Sugarplum (Silk Stocking Inn Book 5) Page 2

  Mitch blinked up at me through his glasses. "Jen, I have no clue what you're talking about." I knew both Mitch and Shelly well enough to know that one of them would have cracked up by now, but they both looked genuinely worried, as if I was losing it. I decided not to push it or risk being the topic at the digital water cooler. And yes, it existed. We were a tech company, after all.

  I backed up with a smile. "My mistake. I'll let you two get back to work." My eyes shifted stealthily around the room in an attempt to catch a guilty expression or hidden smile, but everyone seemed focused on getting finished with their work so they could head home and pack for the weekend.

  I headed back to my own computer, deciding that was a good plan. A weekend away might just be what I needed too. It was a big mountain. I was sure with some strategic planning I could avoid the boss altogether.

  Chapter 3

  The temperature dropped dramatically as my car puttered up to the higher elevation. Trees went from bare branched skeletons, waiting for spring sunlight to revive them from their wintry state of dormancy, to lush, fragrant evergreens, standing sentry over the snowy hillsides, their branches still heavy with needles and cones. Climbing up a mountain always felt like driving into another dimension, like reaching a different world in a fantasy game.

  It also meant cold, and I was starting to forget that I had toes and fingers. I reached forward and flicked the heater on higher. Warm air blasted my face and began to dry the condensation on my windshield. I lowered my head and peered up at the sky. The clouds looked heavy with snow. According to my phone, I had an hour to go. I was regretting not taking Tanya up on her offer to drive together. But by the time I'd firmed up my decision to go, she'd already made plans to drive up with two coworkers, Rocky and Gus. And since she had a secret crush and an even more secret plan to snag Rocky one day, I didn't want to get in her way. I could have driven with them, but I had too many things to do at home. I didn't want to hold anyone back.

  I was sure there would be no downtime for the rest of the weekend, so the lonely, quiet drive gave me a chance to relax. The curves in the road had begun to get curvier, and I had to pay attention. My eyes were glued to the asphalt in front of me, so I hadn't noticed that a dense, white fog was moving in on the mountain. It seemed to swallow up my car. The light from my headlights was absorbed by the opaque moisture. I couldn't see more than three feet in front of me, but worse, I couldn't see the side of the road. There was no way to spot a turnoff or vista where I could stop safely until the haze lifted.

  The only logical explanation I had for the suddenly viscous air was that I was driving through a low cloud. The cool moisture seemed to seep through the heating vents. A shiver went through me, and my earlier fantasy about driving into another world seemed to be coming true. Only it wasn't exciting or exhilarating, like reaching the next level on a video game. It was downright terrifying.

  I slowed my car to a crawl and prayed that some blowhard with rocks for brains didn't come barreling up the road behind me. But I didn't see anyone. Not even a hint of life. It was just me and my old car and a shroud of fog.

  Full on panic was about to set in just as the fog seemed to lighten. The feathery tufts of white air rolled up and off my windshield, and as I drove around the next curve, it disappeared completely.

  My sigh of relief was cut short by the landscape in front of me. I was no longer on a twisting mountain road. A snowy landscape rolled out in front of me that reminded me of the picture on a Christmas card. The landscape was mostly flat, with the occasional soft rolling hill to give it some dimension. Tall pines, dripping with icicles and burdened with mounds of snow, dotted the otherwise pure white countryside. Countryside? How the heck was that possible? I'd been traveling up a mountain. The only explanation I could devise in my baffled mind was that I'd found a terrace of flat land within the mountain range. Geographically, it didn't make much sense but then what the heck did I know about landforms?

  I picked up my phone to take a quick glimpse at the route. I hadn't switched roads, and there was only one that I knew of leading up to the ski lifts so I wasn't worried. I rubbed my thumb across the screen. The map popped on for a second and then disappeared completely. I rubbed my phone again. Nothing. Obviously, I was driving through a dead zone. There couldn't be any other explanation for it.

  I placed the phone down and kept driving. In the distance, I could see a huge cloud of powdery snow drifting up from the landscape. A snow plow or kids playing, I concluded. It was the first sign of civilization since the fog had cleared, and I was relieved to see it.

