Love On The Mountain

Peace and quiet—that’s all Connor Pierce wanted from the rented cabin on Crimson Mountain. Yet the caretaker turned out to be lovely April Sanders—a total distraction. As were the two little girls she was caring for. Connor’s plan to forget his painful past soon detoured into giving the ladies a Christmas to remember.

Being named guardian of two motherless girls has upended April’s world. Add to the mix a mysterious, brooding writer claiming he wanted to be left alone while going out of his way to bring a little joy to the girls, and she has quite the quandary. April had counted herself out of a happy ending. But maybe Santa still had a few surprises up his merry old sleeve...

“And it’s going to be fun, so prepare yourself.” April said the words so softly, he barely heard her.

Something in his chest loosened, and it was easier to flash her a genuine smile. “Are you insinuating I’m not fun?”

She let out a little huff of laughter. “Of course not. Connor Pierce, life of the party.”

“Thank you, April.” He wanted to say more, to assure her he’d thought this through and it was a good idea. But he hadn’t, and as insignificant as a visit to town seemed, the weight of it suddenly crashed over him, making it difficult to catch his breath. He opened the door, the biting cold air a welcome distraction.

Fun was no longer part of his repertoire, so he had five minutes to retrieve parts of himself that he’d shut away after the accident. He’d asked for this, and he had to figure out a way to manage it. It was one afternoon in a small mountain town. How difficult could it be?

* * *

Crimson, Colorado: Finding home—and forever—in the West

Christmas on Crimson Mountain

Michelle Major

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MICHELLE MAJOR grew up in Ohio but dreamed of living in the mountains. Soon after graduating with a degree in journalism, she pointed her car west and settled in Colorado. Her life and house are filled with one great husband, two beautiful kids, a few furry pets and several well-behaved reptiles. She’s grateful to have found her passion writing stories with happy endings. Michelle loves to hear from her readers at www.michellemajor.com.

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For my fierce and feisty sister-in-law, Jenny.

One of the best perks of marrying your

brother was getting you as friend.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“It’s so white.”

April Sanders flicked a glance in the rearview mirror as she drove along the winding road up Crimson Mountain.

Her gaze landed on the sullen twelve-year-old girl biting down on her bottom lip as she stared out the SUV’s side window.

“It’s pretty, right?” April asked hopefully. “Peaceful?” She’d come to love the mountains in winter, especially on days without the sunny skies that made Colorado famous. The muted colors brought a stillness to the forest that seemed to calm something inside of her.

“It’s white,” Ranie Evans repeated. “White is boring.”

“I like snow,” Ranie’s sister, Shay, offered from her high perch in the booster seat. Shay was almost five, her personality as sunny as Ranie’s was sullen.

April didn’t blame Ranie for her anger. In the past month, the girls had been at their mother’s side as she’d lost her fight with cancer, then spent a week on their aunt’s pullout couch before they’d landed in Colorado with April.

Even this wasn’t permanent. At least that’s what April told herself. The idea of raising these two girls, as their mother’s will had stipulated, scared her more than anything she’d faced in life. More than her own battle with breast cancer. More than a humiliating divorce from her famous Hollywood director husband. More than rebuilding a shell of a life in the small mountain town of Crimson, Colorado. More than—

“Can we make a snowman at the cabin?” Shay asked, cutting through April’s brooding thoughts.

“You don’t want to go outside,” Ranie cautioned her sister. “Your fingers will freeze off.”

“No one’s fingers are freezing off,” April said quickly, hearing Shay’s tiny gasp of alarm. “You’ve both got winter gear now, with parkas and mittens.” The first stop after picking up the girls at Denver International Airport had been to a nearby sporting-goods store. April had purchased everything they’d need for the next two weeks in the mountains. “Of course we can build a snowman. We can build a whole snow family if you want.”

“What we want is to go back to California.”

April didn’t need another check in the rearview mirror. She could feel Ranie glaring at her from the backseat, every ounce of the girl’s ill temper focused on April.

“Mom took us to the beach every Christmas. Why wouldn’t Aunt Tracy take us to Hawaii with her? Why couldn’t you come to Santa Barbara? You used to live in LA. I remember you from when I was little and Mom first got sick.”

April tightened her grip on the steering wheel as memories of her friend Jill rushed over her. Taking the turn around one of the two-lane road’s steep switchbacks, she punched the accelerator too hard and felt the tires begin to spin as they lost traction.

Ignoring the panicked shrieks from the backseat, she eased off the gas pedal and corrected the steering, relieved to feel the SUV under her control again.

“It’s okay,” she assured the girls with a forced smile. April was still adjusting to driving during Colorado winters. “The road is icy up here, but we’re close to the turnoff for the cabin.” She risked another brief look and saw that Ranie had reached across the empty middle seat to take Shay’s hand, both girls holding on like the lifeline they were to each other.

It broke April’s heart.

She pulled off onto the shoulder after turning up the recently plowed gravel drive that led to Cloud Cabin. The quasi “remote wilderness experience” was an offshoot of Crimson Ranch, the popular guest ranch in the valley, and had opened earlier in the fall. The owners happened to be April’s best friend, movie actress Sara Travers, and her husband, Josh. April had first come to Crimson with Sara three years ago, both women burned out and broken down by their lives in Hollywood.

April knew this town could heal someone when they let it. Crimson—and Josh’s love—had done that for Sara. April also recognized that she’d held herself back from the community and hadn’t truly become a part of it.

Throwing the SUV into Park, she turned to the backseat and met the wary gazes of each of her late friend’s precious girls. “I’m sorry your aunt couldn’t change her plans for the holidays.” She took a deep breath as frustration over Tracy’s callous attitude toward her nieces threatened to overtake her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to California for these weeks. I have a work commitment here that can’t be changed.”

“I thought you were a yoga teacher.” Ranie snatched her fingers away from Shay’s grasp. “Who does yoga in the snow?”

“No one I know.” April wanted to unstrap her seat belt, crawl into the backseat and gather the surly girl into her arms and try to hug away some of the pain pouring off her. “There’s a guest coming to stay at the cabin for Christmas. I need to get there and make sure everything is in order before he arrives. He’s a writer and needs to finish a book. He wants the privacy of the mountains to concentrate.”

