Snowed In. Cassie Miles
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“We need to be cautious but not paranoid.”
Sarah stepped away from him and reached behind her back to untie her long apron. When she cast aside the pin-striped apron and adjusted the collar on her blouse, Blake was struck by the contrast between the rich teal fabric and her milky skin. A tiny, heart-shaped gold locket nestled in the hollow of her throat.
His fingers itched to caress her, and he actually stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans to keep from reaching out and tracing the path of the delicate gold chain that encircled her neck.
As she crossed the kitchen to hang her apron on a peg near the door, he watched her athletic stride and unconsciously graceful gestures.
Being alone with her might be a mistake.
If so, it was an error in judgment he intended to make repeatedly.
Snowed In
Cassie Miles
Though born in Chicago and raised in LA, USA TODAY bestselling author CASSIE MILES has lived in Colorado long enough to be considered a semi-native. The first home she owned was a log cabin in the mountains overlooking Elk Creek, with a thirty-mile commute to her work at the Denver Post.
After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. Ceviche, anyone? She’s discovered that almost anything tastes better with wine. When she’s not plotting Mills & Boon® Intrigue books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanical Gardens near her high-rise home.
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To Kersten Bergstrom and Sonny Caporale with congratulations and hopes for a wonderful life together. And, as always, to Rick.
Contents
Chapter One
“Slow down, Sarah. The drop on this side of the trail is killer.”
“It’s only sixteen feet.” Sarah Bentley paused to aim her flashlight beam over the edge where the light was swallowed by the dark of a cloudy, moonless night. With a shrug, she resumed walking, her boots crunching on the frozen snow. “I wouldn’t even call this a cliff. It’s a gradual drop-off. You’ve been on ski slopes that were steeper.”
“Not in the middle of the night,” her friend Emily Layton protested. “Not when I wasn’t wearing skis.”
This forest trail led from Bentley’s Bed-and-Breakfast past the drilling site for Hackman Oil, and it followed a relatively straight line, which meant it was the shortest distance between the two points. But shorter didn’t always mean faster. Sarah questioned the logic of taking this route. She halted on the path and turned to face her friend. “Why didn’t we drive?”
“The text message from BOOM said to use the trail.” Emily’s breath formed a frosty little cloud around her wide, usually smiling mouth. “Specifically. The trail.”
“I don’t take orders from those jerks.” She didn’t like BOOM, a radical environmentalist group prone to one stupid thing after another. “What kind of mess am I walking into?”
“I already told you.” Emily rolled her eyes and stamped her foot, acting more like a teenager than a twenty-eight-year-old woman who was about to be a bride. “I got a midnight text that said BOOM was going to send a message to Hackman Oil. They want me to join them and warned me to be quiet and take the forest trail. I needed you to show me the way.”
Sarah pulled on the earflaps of her knit wool cap. She remembered being wakened and putting on her snow pants and parka over her flannel pajamas, but the reason for this middle-of-the-night hike through the frigid February night was still hazy. As a professional innkeeper who had been running the B and B for five years on her own, she should have developed a knack for snapping wide-awake at a moment’s notice, but that talent had always eluded her.
Again, she wondered what she’d gotten herself into. Surely she hadn’t agreed to join forces with BOOM. “What kind of message?”
“A