On the Mountain (Follow your Bliss #5) (18 page)

“Yeah. And my mom…”

Baskia drew a deep breath for
both of them. She didn’t say anything. It was like the words had made their way
slowly to his tongue, and she wanted him to know he could take as long as he
needed.

“My sister was in the accident
too. It was a drunk driver. Right before the holidays last year. Just outside
town. She’s—” his voice cracked.

Baskia gently squeezed his arm to
let him know it was okay to go on.

“She’s in a coma. At first, I
visited every day. Then every other day. Now just a few times a week. I don’t
know if she’ll ever wake up. And it’s—” Wes could say no more. In the
firelight, his eyes spilled over.

Baskia couldn’t help it. She
cried too. She whispered, “I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t imagine the world
without her brother. She couldn’t imagine the ache that Wes carried, there when
he woke up every day, when he split wood, when he plowed, when he breathed.

He wiped his eyes. “I’m going to
be okay. I’m not going to lose hope.”

“Will you tell me about her, your
sister, and your mom and dad too, if you want? I’m guessing that mug, the
chipped one that you always have, the one that says, ‘Let her dream, for when
she wakes, she’ll move mountains,’ that’s hers.”

He nodded. By the warm fire and
the glow of the Christmas tree, Wes went on to describe his sister until it was
time for him to visit her.

“Will you be okay here without
power?” he asked.

“I’ll manage,” she said, almost
laughing because she wouldn’t have believed it possible three months ago.

As he stepped out into the storm,
Baskia said, “Please tell her Merry Christmas.” Then she gave Wes a hug before
turning back inside.

Chapter Eighteen

During the next week, Baskia
opened and closed her journal so much the binding started to split, but she
never wrote a word other than the heading, across a new page,
New Year’s
Resolutions
and then erased it. Every time she sat to think about what she
wanted to change in the coming year, her mind drew a blank as white and empty
as the page in front of her. In the past she’d vowed to cut back on drinking
and partying, or eat healthier, exercise more, or be nicer, more helpful, or
avoid chocolate; all the usual suspects. As she reflected over the last three
months, she’d successfully done some of the big ones, those two weeks back in
Manhattan notwithstanding.

On the morning of New Year’s Eve,
she closed the journal; the five letters embossed on the cover reminded her to
smile. She’d seen Wes once since Christmas, when he’d checked to make sure the
power had come back on. Something had shifted slightly in him. Like maybe,
getting out of bed that day wasn’t going to test his ability to put one foot in
front of the other. His smile came easily while they chatted over coffee. He’d
mentioned he was impressed with how hard she’d worked with him in the basement
even though it was all for naught.

Baskia was pleased that the initial
awkwardness between them had dissipated. She thought that maybe, they could be
real friends. There was no denying she was attracted to him, but if he was
attracted to her, he’d left it somewhere under the lights of the fairgrounds.
If it had been the summer before and she’d been under the spell of alcohol, she
probably would have taken his interest in her as only friend material as a
challenge to win him over. But the friendship growing between them was enough.
And of course, there was Trace.

A
horn honked outside as the brown UPS truck trundled up the driveway. Baskia
couldn’t remember what she was expecting, but held the door open to retrieve
two plain, brown boxes from the delivery guy. She knew one was a book she
ordered for Wes, a belated Christmas gift. “Thanks,” she waved. “Happy New
Year.”

After
tearing through the tape of the second box, she pulled out the silver, sparkly
Jimmy Choo’s she’d ordered around Christmas. The shimmering stones caught in
the firelight. She slid them on her feet; they fit like a dream. Baskia hadn’t
worn heels in weeks and strutted through the house, regaining her old mojo.

If she was going to spend New
Year’s Eve alone, trying, and failing, to figure out her future, she decided
she might as well look good. She showered, shaved, gave herself a mani and
pedi, moisturized, and then stood in front of the closet waffling between a fun
and flirty little, black dress with a hemline made of feathers or a sexy
asymmetrical cut-out number, also black. She tried on both, realizing there was
no one to flirt with or be sexy in front of, other than herself.

In the end, she opted for the cutout
dress, only because the feathers kept tickling her legs, plus it showcased the
sparkly heels. After styling her hair in a voluptuous blowout and applying
thick eyeliner, a la Brigitte Bardot, Baskia stood in front of the mirror
surveying the woman that stood before her.

