A Promise of Fireflies (35 page)

The engine slowed and Logan drove into a partially cleared parking lot. The Stanley Hotel loomed directly in front of them, snow drifted in heaps against the sides and piled high atop the roof.

“The Stanley,” she said, stepping off the Arctic Cat. “Animal topiaries and Jack Torrance’s insane eyes. And Halloran.
Redrum
,” she groaned, mimicking Danny’s creepy voice from the movie. “How’d you know?”

“Every Stephen King fan should see this hotel.”

Ryleigh stepped to him and laced her arms around his neck. “This is crazy cool.”

Though the ski bibs restricted contact, she savored the closeness. A shiver feathered her spine as he tightened his grip around her waist and pulled her close.

“Let’s go inside,” she said after an embarrassingly long pause. “I can’t wait any longer.”

Logan took her hand. “The ghosts of The Stanley await you.”

The hotel was deserted and the staff fawned over them. Ryleigh browsed through the abundance of souvenirs and picked up a T-shirt with the word
‘redrum’
scrawled across the back. She held it up.

“What do you think?”

“Beautiful.”

A blush of pleasure tickled the back of her neck. “Murder—psychopathic or not—isn’t usually something I would consider beautiful,” she said, planting her hands on her hips.

“Oh,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You were talking about the shirt?”

“Smart-ass,” she mumbled and refolded the shirt.

She’d no more set it back on the shelf when Logan took it and tucked it under his arm. “My gift for a beautiful scaredy-cat.”

After spending over an hour pouring over every aspect of the hotel and asking countless questions (she certainly was a curious one) they said their good-byes to the ghosts of The Stanley.

On their way back to the resort, they passed a policeman driving cautiously slow along the slick highway. Ryleigh tightened her grip. Logan waved. The policeman nodded. With virtually no traffic, if it wasn’t legal to ride on the highway, it was one of those times where rules were graciously—and gratefully—overlooked.

When they returned to the resort, Logan left the motor running and stepped off the Cat. Ryleigh started to follow.

“Wait here. I’ll only be a minute.”

“Where to now?” she insisted.

He grinned.

“Surprises are for the birds.”

“You’ll need pictures. Even a writer can’t describe this place.”

Logan returned with a camera and secured it in a compartment on the Cat. “By the way,” he said, “the handholds are below your seat.”

“Now you tell me?”

“Thought you might need them.”

She raised an eyebrow. “For your information, Mr. Cavanaugh, I figured out where they were quite a while ago.”

As he gathered speed, her arms tightened around his waist and he smiled at the gentle pressure.

Not far from the cabins, an open meadow begged to be spoiled. The winter playground was ripe for spinning doughnuts, the exhilaration of a little extra speed and teaching Ryleigh how to drive. Eager as a sixteen-year-old with their first car, she caught on fast and drove as such and seemed just as disappointed when Logan took the keys from a woman who sported a pout with amazing sincerity.

It had been a long time since he’d seen such simple gestures cause such a reaction. Ordinary things were fresh and exciting and she delighted in the simplest of pleasures. Her enthusiasm was contagious. Showing her The Stanley Hotel had been effortless and he wondered how she would react to seeing the wonders the world had to offer.

RYLEIGH REMOVED HER
helmet and set it on the seat. Her first step sank into the snow above her knees. “Oomph.” She laughed and toppled over as she tried to take a second step. “Help,” she said, realizing she was now quite stuck. “Help me up!”

Logan set his helmet beside hers. God, was he smirking again at the impossible situation she was in? He reached for her hand and then drew it back, crossed his arms, and laughed.

“What’re you doing?”

“Taking in the view.”

“Are you going to leave me here?”

“Yes.” He paused. “I’ve got you exactly where I want you.”

Eager anticipation gleamed from his eyes as he dropped beside her.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” she said with a knowing smile.

“I don’t plan to, Cabin Number Three.”

He took her face in his hands. Acutely aware of his hesitation, or prelude to his next move, she reached around his neck and pulled herself to him, his mouth warm and moist against hers. A day’s growth of beard brushed her cheek with tantalizing softness. With a deepened hunger and without apology, he pulled her over him and out of the snow, his kiss fervent and hesitant, and as untamed as the wilderness around them.

His arms moved easily around her and drew her close, the snowsuits the only barrier between them, and the tip of his tongue found hers, exploring, discovering. Everything around her disappeared in a hazy fog. The forest stillness, the rush of the river, the murmur of the wind through the pines, gone—lost in the silence of the unspoken.

Their eyes met, locked as tight as their embrace.

“Looking in your eyes is like falling into the ocean,” he whispered, kissing them gently, one and then the other, “so deep I feel as though I’m drowning.”

She pressed her weight fully against him. “Hold me.”

He surrendered to her simple request, holding her against him, his penetrating warmth a sharp contrast to the cool wave that shivered her spine.

“It’s close to sunset,” he said, glancing at the horizon, “and I have something to show you.”

“I’m enjoying the view from here.”

“I can find no argument with that, but I have promises to keep,” he said, rolling to his side. He took her hand, lifting her from the shelter of his embrace and out of the snow. “And we’ve many miles to go before we sleep.”

