Booked for Christmas Page 4

  As if he was having the same disturbing thought, Wolfe looked back at her. “I’m gonna get a hotel room for the night. My Jeep can make it into town. I just finished rebuilding it.”

  Sophie looked out at the snow dubiously. His behemoth of a Jeep was likely already buried under a mound of snow. “Even if that were true, Starlit Grove doesn’t have any hotels.”

  He looked at her. “Seriously?”

  “Yep. The closest one’s in Oakwood, but you’d have to use the same road to get there as you do for Portland.”

  He blew out a breath and pushed a hand through his hair, looking back out the window at the snow. “Maybe I could find an Airbnb somewhere around here…”

  Sophie really, really wanted to take him up on it. In fact, she wanted to fling the door open and push him out into the snow. She wanted to sing, “See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya!” cheerfully as he sailed his Jeep into oblivion looking for that non-existent Airbnb.

  But she wasn’t a murderer (except in her book that one time). Much as she abhorred Evan Wolfe and his dastardly column, she was a decent human being who’d been raised by other decent human beings who had taught her that sending someone off to their icy death was frowned upon.

  So Sophie sighed. “No, you’re not going to find anything in a town this size, let alone in a blizzard. I … I’d be happy to host you here for a while. Until they open up the road.”

  His hazel eyes narrowed, the gray in them more pronounced now as if reflecting the bleakness of their unfortunate situation. “Look, I know you don’t like me. You and your friends have made that abundantly clear. You don’t have to do this for me.”

  Sophie forced a tight smile. “Right. Well, I might not like you, Wolfe, but I’m not about to let you expire of hypothermia in real life. Maybe in a future book, though.”

  Giving her a half-smile, he turned to look out the window again, at the unrelenting blankness. “I guess I don’t have any other options,” he mused quietly, as if talking to himself. The underpinning of regret was unmistakable. He wanted to leave as much as she wanted him out.

  The thought irritated Sophie. Why did Evan Wolfe want to get away from her? She’d done absolutely nothing wrong. She’d written the books of her heart, which he’d chosen to rip apart in his column. And then he’d turned up at her doorstep like some unlucky penny.

  “You don’t have to sound so put out,” she found herself saying.

  He turned back to her, those infuriating skeptical eyebrows up again. “Hmm?”

  Sophie gestured a little erratically toward the front door. “You’re acting like staying here is such a huge burden on you, when I’ve been nothing but nice to you all evening.”

  “Nice to me? I was a little afraid at different points in the night that your friends were going to take me out back and try to break my kneecaps.”

  Sophie scoffed. “Please! Are you always such a drama queen?”

  “No, you’re thinking of your characters.”

  Sophie gasped, outraged. Then, stomping into the bedroom, she yanked an extra pillow, sheets, and a blanket from her closet and stomped back out into the living room. Wolfe was now on the couch, unlacing his boots. He had barely looked up at her entrance when Sophie launched the blanket, sheet, and pillow at him like cottony missiles.

  The pillow hit him in the face, and the sheet and blanket draped over him. “What the hell!” His voice was muffled, but the annoyance and indignation in it was clear.

  Silently patting herself on the back for her perfect aim, Sophie said, “Nothing gets in the way of good hostessing—not even obnoxious, ill-tempered, boorish guests. Goodnight!” And then she stomped back to her bedroom, slamming the door as hard as she could behind her.

  7

  For one long, glorious, blissful moment the next morning, Sophie didn’t remember any of the previous night. It’s Christmas Eve! Later today, her parents would drive down from Portland to spend the next two days with her. Smiling a little at the thought and the sight of the peaked ceiling of her beloved cabin bedroom, she turned onto her side to face the window.

  Her smile slipped a little at the sight of blinding snow as far as the eye could see—covering towering pines with its heavy weight, their boughs drooping with the effort. What the hell? And then it slammed into her: the knowledge that her own worst enemy was currently in her living room, probably drooling into her couch cushions.

  Sophie scrabbled for her phone. There was a missed call from her parents, followed by a text from her mom: I’m so sorry, honey. The roads are closed. I don’t think we can make it down for Christmas. :(Call me when you’re awake.

