Snowbound. Janice Johnson Kay
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want the kids to know, but…I was so scared.”
Feeling cruel, he said, “You should have been. Without winter gear…”
Her chin came up. “This blizzard wasn’t predicted so soon. And none of the meteorologists expected it to be so major. It’s only November!”
“You ever noticed how ski areas open Thanksgiving weekend? Means they’ve been getting snow for weeks.”
“That’s true, but we’re not at that kind of elevation here…” She trailed off, then sighed. “You’re right. We should have never set off without being prepared. I knew we had chains, and I’ve driven in snow, so I got complacent. But my dad kept down sleeping bags in the trunk whenever we traveled during the winter.”
“Smart man.”
“You saved our lives.”
“No. It sounds like Dieter did.”
Her face softened. “He did. He’s an amazing boy. Really brilliant. I mean, they’re all smart, but not like him. And he’s so… together. Mature and, I don’t know, comfortable with himself. Which, let me tell you, is rare in sixteen-year-olds.”
The boys he’d known in Iraq were younger in years, if older in experience. Living in a war zone did that to kids.
He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “They all that age?”
“Willow is fifteen. She’s our only sophomore. And Troy and Erin are seniors, so they’re seventeen. The rest are juniors.”
John nodded.
“It’s nice of you to take charge. I really am tired.”
“Go. They’ll be fine.”
“I know. You’re right.”
Still she didn’t move, and he thought how easy it would be to step forward, wrap a hand around the back of her head and kiss her.
Something on his face may have given away the tenor of his thoughts, because her color rose and she groped backward with one foot for the next step.
“I don’t know what I’m just standing here for. Tiredness, I guess. Um, good night.”
He dipped his head. “Good night.”
John stayed at the foot of the stairs watching until she disappeared above with the basket of toiletries. He should have offered her a nightgown; he had a few of those in the lost and found, too. All were sturdy flannel. He didn’t know if any newlyweds had ever honeymooned at Thunder Mountain Lodge, but if so the brides had remembered to take home their lacy negligees.
John frowned, trying to remember whether the kids had called her Miss. Or was it Ms.? Young as she looked, she could be married. No, he decided; if she was, she would have called her husband tonight, not the principal. And she’d asked him to phone parents. She hadn’t said anything about him calling a husband.
Heading back to the kitchen, he was irritated to realize that he felt relieved.
FIONA HAD NEVER been more grateful to be able to brush her teeth. As she did so, she thought about their host. He’d been remarkably kind so far, but he’d looked so grim all the while!
She wondered what had happened to give him the limp and the scar that ran from his jaw down his neck and beneath the collar of his shirt. It looked…not brand-new, but not as if he’d lived with it for years, either. Several times she’d seen a spasm of pain on his face, too, so the injury to his leg obviously still troubled him.
Well, she could hardly ask, and hoped the kids would be tactful enough not to. Or, more realistically, she should hope that they were too self-centered to care about John Fallon’s history.
Fiona brushed her hair with her own brush from her purse, then gazed at herself in the mirror. What had he seen when he looked at her? A couple of times she’d imagined… But that was silly. He probably thought she was an idiot who hadn’t showed any more sense than the teenagers would have.
She sighed. Sad as it was to admit, he was right. It terrified her still to think what might have happened if Dieter hadn’t spotted those tire tracks. The fact that they were safe and warm tonight was a miracle.
In the bedroom, she hesitated over what to wear—or not wear, finally leaving on the pants he’d lent her and her turtleneck. Just in case she had to get up for some reason during the night.
The bed felt wonderful, the fluffy duvet heavenly atop her. Tension drained out of her, and Fiona closed her eyes.
The moment she did, white swirled beneath her lids, as if the sight had been imprinted on them. She squeezed her eyes tighter shut and fought to picture something or someone else.
What she came up with was John Fallon’s face as they’d stood at the foot of the stairs. Lean, tanned, with strong cheekbones, dark bristles on jaw and cheeks, a fan of lines beside watchful brown eyes, and a mouth he kept compressed. The scar, puckered and angry. Maybe, she thought, his mouth was tight against pain and not from impatience or irritation.
But there had been that moment when she’d have sworn his gaze had lowered briefly to her mouth. The muscles in his jaw had knotted, and something had flickered in his eyes.
Had he kissed a woman since he’d been hurt?
How silly. He probably had a girlfriend, or even a wife who happened to be away right now. She doubted he had looked at her with desire—even momentarily.
He was being as polite as he was able, and she would have to do her very best to be sure they weren’t any more trouble than they had to be. It was absurd for her to wish that the unsmiling lodgekeeper would look at her with just a little more warmth.
Still, she held on to the image of his face until exhaustion overcame her.
FIONA AWAKENED to the sound of a squeal, then hushed giggles. Huh? She opened her eyes and stared at a strange, pitched ceiling. For a moment she felt completely blank. Then it came back to her.
Snowstorm, hellish drive, the lurch as the van dropped off the road, the tramp through knee-deep snow in the dark.
She had slept… She turned her head and found an old-fashioned clock on the night-stand. Twelve hours? Was it possible?
Galvanized, she jackknifed to a sitting position. Her students! And here she’d gone to sleep vowing to keep them out of their host’s hair.
No slippers, but she’d left her borrowed wool socks on. Fiona paused to peer in the mirror and shuddered. She’d scare the kids.
No choice. She needed the bathroom, and now.
Raucous laughter came from one of the girls’ rooms followed by someone shushing.
“Hey,” she said, flapping a hand as she went by.
“The bathtub is so-o amazing,” Tabitha called after her. “Mr. Fallon said it was okay to use as much hot water as we wanted.”
The idea of sinking into a deep tub of hot water was irresistible. On the other hand, putting on dirty clothes when she got out was less appealing.
Water splashed the floor in the bathroom and toothbrushes, hairbrushes and makeup were scattered over the counter. Dirty clothes were heaped in a corner. Sitting on the toilet, Fiona gazed at the pile wide-eyed. Had John Fallon come up with more clothes…?
Then she spotted the neat pile of folded laundry on the slatted shelving unit beside the towels. As if in a dream, she investigated. There were her jeans and yesterday’s socks, neatly rolled. He’d washed and dried their clothes last night.
“I’m going to marry him,” she said out loud.
If he had a clean shirt she could borrow, she could leave off her panties and handwash them. She could have that bath.
Realizing she hadn’t looked outside yet, she went to the window. Beyond the eaves,