She cocked her hip, snapped a
selfie, and then settled on the bed, gazing out the window and wondering if she
was lost, crazy, or on the edge of big change. Her eyes grew heavy; the hot
shower and the warm fire luring her to sleep.

Hours later, when she woke, dusk
had settled over the mountains. Baskia almost laughed when she remembered her
big night-
in
preparations. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor as she
went to the living room to tend the fire. A familiar figure sat on the couch
with her journal in his hand.

“What are you doing?” she
demanded.

“No hi, hello, Merry Christmas,
or Happy New Year?”

“Give me that,” she said, swiping
the book from his hands.

Trace got to his feet, wearing
jeans and a snug fitting button-down, slate-grey shirt. His hair was longer and
his dark blond scruff, unshaved as usual. He stepped toward Baskia, reaching
out for her waist. “My, don’t you look,” he searched for the word, “smashing.
Hot party in town tonight or are you and lover boy, I mean Wes, going
somewhere?”

Baskia narrowed her eyes at him.
“Jealous?” The old fire within, sparked, burning equally with attraction and
anger. “Did you come up here to fuck and run or just give me a hard time?”

“Actually, neither. I came up
here for a quiet week away. Your brother felt bad about not making it up for
Christmas and thought you might need some company.”

“Really? He thought you’d make
good company?”

A smug grin appeared on his lips.
“Last I checked I make great company. But don’t let me stop you from your
plans. Carry on. I’ll just make myself at home.” He slouched back down on the
couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. “Do you have any good books?”

She tucked the journal behind her
back. Seeing him there, so at ease in his own skin and self-assured, softened
her. Maybe that was the thing about him, he played to both sides of her: the
hard and soft, the gentle and fierce, and the timid and bold. Putting those
disparate facets together to form her true self, made her more vulnerable to
people really seeing her and worse, judging. As the fire popped and sizzled,
she wondered if the same was true for him. Maybe they were both afraid of showing
the other their soft side and that was why they clashed. She leaned on the
armrest of the couch. “I don’t have plans, actually. I just usually get dressed
up, so I thought, why not.”

He looked at her squarely then,
his eyes sparkling. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Baskia said, suddenly
shy. She twisted a piece of hair around her finger. She brought over the basket
of books, placing it by Trace’s feet, and then slipped out of the room to put
her journal away.

“You’re becoming a regular
librarian. But a sexy one,” he shouted from the other room.

She laughed privately. “Tracey
Wolfe, what am I going to do with you?” she asked her reflection in the mirror.
Maybe it was a good thing she’d gotten dressed up. 

She strutted by the fire. “I
heard you spoke to my mother, a little while ago.”

“Mrs. Benedict?” Trace asked, not
missing a beat.

It was Baskia’s turn to look at
him full on. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You don’t seem to like her much.
I didn’t want to antagonize you.”

She couldn’t help it; she burst
into laughter. “Whoa, wait, hold on. You didn’t want to antagonize me? But
that’s what you do. You tease me, taunt me, bring me to the edge of reason,
sleep with me, and then take off. How is that
not
antagonizing me?”

“You like it.”

“You’re mistaken.” She shifted
away from him.

He reached out for her. “Come on.
Don’t be mad. I thought you were into this.”

Baskia folded her arms across her
chest and just like that, she was madder than ever. “This? What
is
this?” She muttered, “Forget it.”

“Your mom said I was nice. What
was it? Oh yeah, she called me a, ‘lovely young man.’ I didn’t disagree with
her of course.” Trace wore a smile on the brink of laughter. “If she only knew.
But Baskia, I will be nice to you. I thought—never mind. I’m sorry.”

She ignored him, thankful the
fire drew her into the saffron and gold flames that licked and curled against
the stones surrounding the hearth.

He tapped his finger, lightly, on
a bit of skin, along her waistline, exposed in the asymmetrical dress. She
didn’t budge. He slowly began to tickle her. She flinched. Before she realized
what he was doing, he straddled her, tickling her neck, her waist, and under
her arms. She wiggled and giggled, unable to help herself.

He settled back onto the couch,
drawing her closer, coaxing her perfectly stained lips toward his. “Your eyes,
they dazzle me. Your lips, they seduce me, everything about you—” they were a
breath apart.

