Snow Falls (11 page)

She closed her eyes, hoping sleep would come. Instead, she felt Jen stir and roll over. Ryan froze as Jen moved closer. One arm slipped around her waist as Jen nestled against her shoulder, her warm breath tickling Ryan’s neck. She lay still, afraid to move, afraid to touch. But that need to feel someone—Jen—touching her was too much. She lifted her shirt slightly, nearly moaning as Jen’s hand—even in sleep—found its way to her warm skin. It was torture but still, such a sweet torture. She relished the contact, and it was enough, just having Jen touching her. She relaxed, feeling herself drifting to sleep when Jen moved again. The hand that had been resting gently on her skin tensed, and she knew Jen was awake, knew Jen was aware of the position of her hand. Ryan waited, preparing herself for Jen’s withdrawal, for her retreat. It never came. Instead, Jen’s hand relaxed again, and Ryan was surprised to hear a satisfied sigh as Jen burrowed against her once more.

Jen stared out the window, amazed by how much snow covered the deck. The storm had passed, leaving only flurries in its wake, and now the sun was peeking through the ever-decreasing clouds. It was nearly noon, but she’d only been out of bed a couple of hours. She felt totally wiped out and couldn’t find the energy to get up and moving. Yes, that was the only reason she stayed in bed. It had nothing to do with the embarrassment she felt when she woke. Not only was her hand still tucked snugly under Ryan’s shirt, she found Ryan wide awake and looking a bit amused by the whole situation. And why not? Jen had been practically lying on top of her. With as much grace as she could muster, she’d rolled off Ryan and dutifully turned her back as Ryan got out of bed. She remained under the covers, telling herself she was too warm and comfy to get up, despite the raging urge she had to visit the restroom.

Only when she heard Ryan leave with the dogs did she venture out. A scribbled note left on the bar told her not to worry, no matter how long they would be gone. They were apparently going to the ridge to check out the snow depth.

A few pieces of bacon remained on the stove and she nibbled them while she sipped her coffee, all the while trying to keep her thoughts on a neutral subject. Unfortunately, they kept returning to the scene in bed. Yes, she knew where her hand had been. Yes, she should have removed it when she’d woken up the first time. But it felt too good.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? It felt too good. And she wasn’t used to feeling that way.

She turned away from the window, feeling her pulse quicken.
What’s happening to me?
But she shook her head. There wasn’t any need to pretend, was there? Not any longer. She just didn’t know what to do about it. Yes, okay, so she was attracted to Ryan. That didn’t
mean
anything. She was stuck here with her; she had to rely on Ryan for everything. That was all it was. A form of the Stockholm Syndrome perhaps. Of course, she wasn’t a hostage, so did that really apply? She laughed at the direction of her thoughts, thankful she could find some humor in her situation.

She turned to the door when she heard Ryan and the dogs outside. She heard Ryan knocking snow from her snowshoes. She knew the dogs would be waiting to be let inside. She knew the door would open and the dogs would run in, and she knew that Ryan would pause to stomp her boots on the mat. She knew their routine like the back of her hand.

When the door opened, the dogs burst in, running to her and bumping around her legs as they vied for attention. She petted them both equally, then shyly glanced up at Ryan.

“How do you feel?”

Jen nodded. “I’m good. Felt nice to sleep in.”

They were both quiet, their glances darting around the room, landing anywhere but on each other. Jen finally motioned to the kitchen.

“Coffee?”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah. Please.” Ryan followed her, leaning a hip against the counter as Jen poured coffee for them. “We had about three feet of snow,” she said. “The trail was buried again. I’m amazed that the dogs could find the route, but we knocked it down pretty good.”

“You went up the ridge?” Jen asked, handing a cup to Ryan. Snow still clung to Ryan’s dark hair, and Jen reached up, brushing it away. Her fingers grazed Ryan’s cheek and their eyes locked. Jen felt her pulse race; she couldn’t pull away. There was a look in Ryan’s eyes that both frightened her and excited her at the same time. She let her hand fall to her side, but their stare was only broken when Ryan lowered her gaze to Jen’s mouth. Jen held her breath, so afraid Ryan was going to kiss her...and so afraid she would not.