She was already behind, the detour to the airport in Denver pushing back her arrival at Cloud Cabin a few hours. “My job is to cook for him, manage the housekeeping and—”

Ranie offered her best preteen sneer. “Like you’re a maid?”

“Like I take care of people,” April corrected.

“Like you’re taking care of us because Mommy died.” Shay’s voice was sad but still sweet.

“I am, honey,” April whispered around the ball of emotion clogging her throat. She smiled at Ranie, but the girl’s eyes narrowed, as if she knew being with April was anything but a sure bet for their future.

April turned up the brightness of her smile as she looked at Shay. “Only about a quarter mile more.” She turned to the front and flipped on the radio, tuning it to a satellite station that got reception even in this remote area. “How about some holiday music? Do either of you have a favorite Christmas song?”

“‘Rudolph,’” Shay shouted, clapping her hands.

April pulled the SUV back onto the snow-packed road. “How about you, Ranie?”

“I hate Christmas music,” the girl muttered, then added, “but not as much as I hate you.”

Despite the jab to her heart, April ignored the rude words. She turned up the volume and sang along until the cabin came into view. A driver was bringing Connor Pierce, who was flying into the Aspen airport, to the cabin. The fact that the windows were dark gave her hope that she’d caught at least one break today, and he hadn’t arrived before her.

April needed every advantage she could get if she was going to successfully manage these next two weeks.

* * *

“No kids.”

Connor Pierce growled those two words as soon as the willowy redhead walked into the kitchen.

Maybe he should have waited to speak until she’d spotted him standing in front of the window. Unprepared, she’d jumped into the air, dropping the bag of groceries as she clutched one hand to her chest.

Her wide brown eyes met his across the room, a mix of shock and fear in her gaze. Scaring a woman half to death was a new low for Connor, but he couldn’t stop. “They need to go,” he snapped, fists clenched at his side. “Now.”

To the woman’s credit, she recovered faster than he would have expected, placing a hand on the back of a chair as she straightened her shoulders. “Who are you?”

The fact that she didn’t scurry away in the face of his anger was also new. Most people he knew would have turned tail already. “What kind of question is that?”

Her eyes narrowed. “The kind I expect you to answer.”

“I’m the paying guest,” he said slowly, enunciating each word.

“Mr. Pierce?” She swallowed and inclined her head to study him more closely. He didn’t care for the examination.

“Connor.”

“You don’t look like the photo on your website.”

“That picture was taken a long time ago.” Back when he was overweight and happy and his heart hadn’t been ripped out of his chest. When he could close his eyes and not see a car engulfed in flames, not feel his own helplessness like a vise around his lungs.

She didn’t question him, although curiosity was a bright light in her eyes. Instead, she smiled. “Welcome to Colorado. I’m sorry you got to the cabin before me.” She bent to retrieve the groceries, quickly refilling the cloth bag she’d dropped. “I was told your flight arrived later this afternoon.”

The smile threw him, as did her easy manner. “I took an earlier one.”

After placing the bag on the counter, she walked forward, her hand held out to him. “I’m April Sanders. I’ll be making sure your stay at Cloud Cabin is everything you want it to be.”

“I want the kids gone.” He didn’t take her hand, even though it was rude. She was tall for a woman but still several inches shorter than him. Her long hair was pulled back in a low knot, revealing the smooth, pale skin of her neck above the down coat she wore. The light in her eyes dimmed as her hand dropped.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I saw you come in,” he said, hitching a finger toward the window overlooking the front drive. “Are those your daughters?”

She shook her head.

“They can’t be here.”

“They aren’t here. They’re with me in the smaller cabin next door.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Their voices had drifted up to him when the girls spilled out of the car. The older one, her dark blond hair in a tight braid down her back, had kept her shoulders hunched, arms crossed over her chest as she took in the forest around the house. Connor had felt an unwanted affinity to her. Clearly, she was as reluctant to be trapped in this idyllic winter setting as he was.

It was the younger girl, bright curls bouncing as she pointed at the two log cabins situated next to each other on the property, who had brought unwanted memories to the surface. She’d given a squeal of delight when a rogue chipmunk ran past the front of the SUV. Her high-pitched laugh had raked across Connor’s nerves, making him want to claw at his own skin to stop the sensation.

She was dangerous, that innocent girl, threatening his stability on a bone-deep level. “I’m at this cabin to work.” He kept his gaze on the window. “I need privacy.”

“I’ll make sure you have it.”

“Not with kids around.”

She’d moved so quietly Connor didn’t realize April Sanders was standing toe-to-toe with him until he turned back. Up close, with the afternoon light pouring over her, she looked young and too innocent. He’d never seen anything as creamy as her skin, and he had a sudden urge to trace his finger along her cheek and see for himself if it was as soft as it looked.

It was a ridiculous thought. Connor didn’t touch people if he could help it. Not for three years, since that drive along the California coast when he’d held his wife’s hand for the last time.

Although he knew it to be untrue, he’d come to believe he could hold on to the memory of his wife and son more tightly if he kept himself cut off from physical contact with anyone else. He’d never felt the need before now.

The fact that this woman—a stranger—made him want to change was almost as terrifying as the deadline looming over his head. He took a step back.

“They have no place else to go,” she said, the gentle cadence of her voice at odds with the desperate plea he didn’t want to see in her eyes. “I promise I’ll keep them out of your way.”

Connor stepped around her, reaching for the sheet of paper on the table at the same time he dug in his pocket for his cell phone. “I’m calling Sara Travers.”

“No.” April snatched the paper with the contact information for Crimson Ranch out of his hand. “You can’t.” The sheer audacity of the action gave him pause.

“Are you going to hold me here against my will?” He almost laughed at the thought of it, but Connor also hadn’t laughed in a longer time than he cared to remember. “I’ll call my editor. He’ll contact Sara. I assume she’s your boss?”

“Please don’t.” Her voice hitched on the plea, making alarm bells clang in Connor’s brain.

“You’re not going to cry,” he told her. “Tell me you’re not going to cry.”

She took a breath, blinked several times. “Sara is my boss at the ranch, but she’s also my friend. She and Josh just left for a holiday vacation, and I don’t want her to worry.” April’s voice had gone even gentler, almost defeated. Another long-buried emotion grated at his nerves. “She doesn’t know about Ranie and Shay yet. If you tell her...”