Logan maneuvered the Arctic Cat around tightly knit evergreens and clumps of bare aspen. Tiny footprints dotted the snow where small critters had ventured into the broken sunlight. The ride hadn’t taken long. The engine slowed and the forest opened its arms to a wide section of Fall River. Shiny black with icy silver ripples, the water rushed angrily—not the whispered sigh near the cabins—and plunged from a rugged cliff into a deep pool. The river fell sharply between snow-covered boulders and layers of ice, thick as stalactites, hung between the jumbles of rock glistening in the patchwork of early afternoon sun.

“It’s breathtaking.” Ryleigh removed her helmet. “You were right, I need pictures.”

He grabbed her hand. “Don’t get too close to the water.”

She nodded and he let her slip free, and then he reached to take the camera from its case. He raised his voice over the rush of swift-moving water. “The river undercuts the ice—” He looked up. “Ryleigh!” Panic burned his throat. “Don’t move!”

She’d already trudged dangerously close. “What’s wrong? The water is still a long way off.”

His heart thundered in his ears. “Get back!” The strength drained from his legs.

“I’m just going to the rock.”

The ice groaned.

Logan’s instincts leapt into full panic mode. “Back up!”

The unmistakable groan of the ice sliced through the air, the sound magnified to a deafening growl. He bolted, his legs heavy and useless against the drag of knee-deep snow.

Ryleigh froze. “Logan—?”

The terror in her voice crippled his heart. So close. Two more steps. Adrenaline flooded his veins as he reached for her outstretched hand. “Don’t move!” And then as though an invisible barrier had crumbled, he prayed.

The ice shattered. She screamed. The sound ripped through his body as the river dragged her under.

“NO!” Panic erupted inside him and he lunged. Logan’s fingers tightened around her wrist. He pulled. Every muscle screamed. He bit down hard. “GOD!” Spit flew from between clenched teeth. “Don’t do this to me again.” His grip slipped, and then failed, and the river swallowed her.

He scrambled closer to the edge. “I won’t let you take her,” he screamed and reared his head to the sky. “USE ME, damn you!”

Logan plunged his arm into the water and groped blindly. A finger. A hand. Her wrist. Adrenaline pumped his muscles to action and they exploded into hot, violent tremors. He braced his feet against the slick rocks and grabbed hold.

A HAND TIGHTENED
around her wrist. Then there was nothing and the current dragged her under. Her sinuses burned. Panic screamed from every pore. The serrated blades of arctic cold ripped at her skin. Still, she sank.

Her arms floated beside her in some weightless water dance, yet one hand stretched in a mindless effort toward the surface but grasped nothing but water.

Bubbles tickled her nose and cheeks and clung to unblinking lashes, and then drifted upward through ripples of clear, cold water. Eerie, muffled sounds gurgled above her,
echoes of him
, and surrounded her in a peaceful, liquid bubble. Fatigue weighed her down as if her feet were tied to the rocks beneath them. Her lungs screamed for a breath and tiny bursts of white and pink and blue popped on and off behind her eyes, a kaleidoscope of color.
Beautiful.
Her eyes closed, the cold skin of her eyelids heavy.
Peaceful.
She longed to give in to the guise of sleep…

…a muffled sound. From where? She opened her eyes. A shapeless form rippled the surface. She reached out, but sank further down. Pain screamed from her lungs. Then, her foot struck solid ground.

She bent her knees and pushed.

WITH A FINAL
burst of adrenalin set loose by a harrowing scream, Logan seized her wrists with both hands. Lightning hot bolts of pain shot through every muscle, every tissue. Rooted in desperation, he hooked his elbows under her arms.

Shards of broken ice bobbed around them as he dragged her from the river. Her weight slid easily across the snow to solid ground, but her body shook in convulsive waves, her lips and skin blue. She flinched as sunlight struck her eyes.

Logan pinched her nose and breathed into her mouth, forcing air into her lungs. “C’mon. C’mon, breathe for me.” He counted the seconds.

Her eyes flew wide. She gasped, a gurgled intake that raised her chest off the snow. Logan turned her head and she retched and then coughed, clearing her lungs.

“There you are.” Mere seconds had elapsed; it seemed like hours. He held her, his body for hers. “You’re mine now.”

Ryleigh gulped air and stared blankly up at him.

“Talk to me. What’s your name?”

She tried to sit. He held her down.

“C’mon, baby, talk to me. Who are you?”

“If you don’t know…” The words formed around vicious shudders. “It’s a little late to ask.” She forced a smile.

Logan’s eyes blurred. “Who am I?”

“Too easy.” Her body convulsed in shivers. “Smart-ass.”

He buried her head in his arms. “Can you walk?”

“So cold.” With his assistance, she struggled but failed to stand.

Logan carried her to the snowmobile, ignoring the pain ripping through his exhausted muscles. Stripping out of his snow bibs, he wrapped them around her and placed her in front of him, but there was nothing he could do to stop the wind from blasting her with cold air, lowering her temperature further. He had to get her out of the cold and warm her body.

With one arm around her waist, he gripped her tightly to keep her limp body upright on the Cat and leaned his body into hers, her body starved for warmth.

Long before they reached the resort, Logan blasted the horn in several short bursts.

Carlos met them in the breezeway.

“Mr. Cavanaugh, sir, what has happened?” Carlos frantically steadied Ryleigh’s shivering body.

“The Falls. She fell through the ice. Go get Karina. I need her NOW!”

Carlos ran.

Logan carried her inside.

Water dripped from every thread of the snow bibs as he unzipped and pulled them off her shoulders to the meager tank top and shorts underneath—just as soaked, just as cold. “God,” he said, “my fault,
mia bella.
”