The moment held, breathless and strange, and then the star tilted slightly left.
“There,” she said as she turned within his embrace. “Perfectly imperfect.”
He kissed her deeply, his hands on her waist. When he raised his head, he said, “Let’s eat.”
After dinner, they settled on the couch under a shared blanket, mugs of cocoa warming their hands, the fire and the colorful tree lights now the only light in the room. Outside, snow drifted like powdered sugar against the windowpanes, and the hush of the mountains pressed in around them.
“You could ask your parents for help with a downpayment on the studio,” he said softly. “Or Izzy. She’s your best friend. I know you don’t want to owe anyone, but?—”
“It’s not just about the money.”
“What is it about, then?”
“I’m tired of needing to be saved,” she said, voice low. “Especially by people who love me.”
“Is that why you were relieved when Bella cancelled the Headless Horseman ballet a few months ago?”
Her best friend Bella, also a prima ballerina, owned a ballet school in Sleepy Hollow, New York. Daphne had reluctantly agreed to dance the part of Katrina Van Tassel until the Town Hall flooded after a September hurricane. Bella had been forcedto cancel the performance of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow before the rehearsals even began.
She shrugged, but he knew the answer wasyes.
“You were talking abouttheWaltz of the Snowflakesthe other day. That girl with the red hair and glasses—Charlie—cried when she got picked for the performance.”
Daphne’s lips curved. “Charlie is eleven, tall for her age, and very dramatic.”
“Your dancers are going to light up Kingsmill’s Christmas pageant.” He leaned back, watching the flames. “The way you’ve taught them in the last few months. It’s not just ballet steps. It’s grace, even when things fall apart.”
She looked away, blinking fast. “It’s only a waltz.”
“Not when it’s snow and light and a bunch of kids giving people something to believe in again. Same way Caleb’s star means something now.”
“The same way the fairgrounds are a huge part of your life?”
“Yes, but the outfitter business isn’t just about my past. It’s about the future I hope to build.” He sighed and placed his mug on the coffee table. “A few months ago I was an Army Ranger. I knew who I was, and the army gave me orders. But civilian life is more unsettling. It feels like drifting.”
“Abe—”
A knocksounded at the door, and they both froze.
He glanced at the clock. Nearly nine. No one should be out this late so deep in the woods. Especially in this weather. “Stay here.”
He grabbed the always-loaded shotgun from over the fireplace and opened the front door.
Nothing. No one on the porch. No flashlight. No truck headlights. Just the whisper of wind and the drift of snow across the steps.
“Abe?”
“Stay inside.” He tugged on his boots and stepped onto the porch. The cold hit him like a slap. Footprints marred the fresh snow beyond the porch stairs. “Shut the door behind me. And lock it.”
Once he heard the lock click, he held the shotgun to his shoulder and followed the tracks. Imprints of male boots trailed down the steps, through the gate leading to the driveway, and into the woods.
A few minutes later, after seeing nothing and hearing only the wind, he went back toward the cabin. A lighted oasis in the middle of a dark storm. When he opened the gate, he saw a strip of plaid flannel, ripped and stained with something dark.
“Abe?” Daphne appeared on the porch, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl. “The SAT phone is ringing.”
Now that the adrenaline had burned off, he shivered from the cold, hurried inside, and secured the weapon.
He handed Daphne the piece of ragged flannel and checked the SAT phone message:
