Steam (Homecoming Hearts #4)(5)

“Aw, shucks, hon,” she said, swatting his arm. “You have a great vacation now.”

He waved her goodbye then trundled onwards with the other weary passengers. It was midafternoon local time, but back home it was already creeping up to bedtime. He yawned and vowed to get a coffee as soon as possible. He’d much rather have a soothing cup of tea, but that would absolutely send him to sleep in the taxicab when he needed to stay alert and reset his body clock.

Once he’d reclaimed his suitcase and poured several sugars in his mocha he stepped out of the small airport into the snowy evening and immediately gasped in horror. It was bitterly cold, and he suddenly wished he’d changed into his thermals in the bathroom beforehand. The wind burned his face and he hastily dropped his suitcase to the ground and carefully placed his coffee beside it to rummage through its contents for extra scarves, a pair of gloves and a hat.

Slightly better protected, he zipped the suitcase back up with trembling hands and clutched his coffee to his chest like it might keep his heart beating if the cold tried to freeze it solid. “Bugger me,” he said emphatically, stamping his feet and startling a middle-aged American couple as they walked past.

Evening was settling, so no wonder it was getting colder. If he stayed still much longer he was going to turn into an icicle. So he rallied himself and dragged his enormous suitcase over to the taxi line and tried not to shiver apart as he waited for his turn to slide into a car.

“Oh, thank god,” he said as he was enveloped by the cab’s blissfully warm interior air. The driver secured Ashby’s suitcase in the back of the car then scurried around to get behind the wheel. “It’s a bit chilly out there, isn’t it?” Ashby commented with a laugh.

The driver looked at him in the rearview mirror like Ashby had lost his marbles. “It’s snowing,” he said, like Ashby might not have noticed.

Ashby chuckled quietly to himself as they pulled away from the curb. “It certainly is.”

At home, he would have been alarmed by such weather. London may have survived the Blitz, but an inch of snow could cause utter bloody chaos. And where Ashby had spent most of his childhood growing up in Singapore, they didn’t even have seasons. It was always just warm. So he couldn’t help but press his nose to the window and look outside in wonder at the swathes of snow.

“You on vacation?” the cabbie grunted in a more-or-less friendly manner. He looked at Ashby in the rearview mirror again. There was a small dreamcatcher swinging from it with beautiful topaz blue stones woven into the design.

Ashby beamed at him. It tickled him that there were so many different words Americans used. He’d have to try and pick up as much of the lingo as possible and blend in. It wasn’t his first trip to the States by far, but he’d forgotten a lot of the little intricacies of daily life here.

“I’m on holiday – vacation – yes,” he said. “I’ve never been to Wyoming before.”

The truth was he’d never been skiing before. He’d been to the Alps plenty of times growing up, but he had just indulged in the social side of things. He was always too afraid to fling himself down the side of a mountain. But he felt silly admitting that to a stranger.

Maybe this would be the holiday that changed his mind, though? He was here to find himself, after all. He needed to be brave and try new things.

“You’re staying at the Grand?” the cabbie asked.

His voice had a bit of an accent to it that Ashby couldn’t trace. But he spoke English very well, so Ashby admired him as much as he did anyone who attempted a second language. Unlike his mother, who spoke seven languages fluently and could immediately pick up phrases in any other she pleased, Ashby was hopeless. He could barely say hello in anything other than English.

“Um, yes,” he replied. “I think that’s what it’s called. It should be the only resort in that region.”

It was the only anything in that region. There were a few tiny towns if you drove out for half an hour or so, but other than that, the site was self-sufficient. Exactly why Ashby had chosen it. He needed to go somewhere free from distractions.

The cabbie didn’t say any more after that. He just turned up the radio a little and Ashby continued to gaze out the window at the falling twilight as he sipped his coffee. He’d never been on holiday alone before. He’d always gone with family, friends, or, in the past two years, Gordon. Gordon liked booking everything and taking charge of the passports, wrangling Ashby like a sheep that needed herding. He often joked that Ashby could never go anywhere without him.

Ha! Well, Ashby would show him. He’d managed to get across a whole ocean on his own, find his own hotel, book everything online. He hadn’t gotten lost or slipped up once.

That was, until they pulled up outside the supposedly Grand Resort.

Ashby looked out through the window at the dimly lit lodge. Several of the light bulbs over the main entrance were out and what little illumination there was allowed Ashby to see the peeling paint and cracked sign above the door.

His mouth slowly dropped open. No wonder this place was famed for its quietness.

No bastard had visited it since 1998.





3





Trent





Trent walked down the brightly lit corridor with a sense of dread weighing him down. His legs felt hollow and his hangover was making his stomach roll and his hands shake. He’d really blown it this time.