Chapter 25
“I’m not going.” Clutching the kitchen counter behind me, facing the room, I stare Harlan down.
The guesthouse on the Holcombe ranch outside of Colorado Springs provides a secluded hideaway. Which is perfect since I plan on doing just that. Hiding in this immaculate but homey, everything-looks-like-Pottery-Barn farmhouse.
A smile tugs at his lips. “Is it meeting my family, or skiing?”
“All of the above. Plus, I think I’m coming down with something.” I fake cough. “Some kind of weird throat bug going around on late-night flights. The pilot mentioned it right before we landed. The first twenty-four hours are critical. I shouldn’t be around anyone.”
Harlan swaggers to me and places his hands on my hips. “Do you know why my family’s going to love you?”
“Because I protected them from this terrible disease?” Turning my head, I release the most obnoxious hacking sound I can create.
His lips twitch. “No. They’re going to love you because you’re mine.”
My belly whooshes, but I snap back into my fears. “Stop being all handsome and charming.”
His fine physique contained in those black form-fitting ski pants and hunter-green thermal shirt is almost more than I can handle.
Leaning in, he gifts me with the most delicate of kisses. “I admit I’m pulling out the big guns to distract you.”
I shake my head. “And this is how you show your devotion? By hurling me off of a mountaintop?”
“It’s my family tradition. When I was eleven, my dad took my brother and me skiing on December twenty-third to keep the peace. The twenty-fourth is our official Christmas celebration, and Mom asked Dad to take her two rowdy boys away to save her sanity.” He shrugs. “We’ve been doing it ever since.”
I scrunch up my nose.
“But I brought you something that I think will help.” Out of his pocket, he removes two safety pins and an unlined, square piece of yellow paper covered in black block letters.
As he holds up the note for me, I read it out loud.
“My name is Meredith Harper. If I get lost, please return me to Harlan Holcombe or anyone in the Holcombe family. Their phone number is 555-4367. If you cannot track them down, please take me to the Ski Hill Grill at the base of Peak 8 and buy me a cup of hot chocolate. I will wait for the Holcombes, who will come to claim me at the end of the day.”
A warmth starts in my core and spreads to my limbs. The message reads as if I’m a member of Harlan’s family.
Could I find my purpose here?
Harlan holds one safety pin between his lips while poking the other through the paper. “One of your concerns is getting lost alone on the trails. If we get separated, you have a reminder about where you belong.” He opens my puffy pink ski jacket and starts to attach the note to the inside lining.
“What if an axe murderer is hanging out on the slopes waiting for people like me who don’t know what they’re doing?” I blink in earnest.
His gaze darts to mine, and he grins through the metal fastener. “Sweetheart, if that’s the case, then I will miss you.”
As he leans in to kiss me, I quickly draw back. “Watch the sharp object, mister. Maybe instead of an axe murderer, you’re the one I should worry about.”
Harlan pulls the safety pin out of his mouth and grabs my shoulders. “If an axe murderer gets you on the mountain, I will do everything in my power to turn your story into an above-average made-for-TV movie.”
I squint. “Will you play yourself?”
He offers a mocking solemn nod. “If that would make you happy.”
“Who will be cast as me?” I jut my chin out and use a weighty tone. “Because it has to be someone good.”
He fastens the remaining pin to the bottom of the paper to secure it to my coat. “Are you playing the game where you get pretend mad so you don’t have to go skiing?”
I feign shock while I jerk my head back. “Can’t you grant a woman her dying wish?”
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Okay, I will work on getting Emily Blunt. TV movies aren’t her normal gig, but when she learns the circumstances behind your unfortunate death, I think she’ll be on board.
” His gaze turns to my zipper, and he runs the slider through the teeth, up over my sweater.
Dear Lord. I’m dating someone who knows Emily Blunt.
I stretch my neck to give him access to the two snaps at the top of my ski coat. “Thank you for honoring my memory. It means a lot to me.”
“Uh-huh.” While placing his hands over mine, he leans in and brushes his lips to my cheek.
“Now, let’s load up the Jeep.” He pries my left hand off the counter edge, draws it up, and kisses the palm.
“We’re going to meet my family.” He peels my right hand off the ledge and repeats his sweet affection.
“And we’re taking the first step to jump-start your professional ski career.
” The final peck is to my forehead, where he leaves his lips when he says, “Sans serial killers.”
Sleeping the ninety-minute drive to Breckenridge did nothing for my hair.
