CHAPTER 1
HAYES
I’d beenout of the Army for less than a week, and I was already making bad decisions. Like agreeing to attend my buddy’s fancy Christmas Eve wedding when I should have headed straight to the job waiting for me in Anchorage. But Rand would never forgive me if I didn’t show, especially since I was the only one of the guys we’d served with who could make it.
Leaving had been harder than I’d expected. One day I was running ops and training cycles, living by someone else’s rules, and the next I was standing in the Fort Moore parking lot with discharge papers in my hand and nowhere I had to be for a couple of weeks.
Snow crunched under the tires of my truck as I rounded the last curve before turning into the parking lot of the Aspen Crest Lodge. It had taken me five days to make the drive from Georgia to western Montana. I could have done it faster, but for the first time in over ten years, I had time to kill and wasn’t in a rush. My Georgia plates probably looked completely out of place in the snow-covered mountains of Montana. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time I looked like an outsider, and it damn sure wouldn’t be the last.
I hefted my duffle over my shoulder as I entered the lodge. Rand said the wedding was going to be over the top, but I chalked that up to his usual way of exaggerating shit. We’d been buddies since our first twenty-mile ruck, when he damn near dropped and I had to haul him the rest of the way. He’d gotten out a few months before me, and I was looking forward to seeing him again, even if it did mean I had to wear a tux. We’d bled and frozen and laughed our way through a dozen deployments over the past ten years, and if anyone deserved something soft and good waiting at the end of it all, it was him.
Warm air rushed past me as I stepped inside. I’d been around the world courtesy of the Army, but my jaw almost hit the floor at the amazing view of snow-capped mountains and tall pines through the wall of windows. A fire crackled in the two-story stone fireplace, and a Christmas tree that had to be at least thirty feet tall sparkled with twinkle lights in the corner. The piano version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” played as background music from hidden speakers. I stood there for a second, boots planted on the polished stone floor, wondering what the hell I was doing here.
“Welcome to the Aspen Crest Lodge. Are you checking in?” A man in a black suit greeted me from behind the counter.
“Yes, Hayes Granger. I’m here for the Keaton-Langford wedding.” I turned toward him, ready to snag my key and grab a hot shower before finding something warm to fill my belly.
“Mr. Granger, we’re happy to have you. I just need to see your identification. Is this your first stay with us?” He took my driver’s license and typed something on his keyboard.
“It is. I’ve been to Whitefish and spent a couple of weeks in Mustang Mountain a few years ago, but this is my first time at the lodge.”
“Here you go.” He handed me my ID back along with a keycard and a map of the property. “We’ve got you in ourTimberline Suite. It’s one of our most private luxury cabins. If you follow the path I’ve highlighted on the map, you can’t miss it. You’re welcome to drive since there’s private parking is right in front. Can I have someone bring your bags for you?”
“It’s just this one.” I tilted my head to signal the bag over my shoulder. They probably didn’t have many customers check in with an Army-issued duffle.
“Very well, sir. The rest of your party won’t be checking in for a few more days. If you need suggestions on things to do in the area until then, I’d be more than happy to make a few recommendations.”
“Thanks. Right now I’m looking forward to a good dinner and some sleep.”
“I’d be happy to make a reservation for you at the grille tonight.” He gave me a sly smile, like he was about to share top-secret military plans. “Our chef is known for his bison ribeye. It was voted best in Montana this year.”
“Sounds good.”
“How about six o’clock?”
“Perfect.” It was just after four. That would give me plenty of time to get settled and cleaned up. I slid the map into my jacket pocket and headed back out before anyone could offer to carry my bag again.
I could have driven, but I wanted the fresh air. The path to the cabins wound through tall, snow-covered pines. Timberline Suite sat on the edge of the cluster, half-hidden from the others, with a front porch that looked out toward the frozen lake. The place was all rough-hewn beams and soaring glass.
I’d spent the last ten years sleeping anywhere from cots in plywood barracks to bare ground under open sky, and still, my boots hesitated on the porch. It felt like trespassing. Inside, the heat wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Someone had already started a fire in the stone fireplace. Two leather chairsfaced it, with a low table between them. A bed big enough to fit my entire squad dominated the bedroom. I dropped my duffle next to it and stood for a minute, listening to the fire crackle.
Silence pressed in on all sides. The quiet felt heavier than any pack I’d carried. After ten years in the Army, it was going to take me some time to get used to it.
I sat outside until I couldn’t take the cold, then showered and dressed in clean jeans and a dark henley before heading back up the path toward the lodge. The grille was tucked off the lobby, warm and low-lit, and the smell of seared meat and garlic butter made my stomach rumble.
Even though I was a little early, the host seated me right away. Dinner went down fast and quiet. Nobody paid me any attention, which was how I liked it. I’d get more than my fill of socializing once Rand and the rest of the wedding party arrived. I only wished my buddy Stetson could have made it.
The three of us had been together from the start. Hell, he was the reason Rand had even met his fiancée in the first place. If it hadn’t been for Stetson’s little sister, Sidney, introducing the two of them a few years ago, no telling where I’d be celebrating Christmas this year.
I wouldn’t let myself think about Sidney. Not the way her laugh had hit me like a direct ray of sunshine, or the way snowflakes had caught in her dark lashes that night three years ago on her front porch. And especially not how close I’d come to forgetting the world and just kissing her. She’d probably be at the wedding since she and Harper were friends. That was a problem for another day. Tonight, I just wanted to sleep.
By the time I walked back into the lobby, night had fully settled over the resort. The giant Christmas tree glowed in the corner. Guests gathered in clusters near the fireplace, sipping cocktails and laughing, their voices muffled by the vaulted ceilings.
I stayed at the edge, out of the light, and made my way toward the door. That’s when I saw her. Through the tall glass doors at the far end of the lobby, the grand ballroom was dark except for a string of warm overhead lights. And in the center of the giant room, crouched on the floor with a tape measure in hand, sat Sidney Kincaid.
At first, I thought I was seeing things. She was a long way from Mustang Mountain and light-years from the girl who used to sit on the porch steps at Iron Spur Ranch, laughing at her brother’s bad guitar playing while snow collected on her boots.
Her hair was twisted up, loose strands framing her face as she leaned over, measuring between two pieces of blue tape on the floor. A small stack of notebooks sat next to her, and she mumbled to herself, frowning, oblivious to the rest of the world.