Startled by her thoughts, shocked by the war going on inside her, she let her breath out when Ryan turned away from her, moving quietly back into the living room. Jen sighed heavily as she stared at the floor, acknowledging the disappointment she felt...and the relief.

“Jen, I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

Jen looked up, glad Ryan’s back was to her. She didn’t pretend not to know what Ryan meant by that statement. She swallowed, nodding. “I know.”

***

Ryan felt a restlessness she hadn’t felt in years. Her laptop was opened, yet her fingers remained motionless on the keys. They had no Internet and probably wouldn’t for a couple of days. Jen, too, was staring at her laptop, although she appeared to be reading. Tension permeated the room, hanging so heavy between them that Ryan knew even the dogs felt it. Their intelligent eyes darted between the two of them, their quiet whimpers nearly as unsettling as the silence.

Finally, by midafternoon, the sun broke through the clouds completely. The bright sunshine bounced off the snow in waves, sending a warm cheery glow into the cabin. She stood, and both dogs jumped to attention. Jen glanced at her with raised eyebrows.

“Gonna shovel snow off the deck,” she said.

Jen nodded. “I’ll help.”

She had to forcibly push the door open—the snow had drifted up against the cabin more than four feet. The earlier chill was fast disappearing in the sunshine, and Ryan found no need for a coat.

“It’s almost balmy,” Jen said as she tossed her coat back inside the cabin.

The light powdered snow of winter, this was not. It was wet and heavy, making the chore of cleaning the deck harder than normal. They both went to work with shovels, clearing the snow from the wood. She went to the railing and looked down. The lower sundeck was completely covered. She would leave that one to melt on its own. Which shouldn’t be long, she reasoned. Even now, the constant drip, drip, drip of melting snow could be heard as the warm rays of sun made the ice shine like crystals. It was a beautiful sight, but she wouldn’t mind the passing of winter. Green trees and bare earth, birds and chipmunks, flowers and sunshine—she longed for it all. Maybe, as Jen had said, she wasn’t really such a hermit after all. She longed for the day she could drive down to Sloan’s Bar for a burger and beer.

“I can’t believe it’s melting already,” Jen said. “It’s falling off the trees in clumps.”

“Yeah. It’s also because it’s a heavier snow.” She looked to the sky, seeing nothing but blue. “Evidence of this storm will probably be gone in three days. Once it stays warm, snow melts quickly,” she said. “They’ll probably start plowing the lower road next week.”

“Yes, I know you’ll be glad to get rid of me.”

Ryan shook her head. “I didn’t mean to indicate that you’d worn out your welcome,” she said. “But I’m sure you’re ready to get out of here. Get back to your life.” She paused. “Where it’s...safe.”

Jen held her gaze with a question in her eyes. “Am I not safe here?”

The tension between them was thick again, and Ryan swallowed nervously. “Of course you are,” she said. “I would never do anything—”

“I know you wouldn’t. And I’ll be out of your hair soon so you won’t have to worry about...
doing
anything.”

Jen spun on her heels and stormed off the deck, ignoring the snow they had yet to shovel. The dogs again looked between them, and Ryan motioned with her hand toward the edge of the cabin where Jen had disappeared to. Both dogs followed her instruction, leaving her alone to stew over Jen’s words.

I’ll be out of your hair soon so you won’t have to worry about... doing anything.

God, what did Jen want from her? As she’d said earlier, she was trying to do the right thing. The right thing wasn’t necessarily what she
wanted
to do. But anything else would be unacceptable.

***

Jen stormed around outside the cabin, sinking in the snow with each step but hardly caring. The dogs came after her, and she turned, expecting to see Ryan. She wasn’t sure she was glad or disappointed that she had not followed her.

“She sent you to babysit, huh?”

She reached down, rubbing both of their heads, then let them lead her up the trail to the ridge. As Ryan had mentioned, they’d made a dent in the snow and it wasn’t hard walking. She just needed to get away for a while. She was frustrated. And she was angry. She paused, considering that last thought. Angry with Ryan? Or with herself?

