Alpine Embrace

Chapter 10

Sunlight on snow is deceptive. It looks cheerful. It sparkles like diamond dust. But it blinds you, and it hides the fact that the world has been turned into a frozen tomb.

I emerged from the blanket fort feeling stiff, sore, and emotionally raw. The air in the chalet was frigid. I could see my breath puffing out in white clouds with every exhale. The fire had burned down to embers again, struggling against the draft coming from the hallway.

Mia was still asleep, sprawled like a starfish in the center of the mattresses, hoarding the warmth.

I grabbed my coat, which I had slept in, and zipped it up to my chin. I needed to move. I needed to see the sky.

I climbed over the barricade of armchairs and walked toward the mudroom. The air got colder the closer I got to the back of the house.

I passed the hallway leading to the guest wing.

I stopped.

The door, the one Jaxon had kicked in, was gone. In its place, he had nailed up a piece of plywood, likely scavenged from the garage in the early hours of the morning. But the plywood was bowing inward.

I put my hand on the wood. It was freezing. Behind this thin barrier lay the room where I had been sleeping. The room that was now crushed under tons of snow.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature rattled my spine. If he hadn't come for me... if I had been asleep...

"Don't look at it."

I spun around.

Jaxon was standing in the mudroom doorway. He had evidently been outside and come back in. He was covered in snow—it clung to his beard, his eyelashes, his jeans. He held a shovel in one gloved hand.

He looked like a warrior returning from a losing battle.

"I was just..." I gestured helplessly to the plywood.

"It's gone," he said, his voice rough. "The roof truss snapped. The whole wing pancaked. If you were in there..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. The muscle in his jaw jumped, betraying the calm mask he was trying to wear.

"But I wasn't," I said softly. "Because of you."

He looked away, staring at the floor. "I’m going back out. The front entrance is buried. I need to clear the intake vents again and try to dig a path to the woodpile. We're low on fuel."

"I'm coming with you."

"No," he said immediately. "You don't have boots. The snow is waist-deep."

"I have hiking boots in my bag," I countered. "And I can double up on socks. I'm not sitting in here staring at a piece of plywood, Jaxon. I need to do something."

He looked at me, ready to argue. Then he saw the set of my jaw. He must have realized that arguing with me was about as effective as arguing with the weather.

"Fine," he grunted. "There’s an extra pair of gaiters in the closet. Wear them. Keep the snow out of your boots."

Ten minutes later, I stepped out the mudroom door and into a world of blinding white.

I gasped. The landscape was unrecognizable. The valley was gone. The trees were gone, turned into white, ghostly mounds. The sky was a piercing, aggressive blue, the sun so bright it made my eyes water instantly.

The silence was absolute. No birds. No wind. Just the ringing silence of a buried world.

Jaxon was already at work. He was digging a trench along the side of the house, throwing massive shovel-loads of snow over his shoulder with a rhythm that spoke of controlled rage. Crunch. Lift. Throw. Crunch. Lift. Throw.

I found a spare shovel leaning against the wall, a smaller, aluminum one, and joined him.

I started clearing the area around the patio doors. The snow was heavy, wet, and packed tight. It was like shoveling wet sand.

Within ten minutes, I was sweating inside my coat. Within twenty, my arms were screaming.

We worked in silence for an hour. It was a companionable, necessary silence. The physical labor burned off the awkwardness of the morning. It gave us a common enemy: the snow.

"Take a break," Jaxon called out, pausing to lean on his shovel. He was breathing hard, steam rising from his shoulders.

I straightened up, groaning as my back cracked. "I'm okay."

"You're pacing yourself wrong," he said. He waded through the snow toward me. "You're lifting with your back. You're going to herniate a disc."

He came up behind me. For a second, I thought he was going to touch me, correct my posture like a coach. My skin prickled with anticipation.

But he stopped a foot away. He demonstrated with his own shovel. "Bend the knees. Use the thigh leverage. Pivot. Don't twist."

