Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
DARIO
The snowmobile engine roars beneath me as I navigate the treacherous path down the mountain. Wind whips snow into my face despite the protective visor, but my mind isn't on the cold or the danger. It's fixed firmly on what I left behind.
Judith in my playroom.
The image burns in my memory. Her slender fingers trailing over the leather of my favorite flogger. The widening of her dark eyes as understanding dawned. The unmistakable flush creeping across her cheekbones that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with arousal.
I force the thoughts aside, focusing on the narrow trail. One wrong move on these slopes could be fatal. The storm has transformed familiar terrain into an alien landscape, pristine and deadly.
Two hours later, I pull into Crimson Hollow's main street.
The small mountain town is already decked out for Christmas despite it being only mid-November.
Garlands hang between streetlights, and wreaths adorn nearly every door.
Under different circumstances, it might look charming.
Today, against the backdrop of a potential disaster, the festive decorations seem jarringly out of place.
I park the snowmobile outside the fire station, which serves as our emergency response center during winter crises. Inside, familiar faces turn as I enter, nodding in acknowledgment. Silas approaches immediately.
"Dario. Thanks for coming."
"Situation?" I keep it brief, shedding my outer gear.
"Unstable snow pack on North Ridge. Cabin up there with three hikers trapped. Been out of contact for twelve hours, but their emergency beacon activated an hour ago."
"Avalanche already triggered or still a risk?"
"Still a risk. That's why we need experienced people." He hands me a topographic map. "Micah is assembling equipment. We've got six volunteers so far."
Micah Kane. Of course he'd be involved. The youngest Kane brother, with his military background and intimate knowledge of these mountains. One of the few men in the area with both the skills and the temperament for high-risk rescue work.
"Timeline?" I study the map, noting the marked cabin location.
"Moving out in thirty. Forecast says we've got a six-hour window before the next system hits."
I nod, already mentally preparing. "I'll gear up."
Micah finds me in the equipment room, checking avalanche beacons. His powerful frame fills the doorway, dark-brown eyes assessing.
"Wallace. Heard you got married." No preamble, typical Kane directness.
"News travels fast." I continue my equipment check.
"Small town." He hands me an additional radio. "Jordyn saw the courthouse filing."
Of course she did. Jordyn Kane McCrae might be on maternity leave, but the journalist misses nothing that happens in Crimson Hollow.
I finish checking my gear, irritated at being the subject of town gossip, however minimal. "We focusing on the rescue or my marriage?"
Micah grins, unaffected by my tone. "Multitasking." Then, serious again: "Team briefing in five."
The briefing is efficient, as expected with Micah leading. Six of us will make the ascent to North Ridge. The plan is to reach the cabin before nightfall, assess the trapped hikers, and determine if extraction is possible immediately or if we need to wait until morning.
"Weather's the X-factor," Micah concludes. "Next system is accelerating. Could hit as early as midnight."
"Which means we move fast and stay flexible," I add, studying the topographic features. "Primary concern is triggering a slide during approach."
The team nods in unison. We've all done this before. The mountains surrounding Crimson Hollow are beautiful but unforgiving in winter. Every year, someone underestimates them. Sometimes we reach them in time.
As we load equipment into the specialized rescue vehicles, I catch Silas watching me with an odd expression.
"Something on your mind, McCrae?"
He hesitates. "Jordyn asked me to check if everything's okay. With your new wife."
"She's fine." I secure a pack of emergency medical supplies. "Why wouldn't she be?"
"You left her alone on the mountain during her first blizzard."
I straighten, meeting his gaze directly. "She's not helpless. And I wasn't exactly given a choice about this rescue."
"I know." He holds up placating hands. "Jordyn just wanted to make sure she knows what to do if the generator fails or something goes wrong."
"She has instructions. And the satellite phone if there's an emergency." I close the vehicle's rear doors with more force than necessary. "We done with the domestic interrogation?"
