Snow One Like You by Kate Angell

CHAPTER ONE
     
    Christmas Eve
    Green Mountain Range
    Snowbound, Vermont
    Temperature: 16 degrees. Wind Chill:
-10.
     
    Allie Hartley swiped her palm across
one corner of the front window of Hartley’s General Store, clearing
the condensation. Then drew her hands beneath the sleeves of her
white cable-knit sweater to keep them warm. The weather had shifted
drastically within the last hour. A howling wind and slanting
flurries now flattened the fat, fluffy snowflakes that had
glistened beneath the vintage street lights, foretelling Christmas
Eve. She could no longer see the sidewalk. Main Street was a blur.
Cautionary whiteout conditions existed.
    The electricity flickered. She lit
hurricane lamps, to be on the safe side. The flames danced within
the amber globes. Flashlights had new batteries. There would be no
stumbling around in the dark, should the lights go out. A reclaimed
cast-iron fireplace stood ready. She’d stacked sufficient wood. She
would stay warm.
    No store owner in her right mind would
remain open.
    No sane customer would be out on a
night like this.
    Snowbound lived up to its name. The
town tucked in for the night. It was time to lock up.
    She crossed to the door, ready to set
the deadbolt. She never had the chance. The door flew open.
Slamming back against the wall. Old Man Winter blew a man inside. A
very big man. One wearing a full face helmet and snowmobile suit. A
black backpack slung over one shoulder. He stomped his heavy,
winter boots, and made his own snowdrift.
    Rhys
Forester . Allie would know him anywhere.
Even in the middle of a blizzard.
    Helmeted and snow-covered. He was an
old friend, and an unexpected pleasure.
    He put his shoulder to the door,
closed it. Locked them in. The slide of the deadbolt was loud in
the silence. A significant sound of shutting out the world. Only
the two of them existed.
    Her eyes widened.
    His gaze narrowed.
    She took a giant step back.
    He took one forward.
    She breathed in.
    He breathed out.
    They had an undeniable rhythm between
them. A friendship that started in diapers and withstood thirty
years. He was practically a member of the family. Their attachment
was healthy. Solid. Casual and smooth. No pressure.
    Up until December
10 th . Three-thirty in the afternoon, to
be exact. Time had stopped for her. An unanticipated incident had
affected them both. Startling her, and surprising the hell out of
him.
    She relived the moment in her mind.
She’d been decorating the store for Christmas when Rhys stopped by.
He had free time, and she coerced him into helping. Hot chocolate
in exchange for stringing holiday lights. He retrieved the box from
the attic and began untangling them. It took him a good long
while.
    There was a lot to do, and she’d dealt
with her own decorations, determined to climb the ladder and tack a
plastic sprig of mistletoe on a low hanging beam. Rhys warned her
not to use the rickety wooden ladder. It wasn’t safe. She was
accident prone. He would drag the aluminum ladder in from the
storeroom once he finished the strands.
    She’d ignored him. She was competent.
Capable. Or so she thought. Securing the ladder, she climbed. Up
five rungs, and the sixth splintered. She’d slipped. Started to
fall. A big splinter sliced her palm when she tried to hang on. She
scratched her ankle on the broken rung.
    A man of quick reflexes, Rhys lunged,
catching her. She’d landed flush against him. Her lips, his mouth,
a hairs’ breadth apart. Her breasts pressed his chest. Her stomach
contoured the flat of his belly. Her hips cuddled his groin. Their
thighs tensed. She’d felt every masculine inch of the man. He’d
felt nice. Very, very nice.
    Awareness flirted. Sharpened.
Suspended. Anticipation unhinged them.
    She didn’t move and neither did he.
They’d both looked up at the same time. They stood under the
mistletoe. An invitation to kiss. And they did. His mouth smoothed
across hers. Tentatively at first. Light pressure. An exchanging of
breath. The