Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43886 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43886 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Sam twisted to grab my free hand with his. He slipped his fingers in mine and kissed my knuckles. “No, it’s fine. And you’re probably right. I don’t always know how to get out of my own way.”
I cast a quick glance at our joined fingers. “I know that feeling too. But I think we all deserve to be happy. Even you, Sam Rooney.”
“Hmm.”
Silence.
Car silence anyway. Wham! serenaded us with a sad tale of last Christmas. It was tempting to sing along and change the subject, but I’d overstepped all sorts of boundaries and I couldn’t let it go now.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re a wonderful father. Lincoln is a well-adjusted, intelligent young man. He’s lucky to have you.” I felt Sam’s gaze in my periphery. I finally gave in and shot him a curious look. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just…thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
When silence settled again, it was calming and easy.
The way it was between old friends.
We chatted idly about the changing scenery in between occasional sing-alongs as we traveled north on the 395. The cityscapes were well behind us. This section of the thoroughfare was two lanes wide, dotted with miles of rocky terrain, then pastures of grazing cattle and the Sierra Nevada mountain range looming in the distance. Dark clouds hung low, hinting at incoming weather.
“This song is the stuff of nightmares,” Sam grumbled, lowering the volume on the radio.
I snickered. “No, it’s not. It’s fun! Sing-along number seventeen…‘Grandma got run over by a reindeer…’ ”
“Nope. I can’t listen to it without worrying about poor Grandma. It’s traumatizing and—damn, it’s really snowing,” Sam observed, squinting through the windshield. “How much longer?”
“Forty-five minutes or less.”
“Cool. The owner said he’d meet me at the cabin with the keys. I’ll text him to let him know we’re close. Think we’ll beat the storm?”
“Honestly, no. But we’ll be fine.”
I hoped.
Visibility was close to zero when I pulled onto the steep driveway of Sam’s rental an hour later. Between holiday traffic and the steady snowy downfall, it was slow going. I’d driven this route hundreds of times, but I had to admit, this was one of the more nerve-wracking trips. I was glad to have someone with me. Sam had offered to take over a few times, but stopping to switch seats would have only delayed the journey…and every second counted.
Needless to say, I was very happy to reach our destination.
Sam waved to the man waiting on the front porch of the log cabin and turned to me. “You should go ahead before it’s unsafe to travel.”
I pushed my glasses to the bridge of my nose. “I cannot leave you here without food or transportation. I’ll give you my cooler and the keys to my SUV and call my sister to pick me up once we’ve ascertained that your rental is fully equipped to weather a storm.”
Sam opened his mouth as if to argue, then tilted his chin toward the house instead. “That’s not necessary, but I probably shouldn’t keep this guy waiting and if it’ll ease your mind, come with me.”
A jovial, bald middle-aged man in a bright-red parka greeted us with hearty handshakes and showed us inside. He gave a brief tour of the single-storied, two-bedroom cabin, pointing out amenities and safety features along the way. I tuned him out and did my own inventory.
The living room was small but well-appointed with a forest-green sectional positioned in front of the enormous stone fireplace. A television was propped on a weathered wood stand to the right of the hearth, across from floor-to-ceiling windows. I wandered to the windows, taking in the view of the snow-laced evergreens and the rolling incline of the mountain beyond. I spotted a chairlift in the distance, nodding absently when I overheard the older man mention nearby trails leading to Main Lodge.
The property was approximately twenty years old, private, yet close enough to civilization. And it featured all the expected trappings of a mountain getaway from the moose-head doormats, red-and-green plaid duvets on the queen-sized beds, to the ski-themed dish towels in the kitchen.
This was quite suitable. Sam would be safe here and undoubtedly, he’d enjoy the peace and quiet he’d been hoping to find.
“You gentlemen have yourselves a happy holiday. Best be prepared to hunker down for a coupla days, ’cause this storm looks like a real lulu,” he declared, ambling to the front door. “You need anything, holler, ya hear?”
“Will do. Thanks.” Sam shut the door behind him and met me in the living room. He brushed his good shoulder against mine on his way to the bank of windows. “Not too shabby, eh?”
“It’s very nice,” I agreed. “So…what are you planning on doing for five days on your own during a holiday and a snowstorm?”
“Read, watch sports…a whole lot of nothing. You?”
“Read, play board games, cook.” I wrapped my arms around my body for warmth. The heater was on, but a chill lingered in the air. “I can start a fire for you, if you’d like…before I call my sister.”