Snow Falls (12 page)

But it was time. She would e-mail Reese and Morgan, find out how soon Reese could come up the mountain to meet them. Jen would most likely drive out of her life without so much as a backward glance. A few more weeks of solitude should put things back to normal, she thought. Then maybe she could make a dent in the manuscript she’d only been toying with the past few weeks.

Yeah, it was going to be good. Get things back to normal. Everything would be just fine.

Jen volunteered to cook dinner, even though it was Ryan’s turn. Ryan had taken out the last two chicken breasts to thaw earlier that morning, and she saw Jen staring into the pantry, obviously trying to decide what to make. Ryan decided to help her out.

“There’s rice. And some cream of mushroom soup and cream of chicken too. And we still have some green beans.”

Jen nodded. “Baked chicken and rice it is.”

Ryan kicked her moccasins off and got comfortable in her recliner. The dogs were at their normal spots on the rug, and for a moment, Ryan closed her eyes and listened to Jen in the kitchen as she started on dinner. It was a sound she was sure to miss. She sighed and pulled her laptop over. As expected, there was an e-mail from Reese. They’d plowed all the way to the avalanche guard. It would be another three weeks before they plowed the upper road and before Ryan could even think of getting her Jeep out.

“I’ll drive up tomorrow to get her,” she read. “Let me know what time.”

Ryan stared at the words for a few seconds, then began typing her reply. “Noon...” She figured it would take them two hours to hike down. She also requested a care package, potatoes and onions and more chicken. She hesitated, then before she could change her mind, she sent the e-mail on its way.

She cleared her throat, then glanced at Jen. “Got an e-mail from Reese,” she said.

Jen looked at her, eyebrows raised. “What’s the word?”

“She’s going to pick you up tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

Ryan nodded, and Jen looked away quickly. There was no smile on her face. No sign of relief. Only regret. Ryan had to admit that she felt the same.

“Okay, then,” Jen said. “Wow. I guess I really will be getting out of your hair.”

“You haven’t been in my way, Jen. You know that.”

“Yes. But it’s time.”

Again, Ryan nodded.

Dinner was a quiet affair, neither of them making an effort at conversation. There were so many things Ryan wanted to say but didn’t. Everything sounded too personal or inappropriate for their situation. The closeness that had sprung up between them needed to be tempered, she knew that. Jen had a life to get back to and an almost-fiancé. Ryan had no intention of screwing that up by taking things in a more intimate direction. She knew by the way Jen looked at her—had been looking at her for weeks—that she would not push Ryan away. But a sexual tryst would do neither of them any good. So she said nothing, just pushed her food around, much like Jen was doing.

She cleaned the kitchen while Jen went about packing her few things. There was enough food for another meal for her and she put it away for tomorrow. While Jen was in the bathroom, Ryan took the dogs out for their last short hike of the evening. The temperature had dropped to near freezing again, but stars twinkled in clear skies overhead. It should be plenty warm for their hike down tomorrow. And for her long, lonely hike back up the mountain.

When did she change? When had her almost overwhelming desire for solitude slipped away? Sure, she had the dogs, but while they were constant companions, the conversation was always one-sided. It was nice having someone to share meals with, someone to talk to, someone to sit quietly with and not say a word. And someone to hike with, someone to notice the beauty of the mountains, someone to appreciate the serenity she felt up here. Had Jen filled a void in her life she didn’t even know she had?

She stopped, letting the dogs run ahead. The moon was just rising, casting an icy glow over the remaining snow. The north side of the cabin was still completely white while the south side was bare. Soon, the trail up the ridge would be snow-free and lined with wildflowers. And the meadow down below would be a lush green where the beaver pond drained. Two beautiful sights that she wished Jen could see. Maybe they could stay in touch. Maybe she’d send her pictures of the mountain in springtime. And then in summer. And maybe again in fall when the aspens turned. Maybe they could e-mail.

Or maybe Jen would leave tomorrow and they would never see each other again.

***

Jen put another log in the stove and closed the flue a little. It hit her that this would be the last time she’d do this particular chore. She looked around the bedroom, seeing her backpack stuffed full of her clothes. She was wearing a pair of Ryan’s sweatpants, one of two pairs she’d stolen from her weeks ago. The sweatshirt was embroidered with
Yale
on the front, and she wondered if perhaps it was where Ryan had gone to college. It was a little too big for her, but it had become her nighttime wear. She had half a mind to shove it in her pack when she left, hoping Ryan wouldn’t miss it.