  Groaning, Sophie pulled up the weather app. Her heart leaped. The storm had blown past, and it was calm this morning. Surely they’d open the road soon. And then he could leave. He could be gone by lunchtime if he put a little hustle into it! (She’d make sure he put a little hustle into it.) And her parents could still come!

  Throwing her blankets off, she padded to the window and peered out, her heart sinking immediately. Dammit. The snow was at least two feet deep everywhere, piled on top of her capable Subaru and Wolfe’s Jeep. Snowdrifts at least four feet high were pressed against her door. There was no way they were going to be opening up the road out to Portland anytime soon. As far as Sophie could tell, all the roads in Starlit Grove would need a good plowing before anyone was driving around on them. And Starlit Grove was no Portland—the snowplow (yes, singular) wouldn’t be out this way today. It’d do Main Street first, and then slowly work its way out to all the little tucked-away roads, like Sophie’s. She was looking at a good two to three days of being snowed in.

  Sighing, Sophie padded back to her bed and grabbed her phone. It’s okay! she typed, hoping to keep the dismay out of her words. You can come down once they clear the roads. :) We’ll just do a slightly belated Christmas! No need to upset her mom more than she likely already was.

  As she brushed her teeth, scraped her hair back into a functional high ponytail, and threw on a sweater and thick snow pants, Sophie glanced at the big tote bag full of books on the desk in the corner. The books were meant for one of her favorite non-profit organizations: With All My Art.

  WAMA focused on getting media and entertainment to people who lived below the poverty line, and had been more than happy to pair with Sophie when they learned she was a romance writer. They served a lot of people who were eager for happily-ever-afters, and Sophie was delighted to oblige. Over the years, she and Gina Lopez, the fifty-something-year-old human hurricane who ran WAMA, had developed a friendship that Sophie truly treasured.

  In the tote bag were signed copies of Dashing through the Snow, the ones she’d promised Gina she’d take to her today so With All My Art could disperse them to all the people who’d signed up for a copy. Putting her hands on her hips, Sophie nodded at the books. She was getting them to WAMA one way or another, dammit.

  Snow boots laced up and the bag of books slung over one shoulder, she made her way out into the living room. Pausing for a moment, she studied Wolfe. He was fast asleep, his big form sprawled across the too-small couch. His long legs hung off one end, still clad in his jeans from the night before. He must’ve gotten hot in the middle of the night (Sophie liked the temperature in the cabin to be a balmy seventy-five degrees) because the blanket was in a puddle on the floor and he’d taken off his sweater.

  Keep it moving, Soph.

  She meant to, she honestly did. But Sophie found her eyes roving along his bare torso. She hadn’t been wrong in her observations last night, she saw. His physique was definitely more lumberjack than book critic. I’m just surprised is all, Sophie told herself. I’m definitely not gawking. I’m simply observing his sculpted pecs, that thatch of umber-colored chest hair, his toned abs and the dark trail running from his belly button to—

  “Mm—what?”

  She jumped, and the bag of books went tumbling to the floor. “Shit!” Kneeling, Sophie began picking up the few books that had fallen to the floor.
Her cheeks were flaming; she didn’t dare look up at him.

  She heard him sit up and yawn. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Sophie did look up at him, then, her pulse thudding ridiculously at his sleep-rumpled brown hair and the shadow of a beard that had formed along his square jaw. “You didn’t.” She said it a little defiantly, her chin thrust into the air, although she didn’t know why. She was feeling a little defensive, oddly enough.

  A small smile hovered at his lips. “Were you checking me out?”

  Okay, that’s why. There it was. Sophie trilled a laugh, slightly too high-pitched and loud for the space. “Yeah. I was wondering where your batteries go.” Picking the last book up and stuffing it into the bag, she stood. “If you must know, I was pondering what you’re still doing here, freeloading on my couch.”

  Leaning back, Wolfe used two fingers to lift the curtain out of the way and peer out the window. “Damn. That’s a lot of snow.”

