bummed as I was.

  I felt a spark of compassion and remembered my manners. “You can use my phone to call home if someone will be worried.”

  He shook his head, not meeting my eyes. “Just me.”

  “Oh.” I knew how that felt right now. “So, you did a concert, huh? What do you play?” I sat at the table.

  “Well, for this kind of deal, just some classic rock stuff and holiday tunes. They
like some background noise up at the lodge and prefer it’s live. I was available.”

  “Didn’t they offer you a room for the night? The storm’s been on the news.” The kettle whistled. I prepared the mug and set it in front of him.

  “I was, uh, kind of anxious to go. My ex’s family runs the joint.”

  “Oh. Awkward.” A thought occurred to me and I blurted out, “Your feet! I mean, you’ve probably got snow in your boots. You should sit by the fire and dry them out…if you want to.”

  “Thanks. Eh… I don’t suppose you might have some pants I could borrow? I’m a bit soaked.”

  “Oh! Deep snow drifts. Duh, of course you are.” Could I sound like more of a ditz? “I’ll go look.”

  The bottom drawer of my dresser was filled with old stained stuff, like for painting the house and working on the car. It had a mix of mine, and Lee’s, and I hadn’t thought about it at all until now. The only clothes of his left in the house were in that drawer. I was not going to cry when I opened it.

  Gripping the knobs, I pulled the drawer open. Started pulling clothes out on the floor and finally found a pair of sweats with a drawstring waist. They only smelled like the cedar insert I kept in the drawer, too, so all the better.

  I brought them out to my guest. “Here ya go. They might be a bit big, but you can cinch the waist. Bathroom is down there.”

  He smiled, taking the pants. “Thanks.” It was a nice smile, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

  Without the blanket wrapped around him, I could see his jeans were wet up to waist level. They hugged his skin. He must be freezing still.

  “Use a towel if you need it,” I said.

  Needing something to do, I remembered my own food and reheated my bowl and mug while he changed. It was such a weird night. The storm, being alone, a random stranger showing up at my door…all on Christmas Eve. He came back out carrying his jeans and sweater, wearing a tight long-sleeve black undershirt and the sweats loose on his waist. His socks and boots hung off his arm.

  I took the wet stuff into the laundry nook and tossed his jeans and socks in the dryer, then took a look at the sweater. It required a lower heat setting, so I hung it up and started the machine. He was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, the blanket draped over him, when I walked out.

  Amazingly, it was only around eight o’clock. “It’s a bit early still. I have movies.”

  “That’s a nice tree,” he said, looking at the Christmas tree in the corner. “Smells real.”

  “Of course it’s real. I’m surrounded by forest. My mother and sister were supposed to be here tonight, but--”

  “The storm. Isn’t it a pain all winter, havin’ to shovel snow off the driveway just to get your car out?”

  I sat on the other end of the sofa. “Can be, with a heavy year, but I like it up here. It’s peaceful, I have good neighbors, the air’s clean… Lee and I came up for a weekend once, saw the house for sale, and knew this was where we wanted to be. Just me now, though.”

  “It is a nice place. Cozy. I’m more the urban type.”

  “Gee, wouldn’t have guessed.”

  He chuckled, a rich sound. “Guess it is a bit obvious. Nothin’ wrong with a getaway now and again, but I get bored. And small towns don’t offer much for musicians.”

  “There is that. Are you looking to get rich?”

  “Nah, just work steady. Wouldn’t say no, but…as long as my belly’s full and the rent’s paid, it’s really about the music. Sharing that harmonic connection.” He shifted to face me more easily. “What do you do, Jennifer?”

  “I’m a writer. Fiction, now, though I used to do op-ed stuff in college.”

  “What genre? Maybe I’ve read something.”

  “I really doubt it.” He didn’t look like the type to read sci-fi.

  “Naughty romances?”

  “Why do men always have to jump to that conclusion?” I snapped.

  “Sorry! My mistake. I was just teasing, love.”

  I released a breath. “I’m sorry. Touched a nerve.” Lee wanted me to switch to a genre that paid more, back when. “It was hard to find a publisher.” And they had me write under a non-feminine pseudonym.

  “So…what’s your niche, then?”

  I chewed my lip. “Science fantasy. Sometimes for teens.”

  “Oh. Well, you’re right. I’ve never read it. So, space age stuff, with aliens and distant planets?”

  “Sometimes. Living here helps with the work. Few distractions.”

  “Makes sense. Are you working on a book now?”

  “Not for a while. I’m on a break.” More like the muse dove off a cliff.

  “Ah.”

  We lapsed into silence, watching the crackly movie. I studied him out the corner of my eye. He was built nice, if you liked the slim look. Visible muscle definition through the snug shirt. I hadn’t looked close enough to see what color his eyes were, yet. His hands were large, dwarfing the mug in his grasp, with long fingers and short nails.

