Caught by the Blizzard: A romantic winter thriller (Tellure Hollow Book 1) (3 page)

I groaned. “Come on, spill it. I knew this was all too good to be true. What is it? Are there cameras everywhere or something? Am I online right now?” I waved around the kitchen to the imaginary cameras.

“Nothing like that. You know the guy Noah I mentioned earlier? He’s the last roommate but…his dad also owns the house.” She said it quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

“Rich kid complex?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. That’s not the best part. Not only does his dad own the house, he owns the entire mountain. His family just bought the resort a couple months ago.”

“Alright, I see where you’re going with this,” I said. The picture was starting to clear up but there were still a few hazy spots.

Kayla grinned, pulling her ponytail over her shoulder with a tug. “I
could
get you a job at the mountain, maybe, or…” I raised my eyebrows in question. “Or you could start selling again with us.”

I should’ve known better. I shook my head, twisting the cap off of my bottle of water and setting it down silently. Leaning forward on the counter, I looked at her, disappointment evident on my face. “You’re dealing again?”

“It’s not like Ashville, I swear. We’ve got the market cornered here, tourists coming in an out all the time. The town has three cops, Lizzy.
Three
.”

I loved her and would do just about anything for her, but why did I think Kayla would ever change? A hundred things I wanted to say fought through my brain, struggling to get to the surface. None of them were very nice, so I had to temper my reaction a bit.

“Kay, you got out of town just in time. You weren’t there to see how everything went down. I can’t go back to that again, I can’t.” I bit my lower lip to stop it from quivering with anger. I’d lived it but it was still difficult to talk about. She’d closed herself off, ran away, left me to fend for myself.

She held her hands up defensively, eyes wide. “Okay, fair enough, I thought I’d offer. You seemed happy with the arrangement you had with Rick—”

“Rick’s in prison and I barely managed to avoid getting caught myself,” I snapped. As close as we were, I still resented the way she’d left me so suddenly. I knew she did it to protect herself, but it felt an awful lot like abandonment. “I still had to check in with my parole officer when I wanted to come out here.”

“Alright…it’s just that the last time we talked, you said Rick—”

I spun on my heel. “Can we just not talk about Rick, please? He’s out of my life, for good. The whole point of coming here was to figure out what went wrong and how I can get back on track.” I pushed the hair out of my eyes and drew in a ragged breath. Everything was still so raw. I hadn’t developed the coping skills necessary to deal with it. I leaned my hands on the counter, unable to meet her eye.

“You never went to visit him, did you?” It wasn’t a question. It was a realization. “Jesus, Liz. Have you at least talked to him on the phone?”

I shook my head. “Just once, right after he went in.”

“God, he’s gotta be so pissed,” she muttered to herself. I often call her ‘my sister from another mister’ but when it came to Rick, we couldn’t be more different. I was just about to respond when she spoke up. “Ah shit, I have to go.” I turned and leaned against the counter, anger bubbling under the surface. I knew we’d have to talk about everything at some point, but for her to bring him up ten minutes after I arrived…

“Listen hon, I’m sorry. You just take the winter and chill. We’re gonna have a ton of fun, I promise.” She took my hands and smiled at me, white teeth shining. “Starting with tonight, yeah? We’re gonna go out when I get home from work. You and me.” She hugged me tightly, her scary-strong arms squeezing the anger from me. Within seconds, I was laughing again.

“Alright! Let go, you freak, I need to breathe!” I pulled away and forced myself to smile through the swirl of emotions. “Sounds perfect.”

____________

After Kayla left, I returned to my room and started unpacking. It was only going to be a short trip, so I hadn’t brought much more than the essentials. I still needed to go shopping for a jacket and other warm clothes. The winters in Jacksonville, North Carolina never got cold enough to warrant a full winter wardrobe.

I set my suitcases on the huge bed and unzipped them, letting the lids fall open. My breath caught in my throat, eyes instantly blurring with tears. A framed Polaroid photo my dad normally kept on his dresser at home was centered right in the middle of my clothes.
Dad must’ve snuck it in there before I left
. In the photo, my mother was about my age, flying down a snowy slope. She wore a matching white hat and glove set, a bright red scarf flying in the wind behind her. She was grinning wildly, my smile so similar to hers. As I held it, my fingers brushed a note stuck to the back. I flipped it over and read my dad’s handwriting out loud.

“Just like her, I’m sure you’ll be a natural. Have fun, be safe. Love, Dad.”

Falling to the bed with a sigh, I held the photo in my lap, tears running freely down my cheeks. It’d been eight years since she’d died and I missed her like crazy every day. And every day, I wondered what my life would be like if she wasn’t gone.

I made great time and pulled into Tellure Hollow by early afternoon. I’d gotten there the old fashioned way; road maps and my memory. Since it’d been well over fifteen years since I’d been there, the folded road maps in the passenger seat of my truck had done most the work. I pulled into a parking spot right on Main Street and cut the engine. I took a slow breath as I stepped down, a shot of pain rocketing through my left side as my knee straightened. I leaned against the frame of the truck and I waited for the throbbing to become manageable.

The town looked pretty much the same as I remembered it. Small, quiet, and at the foot of the snow-covered Powder Mountain Ski Resort. Most of the local businesses were on this main street. In fact, I’d passed the closest Wal-Mart and McDonald’s about an hour earlier. I smiled to myself as I shut the door.
This is exactly what I need
.

Working the kinks out of my joints as I moved, I slowly walked up the street. The town had received half a foot of powder the night before, making everything look picturesque. Glittering snow coated every roof and streetlight, dusting the Christmas decorations that were strung across the street. Thankfully, the sidewalks had all been cleared. I was still wearing the sneakers I’d left California in and I really didn’t feel like slipping on any ice.

