“This should never have happened to you, Matt.”

He felt a sweet sense of expansion in his chest…and a piercing sense of alarm at the same time.

At that moment she lifted her head and looked at him. “I’m so sorry, Matt.” He saw the pity in her eyes. The one thing he didn’t want. From anyone. But especially not from Leslie.

He pulled his hand out of her grasp and somehow managed to shrug. “It shouldn’t happen to anyone, but I’m sure I’ll adjust,” he said. “Pity doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Matt, I wasn’t—”

“I should go,” he said, stepping away from her. “You should go inside, too. There’s no point in standing out here in the cold. It’s been good to see you again, Les.”

He knew that inside the house friends and family were waiting, full of questions and curiosity. There would be whispers in quiet corners and surreptitious looks. He would have to listen to well-meaning but unrealistic predictions about his future.

But how bad could any of that be compared to what he’d just seen in Leslie’s eyes?

Dear Reader,

When I first set out to write the HEART OF THE ROCKIES series, I was pretty certain about the stories I wanted to share for Nick, Rafe and Addy. Matt, however, presented a bit of a problem.

As the middle brother, his personality was a mystery to me, and no clear-cut vision of who he really was developed as I started to flesh out his character. He seemed to have no problems, no axes to grind, no points to prove, not a single roadblock standing in his way to happiness. An easygoing charmer, Matt seemed to be the “golden boy” in the D’Angelo family, the one the gods seem to love and look out for, the fellow who never has to work very hard for anything. A woman would love to find a man like that. But the problem is, who wants to read about a man who’s that perfect? Not very interesting, if you ask me.

But that’s the great thing about being a writer. Characters can morph into anything you need them to be. In short, I decided to rock Matt’s world. Because of one small twist of fate on a snowy winter night, he’s forced to discover that not everything comes easily in life. That eventually even the luckiest people in the world have to face adversity and find new ways to triumph.

Of course, he doesn’t take this journey willingly. Or alone. It takes a woman from his past, Leslie Meadows, to help him see that he’s still the same man she fell in love with years ago, and he doesn’t have to be perfect to be the man for her. Most of all, she helps him see that together they can overcome any trouble that comes their way.

I hope you enjoy Matt and Leslie’s story, and that you’re finding the D’Angelo family as much fun to read about as I had writing them. I love to hear from readers. Visit me at www.aboutannevans.com or e-mail me at aboutannevans@yahoo.com.

Best wishes,

Ann Evans

Home to Family
Ann Evans

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For fellow critique partner Lori Harris.

Thank you for years of encouragement, and the occasional, much-needed kick in the pants.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

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

PROLOGUE

“I HAVE TO STOP for a coffee,” Matt D’Angelo said.

Beside him in the passenger seat, Shayla shook her head. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. Just a quick one. If I don’t, I’ll never make it.”

Shayla swung a look in his direction. He could see she was about to object again, so he gave her one of his most winning smiles. They’d been dating only three months, but he knew Shayla was crazy about him, and he wasn’t above using that knowledge to his benefit.

As he expected, she gave him a playful, censuring scowl. “You’re completely addicted,” she told him. “You know that, don’t you? And we’re already late. Your folks are going to worry.”

“Mom and Pop know what the traffic is like this time of year. They won’t look for us until after dark.”

This was true. It was December twentieth and the usual delays of Christmas travel and snowy weather had put them behind since early this morning. They’d had to de-ice the plane in Chicago before take-off, and by the time the bumpy, overcrowded flight made it into Stapleton in Denver, the swill in Matt’s stomach—a cup of weak decaf from an airport kiosk—had long soured. Now the Eisenhower Tunnel along the Interstate-70 corridor would be slow-going, crowded with skiers heading for the slopes and families making their way to holiday reunions with friends and family.

Matt took his hand off the steering wheel and reached across the front seat to rub his fingers along the back of Shayla’s neck. “Come on, Shay. How can you be so cruel to someone you’re crazy about?”

That got the reaction he expected. She gave him a sharpened look, eyes wide. “You’re way too full of yourself. I’m not that crazy about you.”

He grinned. “Let me stop and get my coffee fix, and when we get to Lightning River tonight I’ll show you all the reasons you should be.”

“Under your parents’ roof?” she said with a small gasp. “I don’t think so. For the week we’re staying with them, there’ll be none of that sort of thing, Matt D’Angelo.”

He laughed. “I know a dozen places in the lodge where we can find privacy. I was very inventive when I was a horny teenager.”

“Well, you’re an adult now. At least you’re supposed to be. Abstinence will give us something to look forward to when it’s time to go home.”

He faked a miserable look. “I’ll have a bluuuue…Christmas without youuuu…,” he warbled.

She put her hands over her ears. “Stop! You may be a great surgeon, but you’re completely tone-deaf.” She nudged his arm lightly. “Get your cup of coffee, but then let’s get going.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. That had been easier than he’d expected.

He took a turn off the highway that ran through the outskirts of Denver, following a road swept clean by the snow crews. Somewhere along here, there had to be a place they could make a quick stop.

He spotted it in the middle of the block. One of those old dining cars from the railroad days. Duffy’s, the modest sign proclaimed. He pulled into the parking lot, found a spot and killed the engine.

As soon as the heater died, Shayla tucked her fingers into the pockets of her coat, already looking displeased.

“Two minutes,” Matt promised. “Want anything?”

“No.”

He leaned over, fingering a stray lock of Shayla’s blond hair behind her ear so that he could skim a kiss across her cool cheek.

She swung a look in his direction. “Are you kissing me because you got your way?” she asked with a skeptically raised eyebrow.

“No,” he replied honestly. “I’m kissing you because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I’m a lucky guy, and I know I don’t say that often enough.”

She looked surprised at the unexpected compliment. He laughed as she practically pushed him out of the car.

A blast of frigid air hit him as he got out, and he hurriedly buttoned his coat against it. The snow had let up, but the wind was as bone-chilling as the worst winters they got in Chicago.

Carefully he made his way up the steps of the diner. He’d never hear the end of it if he slipped and broke something now. The red light from the neon sign in the window glowed like a spill of blood across the pretty snow mounded on the bushes near the door.

The place was small, a single counter with stools and a few booths along one end. Nobody looked up as he came in, though there were four or five people who had obviously sought shelter against the inhospitable weather.

There was a man seated on the end stool, nearest the door. A young woman with sallow skin but pretty blond hair stood behind the cash register. At the opposite end of the counter, a barrel-chested guy in a spotty apron— Duffy?—nodded curtly at Matt.

In half a dozen strides, Matt reached the counter. “Hi,” he said to the waitress. “Can I get a cup of coffee to go? Black, please.”

She didn’t say a word, just turned around and started to fill the order. Little white bag, napkin, stir stick. Matt blew on his hands to warm them while he waited. The man beside him looked up and gave him a tight smile. Matt nodded.

The service was slow. The blonde turned at last, coffee now hidden away in the bag. Matt could smell it—strong and heavenly, and he could almost feel it warming his insides already.

And then he heard something strange. Bells. Very faint and delicate-sounding. He thought it might be coming from the jukebox at the opposite side of the room—Christmas tunes would be the order of the day—but that couldn’t be. The colored arch along the top of the machine was dark, like a dead rainbow.

He realized the sound was coming from the waitress. He caught a name badge over her right breast. Jill. Her hand was clutched on the take-out bag, and it was then Matt noticed that she wore a bracelet. A concession to the Christmas season—small linked jingle bells covered her wrist.

They were shaking. Hard. So was her hand.

In fact, when Matt looked back at her name badge, he could see her heart pumping wildly, moving the plastic back and forth.

“Are you all right?” he asked with a frown.

The girl went white as new snow. Unexpectedly, the man on the stool next to him rose and quickly went around the end of the counter. He hugged Jill to his side, then smiled at Matt.

“Not a problem, man,” he said. “Jill’s my lady, and we just had a little spat. But everything’s okay now. Ain’t that right, Jill?”

Jill nodded, trance-like, but nothing in her stiff posture indicated smooth sailing ahead for this couple. Must have been one heck of a spat, Matt thought.

And then, in that moment, in one split, God-awful moment of understanding, it hit him. He knew precisely what he was witnessing here, and it wasn’t an embarrassingly public lover’s quarrel.

The nearly deserted street outside. The unnatural, still silence of the other diners. Jill’s barely controlled panic. The tense, wary way in which the man who held her smiled at him.

In that same instant, the older employee at the opposite end of the counter took several steps in their direction. “Turn her loose,” he growled, his eyes wild and burning.

The man holding Jill lifted one arm, and Matt saw the gun in his hand for the first time. “Back off, old man,” he snapped. “You don’t want my kind of trouble.”

He pointed the gun at Matt when the employee stopped dead in his tracks. “You. Just stand right there. If you’re smart, you won’t move.”

Matt did as he was told. The robber was short, but he had a bully’s jaw and the harsh, fierce eyes of a sewer rat. Matt watched as the man let go of Jill and came around the counter to stand in front of him. With the end of his gun, he motioned toward the counterman. “Finish opening the safe.” Jill had begun to cry now, and the robber barked at her, “Shut the hell up!” For good measure, he reached across the Formica, yanked her close with a twisting grip on her blouse, and slapped her.

Matt flinched inwardly, but remained still. He knew enough to keep from escalating this any further with a foolish show of bravado. The robber would take the cash and make a run for it. There wasn’t any need for anyone to get badly hurt.

Jill bit down on her bloodless lips and went silent.

“Harley!” the sewer rat shouted down the length of the room. “What’s taking you so long? Hustle up!”

For the first time Matt realized that a second robber had begun rounding up prizes from the other diners—wallets and rings and anything that looked remotely valuable and portable. He was tall, with long hair that made him look young and oddly innocent.

While Harley worked quickly at the other end of the diner, the first robber kept his gun trained on Matt. A demented grin snaked across the man’s face.

He thumped Matt lightly on the chest with the barrel of his weapon. “Nice coat. Got anything else under there I might like?”

Matt unbuttoned his coat, withdrew his wallet and handed it over.

The man glanced at Jill and made an impatient gesture with his fingers. “Get that ring off.”

Unexpectedly, the girl showed a sudden spark of life. “No,” she said. “It’s my engagement ring.”

The guy didn’t like that. “I don’t care if you inherited it from your dear departed mother. Take it off.”

