Christie Ridgway: Take My Breath Away

“Sorry,” Poppy said, commanding herself to stand her ground as the stranger moved from his vehicle and across the snow-covered clearing. “We’re not accepting guests right now.”

“Is that right?” He glanced around. “The coven using all the cabins?”

“The cov—” She broke off as he nodded toward the small altar and the smudge stick at her feet. Though it had extinguished upon landing in the snow, the pungent scent still lingered in the air. She inhaled a deep breath of it, trying to regain her earlier peaceful feeling.

For whatever reason, this man rattled her.

Deciding to ignore the coven remark, she took her hands from her pockets and crossed her arms over her chest as she tried pasting on a pleasant expression. “As I said, I’m sorry. We’re simply not ready.”

He glanced around again. Smoke rose from her cabin’s chimney, but three of the others ringing the clearing were obviously vacant, not to mention inhospitable-looking with their peeling doors and dirty windows. The one nearest hers she’d decided to work on first, and it looked much better with its new paint and sparkling glass. From here, the iffy state of the roof was not readily apparent, though she’d have to come up with the money to replace it sooner than later.

“I’ll pay you twice the going rate,” the man said, as if he’d read her mind. His gaze shifted to the flyer grasped in his left hand. “I’ll take the two-bedroom ‘nestled in the woods.’”

“Sorry again, not available.” Squirrels had made a home in the chimney and it smelled like something had died in the second bedroom. It was the farthest from the clearing and the last on her list to refurbish, though she’d foolishly—she realized now—advertised it, anyway. As her father’s daughter, she should have realized that unchecked optimism could come back to bite her on the butt.

Speaking of bites, she glanced down at Grimm, who stood relaxed at her side. Usually he took cues about strangers from her reaction and body language. Odd that he wasn’t picking up on that now...in which case he would be showing a lot of teeth and emitting one of his best back-off growls.

The long-legged man followed her gaze. “Nice dog.”

“If you like death-by-canine,” she said. “We call him Grimm, as in the Grim Reaper.” A little white lie. Her brother had chosen the name after some famous NFL player he admired.

The stranger patted his thigh. “Hey, Grimm.”

Her dog raced forward, his jaw stretched in a toothy smile.

The man ran his hand over her pet’s head. “Like I said, nice dog. And I’ll pay you triple for whatever place you have available.”

Triple? Triple? Poppy thought of her recent layoff, the cost of Mason’s plane tickets to Florida and back, the extra dollars she’d given James to dole out on her son’s behalf.

“Quadruple, then.”

A fool and his money...Poppy mused, tempted despite her jittery nerves and knotted stomach. Mountain people were wary of everything about the rich flatlanders who came up the hill for alpine delights—everything except the money they flung about so freely. It was hard for average Joes and Joannas to make do in a place where real estate and gasoline and foodstuffs were sold at luxury resort prices. But people like the Walkers and the other descendants of early settlers were stubborn about staying among their beloved peaks and pines. Maybe Poppy had once dreamed of oceans and palms and big city streets, but then Mason had come along and sticking to what was familiar had made more sense.

The stranger crossed his arms over the chest of his posh squall jacket, mimicking Poppy’s own pose. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark lenses of his glasses, but she felt them narrow. “Quintuple,” he said. “Final offer.”

And greed overrode caution. “Done,” she answered.

Second thoughts popped up the instant the word left her mouth. “Wait—you realize we’re pretty far from civilization. The entrance to the highway is four miles from here.”

“I realize. I got lost looking for the turnoff.”

Poppy had the sense he was pleased by the fact.

Taking a step back, he tilted his head toward the steep slopes to the north of the cabins and woods. Snow covered the surface that was dotted with few of the pines that grew densely on the other surrounding hillsides. “What is this place? Can you ski up there?”

“If you want to hike up carrying your equipment. The elevation of the nearest town—Blue Arrow Lake—is a little over five thousand feet but here we’re at seventy-two hundred, which means plenty of snow in a good winter. My family had a nice ski business on the mountain, but a wildfire took down the lodge, the rope tow and the chair lifts thirteen years ago.”

“You didn’t rebuild?”

Poppy shrugged. “Not enough insurance money. And a bad financial deal with a certain arch-villain.”

He looked back at her then. “Arch-villain? Like Lex Luthor or Two-Face?”

“Like Victor Fremont.” Without thinking, she spat in the snow, ground the spot with the toe of her boot then crossed her heart with the tip of her forefinger.

Only when she felt his stare did she realize what she’d done. “Uh, sorry. Walker family habit.” The physical manifestation of their vow to never forget or forgive how the old man had ruined their father’s livelihood and health was something Brett had come up with long ago. “But, uh, let me show you the cabin.”

Maybe he wouldn’t like it, she thought, almost hoping that would be true, despite quintuple the going rate. Something was off about him. Or her. Or her around him.

As she dug the keys from her coat pocket, she walked toward the one-bedroom. There were three wooden steps leading to the narrow porch. Inside, it was cold, but warmer than the outside temperature. He walked past her through the small living area to peer into the room that held a queen-size bed and a Shaker-style dresser.

“The bathroom only has a shower,” she warned, “and the kitchen...”

With his back to her, he scraped off his hat. His hair was glossy, nearly black, and when he rubbed his palm over it, the strands settled into lines that screamed “This cut cost a mint!” She saw him finger off the sunglasses. As he stuck them into his coat pocket, she wondered if she’d imagined the surreal shade of his irises back at the grocery store. Perhaps they’d be ordinary on second take. Duller, like the color of a faded cotton patio umbrella. Or with gray overtones, like shadows cast on snow.

He turned.

Poppy nearly staggered back. Her mind hadn’t oversold them. His eyes were a hot, electric-blue that seemed lit from within. They were compelling. Mesmerizing. The eyes of a magician or a mystic or some supernatural being. Again, an acute wariness shot through her.

Grimm whined and she quickly shifted her attention to the dog, needing to look away before she confessed her sins or offered up her life savings. God. Her pulse was racing and there was a queasy feeling in her stomach.

“And the kitchen...?” he prompted, in that deep voice that carried to the corners of the cabin and maybe to the corners of her heart.

God.

“The kitchen.” She focused on the velvety golden hair between Grimm’s floppy ears and made a vague gesture. “It’s over there.”

His footsteps sounded against the hardwood floor before finding the living room’s braided area rug. From the corner of her eye, she saw his big hand and those lean fingers curled around the scarf he’d had at his neck. If you look now, you’ll see his whole face, Poppy thought. Then she heard a rustle of sound that indicated he was removing his coat. If you look now, you’ll see his whole body, too.

It shocked her how much she wanted to check out both, despite how anxious the man made her.