“She’ll make you get rid of them?” he asked, allowing only a hint of triumph to slip into his tone.

“She’ll want me to keep them.”

He was intrigued despite himself. “Who are those girls to you?” When she only stared at him, Connor placed his cell phone on the table. He couldn’t believe he was considering the possibility but he said, “Tell me why I should let them stay.”

Chapter Two

April’s mind raced as Connor crossed his arms over his chest, biceps bunching under his gray Berkeley T-shirt. He was nowhere near the man she’d expected to be working for the next two weeks at Cloud Cabin.

Connor Pierce was a famous author—not quite on a par with John Grisham, but a worthy successor if you believed the reviews and hype from his first two books. She’d checked his website after Sara had asked her to take on this job as a personal favor.

April had worked full-time at Crimson Ranch when she and Sara had first arrived in Colorado. Although in the past year the yoga classes she taught at the local community center and at a studio between Crimson and nearby Aspen had taken up most of her time, she’d booked off these two weeks. April had been a yoga instructor, as well as a certified nutritionist, to Hollywood starlets and movie actors before her life in California imploded. Apparently Connor Pierce had an extremely stringent and healthy diet, and April felt more comfortable than the ranch’s new chef in tailoring her cooking to specific requests.

Based on his publicity photo, Connor was a pudgy, bearded man with a wide grin, so the strict dietary requirements his editor had forwarded hadn’t quite made sense. They did for the man in front of her. He was over six feet tall, with dark hair and piercing green eyes in a face that was at once handsome and almost lethal in its sharp angles. As far as she could tell, he was solid muscle from head to toe and about as friendly as a grizzly bear woken from hibernation.

“Ranie and Shay lost their mother last month and their dad has never been in the picture. Jill was an old friend of mine and gave me custody of the girls when she died.” She took a deep breath, uncomfortable with sharing something so personal with this seemingly emotionless man. “I can’t possibly keep them, but—”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” she muttered.

He raised one eyebrow in response.

She grabbed the bag of groceries and walked toward the cabinets and refrigerator to put them away as she spoke. “The girls have family in California they should be with on a permanent basis. I’m not a good bet for them.” She ignored the trembling in her fingers, forcing herself to keep moving. “They’re with me temporarily over the holidays, but I can’t send them away. If it’s such a problem, we’ll go. I’ll get you settled, then Sara will find—”

“They can stay.”

April paused in the act of putting a bag of carrots into the refrigerator. Connor still stood across the kitchen, arms folded. His green eyes revealed nothing.

“Why?” she couldn’t help but ask, closing the refrigerator door and taking two steps toward him. “What made you change your mind?”

“Now who asks too many questions?” He ran a hand through his short hair. “Just keep them quiet and out of my way. I’m over seven months behind on the deadline for my next book. I have until the first of the year to turn in this book before they terminate my contract and...”

“And?”

“I’m here to work,” he answered, which wasn’t an answer at all. “I need to concentrate.”

She nodded, not wanting to push her luck with this enigmatic man. “The food you requested is stocked in the pantry and refrigerator. Cell service is spotty up here, but there are landlines in both cabins. I’ll have dinner ready for you at six unless you call. You won’t even know we’re here with you.” Grabbing the empty cloth sack from the counter, she started past him.

He reached for her, the movement so quick it startled her. She stared at the place where his fingers encircled her wrist, warmth seeping through the layers she wore. It was odd because for such a cold man, his touch almost burned.

“I’ll know you’re here,” he said, his voice a rough scrape across her senses. “But keep the girls away from me.”

“I will,” she promised. Something in his tone told her his demand was more than a need for quiet so he could work.

He released his hold on her a second later and she left, stopping outside as the cold air hit her. She took a couple of breaths to calm her nerves. Yes, she’d have to tell Sara about Ranie and Shay, but not yet. Not until April could find a way to do it without revealing how weak and broken she still was.

And that could take a while.

She hurried across the snow-packed drive, worried that she’d left the girls alone for too long. The cabin was quiet when she entered through the side door.

The caretaker’s cabin was much smaller than Cloud Cabin, which had been built to house family reunions and groups of guests who wanted a wilderness experience away from town. In addition to the oversized kitchen, Connor had his choice of five bedrooms, including two master suites, a huge family room and a game room, plus a workout area in the basement. There was a big patio out back with a fire pit and hot tub, but April had a hard time picturing Connor relaxing in the steam and bubbles. It was also better if she didn’t try to picture him bare chested because, despite his surly attitude, she’d felt a definite ripple of attraction to Connor Pierce. That was a recipe for disaster.

The girls weren’t in the kitchen so she headed upstairs. In this cabin there were only two bedrooms, on either side of the narrow hallway. Sara and Josh had built it to accommodate the small staff needed when there were guests on-site. While construction had been completed in late summer, they’d only taken a few bookings for the fall and hadn’t expected anyone to be staying here over the winter months. It wasn’t exactly easy to access, although maybe that’s what appealed to Connor—or at least to his editor. April knew his debut book had been made into a movie and the sequel was set to release in the spring. She imagined there was a lot of pressure for another blockbuster in the series.

The door to the second bedroom was closed and she had to press her ear to it before she heard voices inside. Both girls looked up when she walked in. “It was so quiet I thought you two might be napping.”

Ranie rolled her eyes. “I’m twelve. I don’t take naps.”

Shay smiled. “I do sometimes, but not today. Mommy used to nap a lot.”

April remembered how tired the cancer treatments had made her. All that medicine to make things better, but there were difficult side effects at every stage. “What are you doing?”

Shay held up a tangle of yarn. “I’m finger knitting. I can make you a scarf if you want.”

“I’d like that,” April said, coming forward to sit on the edge of the other twin bed. “Who taught you to knit?”

“Mommy taught Ranie, and Ranie taught me.” Shay pointed to her sister’s lap. “She’s really good. She can use needles and everything.”

April placed her hand lightly on Ranie’s knee. “May I see?”

The girl stood up abruptly, shoving what was in her hands into a bag. “I’m not that great. Mostly my rows are crooked. It was just something to do when we sat with Mom.”

April tried not to let the girl’s constant rejection hurt her, but it was difficult. Ranie looked so much like Jill. “Your mom sent me a sweater one year for Christmas,” she told Shay, aware Ranie was listening even as she pretended to ignore them. “I have it with me if you’d like to see.”