He started to lean over the counter, but Matt took a step in front of him. “You don’t have to hurt her,” he said, desperate to keep the situation calm and his thoughts coherent. “Go easy. She’ll give it up. Won’t you, Jill?”

He looked at her, this stupid, stupid girl who seemed willing to go to the mat for a bauble that wouldn’t bring one hundred dollars in a pawn shop. “It’s not worth getting hurt,” he told her, softly.

He felt a swell of relief when she started twisting the ring off her finger. No reason for this to go sour. Unpleasant, yes. A nuisance, really, with the police reports that would have to be filed.

Shayla had been right, damn it. He shouldn’t have stopped.

And just as he had that thought, the door to the diner was opening. He turned his head to see Shayla come into the restaurant, her features pinched and cold from too many minutes spent alone in the car.

“Jeez, Matt. How long does it take to get a cup of coffee?” she complained as she came toward him.

“Shayla, wait for me out in the—”

Jill began to wail, a high-pitched, nerve-jangling sound. Matt turned toward her, saw that the robber had turned his gun in her direction, clearly intending to silence the girl once and for all.

“No, don’t,” Matt said quickly. “Don’t…”

“Matt?” he heard Shayla say in sudden, quavering distress.

“Shut up!” the robber yelled at Jill. “Shut up!”

There was sudden movement at the other end of the room and a terrified squeal from one of the diners. Everything happened so fast, almost simultaneously, and yet Matt was vividly aware of every moment, as though they were frozen in place like statues.

The older man reached below the counter, pulling a shotgun from some hidden nook. “You sons of bitches!” he shouted. “You’ve taken your last nickel out of this place!”

“Harley!” the robber called to his compatriot.

A gunshot exploded.

A woman screamed.

Matt launched himself at the robber closest to him. The man bellowed in surprise, but Matt concentrated on getting control of the gun.

Chaos suddenly. More screams and shouts as gunshots sounded again, so close together that Matt couldn’t tell how many or just where they had come from. The robber’s gun lay trapped between their bodies now, and as they both grunted and cursed and struggled for control, Matt felt himself shoved hard from behind.

Moments later, when the pain hit, he realized the truth.

Not shoved. Shot.

And only seconds after that awareness, the gun in his hand went off.

He was free suddenly, the robber sliding bonelessly into a heap at his feet. Matt backed away, aware that he’d just shot another human being.

His legs shook, threatening to buckle. He sank to the floor, his back pressed against the base of the counter, his legs splayed out in front of him. Breathing hard, he just sat there, trying to hold on to consciousness that felt as though it was oozing away. In his ears, his heartbeats sounded like thunder.

He looked down and had the odd, unexpected thought that the coffee he’d ordered had spilled all over the front of his best coat. And then he realized that it wasn’t coffee at all, but blood.

His blood.

His head fell back, and he closed his eyes. He couldn’t be sure whether he lost consciousness or not, but when he opened them, a woman was kneeling in front of him. He could see his own shock and horror reflected in her features. Vaguely he remembered that she’d been sitting at the far end of the diner when he’d come in.

“Just lie still,” she said. “We’ve called the police and an ambulance.”

Matt nodded, feeling the blood stream down the inside of his shirt. “Towel…” he said, his voice no more than a whisper, like dry leaves blowing softly in the wind. “Need to stop the bleeding.”

“I’ll get one,” she told him, jumping up and moving out of his line of vision.

That was when he saw that the diner was insanely cluttered with smashed dishes, glass and blood. When he let his gaze swing to the right, he saw the robber he’d fought with lying near the cash register, his body twisted like a puppet who’d had his strings cut.

He heard someone crying. Shayla, he thought. Probably scared to death. He wanted to tell her he would be all right, but frankly, he wasn’t sure of anything right now.

He turned his head in the opposite direction. Shayla was lying near the door, a pool of bright blood beneath her. His breath left him in a rush. He bit down hard on nothing, pressing his teeth tight as he looked at her for a long, long moment.

No no no no…Oh God, Shay, get up. Get up.

Her face was partially covered by her long hair, but he could see her eyes. It was the kind of truth Matt would have felt in his bones, even if he hadn’t seen dozens of gunshot victims at the hospital. She was dead.

The image of her soaked so deeply into his mind that he knew it would never leave him. Swallowing against sudden nausea, Matt closed his eyes again, lost to everything but regret.

He clenched his fists. Why the hell had he stopped for coffee? Fresh pain owned him then, hot and fierce in his left hand. Frowning, he brought his fingers up in front of him. His hand was a mess. Nothing but blood and bone and torn tissue. He tried to absorb what that kind of damage could mean to his career as a microsurgeon. He tried to care. But he had only one clear thought.

He was alive and Shayla was dead, and all he wanted in those moments was to have it be the other way around.

CHAPTER ONE

One Year Later

WHEN DOC HAYWARD threw his annual Christmas party, always two weeks before the holidays, nearly everyone in Broken Yoke, Colorado, came. It was considered the best of the season, held in one of the last great houses still standing from the days when silver had been king. And since Doc always packed his bags and headed off to California to visit his only daughter immediately afterward, the party presented the perfect opportunity for everyone to wish him Merry Christmas and give him a proper send-off.

Leslie Meadows, the doctor’s office nurse and good friend, surveyed the buffet table as she took a sip of white wine. Doc’s idea of a Christmas party consisted of watery dip and crackers and a silver Christmas tree that revolved and changed colors. She and Moira Thompson, the clinic’s receptionist, had taken on the added responsibility of decorating the old Victorian from top to bottom, as well as handling the caterers. If all the compliments tonight were genuine, the two women could be very proud of themselves. The place looked elegant and festive.

Leslie signaled to one of the circulating waiters to bring in another tray of peeled shrimp. For five minutes she’d been watching Tom Faraday from Faraday’s Plumbing Service scarf down handfuls of them like popcorn. It was clear that the diet Doc Hayward had put Tom on wasn’t working.

“I thought you were off-duty,” a voice said behind her.

She turned to find her date for the evening, Perry Jamison, at her elbow. He looked slightly peeved, and Leslie suspected that he felt neglected.

“Sorry,” she said, picking up her wineglass from the table. “Force of habit. I’m used to looking out for Doc, even when we’re not in the clinic.”

“How about looking out for me?” he asked, reaching out to run the back of his hand along her arm.

“I think you’re pretty self-sufficient.”

“Not when it comes to you, angel.”

He gave her a hot, meaningful look that told her exactly what he was thinking. She smiled at him. In addition to being worth a small fortune, Perry was quite a catch. They’d been dating off and on since last spring, and though he lived and worked in Denver, he’d been coming to Broken Yoke with increasing frequency.

He’d made no secret of the fact that he’d cut her out of the herd of eager, young women who’d been after him since his divorce two years ago. Leslie—he’d once jokingly informed her—should consider herself lucky.

She supposed that, in some ways, she did.

She knew that by no stretch of anyone’s imagination could she be considered a beauty. Shoulder-length brown hair and hazel eyes didn’t create much of a statement, but at thirty she was long past feeling the need to make one. As a nurse she earned a decent living, but she certainly didn’t travel in Perry Jamison’s social circle. That he’d decided to pursue her was both flattering and unexpected.

“Having fun?” she asked.

He made a noncommittal shrug. “The natives seem friendly enough. What time does the guest of honor get here?”

Leslie gave him a puzzled frown. “Guest of honor?”

“The mysterious Matt D’Angelo. I keep hearing his name, so I figure the guy must be someone special.”

“Oh, Matt. Yes, I think I did hear that he was coming.”

She had to take a quick swallow of wine to stem the flood of color she felt steal up her neck.

You think he’s coming? she chided herself. That was a rather bold-faced lie.

She’d known for days that Matt planned to come home for Christmas. His father, Sam, had told her that. And he felt sure his son would make a special effort to say goodbye to Doc, who had been his mentor, the driving force behind Matt becoming a doctor. Hadn’t she picked out this dress exactly with his presence in mind, knowing blue was his favorite color?

“So what should I expect?” Perry asked. “Can the guy walk on water, or should I count on nothing more than a little fancy sleight-of-hand? I know Broken Yoke is easily impressed.”

She frowned at that slap to her hometown. True, Broken Yoke was small and provincial. It had let her down significantly in her youth, but she’d made her peace with the place. She counted a lot of its citizens as her friends, had made a life here, and now felt almost a protective annoyance toward anyone who maligned it.

But tonight was too pretty, too special to pick a fight with Perry, who measured every town by its ability not to bore him.

She shrugged. “Matt’s a town favorite. He was our high-school valedictorian, the captain of more teams than I can remember, teacher’s pet, the guy all the boys wanted for a buddy…”

“And all the girls wanted to go to bed with?” Perry supplied.

Leslie couldn’t help a smile. “Oh, yeah. Definitely the one every girl in class lusted after. He caught a few of them, too.”

“Including you?”

“No. Not me,” Leslie said with a thoughtful little pause. “We’ve been friends for years, but that’s all.”

She thought about what those words meant. Friends for years. The simplistic description didn’t do justice to the relationship she had shared with Matt. How could you accurately describe your feelings for someone who had, quite possibly saved your life?

“Good,” Perry said. “I don’t like the idea of someone poaching on my turf.”

“Thank you. Always nice to feel like hunted game.”

She gave him a look of mock severity, though inwardly she felt a stirring of annoyance with him again. His tendency to make assumptions regarding their relationship grated on her nerves and reminded her unpleasantly of her father’s possessive treatment of her mother.

He laughed and put his arm around her waist. “How soon can we get out of here? I want to go someplace private. I’ve yet to give you your Christmas present, you know?”

She hid a frown. There was no way she wanted to leave this party until the D’Angelo family made their appearance. Considering the hell Matt had been through last year, she felt it imperative that she see him again. See with her own eyes that he’d recovered.

“It may be a while,” she told Perry, hoping she sounded less irked than she felt. “Now that the clinic’s closed for the holidays, I don’t want to miss wishing some of our patients Merry Christmas.”

Perry looked sulky, but probably knew her well enough by now to guess that she couldn’t be talked out of staying. She snatched up a paper plate and began slipping finger foods onto it. Perry liked to eat, and the caterers had done such a wonderful job that everything looked inviting.

