Caught by the Blizzard: A romantic winter thriller (Tellure Hollow Book 1) (4 page)

“Alright, good to know,” I nodded. I’d spent enough time in various ski towns to know the locals rarely got along with the tourists. His anger wasn’t anything new to me. “Listen Walt, I appreciate it. I’ve gotta go get settled but I’ll see you Saturday, alright?”

He’d obviously gotten himself all worked up. He grunted and waved a hand at me, still muttering under his breath about the resort. I chuckled to myself and made my way out of the shop. I took note of a bar across the street called the Gritty Cask.
Probably a tourist trap
, I thought,
but could be a good place to get something to eat later
.

As I made my way back down the street, I saw a bright green Hummer parked through three of the diagonal parking spots. One of the town cops circled the truck taking down the information, obviously as unimpressed by the gleaming chrome as I was. He noticed me looking as I walked past and rolled his eyes, returning to his ticket pad. I was doing a quick sweep of my truck to make sure the guy hadn’t scraped it when the driver approached.

“Oh come on, I was just in the store for a minute. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Sir, your vehicle is blocking—”

“Yeah, alright.” The driver had a hawkish face, his blond hair peeking out of his perfectly placed knit hat. I stood in stunned silence as he pulled out his wallet. “How much is it?”

The cop looked at the money in the guy’s hand and then back to his ticket pad. “It’s not like that. You’ll have to go down to the station to pay it in person or you can send in a check.”

The blond huffed. “My money spends just as well now as it will later. Here, take a hundred and we’ll call it even, alright?”

Shaking my head, I climbed into my truck and left the cop to deal with it. This town had definitely changed since the last time I’d been back. The layout of Tellure Hollow was pretty much the same since it was first settled back in the 1800s, but with a new influx of people, the town limits had grown over time. I parked on the street in front of the house, taking note that I’d have to find a local kid to come shovel the drive for me. Still mid-afternoon, the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains, bathing the neighborhood in an odd glow.

I grabbed my bags out of the truck and looked at the resort looming over the entire town. The stark white trails stood out against the dark forest of the mountain. I noticed the hill to the side was sprinkled with huge faux log cabins, expensive places that were occupied only a fraction of the year. “That’s new.” With a sigh, I fumbled with my keys and trudged through the snow to the one-bed, single floor palace I’d call home for the next couple months.

With no cable, no Internet, and no time like the present, I set about unpacking my meager belongings. When my mom had heard I was planning on coming out for the winter, she’d originally wanted me to stay at the hunting cabin. I wasn’t ready to face that place, so she did the second best thing and found this rental. She also went to the trouble of hiring someone to come through and tidy up, stock the fridge and cupboards with some staples I’d need. I thought she was being ridiculous, but as tired as I was, the gesture was very welcome. All I had to do was put away my clothes, but even that proved difficult. A few minutes later, I found myself frozen in place, an open photo album in my lap. I sat back in the piles of clothes and flipped through it.

My therapist had helped me put the album together, each photo agonizingly chosen to evoke a memory or emotion. He’d designed exercises around the album but I could barely look at each photo for more than a moment. It brought the past to the present with such startling speed. If I wanted to get better, I knew I had to face it, even if it was only for a moment or two a day.

It started slowly, baby photos of me and my brother. Those I didn’t mind. As the pages turned, I grew. Me and my dad on the slopes when I was little, him guiding me with a belt and straps around my waist. Suddenly, I was a teenager. A photo of my mom and brother at the finish line cheering, ringing loud cowbells. Even at that age there were signs for The Blizzard.

My throat felt like it was squeezing shut. I gritted my teeth and turned the page, knowing what photo was next. Angela and I in our prom outfits, smiling, young, happy. Then it was my dad standing beside me on the podium, biting my gold metal between his teeth, arm slung over my shoulders. He looked so proud…

Hot tears flooded my eyes but I tried to push through. The next photo was a profile shot of Angela and Mom at the line, waiting for me to finish a race I’d never complete. The following pages were filled not with photos, but newspaper clippings. I slipped my finger under the page, hand trembling as I willed myself to look. Instead, I slammed the album shut with a curse and jumped to my feet.

“I need a walk,” I explained to the empty house. “I’m too tired for this right now.”

Tellure Hollow was one of the cutest, smallest towns I’d ever been in. The snow and mountains made the whole area look like a postcard. After borrowing one of Kayla’s jackets and a pair of boots, I decided to grab my camera and walk into town. The excitement of being in a new place, such a different place, made me antsy. I wanted to throw myself into the experience head first.

I must’ve taken a hundred photos as I walked down the hill. Everything grabbed my attention. The way the light glinted off the snow, making it look like a sea of diamonds. The way the tree branches hung heavy…the bright blue sky. The cold was invigorating and fresh, triggering my already overactive imagination.

Daydreaming comes naturally to me. Usually, an idea or an image will trigger an avalanche of
and then’s
and
what if’s
. Before long, my new life in Tellure Hollow unveiled itself before me. I’d own a small but lucrative photography studio, not portraits, but artistic photography. The wealthy tourists would all fight over my work. With all the time I spent on the mountain, it was inevitable that I’d become a world-class skier. I’d probably start a program that organized free lessons to underprivileged kids, win some award, meet the President.