“Mommy made the best sweaters.” Shay tugged her fingers out of the yarn, which to April’s eyes looked more like a knot than a scarf. “I mess up a lot.”

April reached for the deep red yarn, but Ranie stepped forward and snatched it away. “You’re getting better, Shay.” She stretched out the jumble until April could see where it almost resembled a scarf. “I’ll unknot this and you can keep going.”

Shay beamed. “Ranie is the best. She can teach you, too.”

“I’d like that.”

“Don’t you have work to do?” Ranie asked, flipping her long braid over her shoulder. “Taking care of the big-shot author?”

“I’ll have time,” April told her. “Would either of you like a snack before I start prepping dinner?”

“Can we make the snowman now?” Shay asked, going on her knees to look out the window above the bed.

April thought about the promise she’d made to Connor Pierce. “Because Mr. Pierce is writing a book, he’s going to need quiet. I know it’s fun to play in the snow, but—”

“I can be real quiet,” Shay assured her, not turning from the window. “Ranie and me had to stay quiet when Mommy was sick.”

“Ranie and I,” April and Ranie corrected at the same time.

When April offered a half smile, Ranie turned away. April sighed. Between the cabin’s grumpy houseguest and her own ill-tempered charge, this was going to be the longest two weeks of her life. “Maybe it would be better if we found things to do inside the house.”

“He doesn’t want us here,” Ranie said, her tone filled with righteous accusation. “That’s why we have to be quiet. He doesn’t want us.”

April would have liked to kick Connor Pierce in the shin or another part of his anatomy right now. “He needs to concentrate,” she said instead, wanting to make it better for these girls who’d lost so much and were now in a strange state and a strange cabin with a woman who had been their mother’s friend but little to them. “It isn’t about you two.”

“So we can’t go out in the snow?” Shay shifted so she was facing April. “We have to stay inside the whole time? That’s kind of boring.”

Feeling the weight of two different stares, April pressed her fingers to her temples. She should call Sara right now and find someone else for this job, except then she’d have to make holiday plans for these girls. Her work here was a distraction, different enough from real life that she could keep the two separate. It was too much to think of making Ranie and Shay a part of her world. What if they fit? What if she wanted to try for something she knew she couldn’t manage?

A remote cabin and its temperamental guest might be a pain, but at least it was safe. Still, she couldn’t expect the girls to entertain themselves for two weeks in this small cabin, and neither could Connor.

“Get your snow gear from the shopping bags I left in the front hall,” she said after a moment. “As long as we’re not making a ton of noise, we can play in the snow as much as you want.”

“Mommy liked to rest,” Shay said, too much knowledge in her innocent gaze. “Sometimes the medicine gave her headaches, so we know how to be quiet.” She wrapped her arms around April for a quick, surprising hug and then scrambled off the bed.

“I’ll get your stuff, too,” she told Ranie before running from the room. “We’re going to build a snowman.” April could hear the girl singing as she went down the steps.

Ranie was still glaring at her, so April kept her tone light. “I’d better put on another layer. My sweater and coat are warm but not if we’re going to be outside for a while.”

“It’s me, right?” Ranie’s shoulders were a narrow block of tension.

“What’s you?”

“The author doesn’t want me around,” Ranie said, almost as if she was speaking to herself. “It can’t be Shay. Everyone loves Shay.”

“It isn’t about either of you.” April risked placing a hand on Ranie’s back, surprised when the girl didn’t shrug it off. “He’s here to work.”

“Aunt Tracy bought Shay a new swimsuit,” Ranie mumbled, sinking down to the bed.

“For a trip to Colorado in December?”

The girl gripped the hem of her shirt like she might rip it apart. “She wanted to take her to Hawaii with their family.”

April shook her head. “No, your aunt told me the trip was only her, your uncle Joe and the boys.”

“Tyler and Tommy are annoying,” Ranie said.

April smiled a little. “I imagine nine-year-old twin boys can be a handful.”

“I guess Aunt Tracy always wanted a little girl,” Ranie told her, “because I overheard Mom talking to her toward the end. She’d wanted us to live with Tracy, but Tracy would only agree to having Shay.” Her voice grew hollow. “She didn’t want me.”

“Oh, Ranie, no,” April whispered, even as the words rang true. Jill’s sister had been just the type of woman to be willing to keep one girl and not the other. How could April truly judge when she couldn’t commit to either of them?

But she knew the girls had to stay together. “I talked to your aunt before they left on their trip. It’s only for the holidays. We have a meeting scheduled with an attorney the first week of January to start the process of transferring custody. She’s going to take you both in the New Year. You’ll be back in California and—”

“She doesn’t want me.” Ranie looked miserable. “No one does now that Mom is gone. That author guy is just one more.”

“It’s not you.” The words were out of April’s mouth before she could stop them. She hated seeing the girl so sad.

“You’re lying.” Ranie didn’t even pause as she made the accusation and paced to the corner of the room. “Everyone loves Shay.”

“Something happened to Connor Pierce that makes it difficult for him to be around young kids.”

“What happened?” Ranie stepped forward, hands clenched tightly in front of her. This sweet, hurting girl had been through so much. Once again, April wanted to reach for her but held back. She shouldn’t have shared as much as she had about Connor, but she couldn’t allow Ranie to believe she was expendable to everyone she met. At least this way, Ranie could help shield Shay, keep her out of Connor’s line of sight.

April met Ranie’s clear blue gaze. “His wife and son died in a car accident a few years ago. The little boy was five at the time.”

“Shay’s age,” Ranie whispered. The girl’s eyes widened a fraction.

Good. The news was enough of a shock on its own. April didn’t have to share anything more. Not the images she’d seen online of the charred shell of a car after the accident and fire that had killed Connor’s family. Not the news report that said he’d also been in the vehicle at the time of the crash but had been thrown clear.

She hoped he’d been knocked unconscious. The alternative was that Connor Pierce had watched his family die.

* * *

Connor glanced at the clock on his phone again, staring at the bright numbers on the screen, willing them to change. When they did and the numbers read 6:00 on the dot, he jumped out of the chair in front of the desk, stalked toward the door, then back again.