  “Do you think it’ll snow all night?” he asked.

  “Maybe. Even if it doesn’t, the plows won’t come out on the roads until daylight.”

  “So, I’m stuck here. All night.”

  I let out a slow breath. “So it would seem.”

  A young, attractive man in the house all night. Woo, boy. No awkwardness there…

  He broke the silence first. “Want you to know you’re safe. Not a murderer or rapist or anything. Love women, actually.”

  I arched a brow. “And they love you?”

  He laughed. “Sometimes. Not enough to stay.” He dropped his eyes to his mug. “What about you? You mentioned a name.”

  “Lee. My husband.”

  “Oh. Couldn’t make it home for Christmas?”

  “Not since he rolled his car off the mountain and died,” I said. Oh god…why did I say that? “I’m going to prepare the guest room.” I fled to the spare room to prepare his bed.

  I couldn’t believe I blurted it out like that. God, what he must think of me…what he must think I think of him for asking. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

  “Hey.” He stood in the doorway.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry for the personal question. It was none of my business. I’d offer to go, but…”

  “You don’t need to apologize. I don’t know why I said that.” I sighed. “My husband died ten months ago. He was drunk and driving too fast and he didn’t make it around the curve.” I sat on the bed. “My family was coming up to help me make a good memory here for the holiday after… It’s my first Christmas alone.”

  He took a step forward. “You’re not alone now.”

  Not in the technical sense, anyway. “True. Thanks. Would you like more cocoa?”

  “Please.” He backed up to let me out of the room.

  He had a hell of a smile. His whole face lip up with it. Lee never smiled with his teeth showing; at least, not for a long time before his death.

  Will followed me to the kitchen. I filled the kettle with more water and turned on the stove, then got some cookies I’d made the day before out of the pantry. He sat on the counter watching me, his bare feet swaying back and forth. His toe nails were coated in black polish haphazardly chipped away.

  “Will…that short for William?” I asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Did you grow up in England?”

  “Nah, accent’s from my dad, and a stretch at university.”

  “You went to college over there? What was that like?”

  “Only a year. My band got offered a deal and I quit.”

  My eyes widened. “You had a record deal? Are you famous and I’m just out of the loop?”

  He laughed. “Just a regular bloke, pet. We got taken for a ride. Barely reached a bit of fame, and the manager ran off with the profits. Embezzled the lot of it and left us in the hole. We scrounged up what we could to pay the debts, but the strain was too much to keep us together. I came back to L.A. to try goin’ s
olo.” He spread his arms out. “You see how well that’s going so far.”

  I giggled, and handed him one of the mugs. I held up mine for a toast. “To better luck next year for struggling artists.”

  He clinked his mug with mine. “I’ll drink to that.”

  We shared a smile. I couldn’t help doing it when he did, like an automatic reaction of my cheek muscles.

  “So, what kind of music do you play?”

  He hopped down, careful not to slosh, and walked to his guitar case. He had an unusual gait, this kind of rolling glide that was more graceful than a human should be.

  “Some of everything, really. Music just came easy.” He set the mug down and opened the case. “Let’s see how you fared, old friend.”

  He plucked his thumb on the strings, checking their tune, then started playing a combination of embellished scales. He was really good, at least to my knowledge. He pushed his sleeves up a bit, revealing toned forearms with corded muscles that twitched and flexed as he played. Then he started humming something I didn’t know and switched melodies. Soft words escaped his lips, like he couldn’t help singing it, not just humming along. A smooth pretty baritone that made my tummy flutter.

  I stared as he lost himself in the music, his eyes closed and head bobbing in time. It had turned into an intimate moment. I was sure he’d forgotten he had an audience and…wow, was it hot in here?

  “I’m glad your guitar wasn’t damaged,” I said.

  He stopped playing and cleared his throat. “Yeah. Seems okay. Thanks.” He grinned, then. “Any requests, milady?”

  “Oh, um, I wouldn’t know what…I mean, I don’t listen to much, so…my knowledge is pretty much limited to boy bands and pop princesses.”

  “You really haven’t been a fan of something since high school?” He looked at me like the concept didn’t compute.

  I shrugged and turned away to the cookies. “I had other things to do.” I heard him put the guitar away.

  “Like write books.”

  “Uh-huh. Crafting a story is…engrossing. Or it used to be.”

  He joined me for a cookie. “Muse run off?”

  “Like it couldn’t escape fast enough.”

  He leaned his forearms on the kitchen counter. “Maybe you need a change of scenery. Or experience. Shake things up. When I get stuck on a song, I try something I’ve never done before.”