Colorado 01 The Gamble

Kristen Ashley

Published by Kristen Ashley at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Kristen Ashley

Discover other titles by Kristen Ashley:

Rock Chick Series:

Rock Chick

Rock Chick Rescue

Rock Chick Redemption

Rock Chick Renegade

The ‘Burg Series:

For You

At Peace

Other Titles by Kristen Ashley:

Penmort Castle

Three Wishes

www.kristenashley.net

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Timeout

I looked at the clock on the dash of the
rental car, then back out at the snow.

I was already twenty minutes late to meet
the caretaker. Not only was I worried that I was late, I was
worried that, after I eventually made it there, he had to drive
home in this storm. The roads were worsening by the second; the
slick had turned to black ice in some places, snow cover in others.
I just hoped he lived close to the A-Frame.

Then again, he was probably used to this,
living in a small mountain town in Colorado. This was probably
nothing to him.

It scared the hell out of me.

I resisted the urge to look at the
directions I’d memorized on the plane (or, more accurately, before
I even got on the plane) that were sitting by my purse in the
passenger seat. There was no telling how far away I was and what
made matters worse was that I was doing half of what I suspected,
but wasn’t sure, was the speed limit.

Not to mention the fact that I was exhausted
and jetlagged, having been either on the road, on a plane or in a
grocery store the last seventeen hours.

And not to mention the fact that, yesterday
(or was it the day before? I couldn’t figure out which in changing
time zones), I got that weird feeling in my sinuses which either
meant a head cold was coming or something worse and that feeling
was not going away.

Not to mention the
further
fact that night had fallen and with it a
snowstorm that was building as the moments ticked by, starting with
flurries now I could barely see five feet in front of the car. I’d
checked the weather reports and it was supposed to be clear skies
for the next few days. It was nearing on April, only two days away.
How could there be this much snow?

I wondered what Niles was thinking, though
he probably wasn’t thinking anything since he was likely sleeping.
Whereas, if
he
was off on
some adventure by himself, or even if he was with friends which was
unlikely as Niles didn’t have many friends,
I
would be awake, worried and wondering if he made
it to his destination alive and breathing. Especially if he had
that niggling feeling in his sinuses which I told him I had before
I left.

I had to admit, he didn’t tell me he wanted
me to ring when I got to the A-Frame safe and sound. He didn’t say
much at all, even when I told him before we decided on churches and
dates that I needed a two week timeout. Time to think about our
relationship and our future. Time to myself to get my head
together. Time to have a bit of adventure, shake up my life a
little, clear out the cobwebs in my head and the ones I fancied
were attached (and getting thicker by the day) to every facet of my
boring, staid, predictable life.

And, I also had to admit, no matter where
I went and what I did, Niles didn’t seem bothered with whether I
arrived safe and sound. He didn’t check in, even if I was
travelling for work and would be away for a few days. And when I
checked in, he didn’t seem bothered with the fact that I was
checking in. Or, lately (because I tested it a couple of times),
when I
didn’t
check in
and then arrived home safely, sometimes days later, he didn’t seem
bothered by the fact that I hadn’t checked in.

The unpleasant direction of my thoughts
shifted when I saw my turn and I was glad of it. It meant I was
close, not far away at all now. If it had been a clear night, I
figured from what it said in the directions, I’d be there in five
minutes. I carefully turned right and concentrated on the ever
decreasing visibility of the landscape, making a left turn then
another right before heading straight up an incline that I feared
my car wouldn’t make. But I saw it, shining like a beacon all lit
up for me to see.

The A-Frame, just like it looked on the
internet except without the pine trees all around it, the mountain
backdrop and the bright shining sun, of course, they were probably
there (except the sun, seeing as it was night), I just couldn’t see
them.

It was perfect.

“Come on, baby, come on, you can make it,” I
cooed to the car, relief sweeping through me at the idea of my
journey being at an end. I leaned forward as if that would build
the car’s momentum to get up the incline.

Fortune belatedly shined on me (and the car)
and we made it to the post box with the partially snow-covered
letters that said “Maxwell” signifying the beginning of the drive
that ran along the front of the house. I turned right again and
drove carefully toward the Jeep Cherokee that was parked in front
of the house.

“Thank God,” I whispered when I’d stopped
and pulled up the parking brake, my mind moving immediately to what
was next.

Meet caretaker, get keys and
instructions.

Empty car of suitcases and copious bags of
groceries, two week’s worth of holiday food, in other words stuff
that was good for me, as per usual, but also stuff that was
definitely not, as was
not
per
usual.

Put away perishables.

Make bed (if necessary).

Shower.

Take cold medicine I bought at the grocery
store.

Call Niles if even just to leave a voicemail
message.

Sleep.

It was the sleep I was most looking forward
to, I didn’t think I’d ever been that exhausted.

In order to make the trips back and forth
to the car one less, I grabbed my purse, exited the car and slung
my bag over my shoulder. Then I went to the boot, taking as many
grocery bags by the handle as I could carry. I was cautious, the
snow had carpeted the front drive and the five steps that led up to
the porch that ran the length of the A-Frame and I was in
high-heeled boots. Even though it was far too late, though I
had
checked the weather forecast so
thought I was safe, I was rethinking my choice of wearing
high-heeled boots by the time I hit the porch.

