Thedark-paneled pub looked like any other in a ski resort—high-back tables, booths, and retro ski signs.Itwas still early in the day, well before the time for après-ski music and specials, but many of the tables were already full of families with hungry or tired children ready for a break.Ihear that, kiddos.Islid into one of the empty stools at the bar.
Abartender with graying hair who appeared to be in her fifties stepped over to me. “WhatcanIget you?”
“Whatdo you recommend to take off the sting after face-planting in the snow?”Iquipped.
“AFranconiacoffee,” a voice said from behind.
Thatlow voice was oneIrecognized, since it had only been minutes since he’d helped me recover from my fall.
“It’sa solid choice,” the bartender said and named off ingredients that includedBailey’sIrishCreme, hot cocoa, andKahlua.
“Soundsgood,”Isaid.
Thebartender turned and grabbed a glass, then started to make the cocktail.
“MindifIsit here?”Skipatrol guy motioned to the empty stool beside me.
Ifit meant a lecture about skiing in control or some other admonition,I’drather melt like a snowman sliding down the mountain in spring.WhatIsaid was, “Goahead,” and avoided eye contact.
“Howare you feeling?” he asked.
“Asidefrom the battered ego?”Isnorted. “Fine.”
Hechuckled. “Ithappens to us all.Youdon’t know how many timesI’veseen it.I’vehad to help people in far worse situations.Someskis aren’t found until the snow melts.
“Really?”Iasked, my tone sounding strangely hopeful.AtleastIwasn’t the worst catastrophe out here—and he didn’t appear to come over to give me a hard time.Iturned to meet his gaze and then sucked in a breath.
Hehad bright blue eyes that twinkled with a hint of mischief.Hishair was dark with a sexy hint of gray in his beard.Andhe was as massive asI’dfirst thought when staring up at him on the mountain.Hisfeatures were rugged, jaw hard, and nose strong.Hismagical vibration signaled he was some kind of shifter; considering who owned the ski resort,Iguessed wolf.
Hearched a brow. “Everythingokay?”
“Yes.”Iraised my chin. “Justsurprised to see you in here.Didyou follow me?”
Heinhaled and stared at me for several heart-pounding seconds before he replied. “Youseemed pretty shaken up out there.Ihad to make sure you were alright.”
Shakenup might be a good way to describe how rattledIwas. “Thatspill took me by surprise.WhenI’vefallen before,Isensed it coming.Theslip—the oh shit—and then the fall.Butthis time—BOOM!”Iclapped. “Nowarning.”
“Iknow what you mean.”Henodded. “I’vehad some of those sneaky spills.”
Thebartender returned with my drink. “Hereyou go.”
“Thanksso much.”
“Valen, what are you having?” she asked him.
Valen?Whatan interesting name, oneIhadn’t heard before.
Heordered a beer on draft. “Putthe coffee on my tab.”
“Youdon’t have to do that,”Isaid.
“Iwant to.”
“Thanks.”Itook a sip of my cocktail.Thewarmth of the coffee blended with alcohol and sweetness rolled over my tongue. “Mmm, perfect.Thanksfor the rec.”Iglanced at him. “I’mCassandraCapwell, by the way.Andthanks for helping me earlier.”
“You’rewelcome.I’mValenAldridge.”Heheld out his hand.
Ishook it.Notonly was it large and warm, engulfing mine in his grasp, but oh… what was with those tingles?Heattraveled up my arm.