There was a slight swell of chatter near the front door as someone new arrived. Leslie watched as the D’Angelo clan entered, dispensing coats and jackets to the hired help and calling out Christmas greetings to friends nearby.

Leslie’s heart took a leap. For as long as she could remember she had thought them the handsomest family in the Lightning River area. As a teenager, she’d spent many nights in her narrow single bed wishing she could somehow be magically granted membership to their inner circle. With her mother weeping in her bedroom and her father passed out in the living room from too much drink, Leslie—through her friendship with Matt—had seen the D’Angelos as warmer, grander, more fun than any family she had ever come in contact with.

She was long beyond that kind of fantasizing now, but she couldn’t help thinking that they were still a force to be reckoned with. With the exception of Rafe, Matt’s younger brother who had left home to seek his own place in the world years ago, this family could weather any storm—together.

They’d certainly had to weather one last year with Matt.

Sam, the patriarch of the family, who had suffered a stroke a few years ago and was still confined to a wheelchair, led the way with his wife, Rose, at his side. Rose’s two Italian sisters, Renata and Sofia followed, looking almost like twins in straight skirts and bulky Christmas sweaters. Behind them stood Matt’s only sister, Adriana. She had on a swirling red dress that set off her hair in dramatic prettiness, and she laughed as Tessa, her niece, said something in her ear.

Behind them Leslie caught sight of a tall man in the doorway, a glimpse of shining dark hair. She felt a momentary constriction in her chest and realized she’d been holding her breath.

Matt. At last.

A moment later, she saw that it wasn’t Matt at all, but his older brother Nick, his arm around the waist of his wife, Kari, who looked surprisingly graceful and thin in spite of her advanced pregnancy.

In the last year, Leslie and Kari had become friends, and as the baby’s due date drew near, Kari had relied more and more on Leslie for advice, friendship, and occasionally—when her hormones got the best of her—a shoulder to cry on. She had married Nick after a whirlwind courtship last year and was thrilled about the baby, but scared to death.

For a handful of heartbeats after Kari entered the foyer, Leslie waited expectantly for Matt to follow. But suddenly the door swung closed, locking out the cold, night air. Clearly, no one else had come.

“Is that him?” Perry said close to her ear, indicating Nick, who was scanning the room for friendly faces. She caught a whiff of the bourbon he’d been drinking.

“No, that’s his older brother.”

As though sensing her disappointment, Perry caught her close suddenly and nuzzled her ear. “My sweet angel. Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

Leslie nailed on a soft smile, determined not to let her disappointment show. So Matt had not come after all. Not surprising, really.

The Matt D’Angelo she’d grown up with had always enjoyed being the center of attention—expected it, almost. But with the exception of the quick trip back he’d made last year for Kari and Nick’s wedding, he hadn’t come home very often. There were bound to be questions, and people here tonight would be filled with curiosity.

Rosa, his mother, had hinted that Matt seemed different now, and though Leslie hadn’t had the opportunity to question exactly what that meant, she could imagine how such a tragedy could change a person. How could it not?

The evening wore on. Leslie headed for the kitchen to make sure the catering company brought extra plates to the buffet table. She ran into Doc Hayward and Kari D’Angelo talking in the back hallway.

Doc, who looked younger than his sixty-six years in a bright red sweater that set off his white hair handsomely, motioned her over. “Leslie, you’re just who I’m looking for. Do you know if we have any more of that cream at the clinic? The one I prescribed for Kari last week.”

“I think so,” Leslie told him, then smiled at Kari. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone through an entire tube already.”

The woman grimaced. “I’ve lost it. I don’t seem to be able to keep track of anything lately.”

“That’s really not unusual,” Doc said. “You do have a lot on your mind right about now.”

“I’m driving Nick crazy. He’s posted sticky notes everywhere. I used to kid him about being overly structured, but these days, having his organized mind running interference is the only thing saving me from looking like an idiot.”

“You’re doing fine,” Doc said. He patted Kari’s shoulder, and Leslie thought that, with his kind smile and gentle, faded-blue eyes, the old man had a bedside manner that could make any patient feel safe. “Another two months and this will all be behind you.”

“It can’t come soon enough.”

“Any decisions on a name yet?”

“Not yet. And since we don’t want to know the baby’s sex, the names haven’t even been narrowed down to a boy or girl. Everyone in the family has an opinion.”

Leslie grinned. “With the D’Angelos, that’s no surprise.”

“It’s just a good thing I love them so much,” Kari said, taking a sip from her glass of ginger ale. “Last week I found a note pinned to the front door of the cabin that said, “Do you like Mercedes?” I spent ten minutes trying to figure out why Aunt Renata wanted my opinion about cars before she told me that was her latest suggestion if the baby was a girl.”

The three of them laughed.

Perry was suddenly at Leslie’s side. He draped a proprietary arm around her shoulder. “What’s so amusing?”

They filled him in, but it must have lost something in the translation because he looked as if he didn’t really understand. Obviously he didn’t see the humor in living in a large Italian clan that could make you feel like the single most beloved person in the world and drive you to distraction all at the same time.

It occurred to Leslie that she didn’t know much about what Perry’s own family life was like. Or even if he was close to them. Why had she never bothered to ask?

Conversation, light and inconsequential, continued to ebb and flow among the four of them for a few more minutes.

Then Perry said to Kari, “So where’s this brother-in-law of yours? The infamous Matt.”

Leslie felt her stomach lurch. With that one, bald question, the innocence and fun of the conversation evaporated. Yet a part of her felt no regret. It was an inquiry she’d been dying to make herself.

Kari’s smile wavered a bit, but she responded easily enough. “He called from Denver. His plane got in late, so he suggested we come without him.” She looked at Doc Hayward. “He’ll be sorry he missed you, Doc.”

It was Perry who answered with an impolite snort. “I suppose it’s easier to hide out for a while than deal with a bunch of nosy questions right off the bat.”

Leslie wondered if she was the only one who noticed Kari’s posture stiffen. “I’m not sure that’s what he’s doing,” the woman said. “I think he’s a lot like Nick and meets any problem head-on.”

“Still…” Perry went on. “I can’t say that I’d blame him very much if he chose not to come. Who wants to be a freak in the sideshow?”

Leslie frowned and cut a glance at Perry. He had his moments, but he was seldom rude. She knew he’d been drinking steadily through most of the evening—so had she, for that matter—but the comment was uncalled-for. She wondered just how many details of last year’s tragedy he’d picked up while circulating among Doc’s guests.

“Matt’s hardly a freak,” she heard herself say. She sounded ridiculously defensive and toned her attitude down a notch. “He’s always loved to be around people, and everyone in this house is his friend.”

“Doesn’t mean they won’t be curious as hell,” Perry said over the top of his glass. He raised a speculative brow toward Kari. “So what happened exactly? I heard he walked in on a robbery and got shot.”

Kari nodded. “A year ago. He was bringing his girlfriend up here to spend the holidays with the family. She was killed, and so were a couple of others at the diner where they stopped. Matt was shot twice. Once in the back, which I understand he’s recovered well from. The second came at close range and did considerable damage to his left hand. And since he’s a surgeon…”

“It’s been a year,” Perry remarked. “Surely he’s well on the way to recovery by now.”

Kari gave Perry a vague, distancing smile. “I’m sure he’s doing quite well.”

“Life is full of tough breaks,” Perry added. “If you can’t change things, then you need to stop cursing your bad luck and move on.”

Leslie looked at him sharply. He sounded so pompous that she wanted to drive the point of her high-heel into his instep. She felt his fingers tighten imperceptively along her shoulder. It occurred to her suddenly that he might be jealous of Matt. Ridiculous, of course. There was no reason to be.

Luckily, Kari seemed disinclined to take offense. Forming a smile that did not include her eyes, she said, “Speaking of moving on, will you excuse me? I really ought to say hello to some of the others.”

Before anyone could object, she slipped away.

Perry favored Leslie with a questioning glance. “Did I say something wrong?”

Leslie’s temper was too provoked to comment right away. Laughing lightly, Doc shook his head at Perry. “Young fellow, I’m not sure you said anything right.”

Perry’s arm still lay across her shoulders like a heavy bar. Slipping out from under it, she said, “I should check on things in the kitchen.”

She hated to strand Doc with Perry, but she had to get away from him right now. Why had she invited him to this party? He was bored and behaving as badly as a six-year-old dragged to the opera.

A waiter passed by with a tray of filled wineglasses. She scooped one up and would have made her way into the kitchen, but Althea Bendix, the police chief’s wife, pulled her into the front parlor, where a small circle of women were eagerly plotting a surprise baby shower for Kari D’Angelo.

With no children of her own, Leslie found it hard to get excited by talk of games that involved measuring the waist of the expectant mother and trying to guess how many jellybeans could fill a baby bottle. But she liked Kari, she liked these women, and she liked that she was a part of their world, that they considered her one of them.

It hadn’t always been that way. As a child, she’d quickly realized that even a place as small as Broken Yoke had a pecking order. Jagged, winding Lightning River bisected the town, and there was definitely a correct, acceptable side of it to call home, and one that some people preferred to pretend didn’t exist.

The trailer park Leslie had grown up in—Mobley’s Mobile Court—was a run-down eyesore that smelled of misery and failure. Town government considered it a constant source of embarrassment. Her parents, whose fights were loud and legendary, whose mailbox stayed stuffed with late notices printed in increasingly irate colors, had definitely been persona non grata in Broken Yoke. For a long while, Leslie had been sure she was, too.

Until the sixth grade. When Matt D’Angelo had come into her life. Saved her, really. From parents and teachers and the law, and sometimes even herself.

In those days she’d been lonely and disoriented most of the time. The fragile universe she’d managed to create for herself had always been in danger of toppling, but she’d been honestly convinced that no one knew that.

No one knew that quiet, sullen Leslie Meadows considered life to be missing some essential piece she couldn’t identify. That happiness seemed to get further and further away from her every day. And that she imagined her heart to be no more than an empty cave where fear and hopelessness dwelt year-round.

No one, that is, except Matt.

One of the women beside her nudged her arm. “Look,” she said. “It’s starting to snow.”

Leslie glanced out the nearest window. The temperature was supposed to drop drastically tonight, and a flurry of light flakes cascaded in the outside lights beyond the wrap-around porch. She listened to the conversation of the other women with half an ear, wishing she could be out there in the darkness, feeling the feathery touch of those snowflakes against her face.