I didn’t get one step across it before the
glass front door opened and a man stood in its frame, his front
shadowed by the night, his back silhouetted by the lights from
inside.

“Oh hi, so, so, so sorry I’m late. The storm
held me up,” I hastily explained my easily explainable rudeness
(for anyone could see it was snowing which would make any smart
driver be careful) as I walked across the porch.

The man moved and the outside light came on,
blinding me for a second.

I stopped to let my eyes adjust and heard,
“What the fuck?”

I blinked and then focused and then I could
do nothing but stare.

He did not look like what I thought a
caretaker would look like.

He was tall, very tall, with very broad
shoulders. His hair was dark, nearly black, wavy and there was a
lot of it, sweeping back from his face like a stylist had just
finished coifing it to perfection. He was wearing a plaid, flannel
shirt over a white thermal, the sleeves of the shirt rolled back to
expose the thermal at his wrists and up his forearms. Faded jeans,
thick socks on his feet and tanned skin stretched over a face that
had such flawless bone structure, a blind person would be in throes
of ecstasy if they got their fingers on him. Strong jaw and brow,
defined cheekbones, unbelievable.

Though, in my estimation, he was a couple
days away from a good clean shave.

“Mr. Andrews?” I asked.

“No,” he answered and said no more.

“I –” I started then didn’t know what to
say.

My head swung from side to side, then I
looked behind me at my car and the Cherokee then back around and up
at the A-Frame.

This
was
the
picture from the website, exactly it. Wasn’t it?

I looked back at him. “I’m sorry. I was
expecting the caretaker.”

“The caretaker?”

“Yes, a Mr. Andrews.”

“You mean Slim?”

Slim?

“Um…” I answered.

“Slim isn’t here.”

“Are you here to give me the keys?” I
asked.

“The keys to what?”

“The house.”

He stared at me for several seconds and then
muttered, “Shit,” and right after uttering that profanity, he
walked into the house leaving the door open.

I didn’t know what to do and I stood outside
for a moment before deciding maybe the open door was an indication
that I should follow him in.

I did so, closing the door with my foot,
stamping my feet on the mat to get rid of the snow and then I
looked around.

Total open space, all shining wood,
gorgeous. Usually, websites depicting holiday destinations made
things look better than they really were. This was the opposite. No
picture could do this place justice.

To the left, the living area, big, wide,
long comfortable couch with throws over it. At the side of the
couch, facing the windows, a huge armchair two people could sit in
happily (if cozily) with an ottoman in front of it. Square, sturdy,
rustic table between the chair and couch, another one, lower, a
bigger square, in front of the couch. A lamp on the smaller table,
its base made from a branch, now lighting the space. Another
standing lamp in the corner of the room by the windows made from
another, longer, thicker branch with buffaloes running across the
shade, also lit. A fireplace, its gorgeous stone chimney
disappearing into the slant of the A-Frame, in its grate a cheerful
fire blazed. A recessed alcove to the back where there was a roll
top desk with an old-fashioned swivel chair in front of it, a
rocking chair in the corner by another floor lamp, its base looked
like a log and it was also lighting the space. A spiral staircase
to a railed loft that jutted over the main living space and there
were two doors under the loft, one I knew led to a three-quarter
bath, the other one, likely storage.

The pictures of the loft on the website
showed it held a queen-sized bed, had a fantastic master bath with
a small sauna and a walk-in closet.

To the right I saw a kitchen, perhaps not
top-of-the-line and state-of-the-art but it wasn’t shabby by a long
shot. Granite counter tops in a long U, one along the side of the
house, the other, a double top, a low, wide counter with a higher
bar, both sliced into the open area and the bar had two stools in
front of it. A plethora of knotty pine cabinets that gleamed.
Mid-range appliances in stainless steel. Another recess at the back
where the sink was, the fridge to the left. And a six-seater dining
room table at its end by the floor to A-frame windows, also in
knotty pine, with a big hurricane-lamp style glass candle holder at
its center filled with sage green sand in which was stuck a fat,
cream candle. Over it hung a candelabra also made from branches and
also lit.

“You got paperwork?” the man asked and I was
so caught up in surveying the space and thinking how beautiful it
was and how all my weeks of worries if I was doing the right thing
and my seventeen hours of exhausting travel was worth getting to
that fabulous house, I started then looked at him.

He was in the kitchen and he’d nabbed a
cordless phone. I walked in his direction, put the grocery bags on
the bar and then dug in my purse to find my travel wallet. I pulled
it out, snapped it open and located the confirmation papers.

“Right here,” I said, flicking them out and
handing them to him.

He took them even though he was also dialing
the phone with his thumb.

“Is there a prob –?” I asked, his eyes
sliced to me and I shut up.

His eyes were gray, a clear, light gray. I’d
never seen anything like them. Especially not framed with thick,
long, black lashes.