He knew April was in the kitchen, had heard her come in thirty minutes ago. He’d been staring at the clock ever since. Minutes when he should have been working, but the screen on his laptop remained empty.

Every part of his life remained empty.

When his editor had suggested taking two weeks at a remote cabin to “finish” his manuscript, Connor hadn’t argued. He hadn’t wanted to explain that he still had over half the story to write. It had even made sense that a change of scenery might help him focus.

That’s how it worked with writers, right? A quiet cabin in the woods, an idyllic setting to get the creativity flowing. What Connor understood, but wouldn’t admit, was that his inability to write came from the place inside him that was broken. There was simply nothing left, only a yawning cavern of guilt, regret and sorrow. Emotions he couldn’t force himself to mine for words to fill a manuscript, even one that was seven months past due.

He shut the laptop and headed downstairs, the scent coming from the kitchen drawing him forward. That was as unexpected as everything else about April Sanders, since food was no longer something from which Connor derived pleasure. He ate for energy, health and to keep his body moving. He didn’t register flavor or cravings and lived on a steady diet of nutrition bars and high-protein meals that were bland and boring.

Nothing about April was bland or boring, a realization that fisted in his gut as she turned from the stove when he walked into the room.

“How’s the writing going?” she asked with a smile, as if they were friends. She wore a long-sleeved shirt that revealed the curve of her breasts and waist, with a pair of black yoga pants that hugged her hips. April was slim, with the natural grace of a dancer—someone aware of her body and what it could do. Her hair was still pulled back, but the pieces that had escaped to frame her face were curlier than before.

“I could hear the kids playing outside,” Connor said, and watched her smile fade. This was who he was now, a man who could suck the warmth out of a room faster than an arctic wind.

“We stayed on the far side of the caretaker’s cabin and the girls weren’t loud,” she answered, pulling a plate from a cabinet.

“I still heard them.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Were you pressing your ear to the window?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Not his ear, but he’d held his fingertips to the glass until they burned from the cold. The noise had been faint, drifting up to him only as he’d strained to listen. “Why were they outside? It’s freezing up here.”

“Shay wanted to play in the snow.” April pulled a baking tray out of the oven and set it on the stove top. “They’re from California so all this snow is new for them.”

“Join the club,” he muttered, snapping to attention when she grabbed a foil-wrapped packet on the tray and bit out a curse.

She shook out her fingers, then reached for a pair of tongs with her uninjured hand.

He moved closer. “You need to run your fingers under cold water.”

“I’m fine,” she said, but bit down on her lower lip. “Have a seat and dinner will be—”

He flipped on the faucet as he came to stand next to her. Before he could think about what he was doing, Connor grabbed her wrist and tugged her the few feet to stand in front of the sink. He couldn’t seem to stop touching this woman. He pushed up her sleeve and positioned her hand under the cold water from the faucet. “If the burn is bad enough, it will blister your fingertip.”

“I wasn’t thinking, but I’m not hurt,” she said softly, not pulling away.

She was soft against him, the warmth of her both captivating and an irritation against the shell he’d wrapped around himself. She smelled subtly of lavender, and Connor could imagine April standing in a field of it in the south of France, her red hair a beautiful contrast to the muted purple of the plants. Fanciful thoughts for a man who’d become rigid in his hold on reality.

“It’s better to be safe.”

He didn’t want to examine why he kept his grasp on her wrist and why she didn’t pull away. She wasn’t going to blister—the burn from the foil was a surface injury at most. That meant... He met her gaze, gentle and understanding, then jerked away as if he’d been the one scalded by the heat.

“What do you know about me?” he asked through gritted teeth.

She took a moment to answer, turned off the tap and dried her hand before looking up to him. “Only what I’ve read in old news reports.”

Gripping his fingers on the edge of the granite counter, he forced himself to ask, “And what did they tell you?” He’d purposely not read any of the press after the crash.

“Your wife and son were with you during the promotional tour for your last book release three years ago. There was a car accident on the way to an event—another driver crossed the median and hit you head on—they were both killed.”

“We all should have died in that wreck,” he whispered.

“You were thrown from the car. It saved your life.”

She didn’t dispute his observation, which he appreciated. Part of why he’d initially cut so many people out of his life after the accident was that he couldn’t stand hearing any more theories about why he’d lived while Margo and Emmett had died. That it was fate, a greater plan, some universal knowing to which he wasn’t yet privy.

Connor knew it was all nonsense. If there had been any sense in the tragedy, it would have been for him to perish while his beautiful wife and innocent son survived. Anything else was blasphemy as far as he was concerned.

“Unfortunately, it did,” he agreed, wanting to shock her. He’d spent hours wishing and praying for his own death in the months after the accident. His whole reason for living had been stolen from him, and he hadn’t been strong enough to save either his wife or son. He’d wallowed in grief until it had consumed him. The pain had become a part of his makeup—like another limb or vital organ—and it pushed away everyone and everything that didn’t make it stronger.

Eventually, the grief had threatened to destroy him, and Connor had shut it down, his will to live stronger than his wish to die. But in excising the pain, he’d had to cut out other parts of himself—his heart, the connections he had to anyone else in the world who he might fail with his weakness. Perhaps even his creativity. The ability to weave stories was so much a part of him that he’d taken the gift for granted. Except, now it was gone, and he had no idea how to get it back.

The feel of April brushing past pulled him from his thoughts. She placed a plate of food on the table at the one place setting and bent to light the candle that sat in the center of the table.

“That’s not necessary,” he told her, his voice gruff.

“I light candles for all the guests.” She straightened. “Would you like wine with your meal?”

“Water, but you don’t have to serve me.”

“Actually, I do,” she said with a wry half smile. “It’s my job, and I’m good at it.”

“Why aren’t you asking me questions about the accident?”

She studied him for a moment, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

“That’s why,” she said simply, and walked back to the kitchen to fill a glass from the water dispenser in the refrigerator.

The fact that she wasn’t pushing him made Connor want to tell her more. As soon as people started asking questions, whether it was his editor, the therapist his publisher had hired, or one of his sisters or his mother, Connor shut down.

Yet the need to share details of the nightmare that had defined his recent life with April was almost overwhelming in its intensity. His chest constricted, an aching reminder of why he kept silent. To talk about Margo and Emmett was to invite pain and sorrow back into his life. Connor couldn’t do that and continue to function.