  I drove along and watched as the cloud of snow moved through the landscape. Suddenly, a chrome and black snowmobile exploded through the powder. Another one followed right behind. The two riders were clad in motorcycle helmets, chest plates, thick leather gloves and boots. They were racing, motocross style, but on the snow.

  The lead machine made an impressive leap in the air and then landed in a pile of fresh snow before kicking out a white rooster tail and racing away. The second machine was in close pursuit.

  I pulled my eyes back to the road. A white hill of snow loomed in the distance as if it had just popped up in the landscape. I squinted through my pasty looking windshield at the silhouette of the house on top of the hill. It was the house on the Silk Stocking Inn website. My mind was so busy trying to logic out the scene in front of me, I'd forgotten that I was driving.

  "Ah shit!" I gasped as my tires dropped a foot down and my car skidded off the road and came to an abrupt stop in a pile of snow. I put the car in reverse and pressed the gas pedal, but I only seemed to dig myself deeper into the bank. Seconds later, my car shut off as if some of its moving parts had seized up with the cold.

  With the defroster and heat no longer running, the inside of the car turned glacial almost instantly. Most of the car's front end had vanished into the snow bank. I had to shove the door hard to get it open. As I stepped out, the loud rumble of a motor vibrated the frozen ground beneath my feet.

  I spun around and a puff of white air followed my gasp. The snowmobile racer had pulled up behind my car. He turned off the engine and stood up from the bike. From my vantage point in the ditch, he looked twice the size of an average man. His black helmet was topped with a mohawk of chrome spikes. His black chest protector and dark tinted goggles made him look nothing short of scary.

  My heart raced as I considered all the ways this could end. I was stranded in a snow bank on a deserted road, and a menacing man, who looked as if he could use a pine tree as a toothpick, was standing ten feet away.

  The rider pulled off his helmet, and some of the earlier fright was replaced with surprise. "Oh my," I whispered to myself. The words left a white puff of air in front of my mouth.

  The man set the helmet on the seat. He reached up and rubbed his dark cropped hair with his gloved hand. It stood up all over his head. Swirls of black ink climbed up past the chest protector and along the side of his neck. I was sure there were plenty of tattoos beneath the racing gear. He moved closer. My mind was telling me to back up, but my feet were frozen in place, not from the cold but from shock. His dark green gaze looked familiar, and as my eyes took in the handsome face, with its chiseled jaw and black beard stubble, I remembered where I'd seen the eyes before. Dizziness swept over me, and I swayed back. The giant stranger moved with graceful speed as he closed the gap between us. His arm curved around my back to keep me from falling.

  "Whoa there, I've got you."

  I closed my eyes to erase the dizzy spell, then opened them slowly, wondering if he'd still be there. Since his steel arm was hooked around me, I was fairly certain of it. The deep green of his eyes held just enough worry to assure me that I wasn't in danger.

  I forced a smile. "I'm fine. You can let me go," I said the words aloud, but inside my head I was thinking 'or you can hold me longer too'. I wouldn't complain.

  Cautiously, he lowered his arm. "Guess you took a wrong turn somewhere. I can pull your car fre
e with my snowmobile."

  "Thank you. That would be great. I'm expected up at Swanson's Ski Lodge. My friends will be worried."

  Confusion wasn't a good look on most people, but he pulled it off just fine. In fact, I was sure every expression would look fine on him. I knew that for certain because I'd just spent months designing a video game hero who could easily have been his twin.

  "Swanson's Lodge?" he asked. "Don't think I've heard of it."

  "How's that possible?"

  "Don't know. Anyhow, I'll get the rope."

  "Thank you, Mr. Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't get your name.”

  He stuck out a huge black glove. My small blue glove got lost in it. "Name's Holt."

  My throat went dry, and I had to consciously remember to breathe. "No. No, it can't be."

  His perfectly shaped brow lifted. "Yep, I'm pretty sure that's my name."

  "That just can't be your name."

  "No? Then I guess I should call my mom and let her know she sewed the wrong name into my underwear when I was a kid."