A burst of cold air prickled
Baskia’s skin and Trace whipped around, jumping to his feet. She’d never seen someone
move so fast. He looked ready to set the room ablaze with the ferocity burning
in his eyes. The front door hung open in the dark night.

“Little sister,” called a
familiar voice from outside.

Mellie appeared first, followed
by Will. He and Trace shook hands and then moved in for a hug. Baskia remained
on the couch, shocked. Mellie shuffled farther into the cabin, but remained
quiet.

“How’s it going?” Will asked,
scooping Baskia into a hug. “Aren’t you excited to see us?”

“Just surprised, that’s all,” she
managed to say.

“I felt bad about missing
Christmas, and then I told Trace he could head up. But heck, it’s New Year’s. I
wanted to spend it with some of my favorite people.” He blinked at the three of
them. “We drove straight here.” He ushered Mellie closer. “Mellie, this is
Tracey Wolfe, my roommate in Hollis, freshman year. We call him Trace. And—” he
looked to Baskia as if he was about to make introductions out of habit, but
stopped himself. “Well of course you know each other.” Will avoided looking at
Baskia as if he was uncomfortable with the unspoken question she shouted in her
mind,
Why is she here?

An awkward moment passed.

“Three. Good to see you, in
person. Do you need help bringing your gear in?” Trace asked, completely at
ease.

Baskia looked at them. Trace?
Three? They sounded like a pair of old-time entertainers or gang members.

“Sure, but we’re just here for
the night, have to head back tomorrow after we get some skiing in,” Will
answered.

Trace looked to Baskia. “The
basement?” he said, probably recalling the disaster it had been.

“You guys don’t mind staying down
there, do you?” Baskia asked, brushing by them.

“They can’t—” Trace started to
say, but she already led the way.

She swept her arms grandly when
they reached the foot of the stairs.

“Impressive,” Trace said, taking
in the renovated space.

“Thanks,” Baskia said.

“What? I don’t get it,” Will
asked, looking from Baskia to Trace.

“Last time I was here, there was
extensive water damage, destroyed by a flood, totally ruined.”

“I fixed it up when I found out
Mom, Dad, and you were visiting for Christmas. But obviously…”

“Lucky you got someone to get it
done so quickly. I’m sorry we couldn’t make it. I told Mom—”

“Actually, I did it,” Baskia
said, cutting him off.

Trace smirked.

“Wait, you did it? With what
army?” Will asked.

“She’s a regular homesteader,
Three,” Trace said, apparently not as surprised as she’d hoped.

Baskia shot him a quick frown.
“No, a friend and I did the renovations. See, I even spilled a little paint on
the wood over there.” She shrugged. “It’s not perfect, but—” Baskia wore a
self-satisfied grin as she swept out of the room, grabbed a bottle of wine, and
left the guys to catch up.

Instead, Trace stopped her at the
top of the stairs and backed her toward the master bedroom. “Where were we?” he
asked quietly.

She leaned in close. She smelled
mint and laughter. “I’m sorry.
She
ruined my mood, and you’re not doing
it any favors either.”

“You and that chick?” Trace
raised an eyebrow, apparently ignoring her dig at him.

“I’d hardly call her a chick.
Maybe stuck-up, kiss-up, bore, but not
that
.”

“I can’t imagine you being
friends with her. She’s like a delicate flower.”

“And I can’t imagine you and my
brother as bros,” she said, her voice dripping with hostility. “What’s with calling
him Three?”

“Three. Third. William Benedict
the Third. College thing.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you were
educated.”

“I’m well-educated and not just
in things you can learn in a classroom.” Trace put his hand on the small of her
back, pulling her hips toward his. “So where am I going to sleep?”

It was Baskia’s turn to smirk.
“We’ll see how well you behave.” She went to the kitchen and uncorked the
bottle, remembering how she was going to celebrate sober, contemplative, ready
to move into the new year like a boss, but the arrival of guests prompted a
change of plans that could only be managed with wine.

A few minutes later, Will entered
the room sans Mellie. “It’s great to be back here.”

“I’ve taken to calling it home,”
Baskia said smugly.

“I can see that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”
she asked.

“Notwithstanding your surprise at
our arrival, you seem mellower.” He grinned at her, the unasked question about
her and Trace visible in his eyes.

She poured herself a glass of
red. “Mellow like wine?”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” Baskia shot back.

“How you usually are.”