  “Yeah, I know. I was disappointed, too. I don’t think the road out to Portland’s going to be opening anytime soon. The snowplow probably won’t get everything cleared for a couple of days; definitely not my road, anyway.”

  Wolfe jerked his head back around to look at her. “A couple of days? Why would it take that long?”

  Sophie hefted the heavy bag from one shoulder to the other. “I’m kind of out of the way, and the town only has one plow. I’m not really high up on the priority list. That’s why I keep a well-stocked pantry.”

  “Shit.” Wolfe reached for the curtain again.

  Sophie shrugged. “Well, I’m off. See ya. There’s a sealed travel toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet if you want to get cleaned up, and new soap under the sink.”

  “Thanks,” he said, without looking at her.

  Throwing on her coat and mittens at the back door, Sophie took a breath and wrenched it open. A bunch of snow fell in; she’d have to clean it up when she got back. She wanted to get into town sooner rather than later. She walked out into the briskly cold, sparkling white morning and headed for the tiny shed on her property.

  Her cabin was set on a small hill, and she could see down into town on a clear day. Two miles downhill with a heavy bag of books should be doable. She’d be empty-handed on the way back up, which would make things a lot easier.

  “What are you doing?”

  Sophie turned to see Wolfe at the back door, frowning at her like she was personally inconveniencing him by rummaging around in her own shed. At least he was dressed now.

  “Going into town,” she called, her boots crunching in the snow as she walked back into the shed. “The snow’s too high for my Subaru, so I’m going to snowshoe.” She returned a minute later with said snowshoes to demonstrate, wiping the cobwebs off the mesh part.

  Wolfe shot her a disbelieving, albeit very on-brand, cynical look. “Are you serious?”

  “It’s only two miles,” Sophie said, feeling defensive again. Ugh. Why did she let him get to her like that?

  “Right. Only two miles.” He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms, looking like a model in a Pottery Barn catalog. “Have you ever snowshoed that far before? With a bag of books hanging off your shoulder?”

  Sophie rolled her eyes at him while she got her snowshoes on. “Uhh, yeah. Of course I have.” She could feel Wolfe’s gaze burning holes into the side of her head. Relenting, she sighed. “Fine, I haven’t. But these are extenuating circumstances. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  Standing, she tested her snowshoeing capabilities out gingerly. To be honest, it had been quite a while since she’d snowshoed. Hence the cobwebs. But two miles was nothing. She could run two miles in twenty minutes. She was in good shape. Snowshoeing couldn’t be that much harder.

  “I’m sure you will,” Wolfe said, though Sophie didn’t care for his tone. “Is there a reason you can’t wait until the plow’s come through?”

  Sophie glared at him in the bright light reflecting off the snow. “What are you, my mom?”

  His expression a mask of annoyance, Wolfe held his hands up, turned, and shut the door firmly behind him. Good. She didn’t need the distraction.

  Blowing out a plume of cold, white breath, Sophie began to snowshoe her way downhill.

  8

  Damn. This was a lot harder than she was expecting it to be.

  Down the hill and abreast of the forest of pines, the snow was thicker and heavier than Sophie had planned for. She was on the road, she was fairly sure, but it was hard to tell because everything was a sea of blinding white and there was no one else around. Sophie’s calves were burning within fifteen minutes, and she hadn’t gotten very far—maybe a half a mile, tops. The tote bag was not the most convenient setup—why hadn’t she thought to bring a backpack?—and the strap kept sliding off the slippery material of her coat and down her arm, so she was constantly having to readjust it.

  She was on the seventh readjustment, her foot in mid-air, preparing to go back down, when something changed. Maybe it was the fact that she was multitasking, something she’d never been good at. Or maybe it was the snowdrift she’d blundered into because she was so focused on the bag of books and not dropping them in the wet snow. Whatever the reason, Sophie found herself tumbling to the ground with a little shriek. In an effort to keep her balance, she twisted her foot to the left and came down on it in just the right way to feel a searing pain jolt through her ankle. “Shit!”