Here, the laughter, the heady, perfumed atmosphere, the warmth generated by so many people made her feel restless and claustrophobic. She thought how clear and sharp the air outside must be right now. Every breath would be almost painful.

Years ago, on a moonlit night just like this one, she and Matt had sat snuggled against one another for warmth, catching snowflakes on their tongues as they watched an impromptu hockey game on Lightning Lake.

He’d been busy with sports all winter. Matt was the best skier on the school team, and he’d had little time for her as he concentrated on trimming his run times.

She’d missed him so much. How good it felt to have his familiar strength pressed against her, to hear his easy laughter and know that her closest friend had not forgotten her. It was the best feeling in the world, that connection with another human being.

Those hours on the lake had also seen a shift in the dynamic of their friendship. It had wandered into unexpected territory when warmth and closeness had led to a kiss. They’d barely skirted disaster that cold, January night. At the last minute they’d managed to pull back from going any further, laughing nervously with the unspoken knowledge of how close they’d come to ruining everything.

In all the years since then, they’d never spoken of that evening. Happily, the bond between them had remained strong and pure and immutable.

She glanced back out the window as she drained her wineglass. It was snowing a little harder now, soft and silent, and so inviting. Why did anyone stay inside when there was that kind of beauty to be enjoyed only steps away?

She knew that some of Doc’s guests would curse the sight of it as they left, complaining as they tugged on coats and scarves and made their slow, cautious way home. Perry would be one of them. He hated the drive back to Denver, even in good weather, and tonight the roads could be troublesome.

But she loved the snow. So did Matt. At least, he always had when they’d been kids.

Where was he right now?

Over the murmur of conversation, she heard a hard, harsh bark of amused laughter. It had to be Bob Gunderson, the president of Broken Yoke’s only bank. Everyone called Bob “Heimlich” because of his penchant for telling jokes that always ended with a laugh that sounded as though he was trying to expel something from his throat.

She caught sight of Perry standing by the fireplace, nodding as Heimlich finished his story. From the glazed look on Perry’s face, she suspected he was wishing himself anyplace else. Poor man. She supposed she ought to rescue him.

Except she didn’t want to go back to her place, toast the season, and open up some ridiculously lavish Christmas gift from him that would embarrass her. Perry wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t stingy, and he was sure to have gotten her something completely inappropriate given the status of their relationship.

In some ways he was so like Matt. Handsome. Generous. Confident. So energetic sometimes that he took her breath away. And goal-oriented. He lacked Matt’s easygoing ways, his charisma, that core of genuine compassion that had made a career in medicine almost a foregone conclusion.

But so what if Perry wasn’t Matt D’Angelo? she thought with sudden stubborn rebellion. Why should he have to be?

In spite of a little boorish behavior this evening, he was still one of the most attractive, interesting men she’d ever dated. She should take him home, open a bottle of her best wine and…see what developed.

Leaving would, of course, disappoint half the single women in this room tonight. Just like Matt, Perry attracted attention from females the way honey enticed bees.

Maybe it was a good thing Matt hadn’t shown up. Two such potent, available males at one party, and who knew what might happen? Over the years she’d watched so many women try to catch Matt’s attention, sometimes with embarrassing results.

Leslie cast one last, long glance around the room. Another few minutes of polite conversation and then she’d wander over to Perry. No point in staying, really. Somewhere along the way, the evening had lost its magic.

Why hadn’t Matt made a concerted effort to come tonight?

CHAPTER TWO

MATT D’ANGELO had been the only one on the flight from Chicago who wasn’t upset about their late arrival in Denver.

He’d always considered himself a patient guy, unflappable. That ability to focus and remain calm in the face of confusion and crisis had made him a star during his residency and brought him accolades in the operating room. But this new willingness to suffer delays due to the weather, the airlines, the traffic, and finally, the girl at the car-rental counter with the speed of a baffled snail—this was a pretty sure sign that he really hadn’t wanted to make this trip after all.

True, he’d been eager to get away, tired of coming under the microscope of the powers-that-be at the hospital, tired of getting pep talks from his occupational therapist. Most of all, tired of having to reassure well-meaning friends and associates that he really didn’t mind spending Christmas and New Year’s Eve alone.

Just tired.

So when his parents had pushed him to come home for a visit, he’d allowed himself to be talked into it.

Now he wished he’d said no. The family, as supportive as they’d always been, would probably smother him with their loving concern. His friends in Broken Yoke would be solicitous, but people who lived in a small town and who’d known you all your life, often assumed they had the perfect right to grill you. They’d be unable to control their curiosity. They’d feel obligated to give advice.

Or worse, they’d offer pity. He knew he’d hate that the most.

In this strange, different year he’d discovered that most people meant well. They wanted to help. But he’d spent months trying to pull a black curtain over that night in the diner. The idea of having to revisit any of it, having those memories ambush him in some new and terrible way, made his heart feel as tight as a closed fist.

He wished suddenly that he’d followed his friend Larry’s advice—gone to the Bahamas for the holidays, where he could have found a sure cure for the blues under the warm sun.

Instead, he was almost home, watching snow flurries pelt the windshield of his rental car as he took the exit off the interstate.

He passed the familiar, aged sign that welcomed visitors to Broken Yoke. The turn up the mountain road that led to Lightning River Lodge would be just ahead, winding and treacherous in the worst of winter, but still as familiar to Matt as the route he took to the hospital in Chicago every day.

Lightning River ran along the lip of the Arapaho National Forest and widened into a deep, cold, crystal-clear lake. His parents had built the lodge on some of the prettiest land along the Front Range. The views from every window of the resort—mountains, lake and aspen-covered forests—left guests awe-struck, and its proximity to ski slopes, river rapids and quaint, historic towns in the area brought them back time after time.

A few years ago, when his father had first been incapacitated by his stroke, Matt had considered moving back home. He hadn’t really wanted to. His career had been on the fast track as he began to make a name for himself in microsurgery, and he could see endless opportunities ahead.

For a while, his mother seemed to manage the family business just fine. Her sisters, Renata and Sofia, had come from Italy to help out. Matt’s younger sister Adriana had just finished college and was more than willing to pitch in until things returned to normal.

But things didn’t return to normal. His father’s medical bills were astronomical. Rainy summer days and little fresh powder on the slopes to entice skiers made the situation worse. Matt had begun to talk to Doc Hayward about returning home and going into practice with the older physician—something Matt had never, ever considered before.

Luckily, his older brother Nick came up with a solution to keep the family business afloat and solve his problems, too.

Nick, an army helicopter pilot who had recently divorced, was concerned about having a proper place to raise his daughter Tessa. Matt couldn’t help feeling relieved when Nick quit the army and came home to take over, building his own cabin only a short distance from the lodge.

The change seemed to have worked. The business was doing well. Nick had added a helicopter tour company, Angel Air, to the amenities they offered guests, and Adriana, an entrepreneur at heart, had finally talked Nick and their father into reopening the old stable where they’d kept horses as kids.

Matt had been glad to leave running the business in Nick’s capable hands. And as much as he loved this area, he had never envisioned returning to live here permanently.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

He wove his way through Broken Yoke’s downtown, past all the old familiar haunts. He saw that nothing much had changed, although a few more of the buildings looked empty; some were even boarded up.

Glad for a legitimate excuse to stall, he had called the lodge from the airport, telling the family not to wait, to go to Doc’s party without him. It was already past ten. Most of Doc Hayward’s guests had probably come and gone by now. Maybe even the D’Angelos. Everyone knew that Doc—always a morning person—would have booked an early flight tomorrow.

So if Matt skipped the party entirely, would anyone really notice? Or care?

He felt the muscles along his jaw tighten. No more avoidance, D’Angelo. Not tonight. You know you want to see Doc before he goes.

He could catch the tail end of the party. Say a few quick hellos and be gone before most guests even noticed his arrival. He had to. If he didn’t get a handle on these subconscious and not-so-subconscious evasion tactics, they would develop their own momentum. And then where would he be?

Doc lived just off Main Street, and when Matt pulled in front of the house he was surprised to see how many cars were still in the drive and along the road. He had to park half a block away and walk back, trudging along the darkened blacktop that glistened wetly in the street lights. Snow, falling like a lacy curtain, obscured his vision and made him tuck his chin into the collar of his coat.

The Christmas lights Doc had put up outside twinkled a festive welcome.

Strange how the sight of those decorations could make his gut go cold.

Matt could still recall how every window in the diner that night had held a lighted candle. He remembered the plastic evergreen that had clung to one corner, blinking a sad welcome. The way his own blood had oozed in a slow spill across the linoleum to soak the cheap Christmas skirt around that tree.

Shayla had worn a sprig of holly pinned to her lapel that night. Even now he could remember the scratch of it against his cheek as he’d bent down to kiss her when he’d left the car.

How long would it be before he’d be able to look at a symbol of Christmas and not think of death?

Feeling his back stiffen as if for battle, he continued up the walk.

The decorations were wasted. There wasn’t another soul outside. Too bad. This was the sort of Colorado night Matt loved. Crisp and clear in spite of the snowfall, so chilly that your breath rose in little clouds around your face. The sky was so deeply midnight blue that it could leave you speechless, and he could barely tell where the mountains ended and the heavens began.

In spite of the lecture he’d just given himself, he approached the front steps slowly, delaying the moment when he’d have to enter the house. Not so brave after all, it seemed.

And then suddenly he realized he’d been wrong. Someone was out here in the darkness.

A woman stood with her back to him, nothing more than a black silhouette. Illumination poured from the tall windows in warped, lemon squares of light along the length of the porch. Her body looked as if it had been dipped in gold, as though she’d bathed in it. In spite of the shawl draped around her shoulders, Matt could tell she was tall and slim. Because she seemed intent on watching the goings-on inside the house, he couldn’t see her face. She remained absolutely still, a silent observer. He wondered what had snagged her attention. And what had driven her outdoors.

She raked her fingers along the side of her hair. Then she shoved her hand underneath the dark mass of it, scoping upward along her scalp, so that momentarily it lifted off her shoulders. It was a gesture of impatience. Of annoyance. He knew it well. Over the years, that little habit of Leslie’s had always given her away whenever they’d squabbled.

