CA 35 Christmas Past (2 page)

           
The lobby was
jam-packed. He was damned lucky he’d gotten a reservation at all when he’d
called just over two weeks ago. A single
cancelation
,
the only one the entire season, the reservation clerk had boasted, came only
moments before Jason called. The Snow Valley Lodge was one of the smaller ones
in the Aspen area. It pretty much stayed booked from November until July every
year. That was the reason he and Cynthia hadn’t stayed here three years ago.
She’d seen this lodge on one of their previous visits and insisted they had to
stay here one day.

           
Only one day had never
come…for her.

           
He’d stopped
experiencing the ache that had once accompanied the mere thought of her name.
The shrink had told him that time healed all wounds. But the shrink wasn’t
entirely accurate. Part of him wouldn’t be healed. At least not by the
traditional methods, and drugs were out of the question. He’d gone through
months of therapy sessions, had increased his physical workout to fight off the
disabling panic attacks. He’d even attempted to focus on other personal
activities, like volunteering in the off-season. But even if he worked himself
into the ground each day, the nights were always the same.

           
He’d wake up in a cold
sweat, his heart pounding,
his
muscles rigid with
tension.
Hours of walking the floors was
the only way
to calm himself enough to sleep.

           
His doctor and the
therapist had insisted the panic attacks would go away in time. As suddenly as
they came, the therapist had suggested.

           
But they hadn’t.

           
They’d only gotten
worse.

           
Jason had to do
something radical.

           
For several weeks he’d
been mulling over the idea of taking action. Finally, he’d realized what he had
to do.

           
He had to come back
here and face the fears eating away at his insides like a cancer.

           
A couple waiting on the
fringes of the elevator crowd whispered to each other and glanced at Jason.

           
Not good.

           
The last thing he
wanted was to be recognized.

           
He considered doing an
about-face and heading for the stairs when the elevator doors slid open to
admit the next group.
His group, thankfully.

           
He selected floor four
on the control panel and moved to the back of the car. Closing his eyes, he
attempted to block the chatter of the other passengers.

           
Didn’t
work.

           
One couple was taking their
first ski vacation. Another was in Aspen on a long-awaited honeymoon. The other
man who had appeared to be alone announced that he and three of his friends
were here on a professional challenge. As executives on an advertising team,
they wanted to strengthen their cohesiveness with a physical challenge—mountain
climbing.

           
Jason would bet his
all-time best test-drive time that he was the only tourist in this town who’d
come alone. No significant other…no friends.

           
Not exactly the best
way to spend Christmas, but that was the way he had to do this.
Alone.
He’d figured out that no one could help him with this
thing. No therapy, no encouraging friends. He had to overcome this himself.

           
There was only one way
to accomplish his goal.

           
Climb back up on that
damned mountain. Sit up high where the air was thin and the cold was a lethal
enemy. And come to terms with why she had died and he hadn’t.

           
Easy
enough.

           
Yeah, right. He’d had
to fight off a panic attack just boarding the plane to come here.

           
The elevator glided to
a stop on four, the top floor of the lodge, and he was the only one left to
exit. Funny, he hadn’t even noticed the others getting off on the previous
floors.

           
Room 403 was one of
four luxury suites on the top floor. Fortunately the suite was located on the
west side, which would allow for plenty of good light in the room. The dark was
another thing he was having trouble with lately. He hadn’t been afraid of the
dark since he was a kid.

           
He shook his head as he
slid the key into the lock. If he didn’t get a handle on this out-of-control
anxiety, he was going to lose the ability to walk out the door at all. He
couldn’t let that happen.

           
The green light blinked
and he opened the door and stepped into the suite.

           
Two things struck him
as odd the moment the door closed behind him.

           
The fruity scent of
shampoo was in the air, and the television was set to some reality show he
wouldn’t watch in a million years.

           
Moving cautiously, he
crossed the sitting room and entered the generous bedroom.

           
An open suitcase sat in
the chair by the window, its contents hanging out as if there had been an
explosion of silk and cashmere.

           
He dropped his bags on
the floor and walked over to the chair. A pair of silky panties lay on top of
the bag. He picked up the scrap of silk and lace and turned it around and
around. Not much to it other than a little frilly lace with a tiny pink bow.
The matching bra hung from the chair arm.

           
What the…?

           
He dropped the panties,
turned around to survey the rest of the room more closely and noted other signs
of occupancy.
A shoulder bag sitting on the floor by the bed.
Discarded jeans and sweater.
Unlaced
boots.

           
Another bag, this one
stationed in the corner near the armoire, held climbing gear.

           
Had the check-in clerk
made a mistake?
Given him the wrong room.

           
He should just leave.