  She fell to the ground with an undignified plop, but at least the cloth tote bag landed in her lap instead of in a mound of snow. For a moment, Sophie sat there, staring off into the distance, seeing and feeling nothing except the intense throbbing in her ankle. She tried to move it and felt another small scream leave her throat. Big beads of sweat formed along her hairline, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep the tears at bay.

  But then her eyes flew open as a realization hit her: There was no way she was making it another mile and a half—at least—into town with this pain. She couldn’t even backtrack the half a mile to her own cabin. Sophie looked around, her heart thudding with fear. She was alone; well and truly alone. She couldn’t make out a single car or person or sign of human life for as far as the eye could see. Scrabbling in her coat pocket, wincing at the pain as she unwittingly moved her ankle, Sophie pulled out her cell phone. As patchy as the signal could be even in her cabin, it wasn’t surprising that there wasn’t one at all here, not even an emergency one. The forest must be blocking it.

  Sophie swallowed, her dry throat clicking in the snow-created woolen silence. The snowplow! she thought desperately. But then she remembered what she’d told Wolfe earlier—the snowplow might not make it out here for a couple of days.

  A small sob left Sophie’s throat as she struggled to get up, yelled out in pain, and fell down again. She tried once, twice, three times. Nope. Her ankle wasn’t having any of it. Sitting in the snow, tipping her head back, she screwed her eyes shut, her pulse pounding. What was she going to do? She couldn’t just sit here for hours; she’d freeze to death. What if a mountain lion happened upon her? Her eyes were wide open now as she scanned the forest, her breath coming fast in bright white plumes. She felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she never had. None of her friends knew she was here. Why hadn’t she called Gina to let her know she was coming?

  “Sophie!”

  She jumped, craning her neck to see who had called out. She heard hurried footsteps, heavy and loud, crunching through the snow toward her. And then she saw him—Wolfe. He moved toward her at an impressive speed considering the amount of snow on the ground, dressed in his heavy coat and plaid scarf.

  “What—what are you doing here?” Sophie asked, swiping at her cheeks with gloved hands.

  He came to a stop before her, panting slightly, blocking out the too-bright sky. His eyes were narrowed, a deep frown on his face. As if he was disapproving even now, as she lay here in a graceless heap, hurt and alone. “I saw you fall.” He said it gruffly, as if he couldn’t believ
e what an idiot she was. “I was keeping an eye out the window, just in case…” He trailed off but motioned behind him with one hand.

  Of course. The cabin was on a hill. He’d have a pretty clear view of her for a good ways into town. But that still didn’t answer one question. Sophie frowned. “Why? Why were you keeping watch?”

  His eyes were tight, in spite of his smile. “Seeing a bear chase you would break up the monotony of Starlit Grove.”

  Sophie glared at him. “You—”

  “Kidding, kidding.” Wolfe’s sardonic eyebrow crept up. “I saw the cobwebs on the snowshoes.”

  Sophie’s cheeks flushed and she bent her head to hide it. Prodding at her ankle and wincing, she said, “Well, I’m really glad you’re here. But I don’t think I can make it home. Would you mind going back and calling the ambulance? Maybe they can get the snowplow out here and then come up the hill to get me.” She hated to use the few emergency workers in Starlit Grove for something as stupid as a twisted ankle, but she didn’t know what else to do.

  “We don’t need the ambulance,” Wolfe said dismissively. Before she could ask him to clarify, he briskly unstrapped her unisex snowshoes, took them off her feet, and strapped them to his boots. Next, he slung the tote bag over his shoulder. Then he bent down and scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

  Sophie couldn’t help the surprised yelp that left her mouth as he settled her against his hard chest. “Are you serious? You’re going to carry me all the way home? It’s half a mile.”

  Wolfe glanced at her. “I’m well aware. I’ll be fine.”

  “Famous last words,” Sophie mumbled.

  But he kept his word, barely breathing harder as they walked on, back up the hill toward the cabin. She watched it get closer for a moment, desperate for its warmth and comfortable sofa. Then she turned her attention to Wolfe again, studying his pink cheeks as he walked, the day-old stubble coating his upper lip and jaw, his tousled dark hair hanging onto his forehead. He felt steady; strong and capable. Weirdly enough, she felt safe in this moment.