She heard the back door open and the dogs run in, both coming to find her. Their tails wagged as they circled her, holding their heads up for her to pet. Ryan stood in the doorway watching, and Jen smiled at her.

“Gonna miss these two,” she said.

“They’ll miss you too.”

Jen nodded, feeling a lump in her throat. She turned away quickly, making a show of turning the covers back on the bed. Ryan left her alone, to her relief, and soon Jen heard her in the bathroom.

The bedroom was toasty warm, and Jen crawled under the covers for the last time. So much had changed in the last six, seven weeks—
she
had changed so much—that she hardly recognized herself. And while she never made it to the writer’s workshop, she had learned a lot. Namely, that writing the next great novel probably wasn’t for her, not that she still wasn’t going to give it a try. She did wonder, though, how she was going to get back to her old life. Six weeks—nearly seven—wasn’t all that long to be away. Would she just slip back to the old routines? Lunch with Cheryl? Dinner with Brad? Drinks with their group of friends? Would she just revert back to her old life? Would these new feelings that had awakened in her just fade away? Would Ryan be nothing more than a memory?

She stared at the ceiling, so many thoughts crowding her brain she couldn’t settle on one. She stopped trying. She would have plenty of time to sort it all out later. Plenty of time.

When Ryan came in and turned out the lamp, Jen very nearly held her breath. It would be the last time they slept together, the last time she would have this closeness. While she could never find comfort with Brad, she had found it without even trying with Ryan. The covers pulled back a little and the bed shifted as Ryan lay down. They were both still, both lying on their backs. She had so much she wanted to say, but she didn’t know where to start.

Finally she found her voice. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thank you for everything. The rescue, for taking care of me. Everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

Jen still stared at the ceiling, trying to put her thoughts into words. “I’ve...I’ve learned some things about myself up here. Good things, I think.” When Ryan didn’t say anything, Jen turned her head, seeing her in the shadows. “I’ll miss you.” She heard a soft sigh before Ryan too turned her head.

“I’ll miss you too.”

The words were spoken so quietly; they seemed to hang in the air. Jen nodded and turned away. She so wanted to move closer. She wanted Ryan to hold her, but she dared not voice her thoughts. Instead, she rolled to her side, away from Ryan. She was surprised at the lone tear that rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away impatiently, hating that she felt so...so
alone
at that moment.

Jen followed Ryan as she led her down the mountain. The dogs bounded ahead of them, full of energy and excitement, neither of which Jen felt. Ryan had Jen’s backpack slung over her shoulders, and Jen carried her laptop. Jen’s heart felt heavier with each step that took her farther from the cabin. She’d glanced over her shoulder several times, watching it fade from view.

Their hike down was as quiet as their morning had been, quieter even than the nearly silent breakfast they shared. Jen just couldn’t shake the dejection that had settled over her. Even now, she knew she should be elated that she’d soon be back home, but she felt anything but that. Quite the opposite. She was saddened by the prospect of leaving, knowing somehow that she was never going to see Ryan again. That thought brought another wave of despair over her, nearly choking the breath from her.

Ryan stopped and turned, eyebrows raised. Jen gave her a weak smile.

“Do you need to rest?”

Jen shook her head, afraid to speak. Ryan seemed to study her for a moment, then nodded before pushing on. Was Ryan feeling the same emotions that Jen was? Was she dreading this goodbye as much? Why, oh why, couldn’t they talk about it? Why were they both ignoring what had become so blatantly obvious?

Maybe because you’re straight and there’s a man wanting to marry you?

That thought made her nearly laugh. Her feelings lately had strongly contradicted both of those supposed facts. She hadn’t even bothered to e-mail Brad to let him know she was headed home.

“Hey, come over here. Take a look.”

Jen had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized Ryan had gotten off the trail. She followed her through the trees to an overlook. The sight took her breath away.

“That’s Slumgullion Lake,” Ryan said. “Not much snow down in the valley, is it?”

“It’s beautiful,” Jen said quietly, afraid to disturb the tranquility she felt at that moment.