“I’m going to check on the girls,” she told him after placing the water on the table. “I’ll be back in a few minutes—”

“What if I want you to stay while I eat?”

She paused, meeting his gaze with those big melty chocolate eyes. There was something in them he didn’t understand, not pity or wariness as he would have expected. It looked almost like desire, which he couldn’t fathom. He had nothing to offer a woman like April, someone so full of light and peace. The darkness inside him would blot her out, muting her radiance until she was nothing. That’s how the darkness worked, he’d realized, and there was little he could do to stop it.

“Then I’ll stay,” she said.

He let a sneer curl his upper lip. “Because it’s your job?”

She didn’t blink or look away. “Because you asked me.”

A lightning-quick bolt of emotion passed through him, forcing him to take a step back when all he wanted to do was move closer to her. The unfamiliarity of that urge was enough to have him piling the silverware and napkin on the plate, then picking it up along with the glass. “I’m going to eat in my room. I have work to do on an important scene for the book.”

“You can leave your plate outside the bedroom door,” she said in that same gentle voice. What would it take to rattle a woman like April? “I’ll clean it when I get back.”

“Fine,” he said, purposely not thanking her or acknowledging the effort she’d put into the meal that smelled better than anything he’d eaten in ages. His rudeness was another shield, and he’d need as many as he could create to resist the things April made him feel.

Chapter Three

April let herself into the main cabin before sunrise the next morning. The girls were still sleeping and, before leaving the caretaker’s cabin, she’d prepared a pan of cinnamon rolls to bake when she returned. She needed to make breakfast for her cantankerous guest but didn’t want to take the chance of seeing Connor again so soon. The previous night had jumbled her nerves in a way she barely recognized.

Connor Pierce was arrogant, ill-mannered and a borderline bully. But the pain she’d seen in his eyes when he spoke of the accident that had claimed his wife and son touched her at a soul-deep level. Just as his actual touch made her skin heat with need. Her reaction was inappropriate at best and, more likely, damaging to a heart she’d learned the hard way to protect and guard.

Thankfully, he hadn’t reappeared last night when she’d returned to clean the kitchen. His empty plate had been left on the counter, the cabin quiet as she’d put everything away. A light had still burned in the upstairs window when she’d walked across the dark night to her cabin but that had been the only indication Connor was still awake.

April was grateful since she wasn’t sure she would have been able to resist questioning him more on the heartbreak of losing his family. There was no doubt the grief had been substantial, and she could use advice on how to guide Ranie and Shay through the sorrow of losing someone they loved, even if the circumstances were totally different. April had thought she understood heartbreak after her divorce but later realized that the scars from Daniel leaving had more to do with rejection and humiliation than love.

She started coffee, preheated the oven and then unpacked the lidded container she’d prepped at the other cabin. There was a nonstick muffin tin in the drawer next to the oven, and she began to dump egg-white-and-vegetable mix into the openings. Each move she made was quiet and purposeful so as not to make noise. Her goal was to get everything ready, then leave before Connor woke.

“You’re up early.”

April jumped at the sound of that gravelly voice behind her, the mixture sloshing over the side of the glass bowl. “Is your goal to give me a heart attack?” She set the bowl on the counter and grabbed a wad of paper towels to clean up the mess.

“You spook easily,” he told her. “It’s the only time you raise your voice.”

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people. It’s rude.” Tossing the paper towels into the trash can under the sink, April turned, planning to enlighten Connor Pierce on what she sounded like when shock turned to anger. The words caught in her throat at the sight of him standing on the far side of the island wearing only a pair of loose gym shorts, his chest broad and hard and glistening with sweat.

Glistening. Oh, my.

“There’s a workout room downstairs,” he said, wiping a small white towel across his face and down his front. April followed the movement, the muscles and smattering of hair across his chest making her mouth go dry. She’d thought herself immune to men and the heavy pull of attraction since her divorce. Many of her girlfriends in Crimson were involved with handsome men, but April had never noticed any of them other than with the affection reserved for brothers.

What she felt for Connor was different and dangerous.

Instead of berating him more for startling her, she asked, “Do you need anything?” and hated that she sounded breathless.

“A shower.”

Spoken in his deep voice, those two words sounded like an invitation. April felt her cheeks color. She grabbed the muffin tin and shoved it into the oven, hoping the heat that wafted out would provide a decent excuse for her blush. “I can have breakfast ready in about twenty minutes. Are you always up at this time?”

“I don’t sleep much.”

“Too inspired?”

She’d been referring to his writing, but one side of his mouth kicked up like he’d taken the question another way. “Not yet,” he answered. “But there’s time for that.”

She didn’t understand his mood this morning. He was relaxed and almost flirty, different from the tense, bitter man she’d encountered yesterday.

“Working out helps me,” he offered, as if reading her mind. “Gives me an outlet that I find calming.”

“I teach yoga,” she said with a nod. She opened the dishwasher and started putting away the clean dishes. “It does the same thing.”

“Do you teach at Crimson Ranch?” He moved closer, took a seat at the island. Connor seemed unaware of the effect his upper body was having on her, and she tried to ignore her reaction. Even if he hadn’t been a guest, this man was not for her.

She filled a glass with water and placed it on the counter in front of him. “During the summer months, I teach at the ranch. There’s also a community center in town that offers classes, and another studio between Crimson and Aspen.”

“You’ve done yoga for a while?” he asked, taking a long drink. A droplet of water traced a path along his strong jaw, then over his throat and down the hard planes of his chest. He wiped it away, then met her gaze. It took April several seconds to realize he was waiting for an answer to his question.

“Almost fifteen years.” She concentrated on unloading the dishwasher as she spoke. “I had some injuries from dancing when I was younger, and yoga helped my body heal. I owned a studio in California for a while.” She’d loved the studio she’d built from the ground up, but it had become one more casualty of her illness and then the divorce.

“But you teach for other people here?”

April felt her eyes narrow. Connor was a little too insightful. The woman who owned the private studio outside of town had offered to sell the business to April on several occasions. Marty was in her seventies, ready to retire and move closer to her adult children and their families, but she felt a loyalty to the local clients she had in the area. April knew the older woman had received offers from at least two national chains, but Marty hoped her studio would remain locally owned.

