Carol Ross - Mountains Apart

“I’ve never seen anything so incredible,” Emily whispered.

Bering agreed, but he was watching her, not the deer ouside the cabin.

They stayed silent for a long time. He wanted to take her hand, to take her into his arms. Instead, he willed himself to get ahold of his emotions.

It was too late, he realized. He was owned by Emily Hollings, a smart city girl who worked for the enemy. He began to wonder about his resolution to remain only friends.

Was there some way he and Emily could be more than just friends? He wasn’t sure which to listen to—his heart or his head—but he knew he couldn’t touch her again until he had an answer to that question… .

Dear Reader,

This is my first novel. Not just my first for Mills & Boon, but my first published work ever, and I am so very excited that it’s a part of the Heartwarming series.

Growing up in a small town is truly life-defining. No matter where you go from there or what choices you make along the way, it just…sticks with you. And yes, there is much about it that is annoying—seeing the same faces day in and day out, unbearable people, gossip…. But there is also a lot that is wonderful about it—seeing the same faces day in and day out, incredible people, gossip…. But no matter how you look at it, when it comes right down to it we love our small towns—just as they are.

So what happens when the face, the very character, of one special small town in Alaska is threatened irrevocably? I know you’re thinking “This is a romance—it’s love that happens,” right? Eventually, yes, of course. But not without a rousing battle of wills and wits between two headstrong rivals complete with all the fun that the advantages and frustrations small-town life can bring. I hope that you are as taken with the charming little town of Rankins and its inimitable characters as I have come to be.

Thanks so much for reading,

Carol Ross

Mountains Apart

Carol Ross

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROL ROSS

lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two dogs. She is a graduate of Washington State University. When not writing, or thinking about writing, she enjoys reading, running, hiking, skiing, traveling and making plans for the next adventure to subject her sometimes reluctant but always fun-loving family to.

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For Paul,

My champion—I will miss you always.

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 ONE

SOMEONE NEEDED TO invent a new word, Emily decided as she stared out the window, glaring really, at the three-foot-long icicles hanging from the eaves. Cold just didn’t cut it. Cold was “don’t forget your jacket because a chilly wind is picking up.” Cold was that bite in the air that made you wish you were wearing jeans instead of a skirt. This place was so far beyond cold that not even freezing, frigid or icy could do it justice. Chilly, nippy, cool—what a joke.

She’d read one time that Alaskan Natives have numerous words for different types of snow, so maybe they could just borrow one of those. Whichever one referred to the eyelash-freezing, nostril-frosting, step-outside-at-your-own-risk-because-you-may-die-of-hypothermia type would be perfect. Although to be fair, Emily wasn’t actually cold now. Nope. In fact, she was currently sweating like a flyweight boxer in the middle of the tenth round.

It was approximately ten degrees below zero outside, and in between appointments she was running around in bare feet and a thin skirt and tank top. Because, like every other piece of equipment in this run-down, antiquated, tin shack that was currently serving as her office, the thermostat was on the fritz.

To make matters worse, a skull-splitting headache had begun to form directly behind her eyes and the pressure was now so intense. She tipped her chin down and pressed the heels of both palms hard against her eye sockets for several seconds.

She removed her hands and spotted the pills that her assistant, Amanda, had dropped off at her desk earlier. She scooped them up, peered at the tiny yellow tablets nestled in her clammy palm and wavered for a few seconds. Normally she didn’t like to take medication of any kind, but Amanda had insisted that these would knock her headache clear to Skagway, wherever that was. She had no clue. With a grimace, she tossed the pills into her mouth and gulped them down with what was left of the tepid water in the now-soggy paper cup Amanda had deposited along with the pills.

Just then Amanda’s voice came on the intercom along with a healthy dose of static. What Emily heard was “Misst ollinsss, your nexx ssex appointment issst ere.”

She reached down and hit the call button only to be met with a loud, static-filled shriek. “Amanda?” She pounded on the speaker and fiddled with the buttons. She leaned over and shouted her name again. “Amanda!”

“Hey,” Amanda said, poking her head into the office. “Did you get that?”

Emily nodded and smacked the now-buzzing intercom, which was already dented on the top from, she assumed, the last frustrated owner who had finally had enough and heaved it against the wall. The faded drywall opposite her desk had a conspicuous indentation that appeared to exactly match its dimensions.

Emily answered, “My afternoon trick has arrived?”

Amanda cocked her head, amusement splitting her lips into a wide grin. “What?” Amanda enjoyed Emily’s hilarious impromptu interpretations of the static-prone intercom.

“My next sex appointment is here?”

“Exactly,” Amanda confirmed with a smile. “Do you need any help getting ready?” This induced a full-blown bout of laughter. She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.

Emily attempted to grin as she yanked some tissues out of the box on her desktop. She wiped her brow and then mopped at her cleavage. She pulled her suit jacket on over her clammy shoulders. “Yes,” she said, adjusting her lapels and straightening her shirt, “but it’s becoming increasingly clear that I need help of the kind that only a skilled mental-health professional can provide. But for now, could you please see if you can get something even remotely resembling a copy out of that...that...machine in the corner? I can’t get it to do anything but light up like a Christmas tree, and I didn’t make enough copies of the report, although how I was to know that every local yokel from the neighborhood barbershop, Laundromat, karaoke bar and pool hall was going to come straggling in and ask for a copy of it is beyond me. I swear I’ve never seen anything like this town in my entire life....”

She continued muttering as she turned toward the vintage-looking behemoth that was supposed to be acting as her computer and began banging on the keys. An error message, approximately the seventy-eighth one of the day, flashed across the screen. She exclaimed loudly.