As Harlan and I maneuver through the village at the bottom of the mountain, I wrangle in the strays, tucking them under my knit hat.
Because of my glove-clad hands, I’m not sure this hairdo is much better.
Just as I yank my hat off, my hair defying gravity in the power of static electricity, Harlan homes in on a group of people standing under the awning of a ski rental store.
Harlan, his mom, and his brother William own equal parts of the vast and successful Holcombe ranch. William and his wife run the family business. When the man in the group turns around and grins, it’s clear he’s a Holcombe.
Oh my word. The genes in this family.
For a split second, I debate whether Harlan’s sibling should have been the one to go into show business.
Instead of dark hair, his is a fabulous mix of blond, brown, and a few distinguishing strands of gray.
His deep-hued brown eyes match the set that I enjoy getting lost in.
William’s frame is as tall as Harlan’s but leaner.
“Hey, big brother,” he says.
“William.” Harlan’s grin lights up, and he clutches his brother in one of those manly pat-on-the-back-that-could-knock-over-an-ox hugs. He turns to me. “Meredith, this is William.”
“Ma’am.” William shakes my hand. “Mama’s upset she won’t make your acquaintance today, Meredith.
But when you taste her chocolate cream pie, you’ll understand why she never comes to the mountain.
” He shifts to the woman behind him, tucks her under his arm, and shoots a proud grin to me.
“This is my elementary school sweetheart, Gracie.”
Gracie is a little shorter than I am, and her stout frame speaks of country living. The sparse makeup and brown bob haircut outline her heart-shaped face in a flattering manner. But as I study Harlan’s sister-in-law, I wonder why her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
After patting down my flyaway hair, I offer a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”
Gracie’s blank eyes glance to me when she takes my hand, then she turns. “Boys, come say hello to Meredith.”
Two young guys looking through a storefront glass at a snowboard display turn at the sound of their mama’s voice.
The sight of them takes my breath away. The taller one shares his mother’s blue eyes and his dad’s lighter hair.
But the younger one . . . The younger one is the spitting image of Harlan.
Dark eyes, dark hair, and a very familiar gleam in his smile.
“Clark here is thirteen.” Gracie loops her arm through her son’s.
“Ma’am.” He makes eye contact while he shakes my hand, thus defying the reputation of aloof teenagers.
William grips the other boy’s neck and gives a gentle shake. “This is Scott. He’s ten.”
Harlan’s clone offers a more bashful “Ma’am,” then he turns. “Hey, Uncle Harlan.”
“Hey, man.” Harlan completes a complicated high-five-turned-handshake-turned-pull-in-for-a-hug thing with Scott.
Clark repeats the same ceremony with his uncle and says, “I was hoping Alex could join us on the mountain this year.”
I slide my gaze over the group. What are they thinking? She’s three. I’m thirty-six, and I think I’m too young to ski.
“Yeah, I know. It’s not my year for Christmas with her.
” Harlan claps his hands together. “I know you all want to hit the slopes, so here’s an overview of the day.
You guys go do a warm-up run while I get Meredith situated with her rentals and find her ski school.
After that, I’ll join you. Later, we’ll meet up for lunch with Meredith and then enjoy the rest of the day together on the mountain. ”
“Uncle Har, when we race Cimmaron this year, I’m gonna kick your—”
“Language, son.” William clamps a hand on Clark’s shoulder.
Harlan winks at his nephew. “You wish.”
William opens his map of the resort, and Harlan, Gracie, and Clark circle around to plan slope runs and meeting spots.
Scott hangs back with me, glances up, and catches my eye. “I heard it’s your first time to ski.”
“Yeah.” I offer a shaky smile.
He steps toward me. “Are you scared? I was really scared my first time.”
I bug out my eyes at him and nod.
“I brought something for you.” My new best friend pulls a Sharpie out of his blue Columbia jacket pocket.
Before I understand what’s happening, he grasps my right hand, yanks down the glove, and writes a big R in the flesh between my thumb and forefinger.
When he’s finished, he repeats his actions with my left hand, labeling it with a ten-year-old, wobbly L.
“Uncle Harlan said you might be nervous. He did this for me when I learned to ski. I had a hard time remembering which way was which.” Scott offers me a somber nod. “That should help.”
I am completely in love with Scott.
I am also completely in love with Harlan.
Which is why when I study this precious boy, almost the exact replica of the man I am dating, something deep inside me aches. Placing my hand just under my collarbone, I rub the spot over my heart.