“It gives me more flexibility,” she answered.

“Do you travel?”

She focused her attention on the basket of knives and forks. “No.”

“Have a big family?”

She shook her head, not liking where this line of questioning was leading.

“Why is flexibility important?”

How was she supposed to explain? It was the answer she always gave, and no one had ever questioned her answer. Not until Connor.

April loved Colorado and the town of Crimson, but as much as she was grateful for a new start and the friends that were part of it, there was something missing. A broken piece inside that prevented her from truly committing to this town the way Sara and so many of their friends had in the past couple of years.

There was too much at stake for April, because if she devoted herself to making a life here the way she had in California and then lost it again, she wasn’t sure she’d survive. It was easier to play the part of caretaker and helpful friend. Those roles allowed her to be a part of the community without investing the deepest pieces of her heart and soul in anyone.

Giving too much—feeling too much—left her vulnerable to pain, and she’d had enough pain to last a lifetime.

“Why do you care?” she asked, slamming the empty silverware basket back into the dishwasher and closing the machine’s door. She hated how this man riled her but couldn’t stop her reaction to him any more than she could deny the attraction she felt. All she could do was ignore them both.

He pushed the empty glass across the counter. “Just making conversation,” he said as he stood, his gaze steady on hers. There was a teasing light in his eye, and awareness danced across her skin in response. He didn’t seem upset by her rudeness or realize how out of character it was. But she knew and it scared her. “We’re the only two people here so—”

“Actually, we’re not.” She placed her palms down on the cool granite and leaned toward him. “There are two sweet, sad girls in the other cabin who are afraid to make a sound in case they get me in trouble.”

“They don’t belong here,” he said, the warmth in his voice disappearing instantly.

“They don’t belong anywhere,” she countered. “That fact doesn’t make it easier to manage. I’d think you would understand—”

“I’m here to work.” He pushed away from the island. “Not to play grief counselor.”

“How’s the writing going? Is being alone in this cabin inspiring you?”

She thought he’d walk away so was surprised at his quiet answer. “I’m always alone.”

Just when she’d worked up a good temper, one that could hold her attraction at bay, he’d done it again. Let a bit of vulnerability slip through the impenetrable shields he had to curl around her senses.

April understood alone. She knew the emptiness of loneliness but also the safety it provided. She didn’t want to have that in common with Connor, because it was a truth she hadn’t shared with anyone else in her life. If he recognized it in her...

“You don’t have to be,” she said quietly, and the words were as much for her as him. She wanted to believe them even as the fear that lived inside her fought against it.

“Yes, I do.” He ran a hand through his hair, the damp ends tousling. “I’m going to take that shower.”

“Breakfast will be ready when you’re finished. I’ll—”

“Leave it,” he snapped. “I don’t need you to wait on me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t complain to anyone. It’s distracting to have you in and out. Leave the food and I’ll take care of myself. I’m used to it.”

He didn’t wait for an answer before stalking from the kitchen.

April blew out an unsteady breath. She was making a mess of this. Sara still had ties to Hollywood and continued to act when the right roles came along. Not as much since expanding the ranch, but the studio that held the movie rights to Connor’s books was important to Sara. It’s why her friend had agreed to arrange two weeks at the cabin for him. It was also why Sara had asked April to step in and help. April’s talent was caring for people. It was something she enjoyed and a gift she used both at the ranch and while teaching her yoga classes. She normally had an easy way with even the most demanding guests.

But she was at her worst with Connor, and she hated it. As abrasive as he could be, he was also her client, and he’d survived a life-altering tragedy that should make her more sympathetic to him.

She imagined that Connor hated sympathy—she had during her battle with breast cancer. The pitying looks and fake support from the women she’d thought were her friends had added an extra layer of pain to her life. Those so-called friends had said the right things but quickly distanced themselves when the treatments robbed her of strength, her looks and most of her dignity. Only Sara had remained at her side, driving her to and from appointments and helping her to move when Daniel had filed for divorce in the middle of her second round of chemo.

The oven beeped, drawing her from her thoughts. She removed the egg muffins and placed them on a rack to cool. Pulling a plate from the cabinet, she set the table, poured a small glass of juice, then set a bowl of cut melon next to the plate. Connor may not need someone to look after him, but that was April’s job here. She was going to take care of that man whether he liked it or not.

* * *

Hand lifted in front of the heavy oak door, Connor drew in a breath, the cold air making his lungs burn. He welcomed the sharp stab of pain because physical pain helped him remember he was still alive. It was part of the reason he worked out so compulsively—pushing his body to the point of exhaustion gave him a sense of connection to something. Also, Connor had vowed never to be weak again. His weakness was the reason Margo and Emmett had died.

What he was about to do was madness, but he knocked on the door anyway.

It took only a moment for it to open, and he was looking down at a young girl with angelic blond curls, huge blue eyes and a smudge of something across her cheek. The impulse to wipe his thumb across her face was a punch to the heart. He almost turned and ran, even though that would mark him as the coward he was. Emmett had always had a smear or stain on some part of him. His son’s favorite food had been peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, and there was normally a telltale spot of grape jelly on the corner of his mouth and sticky fingers, leaving marks on everything the boy touched.

Connor had often balanced writing with parenting duties if Margo had an appointment or meeting. His preoccupation with his work had sometimes left Emmett, even at five, to slap together sloppy sandwiches for both of them. Emmett loved being in charge, and Connor had been happy to have something to eat that he didn’t have to make. After the accident, he’d spent hours wishing he could have a daddy do-over. He would have put aside his precious words to take care of his more precious son.

“Are you a delivery man?” the girl asked when he stared at her.

He shook his head, not yet trusting his voice when memories threatened to pull him under like a riptide.

“Mommy said Santa Claus uses real delivery people to help bring toys at Christmas so they don’t feel left out because he’s got a sleigh and they don’t. Last year Santa had the delivery man bring me three sparkly ponies and a new set of markers.” She wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “Do you like to draw?”

“I like to write,” he answered automatically. “At least I used to.”

She nodded. “I’m good at writing. My teacher said my big G is perfect.”

“Shay, shut the door.” Another voice drifted forward. “It’s freezing.”