“Yes. Very beautiful,” Ryan murmured.

Jen turned, finding Ryan’s gaze on her and not the view that was spread out before them. The look in Ryan’s eyes caused her pulse to quicken. It always did. But it was Ryan who looked away, turning abruptly and continuing on without another word. She blew out her breath, pausing to glance down at the lake once more before following Ryan and the dogs.

Silence, again, was her companion as Ryan walked ahead of her. It was just as well. She didn’t know what she would say even if Ryan did want to talk about it. The minutes ticked by, punctuated by the sounds of their footsteps. For so long, their hikes had been accompanied by the sound of snow crunching under their boots. Today, rocks and exposed twigs and limbs crunched with a completely different sound. It was almost foreign after so many weeks in the snow.

Much too soon, Ryan stopped, shrugging out of the backpack she carried for Jen. Jen looked around, spotting the one-armed gate that blocked the road just below them. Seven short weeks ago this had all been a snowy, wintery scene. She had skirted the gate, unwittingly following snowmobile tracks to climb higher up the road. Her gaze traveled the road again, higher, seeing the mounds of snow, remnants of the avalanche. Somewhere up there, buried in snow, was the SUV she had rented. Here, though, the road had been plowed, the remaining snow shoved to the side, exposing graded gravel.

“It looks completely different,” she said.

“Yeah. Not a lot of snow left down here.”

“I suppose I’ll need to make arrangements to have my rental towed out of here.”

“Reese was going to contact the rental agency, remember?”

Jen smiled. “Oh, yes. Forgot what good connections you had with the local sheriff.”

Ryan picked up the backpack again and hopped across the boulders that lined the road. The snow was slushy here, and her boots landed in soft dirt. She held her hand out. Jen paused, finally taking it and letting Ryan help her down. She leaned her laptop case against her stuffed backpack. Halfway down the mountain, they’d both shed their coats. Jen had managed to shove hers into her pack. Ryan’s was tied around her waist.

“She said she’d be here at noon,” Ryan said as she unwound her coat and tossed it on top of a rock. “And unlike you, she’s almost always on time.”

Jen glanced at her watch. They had ten minutes.
Just ten minutes. And so much to say
. She tried to find the words. She faced Ryan, offering a small smile.

“‘Thank you’ doesn’t seem like enough,” she said finally.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

Jen nodded. “I am going to miss...miss it up here.” She paused. “Miss you.”

“Yeah. I’m going to miss having you around. I’ll miss our conversations.”

Jen gave a short laugh. “Like I said, some hermit you are.”

Ryan smiled too, her gaze never leaving Jen’s. Feeling brave, Jen moved her hand, blindly reaching for Ryan’s. Their fingers entwined, then Ryan tugged her closer. Jen’s heart was beating loudly, blocking out all other sounds. Ryan leaned down, her lips brushing lightly across Jen’s cheek. Jen’s eyes slammed closed as she held her breath, waiting. Waiting for more.

“Jen...”

Jen opened her eyes, finding Ryan’s. She didn’t speak. She
couldn’t
speak—she could barely breathe. But she took a step closer, her body now touching Ryan’s. Countless seconds passed, both trying to read each other’s thoughts. Then Ryan moved, her hands cupping Jen’s face, her thumbs rubbing lightly across her lips.

“Please,” Jen whispered. “Please kiss me.”

Ryan’s mouth hovered just inches from her own. She closed the distance, her hands clutching Ryan’s shirt, pulling her closer. She couldn’t stifle the moan—it was out before she knew it. Warm, soft lips claimed her, the kiss gentle at first, exploring. Jen welcomed it, her mouth opening, inviting Ryan inside. The moan she heard wasn’t hers. She felt her knees tremble as Ryan kissed her with a hunger she never felt before. She matched it, her hands sliding up Ryan’s shoulders, pulling her closer still. She groaned with a need she didn’t understand when Ryan’s tongue slipped past her lips.

It was a kiss, but it was a kiss like none she’d ever experienced. Was it because Ryan was a woman that it felt so different? Was that why her heart pounded and her pulse raced? Regardless, she clung to her, keeping their bodies pressed tightly together, feeling Ryan’s hands moving freely across her back, then lower, cupping her hips and pulling her intimately closer.