  I shook my head and looked around to see if my surroundings were real. Then with some trepidation, I glanced through the back window of my car to see if I was still inside slumped dead over the wheel. Nope. The car was empty. I was alive, it seemed. Only, it felt very much like I was in a dream or having an out of body experience of some kind. It had to just be a crazy coincidence.

  "Holt, huh?"

  "Yep." He turned around and headed to the snowmobile.

  "As long as your name isn't Ziggy," I said more to myself than to him. But my words stopped him in his tracks. Literally. He turned back around and stomped toward me.

  This time, I took a step back.

  "What did you say?"

  I shrugged nervously beneath the puffy down of my coat. "I just said as long as your name's not Ziggy." My head felt light again. "Is it?"

  Without a word and with his green gaze glued to my face, he yanked the sleeve of his coat back along his arm. There, in black letters, running along the steel like cords of his forearm, were the letters Z-i-g-g-y.

  "That's not possible," I said.

  "You keep saying that, and yet, I'm pretty sure this tattoo has been there for at least two years. It's my racing nickname. I tend to zig when everyone else zags. Helps me win races." As he spoke, I felt the blood leave my head. I swayed on my feet again. I'd never fainted in my life, but I was sure I was just one head rush away from falling face first into the snow. Or into the enormous arms of the man in front of me.

  Holt took hold of my arm. "You sure look unsteady. My friend owns that inn up on the hill behind us. She'll get you some coffee and something to eat. Let me take you there on my snowmobile. Then I'll come back here and dig out your car."

  I looked back at the Victorian house gazing down at us from its snowy hilltop. I had been staring at it when my car went off the road. It was the first in a long string of coincidences that was making me think I really was in a dream.

  I swallowed to relieve the dryness in my throat. "That might be a good idea. I'm definitely feeling a little shaky." I looked at the snowmobile and tried not to show fear. Apparently, I didn't try hard enough.

  "I will drive so slow you'll be able to catch snowflakes on your tongue."

  "Snowflakes?" I squinted up to the sky. Light crystals of ice were falling through the air. "It's snowing. Of course it is. What else? I'll take a quick break at the inn and then I should get back on the road before it's covered with snow."

  Holt surveyed my car. "Maybe."

  Before I could ask him what he meant, he motioned for me to follow him to his snowmobile. He lifted the helmet off the seat. The silver spikes glistened in the light reflecting off the snowy landscape.

  "Mohawk," I said to myself.

  He held it up to admire. "Like it? I had it custom made."

  I was so dumbfounded, I didn't know how to respond.

  "I'd put this on you, but I think you need the fresh air. Besides, it'll be a short, slow trip to the Silk Stocking Inn."

  I stood again like a stunned statue blinking at him and trying to reason this all out. "Did you say Silk Stocking Inn?"

  "Yeah, that's the name of Coco's inn. Hop on. She told me she was making sugarplum cupcakes today. Not sure what those are, but I guarantee you'll feel better once you try her baking."

  "Sugarplum? Naturally."

  Holt threw his long leg over and straddled the seat, cradling his helmet in front of him. He scooted forward. I placed my hands on the hard plastic shoulder guards and climbed on behind him.

  He glanced back at me. "You never told me your name."

  "I'm Jen. Or at least I was this morning when I woke up, but I'm just not sure about anything anymore."

  He smiled and it was the first very real thing to happen since I’d plowed into the snow bank. It was spectacular and made me feel just a bit better. "Well, Jen, hold on."

  Not wanting to wrap my arms around a complete stranger, I opted instead for the edge of the seat. Holt's back was as broad as any I'd ever seen. I decided that if there was ever a stranger in this world who I might wrap my arms around, if the opportunity called for it, it was the man driving the snowmobile in front of me.

  Chapter 4

  Yep, it was the same house from the website. The only thing different was that the house looked a bit more dilapidated than it had on the site, and there were no roses, just dead vines circling the porch railing as if they'd been there for a long time and had no plans to leave.

  The ride on the snowmobile, sitting behind a man who could only have been designed by a gaming artist, had cleared my head some. He parked his machine, and, again, I used his shoulders to climb off. He followed.