The streets were busy. The thriving tourism the resort brought in kept the town alive. I was hoping the transient town would help me keep a low profile for the season, just long enough for me to sort my shit out. Hard for people to learn much about you when they were only in town for a couple days. And if they did, it didn’t matter. They’d be on their way soon enough.

About halfway up the street, I walked past a ski shop called Freddy’s. I stared at the orange “Wanted” sign in the window and felt compelled to go in. With my background, I could grab any job I wanted at the mountain, but something about the cluttered storefront called out to me. A bell above the door chimed as I walked in. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloomy store.

The shop was dimly lit, mostly because it was stacked floor to ceiling with every bit of ski and snowboard gear that’d ever been made. Boards hung from the ceiling, coats and pants pinned to the walls…the place was a mess and I loved it instantly. The unmistakable smell of hot wax hit me like a slap across the face.

“Hello?” I called out.

“Hey! Back here,” a voice called out from the back of the store. I picked my way through the tight aisle toward the tuning shop in the back. I spotted an older man hunched over the work bench, smoothing the melted wax into a snowboard with a small iron. He looked at me above his glasses. “Can I help you find something?”

“A job, if you’re still hiring.” My voice sounded scratchy. It’d been days since I’d spoken to anyone.

“Oh yeah? You got experience?” He gave me The Squint. I knew he recognized me but couldn’t put his finger on exactly where. I could almost see the wheels in his brain turning. As famous as I was in certain circles, I got The Squint several times a day. You’d think I’d eventually get used to it but each time was like a spike of irritation, a reminder I could never leave my history behind.

“Enough to know you’re gonna burn that wax unless you keep moving,” I said nodding to the board. That seemed to refocus him and he jumped back to the board with a curse. I glanced around the workshop and was surprised that it was fully decked out. Stone grinder, edger, everything. I spotted a full rack of equipment obviously waiting to be tuned. He finished up and set the iron down, giving the wax time to cool.

He wiped his hands on a red handkerchief and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans. “Position is part time, minimum wage, under the table, and weekends are mandatory.”

“Sounds perfect.”

He squinted at me, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. “You ain’t a townie, so how long you stayin’? Too many transients around here nowadays.”

“Well, sort of. I haven’t been here in a while, but my grandfather was born and raised on Cedar Street. I’ll be here for the season then after that…” I trailed off. I didn’t know how to continue the rest of that sentence.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Marsh, Bryan Marsh.”

The Squint turned into The Look, which I almost hated more. The Look said, “I know you! You’re that guy who…” Sure enough, the old man’s eyes got wide as he finally placed me.

“You’re The Blizzard. Bryan The Blizzard. Aw shit son, I saw that crash live on TV, such a shame what—”

I waved my hand, trying to get the guy to just drop it. I knew what happened. I was there for crissake. “Yeah, well, I go by my real name now.”

He leaned back on the workbench and crossed his arms. “I knew your grandfather, you know. Good man. I think he’s buried in the cemetery, ain’t he?” I nodded. “Ah, well then, guess that does make you a sort of townie.” He sniffed and fell silent, still staring at me. “Well, just ‘cause you was good at usin’ skis don’t mean you’re good at fixing ‘em. Come here and show me what you can do.”

I stepped around the workbench, doing my best to conceal my limp. It wasn’t usually that bad but the long drive had stiffened everything up. If the old guy noticed, he didn’t show any indication of it. I ran my hand over the snowboard, feeling the thickness of the wax. The board was obviously well used but only a few years old. Grabbing the rectangle of Plexiglas, I held it in both hands and found the sweet angle against the board. As I pushed it, long curls and flakes of wax dropped to the floor.

The smell hit me again. What is it about scents that draw out your emotions like they’re on strings? Pictures, scenes, bittersweet emotions. My entire life had revolved around the things in this shop until abruptly, it didn’t.

A memory of my dad showing me how to hot wax my skis popped into my mind. I couldn’t have been older than ten. He’d caught me trying to do it on my own, ruining Mom’s expensive iron in the process. Rather than yelling at me, he just sat me down and showed me the correct way to do it. That was Dad. Always instructing, always teaching. He even went out and replaced the iron so I wouldn’t get in trouble.

Blinking back tears, I finished buffing the board down. I bent close and blew the remaining flakes away, finally stepping back so the old man could take a look. After a brief inspection, he gave a curt nod, once again looking me over.

“Alright then, can you start Saturday?” he asked thrusting his gnarled hand towards me.

I nearly winced as I shook it, the strength of his grip surprising me. “Absolutely…”

“Walter, people call me Walt.”

There was something I instantly liked about him, something sage and earthy. I looked around the shop and smiled.
Screw anti-depressants and PTSD groups. This might be the sort of therapy I need.
I again noticed the big rack of equipment waiting to be tuned and nodded towards it.

“I can start sooner if you want, help you with all that.”

Walt scoffed and started loosening the vice. “Folks don’t mind waiting for quality work around here. I don’t do quick turnaround like the bastards up there,” he spat in the direction of the resort. “All these are locals. That’s not to say I wouldn’t mind taking some that out-of-state money from time to time.” He picked up the board and set it in the rack opposite, taking the tag and stapling it to an invoice. “But if someone comes in here demanding it back in an hour, they can fuck right off. That’s what that Richards fella is offering up at the mountain and if you ask me, they probably don’t do a damn thing for the money.” He looked like he’d just tasted something bitter.