She blew out an exasperated breath. She wished she knew when she’d changed. It had been so subtle, she hadn’t even realized it until now. Her only sexual experience was with Brad. Yet here she was, feeling more…
alive…
than she ever had. How could a look into Ryan’s eyes cause her more excitement than a touch from Brad? How could her heart race from an innocent touch by Ryan, yet still beat its same steady rhythm when Brad made love to her? How could she possibly know what Ryan’s kisses would be like? How could she know what her touch would feel like upon her skin? How could she want that so much? How could she want all of that so much, yet know nothing about it?

She stood, gazing out over the white landscape, letting the serenity wash over her. This would all be over soon. She could get back to her life, back to normal. These weeks would be nothing more than a fond memory, something she was sure she would take out and examine from time to time.

She would miss it here, she admitted. She would miss the views, miss the mountains. Miss their daily hikes. Miss shared meals. Miss just sitting quietly by the fire, no conversation needed.

A nudge by Kia made her glance down, seeing twin tails wagging.

“And I’ll miss you too,” she said. She took a deep breath, nodding slowly. “And I’ll miss Ryan.”

The days—and nights—seemed to crawl by. The tension was there, yes. But so was the silence. It was almost as if they’d reverted back to the first week, Jen thought. There was little conversation between them and lots of time spent on their laptops. She even saw a familiar brooding look on Ryan’s face, a look she hadn’t seen since the first few weeks of her stay. She couldn’t decide what was worse—the strained conversation during meals or the unbearable tension at night when it was time for bed. The last three nights, Ryan had made some excuse to stay up later than normal, leaving Jen free to go to bed. Each morning, Ryan was already up when Jen woke. If there hadn’t been the rumpled evidence of the bed and pillow, she would have thought Ryan hadn’t come to bed at all.

The only thing even remotely normal between them was the daily hikes they took. The snow was melting fast, even though there were still deep pockets of it in shaded areas. It was nice to see the earth, see rocks and boulders, see the pines and spruce trees without snow clinging to their branches. And it was nice to see—and hear—chattering squirrels and foraging birds, hinting at springtime, a precursor to warmer days. Of course, she wouldn’t be around to see those days, and that made her feel sad.

Ryan and the dogs walked ahead of her, as was the norm. She enjoyed hanging back, enjoyed watching them. She knew she was storing it in her memory bank, etching the scene in her mind.

“Look,” Ryan said, pointing to the treetops. “Golden eagle.”

Jen looked on in awe, watching the huge bird soar just over the trees, catching the wind currents that carried it over the mountain and away from their view. “Wow. That was beautiful.”

“Yeah. I see them quite often.”

And that was the extent of their conversation as they trudged on, taking one of the lower trails down to the stream. When they’d made this trip last week, the snow had still been deep, the boulders that lined the streambed covered in snow, making for a picturesque setting. Today, the boulders were bare, the warm sun having melted the snow. The stream was rushing past them, gurgling loudly as it went on its endless, timeless trek down the mountain.

They stood watching it, neither speaking. The water, the birds, the wind all joining in perfect harmony—nature’s song. Jen closed her eyes, wanting to remember this day, this hike, this stream, this song. But then another sound penetrated, a sound so foreign and out of place even the birds stopped their chattering.

Snowplows.

Jen glanced at Ryan, their eyes meeting, holding. It was a sound Jen had both hoped to hear and dreaded to hear. She wondered if Ryan felt the same.

“Sounds like they’re already up to the avalanche road,” Ryan said.

“Where the...where the gate was?”

“Yes. They’ll stop there. They won’t attempt to plow the upper road for several more weeks.”

Jen nodded. She knew what it all meant, of course. Once Reese let them know the road was passable, they would hike down to meet her. And she would whisk Jen away, away from the mountain, away from Ryan. Back to civilization, back to Santa Fe, back to Brad.

Back to her life.

***

The trip back to the cabin was made in silence. Not that that was unusual, but it was a different kind of silence, Ryan noted. It was filled with trepidation, dread. At least for her. She knew she should be happy. It was time. Hell, it was past time. She was tired of the tension, tired of trying to ignore her attraction to Jen, tired of avoiding any conversation that might lead to personal questions. She knew Jen was tired of it as well. But still, she wasn’t
ready
for Jen to leave. More than six weeks of having her around—the place would be empty without her.