It had been like a warning flag. Back off, D’Angelo, that movement had said. You’re making me angry.

He smiled to himself. Of all the people to encounter during this visit, he was ridiculously relieved to have Leslie Meadows be the first. With the exception of a few stolen hours at Nick and Kari’s wedding, he hadn’t seen her in so long, and he realized just how much he had missed her. Now here he was, running into the moment he’d been dreading, and Les’s presence would make it so much easier.

She was so intent on watching whatever was going on inside the house that she didn’t hear him come up behind her. He cupped her shoulders, then bent his lips to her ear. “What’s so fascinating?’ he whispered.

She whirled. The startled look in her eyes turned into exuberant pleasure almost immediately, so that warmth rushed through him.

“Matt!” she said on a little gasp of excitement and gripped his arm. “You’re here! You did come after all!”

“Of course I came,” he said, and when she grabbed him close for a hug, he pushed her dark hair away from her cheek and placed his lips against hers. His kiss was quick, friendly and unplanned. But it was nice—because on a cold night like this her lips were warm.

When he pulled away, he grinned at her. “Merry Christmas, Les.”

She angled back a little, and the way she blinked and looked at him said she hadn’t expected that kiss, either. But what the hell? After all these months of watching his life take a frightening and unknown course, her welcoming smile was a real treat.

She was, and always had been, the only woman he could be completely comfortable with. The only woman he had ever trusted with his dreams, his confessions and his secrets. More so than his family, his male buddies, or even the shrink the hospital had forced him to talk to after that awful night.

He felt a loosening inside his chest, as though something had given way, and suddenly he was glad he’d come home for the holidays.

In the golden light, Leslie’s eyes sparkled and gave her skin a lovely glow. She’d let her hair grow long again. It flattered her face. It seemed impossible that he had known her nearly all his life and had never once realized just how pretty she was.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

“Not half as much as I’ve missed you. You look terrific.”

Difficult to tell in the poor light, but he thought she blushed at that comment. Les had never been comfortable with compliments. He’d always suspected that it came from getting so few of them growing up. Her mother and father had never been demonstrative to their only child. Hell, when it came right down to it, they’d hardly known she existed.

She turned back toward the window. “Everyone will be so glad to see you.”

“Hmmm…Can’t wait,” he offered in a noncommittal tone.

Looking over her shoulder, he peered into Doc’s front parlor. Guests stood in little knots of conversation around the room, laughing, talking, sipping wine. He caught no sign of their host, whom he wanted to speak to before the older man headed off to California. Practical, logical, straight-talking Doc Hayward had been the one to guide Matt through every step of med school. He’d know what to make of the mess Matt’s life had become.

But passing time with everyone else in there? The thought made Matt’s head ache, made his lungs feel as though a band of steel encased them.

“Who’s here?” he asked.

“The usual crowd.”

“I see Ellis Hughes. And there’s Chad Pilcher. What’s he looking so sour about?”

“Felicia took him back to court. The judge increased his alimony.”

Matt let his gaze drift to another pocket of guests. “Tom Faraday’s gained weight.”

Leslie nodded. “Doc put him on a strict diet last summer, but so far he’s still fighting it.”

A statuesque blonde with a figure that had clearly been enhanced by something other than nature passed in front of the window. As first, Matt didn’t recognize her. Then he gasped. “Good Lord, is that Stacey Merrick? What did she do to herself? She looks fantastic.”

Stacey could be a first-class witch, and he remembered that she and Leslie had never been friends. Not surprisingly, Leslie made a disgusted sound. “She says it’s because she’s found inner peace, but her husband let the cat out of the bag. Dale’s complaining that she spent thirty thousand dollars of his hard-earned money getting nipped and tucked.”

“Thirty thousand! Damn, I knew I went into the wrong field of medicine.” He spotted his brother Nick in a corner alcove and was shocked to see him nuzzling the neck of his wife, whose eyes were closed in pure delight. That kind of behavior from Nick surprised him. “I see my big brother’s gotten drunk.”

“What makes you say that?” Leslie asked, with a frown in her voice.

“He’d die before indulging in a public display of affection.”

Leslie glance back at him, laughing. “He’s in love, silly.”

Conceding that love made people do crazy things, Matt moved on, catching sight of his sister talking to a tall, handsome fellow he didn’t recognize. Most of the men inside wore casual clothes, but this guy had on a suit that hadn’t come off any department-store rack. Neither of Matt’s parents had mentioned a new man in Adriana’s life.

“Who’s the blond Romeo talking to Addy? He’s better-looking than Stacey Merrick.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Don’t tell me he’s the new man in her life.”

“No.” Again, she looked back over her shoulder at him. This time, she smiled broadly. “Actually, he’s the new man in my life. Perry Jamison.”

He couldn’t help jerking upright suddenly. In the old days, Leslie had hardly dated, and when he thought of her recently, for some reason he never envisioned her with anyone. He shook his head. “He’s not your date.”

She scowled at him. “Why? Don’t you think I can attract someone that good-looking?”

She sounded a little hurt, and Matt realized he’d made a mistake.

“Of course you can,” he said quickly. He lifted a strand of dark hair off her shoulder, rubbing it between his fingers. It felt like silk. “I just meant he doesn’t strike me as your type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

“Sure you do,” Matt told her with a smile. “Every woman is drawn to a man for very specific reasons. Whether or not she understands exactly what those reasons are…” He jerked his head toward the window. “So what’s he offering?”

“He’s attentive and treats me well. Comes from one of the founding families of Colorado—”

“God, a blueblood.”

“Good breeding is important.”

“If you’re a poodle at the Westminster Kennel Club.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “He’s confident. Has money. Power—”

“But you’re not completely sold on him yet.”

“What makes you think that?” she asked sharply, her head tilting to give him a close look.

“Because if you were, you’d be in there by his side instead of out here keeping me company.”

He let go of her hair, swinging his gaze back to the parlor. The guy laughed at something Addy said. Matt recognized that sort of false, patronizing good humor, the kind of focused attention that most women seemed to crave. He’d used that trick often enough himself.

“What’s the matter?” Leslie asked.

He realized he was frowning, but frankly he was disappointed at Leslie’s choice. “You can do better than that pompous ass.”

She stared at him, open-mouthed. “You don’t even know him.”

“I know him all right. And I don’t like him.”

“Well, I do,” she said stubbornly. “And you don’t get a vote.”

“C’mon, Les. Look at the arrogance in his stance, the superior way he tilts his head, as though Addy’s requested an audience with a king. You can just tell that he thinks he’s someone special. God’s gift to the world.”

She made an annoyed sound, though he could tell she wasn’t really angry. “Oh, now I get it. You’re afraid he’ll take that title away from you.”

“If I was, I promise you, I’m not anymore.”

His response stunned him. He didn’t like the way those words came out, slightly bitter and angry-sounding. He felt every muscle in his body tense. When Les’s smile faded and her posture went rigid, he knew she’d heard it as well.

“Matt—”

“Sorry,” he said, hoping to keep her from saying anything he didn’t want to hear. “I didn’t intend to kill the mood.”

Before he could stop her, she lifted his left hand and tilted it toward the light.

Sometimes that hand seemed like a foreign object to him now. A part of him, and yet not. It wasn’t misshapen or repulsive, really. Some unattractive scars where the bullet had entered and exited. A network of stitch marks from the last surgery that had excised scar tissue bogging down the tendons. Most of the damage couldn’t be seen.

Leslie turned his hand over a couple of times, looking at it closely, like a mother inspecting a messy kid before he sat down at the dinner table. “How bad is it?” she asked in a soft voice. “Really?”

He considered lying. He didn’t want to discuss it, not even with Les. But she knew him too well, and because she was a nurse, she’d probably know if he tried to down play it.

Still, he shrugged, trying to sound as if he didn’t spend nearly every night wondering how the hell he was going to reinvent a medical career that depended on the most subtle dexterity of both his hands.

“The flexor tendons are still totally screwed,” he told her on a ragged breath, in a voice he hardly recognized. “There’s triggering in both the middle and forefinger so that there’s a sixty percent loss of flexibility.”

She looked up at him. “Cortisone injections?”

“Back in the beginning.”

“Therapy?”

He gave her a grim smile. “I’ve had some progress since the immobilization cast came off. The ring finger used to be completely locked so I had to straighten it by force, but that’s getting better.” He shook his head. “It could have been much worse, I suppose, but you know as well as I do what the ramifications will be if I can’t get significant mobility back.”

Les shook her head at him. “I wish you’d have let me come to Chicago to help you. Doc would have given me the extra time off, and I know I could have made a difference.”

That was the last thing he had wanted—Les or his family seeing him at his worst. “I had the whole hospital helping me,” he told her. “There’s nothing you could have done for me that wasn’t already being done.”

“I’m not talking about just the physical help,” she said. “I know how to make you do what’s best for you. How to keep you on the straight and narrow when all you want to do is slack off.”

He knew that was true. Les had always been the practical one, the one who never let him get away with anything. But the thought of her witnessing his weakness, his struggle…. In their relationship, he was the one who had always been strong.

“It wasn’t a good time,” he admitted. “I wasn’t someone anyone liked to be around, and I would never subject you to the person I was during all those months of recuperation.”

It wasn’t just the poor lighting. She looked stunned. He realized that, before this moment, she hadn’t had a clue how serious this injury was for a man who’d been touted in a medical magazine last winter as one of country’s rising stars of microsurgery. No reason why she should have known, he supposed. God knows, he hadn’t shared much of this with his parents, who already had enough to worry about with running the lodge.

Lost in the private misery of his own thoughts, he wasn’t prepared for Les’s reaction.

Cradling his hand in hers, she bent her head, touching her lips to the center of his palm. Spellbound, he could do nothing more than watch her, every nerve in his body tingling. In all the years of their unique history together, they’d never shared this kind of deliberately intimate moment before. Not once. Not even on that cold January night so long ago.

He felt a sweet sense of expansion in his chest, and a piercing alarm, all at once. He might even have reached out with his good hand to stroke her hair.

But in that moment, she lifted her head and looked at him. “I’m so sorry, Matt,” she said in a whisper filled with sadness. “This should never have happened to you. Not this.”

Pity was in her eyes. The one thing he did not want to see. From anyone. Especially not from Les.