By the time I reached the bottom of the hill, I was wrapped up in my own little dream world. I approached a bridge I hadn’t noticed when Kayla was driving up to the house. Thankful that I’d thought to buy fingerless gloves before I left, I lifted my camera to my eye and started snapping photos of the river. I crouched down and took a few shots between the ornate concrete design of the railing.

One of things I love most about photography is how it favors the brave. To get some of the most incredible shots, you have to be willing to get down and dirty. You can’t be afraid to climb or hang or risk bodily harm for a good photo.

I noticed the shadows from the bridge looked really cool on the rippling water below. There was a ridge of ice overhanging the edge of the rushing water that that caught my eye. I hooked my leg through one of the holes to secure myself, brushed away a patch of snow with my arm, and leaned over. Just as I was framing the shot, two big hands grabbed me around the waist and yanked me back.

“Hey!” I shouted, spinning to see who’d grabbed me. I was suddenly face to face with a pair of smoldering hazel eyes that reminded me of a stormy ocean. I blinked a few times, refocusing on the guy’s face and holy shit, was he hot. His lean, chiseled face was hidden under a couple day’s worth of stubble. Shaggy brown hair stuck out of his black knit hat and that jaw…that jaw could’ve cut glass. His expression was confused, nearly angry, as if I’d put him out in some way. A list of obscenities caught in my throat, a strange choking sound coming out instead.

“Hey, yourself. I just saved you from hypothermia. Don’t you know how dangerous that is?” His voice was deep, slow.

We stood looking at each other for a moment before I realized his hands were still on my waist. A part of me wanted to step into his arms while another wanted to tear off my glove and slap him. Regaining a bit of my sense, I glared and pushed them away. “Like I give a shit. I was fine.”

He licked his lower lip quickly and stepped back, half smiling at me. That smile could’ve bought him a ticket straight to Hollywood. “And they wonder why chivalry is dead.”

Regardless of how hot he was, I didn’t appreciate being touched, an issue I hadn’t quite gotten over since dancing at Rick’s club. “You didn’t open a door for me. You nearly shoved me off a bridge,” I snapped.

“That’s not the way I see it. I saved you from a near-certain death.” The way he said it so matter-of-factly drove me crazy. I huffed through my nose, feeling like a bull about to charge.

“Whatever,” I said, turning to walk away. God, how infuriating! I’d just gotten into the zone and that shot was going to be amazing. After a few steps down the sidewalk, I spun back around, unable to drop an argument that easily. “You could’ve destroyed my camera.”

“But I didn’t. The least you can do is buy me a drink to say thanks.” The half-smile turned into a full grin.
What the hell is up with this guy?
I had to give it to him, his delivery was smooth and straightforward without coming off as obnoxious. Still, I wasn’t about to let another pretty face sweet talk his way into my life. Not again. I tightened the scarf around my neck as he strolled closer. I wanted to turn and walk but couldn’t seem to pull my feet up.

“Then at least let me buy you a drink to apologize for saving you.” His eyes were so intense I could barely stand to meet them. I felt unbalanced, like the world had begun to rotate around us. He reached out and touched my arm. I reacted without thinking, slapping his hand away with enough force to startle both of us.

“Don’t touch me!” I snapped. I hated the shocked look on his face, like I was some kind of lunatic. I held my hands up defensively. “Listen, thank you, fuck you, whatever. Pick whichever one you find relevant and leave me alone.” Was this what I’d become? I didn’t know what else to say to him so I walked away…like I always do. I reached the other side of the bridge before the urge to look back became too much.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw him leaning against the railing, arms crossed, smirking as he watched me walk away. It made me want to slap and kiss him all the more. Instead, I just flipped him the bird and somehow, it felt better doing it with my fingerless gloves.

I was trying to look cool as she walked away but internally I was already kicking myself.
Seriously? That’s the way you’re talking to people now? That’s the way you treat a gorgeous girl like that?
But it hadn’t been a total disaster. She had looked back and I was pretty sure I’d spotted a small smile on her face, hidden behind her hair. Alright, she’d flipped me off, but I liked a little attitude.

I didn’t want to be a creep and watch her walk away, so I turned and headed in the opposite direction for a couple minutes before winding my way back home. It felt good to stretch my legs even though the cold aggravated the pins holding me together. Once back at the house and with my muscles nice and warm, I settled on the floor and started my physical therapy exercises. My therapists and doctors had done everything they could. Now, it was a matter of sticking to a strict regimen and listening to my body.

That was the hardest part. I’d lived my entire life on the edge, pushing my body to the absolute limit. My dad always told me that real growth came when the pain kicked in. “If it’s hurtin’, it’s workin’,” he’d always say. I had to completely retrain the way I approached obstacles in my life. My PT was not only a physical battle to recover my body, but a mental one as well. The therapists hadn’t helped much in that area. My instincts told me that Walt and his shop might be the best therapy for me.