Allison Brennan - Love Is Murder

“I’m freezing my ass off,” Steve said. “Let me up.”

Patrick helped Steve sit up, watching his eyes carefully. “Just hold it right here for a minute. Are you dizzy?”

“I was just stupid.”

“What were you doing going up that slope?” Lucy said. “It’s too steep.”

“I didn’t walk up the slope,” he said, as if she were an idiot for asking. “I slipped at the top.”

“So you decided to take the fastest way down to the road?” Patrick joked, helping Steve to his feet.

“Ha, ha.” Steve rolled his eyes, trying to pretend he wasn’t in pain, but his hand clutched his stomach.

Lucy said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he snapped. “Are you going to give me a ride or do I have to walk?”

Patrick helped Steve to the truck, and Lucy put the supplies back. She made sure the heater was at maximum, and handed Steve a blanket while Patrick started back up the mountain.

“I don’t need it,” he said.

“Humor me.” Lucy smiled. Steve probably felt stupid and clumsy, which contributed to his foul attitude. He grumbled, but took the blanket and closed his eyes.

They’d only met Steve briefly yesterday afternoon when they first arrived at the Delarosa Mountain Retreat. He was young, didn’t talk much, and seemed conscientious in his considerable duties running the lodge. It didn’t seem likely that he’d make a dumb mistake like getting too close to an unstable ledge.

“Steve,” Lucy said, “what were you doing up there?”

“I was coming back from checking on our outlying cabins-we close them in the winter-and checking for animal tracks. We have been having some problems with four-legged predators, and I wanted to make sure they hadn’t returned. I knew the storm was going to get bad as soon as the sky turned, so I took a shortcut. Stupid.”

“Why didn’t you take a snowmobile?” Patrick asked.

“They were all out when I left, and I can’t get to two of the cabins with my truck. I do this all the time,” he said defensively. “I just lost my balance. And my favorite skis.”

He didn’t open his eyes, and Lucy couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth.

She said, “I checked the weather report this morning. They said light snowfall overnight, clear tomorrow. I can’t believe they were so wrong.”

Steve laughed once. “Weather systems change often, especially in the winter. I’ve lived here my entire life and when I saw the report this morning I knew the system was going to shift as soon as the wind shifted. Weather reports are more reliable now with satellites and historical data all computerized, but minor changes in one location can have a chain effect, especially in the mountains.”

“How long do you think it’ll last?” Patrick asked.

Steve looked out the window. “I think we’re in for the weekend.”

“What?” Lucy exclaimed.

“We can get you off the mountain if you want, but tonight is going to be a blizzard and I don’t advise it.”

“I’m not going anywhere tonight,” Lucy said.

Patrick grinned. “What did you do, Luce? Send a prayer up for a blizzard to get you out of learning to ski?”

“On the contrary, I decided that I was going to learn how to ski if it was the last thing I did-just to prove to you that I’m not scared of failure.”

“I shouldn’t have said scared. You’re not scared of failure, you’re just pissed off. You don’t like it when you can’t do something your first time out. And you just said learn how to ski , meaning you have no intention of failing.”

“Why would I try if I expected to fail?”

“Indeed. I rest my case.”

Lucy was confused and sighed heavily. “Brothers.”

Patrick drove across the pressed gravel road that was now covered with a thick layer of snow, but the lights lining the lodge’s entrance helped guide him to the barn, which had been converted into a large garage. Steve jumped out of the truck and opened the barn doors. Patrick drove in and parked where he had earlier, next to the Delarosa truck. Patrick got out and helped Steve close the doors against the fierce wind.

“I need to gather up supplies and check the generators,” Steve said. “You should get inside before the storm gets worse.”

“With that bump on your head, you shouldn’t be out walking around,” Lucy said.

“I don’t have a choice. I’m not risking damage because I slacked off.”

“I’ll help you,” Patrick said.

“I don’t need any help.”

“Then I’ll tell your stepmother that you whacked your head. Based on her mother-hen attitude, I don’t think she’ll let you leave your room.”

“What do you care?” he asked petulantly.

“I’ve been the recipient of a nasty head injury,” Patrick said. “I know how unpredictable they are.”

Lucy didn’t say anything. Her brother had been in a coma, thanks to the man who had kidnapped her nearly six years ago. She still felt a pang of guilt that Patrick had been so severely injured while trying to rescue her. She thanked God every day that he was alive, breathing, and awake. Since his recovery, they’d grown much closer than they’d been growing up. Their ten-year age difference had been huge when she was ten and Patrick was twenty; now at twenty-four and thirty-four, it didn’t matter much.

“Fine,” Steve said, “if you promise to not say anything to Grace. She’s a worrywart.”

“Promise.”

Lucy didn’t think that was a good idea, and she was surprised that Patrick agreed to it.

“It might be kind of hard to hide that bandage,” Lucy said.

“I’ll take care of it. We need to get this done before full dark.”

“I’m dressed for it,” Patrick said. He nodded to Lucy with a look that said he’d keep an eye on Steve, and she felt marginally better heading inside to the lodge.

“I have plenty of extra snowshoes,” Steve said. “Lucy, stick to the path-there is ground lighting that shouldn’t be buried by the snow yet. It’ll land you right at the porch.” He handed her a pair of snowshoes.

“I’ve never walked in these.”

“It’s not hard, and if you go out in those boots you’ll sink farther and it’ll take you longer to get to the house.”

She strapped on the snowshoes and left the barn. Steve was right, it wasn’t difficult, she just had to lift her feet up completely and take wide, deliberate steps. She could see the house only fifty yards away, though visibility was definitely worsening. The wind was at her side, wanting to knock her over, but she kept an even pace.

By the time she reached the porch several minutes later, she was winded from the exertion, but exhilarated.

The lodge was a larger replica of the Ponderosa, the home of the Cartwrights of Bonanza fame. But the main floor was eight stairs up from the walk, and Lucy had to take the snowshoes off to climb the stairs. She opened the door, the wonderful aroma of simmering stew reminding her that she was starving. Falling down a lot apparently worked up a huge appetite.

The interior, while bigger than the Cartwrights’ fictional home, was decorated in the same Gold Rush-era style with simple wood furniture and old rugs. Clean and polished, there were no contemporary touches aside from electricity and indoor plumbing. The Delarosa Mountain Retreat was technology free: no television, no computers, no cellphone reception.

Lucy wasn’t so sure how she felt about that, but they’d be here for just three days. Maybe it was time to unplug and really, what was a few days? They’d be out of here no later than noon on Monday. In fact, only twenty minutes down the mountain there was a ridge where they’d noted they had cellphone reception, and fifteen minutes farther there was the small town of Kit Carson, with a restaurant, grocery, and gas station, plus a few dozen residents. Not that Lucy was planning on going to any of them and pleading like an addict, “Please, can I log on to the Internet for just five minutes? I’ll pay you.”