He felt his pulse strong in his throat, as though he had swallowed a clock and it had lodged there. He pulled his hand out of her grasp, and somehow managed to shrug. “It shouldn’t happen to anyone, but I’m sure I’ll adjust,” he said. “Pity doesn’t make it any more palatable.”

She looked confused. “Matt, I wasn’t—”

“I should go in,” he said, stepping away from her. “There’s no point in standing out here in the cold. You should go in, too. It’s been good to see you again, Les.”

Inside the house were friends and family, full of questions and curiosity. They would touch those locked places in his mind. There would be whispers in quiet corners and surreptitious looks. They would stumble through well-meaning, but completely unrealistic predictions about his career. But how bad could it be compared to what he’d just witnessed in Les’s eyes?

Leslie made a move toward him. “Matt…” she began in an aggrieved voice, but by then he had already swung away from her and was headed for the front door.

CHAPTER THREE

THE NEXT MORNING Leslie stopped by the darkened clinic to pick up another tube of cream for Kari D’Angelo. Delivering the medicated ointment to her friend offered the best excuse to see Matt again.

The day was cold, with a faint dusting of new snow on all the buildings, so that even the oldest of them gleamed fresh and sparkling. The air was filled with the scent of wood smoke and pine. A brilliant blue sky made Broken Yoke look postcard pretty this morning, Leslie decided.

But she knew the town was barely holding its own. Last year they’d lost one of the motels down by the interstate. This year, the doors had closed on two restaurants, a flower shop and Myerson Cleaners, which had been in business for nearly sixty years. The week-long festival Broken Yoke had held this past summer— Mayor Wickham’s brainchild to bring tourists into town—had been an embarrassment and a costly flop. Merchants were still stopping the mayor on the street to complain about the money they’d lost.

The recent economic difficulties hadn’t extended to the clinic. With Doc Hayward one of only two full-time physicians in the immediate area, the waiting room stayed busy. During certain times of the year—flu season, for example—Leslie put in so many hours that sometimes her own cat didn’t recognize her when she came home.

Leslie realized that her attention had wandered, and she jerked it back to the road. She had always been a terrible driver. It was common knowledge in town that she couldn’t parallel park, that her turns were too sharp and her stops too abrupt. Even Matt, patient and filled with the masculine certainty that he could teach any one to drive, had almost given up on her when she’d flunked her test a second time.

It wasn’t until she turned off the car’s engine in the parking lot of Lightning River Lodge that she finally took the time to sit and gather her thoughts.

The lodge was one of her favorite places, grand without being pretentious, warm and welcoming to anyone who crossed its threshold. Compared to the yellowed linoleum floor and fake wood-paneled walls of the trailer she’d called home as a child, it was like stepping into a dreamscape. Massive log beams. Huge windows. Cozy corners where you could sink into furniture that folded around your body like a glove.

She supposed there were fancier resorts along the craggy, majestic mountaintops that made up Colorado’s Front Range, but Leslie couldn’t think of any that offered what Lightning River Lodge was famous for—the hospitality of its hosts, the D’Angelo clan.

A gracious reception wasn’t just reserved for paying guests, either. Leslie had been visiting here for years, and the family had always welcomed her into their midst. A thought slid into her mind with frightening clarity. The D’Angelos had come to mean more to her than her own family.

Why then, this hesitancy?

She remembered that fleeting vision of Matt’s face last night in the porch light, the abrupt end to their conversation. It had started out so well—just like the old days—with laughter and sarcasm and the warm camaraderie that came from being with a person you knew as well as yourself.

But when talk had turned to Matt’s damaged hand, he had done something he’d never done before. Not with her.

He had shut down. Pushed her away.

That reaction had been a completely new experience. Over the years they’d naturally had a few disagreements, but there had always been open and honest warfare between them, never that wary, distancing chill.

She knew the cause of it, of course. She should have chosen her words more carefully, should have schooled her features before responding to the sight of his injury. Matt, who had always been so gifted, so confident and bold, had never been pitied in his life. But in just a moment, with a few words she had instantly regretted, pity was exactly what she had offered him.

He had left the party before she could make it right between them, but this morning she would explain somehow. He’d understand. He had to. A real rift between them didn’t bear thinking about.

She got out of the car quickly, tucking her serviceable old coat around her for warmth and keeping her hands shoved into the deep pockets. She went up the long drive, her breath blowing warm little puffs against her cheeks. It had to be a good ten degrees colder at this elevation.

The air was as still and hushed as a church chapel. Beyond the hiking trails along the ridge and through the evergreen trees, Leslie caught sight of Lightning Lake. It was small and had been frozen solid for a couple of weeks now. On a beautiful, clear day like today, the surface sparkled in the sunlight, as though the ice were embedded with diamond dust.

She had a special fondness for that lake. It was there, years ago, that she’d had her first real conversation with Matt.

Although they’d been in the same sixth-grade class that year, she’d never actually spoken to Matt D’Angelo before. He was everything she was not—popular with the other kids, a favorite of the teachers. He’d already begun to display a natural talent for sports and a killer charm. His life was headed on an upward course, and Leslie suspected he knew it.

The boys he hung out with were cocky, arrogant creeps. The girls were giggly future cheerleaders already in love with their own images. None of them were Leslie’s friends. No one in Matt’s circle would have ever sat at the same lunchroom table with someone who lived in Mobley’s Mobile Court.

She told herself that their shallow attitudes suited her just fine. In spite of mediocre grades, she wasn’t stupid. Living with two volatile parents had taught her a lot about survival. Since summer that year, trouble at home had been particularly stressful. Her father’s temper was in full force due to his inability to hold a job for very long. She’d been busy developing an I-don’t-care approach toward the world in general from the day school started.

In February the PTA held a fundraiser, and the D’Angelos offered their property for a winter carnival—sleigh rides, cross-country skiing on the trails, ice-skating on Lightning Lake. Everyone said the D’Angelos knew how to host a celebration, and it should be fun as well as profitable.

Leslie had no intention of going.

But the day before the fundraiser she found herself suddenly volunteering to help out. Her parents were in the middle of a three-day argument, and with the weekend ahead and tempers escalating, the last place Leslie wanted to be was home, playing referee and maybe getting in the line of fire herself. Besides, she had a secret longing to see just what was so darned special about Lightning River Lodge, a place she’d been hearing about all her life.

By midmorning her feet felt frozen and her cheeks stung. The job of selling hot chocolate at a booth by the lake bored her. Only pride kept her from marching off and leaving Mrs. Elliott, the history teacher, to run the concession alone.

Every kid she despised seemed to be on the lake that day. She watched as they sailed laughingly around the ice. The boys wove in and out of the crowd with long, wild strokes—imagining themselves professional hockey players, no doubt. The girls spun in short skating skirts, a rainbow dazzle.

She’d seen Matt D’Angelo whiz by the stand several times. He made skating look effortless. His arms never flailed; he never lost his balance. He could stop so quickly that ice particles sprayed out from his skate blades.

Show off, she thought, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Mrs. Elliott had gone up to the lodge for a few minutes, and Leslie had just poured herself some steaming chocolate when Matt skated up to the stand. Since his family had furnished the cocoa, she thought he might expect a freebie, but he didn’t hesitate to plunk down fifty cents.

Without a word she passed him a cup. He wrapped both hands around the plastic and took a cautious sip.

His cheeks were blotchy red, his dark hair disheveled, but there was a undeniable aura of potent energy about him; something in his eyes radiated confidence. In spite of herself, Leslie felt a warm tingle begin in her stomach. They spent several long seconds studying one another in such an odd silence that she picked up her own fresh cup and took a large swallow.

She had to stifle a gasp of pain. The heat from the cocoa seared the taste buds right off her tongue.

One of Matt D’Angelo’s brows lifted. “Didn’t that hurt?”

“No,” she lied, trying to suck cold air through her slightly parted lips.

“You sure?”

“It doesn’t,” she claimed, mortified. “Okay?”

His mouth quirked. “Guess it’s true what Danny says about you.”

The mention of his friend Danny LeBrock made her spine stiffen. She hated him. He insisted on trying to torment her with every dumb variation of her name he could think of—Help-Les. Friend-Les. Wit-Les. Lately he’d been partial to Hope-Les. She stared at Matt rigidly, unable to contain her curiosity. “What does Danny say about me?”

“That you’re the toughest girl he’s ever met.”

“He’s an idiot. I’ll bet he doesn’t even know very many girls. What girl would talk to him?”

Over the rim of his cup, Matt’s eyes sparkled in a look she’d seen him use on the other girls and several teachers. “Yeah, that’s probably true. Danny can be a loser sometimes.” He took another sip of chocolate, and she pretended to do the same.

“Can you taste anything yet?” he asked knowingly.

She nodded, though that wasn’t really true.

“Mom makes the best hot chocolate. She says the recipe is over a hundred years old and came all the way from Italy. From her mother’s family.”

She had to admit, Matt’s parents seemed like nice people. Mrs. D’Angelo had brought Leslie gloves to wear when she saw that she had forgotten her own. Without muttering a complaint, Mr. D’Angelo trudged down the trail time and again to keep them supplied with hot chocolate from the resort’s kitchen. They were so unlike her own folks, she wasn’t sure they were real.

Leslie gave him a look of mild interest, refusing to seem too impressed even though the chocolate was completely unlike the watery, instant brew she was used to. The rich mixture had filled her insides like a hot bath.

Someone called Matt’s name, and he looked over his shoulder. One of the girls he hung out with gestured for him to come back to the ice. He turned to Leslie. “Do you want to skate? We’re going to start up a game of whipcracker if we can get enough people.”

Her heart gave a little kick like a can-can dancer. As much as she wanted to say yes, she couldn’t. Her flailing trip across the ice would be as inept as a two-year-old child’s. Worse, maybe.

She fumbled around for inspiration, but came up empty. “I didn’t bring skates,” she said at last. “I came to work, not have fun.”

She sounded irritable, when she’d meant to sound practical. Matt didn’t seem to mind. He gave a little inside chuckle that threatened to draw her into the warm circle of his personality. “Take it easy. I’m just asking if you want to skate a few minutes, not rob a bank. I can snag a pair from the lodge if you want. We always keep extras for guests.”

“Look, I’m not interested.”

“Why not? I’ll bet Mrs. Elliott will watch the stand by herself for a while. She’s pretty cool for a teacher.”