           
Go back down to the
front desk and let them know that there was a mistake.

           
A lull in the sound on
the television channel allowed him to hear the water running in the shower.

           
Definitely, he had to
get out of here. The lady was in the shower. Having her come out naked and find
him loitering about was as appealing as a blowout on the final lap.

           
He was halfway across
the room when the bathroom door opened. Amid a billow of sweet-scented steam, a
woman emerged wrapped in a towel. Outside of breaking into a full-throttle run,
he wasn’t getting away before she laid eyes on him.

           
She screamed.

           
Jason held up both
hands, stop-sign fashion. “It’s not what you think. There’s been a mistake.”

           
For a single second she
stood there staring at him, big brown eyes wide with surprise or maybe fear,
dark hair dripping, sending rivulets of water down her bare shoulders. Then she
launched into action.

           
“Damn straight there’s
been a mistake.” She grabbed a bottle of wine from the table next to the bed
and held it up like a weapon. “And it was yours. Now get out of here before I
call security!”

           
Jason backed up a step.
“Look, I just came to the room the clerk gave me.” He waved the key in his
hand. “This
is
403.”

           
“That’s right.” She
glared at him, lifted her chin defiantly. “And it’s my room.”

           
“I’m sure a quick call
to the desk will straighten this out.”
Great.
This was
all he needed. If the woman recognized who he was, she could blow the whole
thing out of proportion just to get some hush money. The team’s attorneys
warned him all the time about situations exactly like this.

           
“There’s nothing to
straighten out,” she argued, tugging at her slipping towel with her free hand.
“This is my room.” She sent a narrowed glance at her purse on the floor. “Did
you touch any of my stuff?”

           
There it came. “I did
not touch any of your stuff.”
Except the panties.
He
swallowed hard. But she didn’t have to know that.

           
She reached behind her
for the phone. The towel slipped another inch. She quickly jerked the towel
back up the inch or so it had slipped and glared at him for daring to look.

           
Still clutching the
bottle of wine by the neck, she swiped a damp tendril of dark hair from her
forehead. “I need a member of management in 403, please.” She sent a suspicious
glare back at him. “There’s an intruder in my room.”

           
Hell. “I’m not an
intruder,” he growled. “I have a key. One the clerk gave to me.”

           
She ignored him,
listened to whatever the front desk had to say. “Thank you.” She sent him a
triumphant look as she dropped the receiver back into its cradle. “The manager
will be right up. He’ll straighten this out, and then you’ll see that you’re in
the wrong room.”

           
Jason shook his head.
“I’m in the room they assigned me. If—” he let his expression show the doubt he
felt that this would be the case “—I’m in the wrong room, the clerk made a
mistake. They’ll give one of us another room and everything will be fine.”

           
“It won’t be me,” she
shot back. “I was here first. First come, first served, sir.”

           
Jason removed his
sunglasses so he could look her directly in the eyes. “That’s fine. You stay.
I’ll take another room.” Not a problem! He wasn’t that hard to please.

           
“Wait.” Those big brown
eyes narrowed again. “I know you.”

           
Defeat dragged his
resolve all the way to the floor. Perfect. Now she would want to press whatever
charges she could trump up. Or would insist that his Peeping Tom activities had
permanently scarred her and generous compensation was essential.

           
“You’re that kooky news
anchor guy from CNN who jets around the country. I thought I recognized you
even with the sunglasses. Maybe you need a teleprompter to understand this…”

           
He didn’t
argue,
just let her think what she would.

           
“…they can’t give you
another room.” She shifted the wine bottle to her other hand. “The place is
filled to capacity. There aren’t any other rooms. I guess you’re out of luck.”

           
Dread sat like a big,
cold stone in his gut. She was right. He’d gotten the last room two weeks ago.
And this one had only been available because of a last-minute
cancelation
.

           
Just
great.
This whole expedition was off to a spectacular start.

           
CHAPTER THREE

           
THE LODGE MANAGER, the
concierge and the head reservation clerk were dumbfounded. The three gentlemen
and
Fewell
stared at Molly as if she should admit
defeat and forfeit possession of the room.

           
Not going to happen.

           
“Sorry.” She folded her
arms over her chest. To
Fewell’s
obvious relief,
she’d gotten dressed while they waited for the lodge powers-that-be to arrive.
“No can do. I was here first.”

           
Fewell
shook his head.
“Fine.
I’ll move to another lodge.” He
turned to the concierge. “Can you find me another room someplace else?”

           
The three staff members
looked at each other.

           
“What?”
Fewell
demanded, clearly beyond frustrated.

           
“Sir,” the manager
confessed, “there are no other rooms.
Anywhere.”