A moment later, a different girl appeared behind the little one. They were clearly sisters, although the older girl’s hair was a darker blond and her eyes a deeper blue. “Who are you?” She placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder.

“He likes to write, Ranie,” Shay announced. “But he’s not helping Santa.”

“I need to talk to April,” he told Ranie.

“She’s getting ready to take us to town,” Shay answered before her sister could speak, “to buy games to help us be quiet. The man who lives next door hates kids.” She bounced on her small feet. “We’re going to see the lights and get hot chocolate.”

“I don’t hate kids,” Connor muttered, shifting under Ranie’s gaze. He was certain the girl knew exactly who he was.

“That’s good,” Shay told him. “You should stay away from the other man. He might not like grown-ups either.”

“No doubt,” he heard Ranie mumble.

Instead of making him angry, Connor had the strange urge to smile. He liked this girl standing sentry, still holding on to her sister as she tried to fill the doorway with her small frame. “Where’s April?”

“I’ll get her.” Ranie went to close the door in his face, but Shay stepped forward.

“We have to invite him in,” Shay said, grabbing his hand and tugging him forward before he could react. “He’s nice.”

He fought the need to jerk away from her small hand and allowed himself to be led into the smaller cabin.

“Shay, you don’t know that he’s nice. This man—”

“What’s going on?”

As the door clicked shut behind him, he looked up to see April silhouetted by the late-morning light. She wore a pair of dark jeans and knee-high boots with a thick gray sweater. It was the first time he’d seen her hair down, the gentle red curls falling over her shoulders.

Shay didn’t let go of his hand, and Connor could feel the imprint of her soft skin like a brand. The pain was fierce, radiating up his arm and through his chest to the empty place where his heart used to be.

“You left your phone at the other cabin.” He pulled the device from his coat pocket with his free hand and held it out.

“I could have taken it at the door.” Ranie reached forward and pulled Shay away from him. “You don’t hold hands with a stranger,” she scolded.

“He’s not a stranger.” Shay pushed a curl off her forehead. “He’s April’s friend. He had her phone.” She glanced up at him. “Right?”

April took the phone from his hand, her cool fingers brushing his palm. “Mr. Pierce is staying next door at the cabin,” she told Shay, ruffling the girl’s hair. “He’s busy working, so it was nice of him to bring the phone to me.”

Shay glanced between April and Connor, her mouth dropping open. “But the man living next door hates kids. You don’t hate me, do you?” she asked him, her blue eyes wide with disbelief.

“Shay, shut up,” Ranie said on a hiss of breath.

April threw Connor an apologetic look. “I never said—”

“I don’t hate you,” he told the little girl.

She pointed to her sister. “See, he’s nice and my friend and April’s friend and you shouldn’t say ‘shut up.’ Mommy didn’t like it.”

“Mom isn’t here.” Ranie glared at Shay. “She’s—”

“Enough.” April’s tone was firm. “You girls go get your coats, hats and mittens and we’ll head to town.”

Ranie stalked off down the hall, but Shay continued to stand next to him, her chin quivering the tiniest bit. “Do you want to go to town with us and get hot chocolate?”

He started to shake his head when she added, “Because I know you’re nice even if Ranie doesn’t think so. She gets extra grumpy because our mommy died, and that makes her act mean. But she’s really just sad inside.”

The wisdom in those words leveled him. Connor had been used to being angry since the accident. He had cut people out of his life and pushed them away with his moods until the rage inside him felt like all that was left. What if he had held on to the anger so he didn’t have to feel the lingering sorrow of loss?

“Will you go?” Shay asked again when he didn’t respond. “It’s a long way down the mountain, so April said this trip is special.”

“Shay,” April said quietly, “that’s nice of you to offer, but Mr. Pierce has—”

“I’ll go.”

The girl smiled and clapped her hands. “I knew we were friends. I’m going to go get my winter coat. April bought it for me new because in California we don’t have snow. You should wear gloves and a hat because there’s an ice-skating rink in the park downtown and if it’s not too crowded we can try it.”

Connor watched her run down the hall and disappear around a corner before he met April’s dubious gaze. “Does she always talk that much?”

She gave a small nod. “Shay talks and Ranie sulks. Why did you tell her you’d come to town with us?”

“Because she asked me,” he responded, echoing her words from last night.

Her eyes widened a fraction, but she didn’t acknowledge the repetition. “What about writing?”

He shrugged. “I need a break.”

“What about needing the girls to be quiet?” she asked, her mouth thinning. “I’m not going to demand they don’t talk.”

He wanted to press the pad of his thumb to her full lower lip. This need to touch her, to be near her, was a slippery slope that could only lead to complications for both of them. It had driven him across the property when he should be working. Now the thought of April and the girls leaving him totally alone up here on the mountain had him agreeing to a jaunt into town when he hadn’t allowed himself to be social or out in public for years. He was used to being alone, had meticulously carved out the solitary existence he lived. But he couldn’t force himself to turn around.

“I realize that was an unfair request.” He tried to offer a reassuring smile, but his facial muscles felt stiff from underuse. “I’d like a do-over. Please.”

Part of him hoped she’d refuse and he could crawl back into the reclusive hole that had become his life. At least there he was safe. A deeper piece of him needed the companionship and acceptance April could provide. As much time as he spent alone in his apartment in San Francisco, he thought he might go crazy if left by himself on Crimson Mountain. He couldn’t let—

“We’ll leave in five minutes.” April said the words so softly he barely heard her. “And it’s going to be fun, so prepare yourself.”

Something in his chest loosened and it was easier to flash her a genuine smile. “Are you insinuating I’m not fun?”

She let out a little huff of laughter. “Of course not. Connor Pierce, life of the party.”

“That’s me.”

“Grab your stuff, Mr. Party Pants.” She held his gaze for several long moments, then shook her head. “This should be interesting.”

“Thank you, April.” He wanted to say more, to assure her he’d thought this through and it was a good idea. But he hadn’t and, as insignificant as a visit to town seemed, the weight of it suddenly crashed over him, making it difficult to catch his breath. He opened the door, the biting-cold air a welcome distraction.

Fun was no longer part of his repertoire, so he had five minutes to retrieve parts of himself that he’d shut away after the accident. He’d asked for this, and he had to figure out a way to manage it. It was one afternoon in a small mountain town. How difficult could it be?

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