Panic turned the chocolate in her stomach to an icy waterfall. She’d been hungry for friendship this year, but she wasn’t prepared for this overture. Not from someone like Matt D’Angelo, who probably had to beat friends off with a stick.

She gave him a challenging look. “Why are you talking to me?”

He looked genuinely puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not like your friends.” She jerked her head toward the ice, where several of his buddies were clowning around, waiting for him. “They won’t like it if you make them be nice to me.”

“I don’t make my friends do anything,” he said with a scowl. “And they don’t tell me who I can talk to.” He tilted his head at her. “Why are you so mad? Do you really want to fight over playing a couple of stupid games on the ice?”

Anger killed all sense of caution within her. “I can’t skate, okay? I never learned.”

She expected him to laugh, but he didn’t. “Is that all?” he asked. “Shoot, I can teach you in two minutes. Lucky for you, I’m the best skater on the lake today.”

Someone had to keep him from being so arrogantly sure of himself. “You’re not very modest,” she told him.

“Why should I be? It’s the truth.”

“I don’t want to learn to skate,” she said precisely.

“Sure you do.”

“No, I don’t. I want you to go away and leave me alone.”

She waited to be rewarded with anger from him now. How many times had he been told to get lost? Not many, she’d bet. But in the next moment, she caught sight of real catastrophe on the way. Danny LeBrock had skated off the ice and was crab-walking toward them.

He came up beside Matt and gave her his usual evil grin. “Hey there, Brain-Les.” His eyes raked over her mismatched clothes. “Nice outfit. Did you steal that sweater off a scarecrow?”

Most of the time Leslie ignored Danny’s taunts, vowing never to let him get to her, but the conversation with Matt had given her a wild, flaring discontent that left her unable to heed anything resembling rational behavior.

She lifted her chin. “Could I ask you a question, Danny?”

Danny looked suspicious. “What?”

“Is it true what everyone says? That your family tree is really just one stick and your father is also your uncle?”

It took him a moment to understand the insult. She caught sight of amusement in Matt’s eyes and the slightly off-centered lift of his mouth.

Danny paled and then his features tightened to cold-blooded scrutiny. Even at that young age, Leslie knew she’d made an enemy for life.

He shook his head. “I sure can’t figure out how you’re too dumb to make good grades when you have such a smart mouth.”

“Considering that your belt buckle probably weighs more than your brains, I’m surprised you can figure out much of anything.”

Ruddy blotches added more color to Danny’s cheeks as disbelief swept over him like a tide. He looked for help from Matt. “Who does she think she is?”

“Someone who doesn’t like to be insulted, I guess,” Matt said. “Let it go, Danny. Don’t spoil a nice day by being a total jerk.”

Danny made a move to come around the counter toward her. “Do you know what I should do?”

Matt halted him by taking a small step into his path. “What?” he asked. “Shut up and go back to the ice?”

After chewing the sides of his mouth for a moment, Danny blew a disgusted breath. The tightness in Leslie’s chest began to ease as he backed away. “We’re getting up a hockey game on the far end of the lake,” he said to Matt in a sullen tone. “If you can tear yourself away.”

They watched him filter into the crowd of skaters, then Matt turned back to face her. “My father says a still tongue makes a wise head,” he told her. “You ought to be more careful about the battles you pick.”

“Seems to me you ought to pick better friends.”

He laughed and tossed his empty cup in the waste-basket. “Most of the time I don’t pick them. They pick me.” With a few graceful steps, he was on the ice again, skating backwards as he called out to her, “Let me know if you and Danny ever decide to duke it out. I’ll hold your coat.”

Turning, he disappeared into the crowd of skaters. Leslie didn’t see him again that day.

On Monday morning Danny LeBrock showed up at school with a butterfly bandage plastered across his swollen nose and a black eye. One of the girls who specialized in classroom gossip told Leslie that Matt D’Angelo had accidentally flattened Danny during the hockey game on the lake. Nobody seemed to know the exact circumstances, but Danny sure didn’t seem chummy with Matt that day.

Leslie made a point to catch up with him between classes. She didn’t waste time with vague hints as she came up beside his locker. “I hear you whacked Danny LeBrock. Nearly broke his nose.”

He stopped twirling the combination lock and looked at her. “Yeah. His face picked a fight with my elbow during the hockey game Saturday. My elbow won.”

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“No. Why would I do that?”

“You mean, besides the fact that he’s a nasty little creep who probably has a 666 birthmark someplace on his skull?”

“That’s not very nice,” he said with a laugh. He shook his head and went back to fiddling with his lock. “No wonder you have a hard time making friends.”

“I don’t. I’m just picky. Unlike some people.”

His eyes swung sharply back to her. “Danny isn’t my friend.”

“Since Saturday?”

“Since forever. I can’t help who tries to hang around with me. My mother says I’m charismatic. That means—”

“I know what it means,” she said. “I hope your mother also tells you that a little modesty is a good thing in a person.”

“You know, you’re a riot, Meadows. You ought to have your own television show.”

He looked annoyed now, and her heart banged up in her throat, but her battered dignity wouldn’t allow her to back down.

“I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me,” she told him.

“No. You don’t,” he said in the mildest tone she’d ever heard. But in the next moment, her insides swam with an odd sense of loss when he slammed his hand upward to shut his lock. Giving her a final sullen look, he turned away and left her standing in the hallway.

She was quite sure that that would be the last conversation she’d ever have with Matt. She avoided him for weeks, and he certainly seemed oblivious to her presence. But in the spring, her life suddenly went from bad to worse.

Her father lost his job in construction. After drowning his misfortune at a bar, Quentin Meadows decided that the best way to handle unemployment was to slash his ex-foreman’s tires and smash the windshield of his truck. He spent two nights in jail.

Leslie endured those forty-eight hours as though she’d been sentenced as well. She listened to her mother cry, tried to convince her to eat something, and wished she had the nerve to run away.

By then she should have been used to the self-destructive events that seemed to pepper her life as a member of the Meadows family. And this one wasn’t too bad, really. Although everyone knew about it, none of the kids mentioned the incident when she came back to school. Not even Danny LeBrock, who had stopped calling her names and was now focusing all his attention on some other poor victim.

Leslie had forgotten about her English teacher and worst nemesis, Mrs. Bickley.

The woman hated her for the lack of thought she put into her homework, for daydreaming in class, but mostly—Leslie was sure—for being poor. Rumor had it that Bickley had come from the wrong side of Lightning River herself and despised any reminder of that past, especially from a slacker like Leslie Meadows.

The last-period bell had rung when Mrs. Bickley caught the attention of every kid. “Just one moment, class,” she said, sounding as though she’d just remembered something. “Leslie, I meant to speak to you.”

Leslie didn’t say a word as she stood beside her desk and waited. It was her first day back, and she was determined to keep a low profile. All around her she could feel the other kid’s stares, their eagerness to go. The girls blew impatient breaths. Behind her Danny LeBrock smothered an oath. Beside her Matt slowly stuffed homework papers into his notebook.

Mrs. Bickley gave her a sweet smile. Leslie should have known right then that trouble was coming. “Can you come to school early tomorrow morning?” she asked. “I’d like you to make up the test you missed yesterday.”

“Sure,” Leslie said. “What time?”

“Seven o’clock?” the woman replied, pretending to hunt for her scheduling book.

That was another bad sign. Bickley was a neat freak who knew where everything on her desk was.

After a moment, the teacher frowned. “Yes. Can you make it that early? I mean, your father isn’t still…going through his current difficulties, is he?”

There was a snort of laughter from the back of the room and a few tittering whispers. Blood pounded loudly in Leslie’s ears. That swipe had to be deliberate. It had to be.

“You mean, is my Dad still in jail?” she asked in a voice that hardly shook at all. “No, he’s out. I don’t know what terrible trouble he’s got planned next, so I’ll get Mom to bring me.”

Bickley gave Leslie one of her mechanical smiles that never reached her eyes. “That will be fine, then. I’ll be waiting for you at seven. Class dismissed.”

Leslie nodded and stumbled awkwardly out of the room. She didn’t stop for anything or anyone. She didn’t take the bus home that day. She ran past the school’s track-and-field hut, through the open meadows that were just starting to pop with spring wildflowers, down the back alleys of Broken Yoke where trash cans overflowed. She followed Lightning River all the way to the turnoff for the interstate, and only stopped running when the stitch in her side doubled her over.

By the time she went home it was almost dark. She was drenched in sweat, breathing so heavily that she felt dizzy. Her parents weren’t home, but that didn’t surprise her. She fell on the old plaid sofa that smelled of beer and cheap perfume and wondered just how fast your heart had to beat before it killed you.

The next day she felt better. The horrid feelings that had curdled her insides yesterday were locked down so tight there was no way they could get out again. She was completely calm. She got to school early.

The door to Mrs. Bickley’s class was already open, but the English teacher wasn’t there.

Leslie went over to the woman’s desk and pulled on the top drawer, relieved to find it unlocked. She’d half expected to have to pry it open. Inside were all the supplies Mrs. Bickley treasured, everything tucked away in tidy little compartments.

She fished the jar she’d brought out of her backpack, unscrewed the lid, and dumped a quart of raw honey into the drawer.

She didn’t expect to get away with it. She didn’t really care. She was almost in a stupor, watching the honey spread in a slow, golden river over everything in its path.

When the classroom door opened and closed, she knew it would be Bickley. Drawing a deep breath, she straightened, fully prepared for a shriek of horror and a swift march down to the principal’s office. The wrath of God was about to descend on her pretty quick.

But when she lifted her eyes, it wasn’t Mrs. Bickley she saw coming toward her. It was Matt D’Angelo.

He didn’t say a word, and neither did she. She watched him inspect the damage. His features didn’t give much away. Maybe his mouth tightened a little.

Finally, he looked back at her. “I thought you were just fooling everyone with your grades, that you were really pretty smart. But you’re actually dumber than a box of bent nails.”

Those were practically the first words he’d said to her since February. She crossed her arms and gave him a sullen look. “I wasn’t expecting an audience.”

“Doesn’t matter if anyone sees you or not. Bickley’s gonna know you did this. Everybody will.”

Leslie shrugged. “I don’t care.”

“No reason why you should, I guess. Not after what that bitch said in front of everyone yesterday.”