Silas studies me for a moment. "You know, for a business arrangement, you seem awfully defensive."
I don't dignify that with a response, climbing into the passenger seat of the lead vehicle.
Micah takes the wheel, and we head out, the convoy snaking through Crimson Hollow's main street.
As we pass Bean & Bloom Café, I notice the elaborate Christmas display in its windows.
Miniature trees frosted with artificial snow, little wrapped presents, and a sign advertising their special holiday menu starting December 1st.
My thoughts drift to Judith again. Would she want to celebrate Christmas?
Part of our contract specified maintaining appearances in public if necessary.
Would that include attending local holiday events together?
The annual Crimson Hollow Christmas market opens in two weeks, followed by the tree lighting ceremony.
Would she expect to participate in these rituals of small-town life?
"You're quiet." Micah's observation breaks through my thoughts.
"Always am."
He chuckles. "Fair enough. But you're quieter than usual." When I don't respond, he drops it, but knowing Micah he’ll pick it back up at some point.
The rescue operation proceeds according to plan until it doesn't. We reach the stranded hikers by mid-afternoon.
Three college students, inadequately prepared for the weather, but miraculously uninjured.
The cabin has protected them, but a quick assessment confirms what I suspected: the snow pack above the structure is dangerously unstable.
"We need to move them now," I tell Micah after checking the slope. "That won't hold until morning."
He nods, having reached the same conclusion. "Extraction route?"
I point to a narrow ravine east of our position. "That's our best option. Less exposure to the unstable zone."
"Longer route."
"Safer route," I counter. "And we've still got daylight."
Micah makes the call, and we prepare the hikers for movement. They're scared but cooperative, following instructions precisely. We've just started our descent when I hear it: the deep, resonant crack that every mountain rescuer dreads.
"Move!" Micah's command cuts through the air as the snow above us shifts.
Time compresses. I grab the nearest hiker, a young woman barely out of her teens, and haul her toward the ravine's protection. The others scramble behind us, Micah bringing up the rear. Snow thunders down the slope we just vacated, missing us by yards.
"Everyone accounted for?" Micah's voice, calm despite the near miss.
Five affirmative responses. The avalanche has changed our route, but not our objective. We continue downward, moving more cautiously now, hyperaware of every shift in the snow beneath our feet.
By the time we reach the base of North Ridge, darkness has fallen. The temperature drops rapidly, and I check my watch. Nearly eight hours since I left Judith alone on the mountain. The thought sits uneasily in my chest.
"Dario." Micah appears at my side as we load the rescued hikers into emergency vehicles. "We've got another problem."
I follow his gaze to the western sky, where heavy clouds are gathering, black against the darkening blue. The next storm system seems to be arriving earlier than predicted.
"How long?"
"Two hours, maybe less." He studies the clouds with the expertise of someone who's lived in these mountains his entire life. "No way we're getting back up to your place tonight."
The knowledge settles like a stone in my gut. Judith, alone in the cabin during her first mountain storm, now facing a second one without warning. She has supplies, instructions, the satellite phone. She'll be fine.
But the memory of her face when I explained the power outages tugs at me. The brief flash of vulnerability before her composed mask slipped back into place.
"I need to make a call." I pull out the satellite phone, stepping away for privacy.
She answers on the third ring. "Dario?"
"Judith." Just the sound of her voice eases something tight in my chest. "Situation update. I won't make it back tonight."
A pause. "The rescue?"
"Successful. But there's another storm coming. Roads to the mountain will be impassable within hours."
"Oh." Her voice remains steady, but I catch the slight hesitation. "When will you be back?"
"Tomorrow at the earliest. Depends on the storm's severity." I scan the darkening sky. "Everything okay there?"
"Fine. The generator's running. Fire's still going." A beat of silence. "I found some books to keep me occupied."
I wonder if she's thinking about what else she found. If the contents of my playroom are still burning in her mind the way they're burning in mine.