"Right. Pivot. Got it."

I tried again. It was easier.

"Better," he nodded. He looked out at the valley, shielding his eyes with a gloved hand.

"How bad is it?" I asked, following his gaze.

"Bad," he said. "Look at the tree line."

I looked. The tall pines that lined the driveway were snapped in half like toothpicks.

"Avalanche?"

"Multiple," he said grimly. "The slide path crossed the main road. And the access road."

He pointed to where the driveway should have been. It was just a smooth, undulating field of white debris.

"The plow isn't coming today," he said. "Probably not tomorrow either. They have to blast the pass before they can even send the heavy machinery up here."

My stomach dropped. "So we're still trapped."

"Yeah." He looked at me, his eyes shadowed under the brim of his hat. "You're stuck with me a little longer."

"I can think of worse people to be stuck with," I said, trying for a light tone. "You make excellent pancakes. And you're a very efficient heater."

Reference to the cuddling. Bold move, Kelsea.

Jaxon went still. He looked at me, really looked at me, the blue sky reflecting in his gray eyes.

"Kelsea," he started, his voice low. "About this morning. Calling you Elena."

I felt my smile falter. "You don't have to explain. I get it. Muscle memory. Grief brain."

"No," he stepped closer, closing the distance between us. The snow crunched under his boots. "It wasn't just muscle memory. It was... fear."

"Fear?"

"I woke up," he said, struggling with the words. "And for a split second, I felt... peace. I haven't felt peace in three years. And it scared the hell out of me. So my brain panicked. It tried to put me back in the past. Back where I knew the rules."

He took off his glove. He reached out and brushed a stray hair from my face. His fingers were cold, but his touch burned.

"I know you're not her," he whispered. "I know exactly who you are. You're the woman who draws cartoons and eats grilled cheese like it's a religious experience and refuses to listen to a damn word I say."

I laughed, a breathless puff of air. "I listen. I just selectively ignore."

"You're dangerous," he murmured, his thumb grazing my cheekbone. "You make me want to turn the lights back on."

My heart hammered against my ribs. We were standing in a frozen wasteland, surrounded by disaster, and I had never felt more alive.

"Turn them on, Jaxon," I whispered. "Just one. Start with one."

He leaned in. His eyes dropped to my lips. The air between us was electric, charged with the promise of something that could melt all this snow.

"Daddy! Kelsea!"

We sprang apart like guilty teenagers.

Mia was standing in the open mudroom door, wearing her unicorn pajamas and boots on the wrong feet. She was holding a box of cereal.

"I'm hungry!" she yelled. "And the milk is warm!"

Jaxon let out a long, ragged breath. He looked at the sky, then back at me. A wry, almost-smile tugged at his lips.

"The milk is warm," he repeated. "Reality calls."

"Duty calls," I corrected.

"Go inside," he said, putting his glove back on. "Warm up. Feed the monster. I'm going to finish the path to the woodpile."

"Jaxon?"

He looked back.

"The lights," I said. "We don't need electricity to make them. We can improvise."

He frowned, confused. "What are you plotting?"

"Just... art," I grinned. "Go dig. I have work to do."

I turned and crunched back toward the house, my mind already racing.

The road was blocked. The guest room was destroyed. We were trapped in a freezing house with dwindling supplies.

But Jaxon had almost kissed me. He had admitted he felt peace.

I wasn't just going to survive this blizzard. I was going to rewrite the ending of this story.

I walked into the kitchen, grabbed the box of Cheerios from Mia, and smiled.

"Okay, peanut," I said. "Eat up. We have a project. We're going to decorate the fortress."

"With what?" Mia asked, crunching a handful of dry cereal.

I looked around the dim, gray living room. I looked at my sketchbook. I looked at the charcoal. I looked at the massive glass windows that were now walls of solid white snow.

"With everything," I said.