She blinked. She’d never heard Matt say anything remotely nasty before. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who would end up in hell someday.

He went quiet again, staring down at the mess in the drawer. He shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“How did you know I was in here?” she asked.

“I watched you from Coach Mitterman’s office. I’m his gopher this semester. I figured you weren’t coming in early just to make points with Bickley, so I thought I’d check it out.”

“I’m glad you didn’t get here in time to stop me,” she said in a determined voice. “You couldn’t. And I’m not going to run away and pretend I don’t know anything.”

He snorted. “No. You wouldn’t want someone to keep you from getting a three-day suspension. If not more.”

“I don’t care if they expel me from school for good. It will just be what everyone thinks I deserve anyway. No one expects anyone in the Meadows family ever to amount to anything. Including you.”

He frowned, looking annoyed. “I’ve never said that.”

“You don’t have to.”

He stared at her, hard, while she continued to throw him mutinous looks.

“You know what your problem is, Leslie?” he said at last. “You’re so busy trying to make sure no one thinks you care about anything that you don’t know how to act normal. You have a chip on your shoulder as big as Mount Rushmore. You never say please or thank you or…” He gave a rough laugh, as though disgusted with himself. “Oh, forget it. Bickley’s gonna come in here any minute and have a cow. You’ll probably make matters worse by spitting in her eye, and then she’ll flatten you but good. That’s probably what you need anyway.”

Surprisingly, his apparent dislike for her hurt more than anything Danny LeBrock had ever said. Tears stung the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them come. “Then you’d better get out of here. I wouldn’t want you to see what happens if she tries to lay a finger on me.”

He sighed heavily and shook his head. “There’s no saving you. Danny was wrong. You’re not Hope-Les. You’re Clue-Les.”

She bristled. “At least I’m not so full of myself that I have to duck my big head to get it through the doorway.”

He gave her that smile that made the girls giggle nervously. “Smart aleck.”

“Over-achiever.”

“Idiot.”

They subsided into a strange silence then, and in that moment the classroom door opened again. This time it was Mrs. Bickley. She approached them both with a frown between her overly plucked eyebrows.

It didn’t take her long to see the damage. The honey sent up a sickening sweet odor that began to turn Leslie’s stomach a little. When it came right down to it, she wasn’t sure just how she’d handle the woman’s reaction.

Mrs. Bickley, as pale as her crisp, white blouse, ignored Matt completely and snapped her gaze over to Leslie. She knew perfectly well who the guilty party was. “How could you do such a hateful thing?” she asked through the middle of her teeth.

“Actually, she didn’t,” Matt spoke up from behind her. “I did.”

Even after all these years it was still so clear to Leslie—the shock on Mrs. Bickley’s face, her refusal to believe Matt capable of such a trick. He stuck to his story, that he had done it because she had given him a B on the last test when he’d been sure his essay had deserved an A. Leslie had come into the classroom after he’d poured the honey, he told the astonished teacher. When Leslie opened her mouth to protest, he gave her such a threatening look that she clammed up again, so shocked she couldn’t have spoken anyway.

What could Principal Smith do in the face of such a calm, unshakable confession? Matt was suspended for three days.

No one had ever gone out on a limb like that for Leslie. All her fights had been fought alone, and she was shaken by Matt’s gesture, then suspicious. Why had he done it?

Finally, she recognized it for what it was.

On the third day of his suspension, Leslie hitched a ride up to Lightning River Lodge. Mr. D’Angelo was in the lobby, stoking the huge fireplace with pieces of wood as big as the television set at home. She asked to see Matt, and when he scowled and told her Matt wasn’t allowed to see anyone, she begged. He told her she could have five minutes.

She found him around the back of the lodge, chopping wood. There was so much of it piled around him that he looked like he’d been doing that chore for a week. When he saw her, he stopped and waited for her to reach him, wiping sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.

He didn’t look mad, though she wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. All the words she’d rehearsed up the mountain road deserted her. Panic began a slow crawl up her spine because she knew she wasn’t going to get this right.

He frowned. “Now what have you done?”

She shook her head, unable to speak.

He pointed to her face. “Then what’s with the plumbing problem?”

She realized that her cheeks were wet with tears. Humiliating. Such a stupid reaction. She wished she could turn around and run down the mountain, because she realized that Matt D’Angelo had offered her something she didn’t think existed. With his gesture of friendship, he had changed her whole life.

She remembered the short lecture he’d given her in Mrs. Bickley’s classroom. Plunging in before she lost her courage, she said, “You were right. I do have a chip on my shoulder. But you’re wrong about one thing. I do know how to say thank you, because I’m saying it now. Thank you.”

He stared at her for a long moment, while her heart missed beats. Then his deep, generous smile was all the reward she could have asked for.

From that moment on, they were friends.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE REALIZATION that her feet were freezing brought Leslie back to the present. She checked her watch. She’d been standing—lost in those early memories—on the snowy trail that led down to Lightning Lake for twenty minutes. She turned and trekked back up the path, recognizing this small side trip to the lake as a subconscious delaying tactic.

Why should she delay entering the lodge? The Matt D’Angelo she knew had never been the type to hold a grudge. If he was upset about last night, he’d say so, and they’d talk it out.

But that’s your real fear, isn’t it? What if he’s not the Matt D’Angelo you know anymore?

The sort of thing he’d been through last year could change even the strongest person.

She drew a deep breath. With renewed determination she turned away from those uncertainties. They’d been friends too long to let something like this spoil everything.

Halfway up the trail, Leslie encountered Tessa D’Angelo.

Last year Nick’s daughter, full of adolescent high spirits and hormonal confusion, had inflicted a great deal of worry on the family, but she seemed to have settled down considerably since her father had married Kari. She was normally cheerful and upbeat, but this morning she wasn’t smiling.

“Good morning,” Leslie said as the teenager approached.

“Nothing good about it,” Tessa replied.

“What’s wrong?”

“If you’re smart, you’ll turn around and head back down the mountain right now before it’s too late.”

“Why?”

Tessa jerked her head toward the lodge entrance. “World War Three is about to break out in there between Nonno Sam and Mr. Waxman.”

Leslie gave her a surprised look. Sam D’Angelo had been friends with Leo Waxman, the town electrician, for years. Both men served on the town council together, and she knew that Sam and his wife, Rose, were godparents to Leo’s son. “But they’re like brothers.”

“Yeah, well, that was before a chipmunk somehow got in the back door and Mr. Waxman’s German shepherd chased it all over the place and destroyed everything in its path. It looks like someone took a chainsaw to the lobby.”

Leslie noticed that Tessa gingerly cradled a dish towel in her arms, and suddenly the material moved. “Is that it?” Leslie asked.

As though the chipmunk wanted to acknowledge her interest, it squeaked softly.

“Yep. Poor thing is scared to death, but it will chill out once I let it go down by the lake. I just wish it hadn’t climbed up the Christmas tree.”

“Not the big one in the lobby?” Leslie said, almost in a whisper.

“That’s the one.”

Leslie’s eyes widened. After all these years she knew the D’Angelo family Christmas traditions very well. Sam D’Angelo’s hunt for the perfect blue spruce—one for the lobby and one for the family’s private quarters—was treated like a mission handed to him by God. And Rose spent hours decorating them, insisting that every ornament be hung just right, that every light be held erect with a pipe cleaner so that it stood like a candle.

“The tree fell over,” Tessa continued. “Dad and Uncle Matt are trying to get it to stand again, but I think it’s a goner.” She placed a gentle hand on top of the towel, as though offering comfort to the little creature inside. “Really, if you were a chipmunk being chased by a big dog, wouldn’t you head up the nearest tree to escape? And it’s not like it planned to come into the lodge. It was probably looking for somewhere out of the cold.”

“Let’s just hope it’s the only chipmunk with that idea.”

“Don’t even think it,” Tessa said, starting off down the path again. “Good luck. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The chaos Tessa had described met Leslie when she entered the lobby. The Christmas tree, which topped out at twelve feet so it wouldn’t be dwarfed by the high, beamed ceiling, was awkwardly being held upright by Nick. Leo Waxman hung on to the collar of his excited dog, who barked repeatedly at nothing in particular. Kari and Rose D’Angelo were picking up fallen ornaments. Broken tree limbs dangled, raining needles everywhere. Decorations swung back and forth on the tree as though trapped in a gentle wind.

Leslie caught sight of Matt on the floor, half-hidden by the limbs. He was on his stomach, trying to replant the tree in its stand and evidently meeting with little success. The massive spruce tipped every time Nick loosened his hold.

“Can’t you make that beast be quiet?” Sam D’Angelo growled at Leo from his wheelchair. He held a cardboard box on his lap, filled with broken ornaments.

“He’s excited,” Leo explained, stroking his dog’s head to no avail. “When that damned thing came charging at me, he thought I was being attacked. He’s trained to protect me.”

“From a rodent no bigger than your fist?” Sam exclaimed in disgust. “That dog is blind as well as stupid.”

“Brutus isn’t to blame if—”

“Leo!” Rose spoke up. “Take the dog outside. Sam, sit there and be silent. Shouting at one another doesn’t help.” As Leo hurried out the front door with Brutus, Matt’s mother caught sight of Leslie and nodded. “Hello, Leslie. As you can see, we’ve lost a little of the Christmas spirit this morning.”

“I heard. Anything I can do to help?”

“Can you grab one end of this?” Kari said from the side of a huge leather couch that sat in front of the fireplace. “I think some ornaments rolled under it.”

Hearing her request, Nick stopped fiddling with the tree and stuck his head around the spreading limbs to shake his head at his wife. “No, you don’t. You’re not lifting the couch. With or without someone’s help.” He threw an irritable glance toward the floor, where Matt was groaning now under the effort of trying to wedge the tree back in the stand. “Come on, Matt. What’s taking so long? Trade places with me if you can’t manage it.”

“Damn it. Just give me a minute,” Matt called up at him.

That impatient cross exchange made Leslie realize that the brothers were out of sorts with one another. Did Nick think he could make a faster job of it? Was a lack of dexterity and strength in Matt’s left hand making him feel as though he wasn’t up to the task? Or was it all just the frustration of the situation?

Rose picked up a delicate-looking silver sleigh ornament and saw that one of the runners dangled. She made a little sound of distress. “This was given to me when I was a little girl,” she said. “By my grandmother.”

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