"Good. Remember the manual is in the kitchen drawer if anything fails."
"I know. You mentioned that before you left."
Silence stretches again.
"Dario, about what happened earlier—"
"We'll discuss it when I get back." I cut her off, not wanting to have that conversation over the phone with others potentially within earshot.
"Right." Is that disappointment in her tone? "Stay safe."
"You too."
I end the call, turning to find Micah watching me with thinly veiled amusement.
"Trouble in paradise already?"
"Mind your business, Kane."
He holds up his hands in mock surrender, but his expression remains knowing. "Town's offering emergency accommodations at the community center, but you're welcome at my place if you'd prefer."
The community center will be crowded with evacuees and rescue personnel. Micah's cabin, while still on Kane property, would offer more privacy.
"Your place," I decide, following him to his vehicle.
Micah's cabin reflects his personality—enthusiastic bachelor meets craftsman's appreciation for wood.
The interior is simpler than his brothers' homes, but every piece of furniture is beautifully made, much of it by his own hands.
He offers me the guest room and a much needed shower, then produces a bottle of Iron Vine whiskey, the Kane family's private reserve.
"Figured you could use this after today." He pours two glasses. "Warming up before the next round."
I accept the drink gratefully, the smoky liquid burning a path down my throat. "Next round?"
"Town council meeting tomorrow morning. They're discussing the Christmas festival schedule, and since you've now got a wife, you're officially on the radar for participation."
I nearly choke on my whiskey. "Participation?"
Micah's grin is pure devilment. "Oh yes. Jordyn's already added you and the new Mrs. Wallace to the volunteer list for the tree lighting ceremony. Something about needing strong arms to hang the star."
"Christ."
"Not Christ, but close. Crimson Hollow takes Christmas very seriously." He sips his drink. "Hope your wife likes festivities."
I haven't the faintest idea if Judith likes festivities. Our arrangement never covered seasonal traditions or public appearances at town events. The thought of her being thrust into Crimson Hollow's overzealous Christmas culture seems suddenly daunting.
"She's not actually my wife," I say before I can stop myself. "Not in the traditional sense."
Micah doesn't seem surprised. "Figured as much. The timing with your grandfather's will was too convenient."
"It's temporary. Ends December 26th."
"The day after Christmas." He considers this. "Interesting deadline."
I don't elaborate, and he doesn't push. That's what I've always appreciated about Micah Kane. He understands boundaries, probably because he maintains so many of his own.
"Whatever your arrangement, you might want to warn her about what she's in for." He tops off my glass. "This town doesn't do anything by halves, especially during the holidays."
Later, in the spare bedroom, I lie awake listening to the new storm's arrival.
Wind howls around the eaves, carrying the first wave of snow against the windows.
My thoughts keep returning to Judith, alone in my cabin.
Is she warm enough? Did she add wood to the fire as instructed?
Is she lying awake too, thinking about what she discovered?
About me?
The questions plague me, as persistent as the storm outside. I try to remind myself that our arrangement is business, nothing more. Her presence in my home is temporary, a means to an end for both of us. The fact that she discovered my playroom doesn't change anything.
Except it does. It changes everything. Because now she knows something fundamental about me, something I keep private from most of the world.
And her reaction—the curiosity in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks, the way she didn't run when given the opportunity—suggests possibilities I hadn't allowed myself to consider.
Possibilities that have no place in our temporary arrangement.
I roll onto my side, forcing my mind toward practical matters.
Tomorrow I need to navigate town politics, check the rescue equipment, and figure out when I can safely return to the mountain.
I should be focused on these tangible tasks, not on the unanswerable questions surrounding my temporary wife.
But as I ease into sleep, it's Judith's face I see. Her dark eyes widening in discovery. Her full lips parting in surprise. Her slender fingers trailing over instruments designed to bring both pain and pleasure.
And the question she didn't get to answer. Have you ever submitted to anyone, Judith?