  "How are you feeling now?"

  "A little better."

  He pushed his gloved fingers beneath my chin and lifted my face to his. The vision of a long, deep kiss drifted through my head. And there it was again. The dizziness. But this time it was purely due to the man in front of me and not the uncanny, impossible to explain coincidences.

  "There's more color in those cheeks, so that's a good sign." He lowered his hand, and before I knew it, he'd taken hold of mine. He led me up the stairs to the porch. It was one of those quaint, old-fashioned wraparound porches, complete with a hanging swing and two rockers. Even though everything was covered with ice and snow, it was easy to imagine people enjoying a summer afternoon on the porch sipping lemonade.

  Holt stomped his snow-coated boots on the welcome mat. The entire porch shook with each step. I couldn't hold back a laugh.

  "Yeah, I figure one day I'm going to push a hole right through the planks." He opened the door, and a warm almond fragrance ushered out. It was the sweetest and most mouthwatering aroma I'd ever smelled.

  We stepped inside and into an entryway that looked as if it was straight out of the nineteenth century with floral wallpaper and a thickly carved entry table. Even the light fixtures were from an earlier time.

  I took a deep breath of the sugary fragrance surrounding me. "Oh my gosh, what is that? Am I in heaven? That's it. That explains everything."

  Holt waved me inside. "O.K. then, snow angel, the real heaven is waiting in the form of a fresh cupcake. Just head down that narrow hallway, and you'll find the bakery."

  "Wait, aren't you going with me?"

  "I've got to pull your car out of the snow before it gets completely buried. Coco is probably in the bakery right now. She'll take care of you."

  I watched as he walked out, leaving a glittery trail of snow behind him as he went. It reminded me of a scene in Hell's Rangers when Ziggy Holt kills a wraith and its silvery blood follows him back to the shadow lands.

  The door shut behind him.

  "Holt, is that you?" a friendly voice called from down the hallway.

  "No, he just walked out," I called back.

  "Oh, Jen, you made it."

  I stood stock-still trying to decide if I'd actually heard my name. It wasn't possible but then impo
ssible seemed to be the order of the day. I headed in the direction of the voice and quickly found myself standing in a charming bakery where cute tables had been set with antique chairs, white lacy tablecloths and flower filled vases. Pink roses, in fact. Like the ones on the website.

  A long glass counter gleamed beneath a row of pendant lights. Its shelves were overflowing with pastries and cakes of every shape and color.

  I heard movement in the next room, the kitchen I could only presume because that was where the delicious smells seemed to be starting from.

  A woman walked around the corner holding a tray of cupcakes. "Here, let me help you with that." I rushed toward the woman, who had come round corner looking slightly hunched and gray with age. But by the time I'd circled the counter to help what I thought was an elderly woman burdened with a heavy tray, she turned out to be a beautiful, young woman with shiny dark hair and sparkling eyes. The hunched shoulders and stooped posture were gone, as if wiped away by a digital artist's magic eraser.

  I lowered my hands. "Oh, I'm sorry. For a moment I thought you were—" I stopped talking, not sure where I was going with it.

  The woman smiled graciously and placed her tray on the counter. It was filled with rows of shiny pink cupcakes. Each tiny cake was topped with pink and purple sugar crystals.

  She wiped her fingers on her apron and stuck out a hand that was most definitely the hand a young woman. "I'm Coco, the innkeeper." She motioned toward the tray. "And baker. Please help yourself. They're sugarplum."

  I took a step back as if someone had just popped me in the stomach. "The website. It was you. But how? How do you know me?"

  Coco leaned down and pulled a stack of white napkins from under the counter. The faint smile on her face assured me she wasn't going to divulge any of her secrets. "Let's just say, I know when a heart needs a little mending. And yours needed it. You have been focused on the wrong man. You spend your day creating fantasy characters. It's time you created a little fantasy of your own." Before I could find any words to respond, she held up a cupcake. "Give them a try. I haven't made sugarplum cupcakes in decades. It's sort of an old-fashioned flavor. I'm surprised a young, hip girl like you even knows about it."