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In the kitchen of Snowed Inn Bed & Breakfast, Lyn Hill hung up the telephone with an air of defeat.
“T-minus-ten-minutes until their arrival,” she told herself with a sigh. “Let the madness begin.”
Her sister had come to town, with the entire entourage in tow. Not that she didn’t love April and her kids. And April’s fiancé struck her as a sensible, caring, responsible guy. Unfortunately, ever since that television stunt featured April and Jeff, the two had become media darlings.
Her stomach pitched. Even after all these years, the idea of microphones shoved into her face and the glare of flashbulbs left her scared stupid.
Outside, wan December sunlight glinted off the freshly fallen snow coating the windows. Of their own volition, Lyn’s toes flexed inside her shoes, as if digging skis into packed powder. She hadn’t hit the slopes in three days now. And the lack of indulging in her favorite outlet wreaked havoc with her nerves.
Maybe when the kids got here, if they weren’t too tired from the drive, she could take them over to the mountain for a few runs before the lifts closed.
Leaving the kitchen in the capable hands of her cook, she strode into the parlor. A welcome fire crackled in the natural stone hearth. Cinnamon and cloves, wafting from the hot cider on the sideboard, infused the air with spicy warmth.
Click, clack, squeeeek! Click, clack, squeeeek!
In the ancient rocking chair near the fireplace, Mrs. Bascomb sat with her knitting. The long steel needles slipped through the skein of mint green yarn while she rocked. Looking up, she offered Lyn a serene smile before returning her attention to today’s baby blanket project.
Each October, when frosty air swept into their Vermont town, the widow next door brought her rainbow of yarns to Snowed Inn and took her place at the fireside. Throughout the fall and winter, Mrs. Bascomb and the other knitting club members created change purses, layettes for infants, sweaters and ski hats, home linens, tote bags, and other crafts. During the busier spring and summer months, they’d sell those handmade goodies at county fairs and local shops.
“How soon until your sister and her family arrive?” Mrs. Bascomb asked.
“April just called from the Brown Bear. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”
The old lady dropped her needles in her lap and smiled reassuringly at Lyn over the top of her square eyeglasses. “Everything’s going to be fine, you know.”
She offered a grimace as she sank into the matching rocking chair. “I just hope they were able to dodge the paparazzi.”
“Honey, I hate to break it to you, but even if some reporter followed them up here, no one’s going to care about you.”
“Gee, thanks a lot.”
Mrs. Bascomb’s chortles raised hackles on Lyn’s nape. “Well, now you can’t have it both ways, Lyn. You wanted anonymity. You got it. You haven’t been seen publicly in almost ten years. At this stage, no one’s going to recognize you. Isn’t that what you’ve tried to gain by cloistering yourself up here?”
Lyn frowned and palmed the fine hairs dancing on the back of her neck. Only someone who’d lived under the fame microscope could understand her fears, her distaste for the invasion of her privacy, the claustrophobic clamor of crowds.
“Lyn?” Mrs. Bascomb’s prompt chased away the ghosts. “That is what you want, isn’t it? Anonymity?”
“Of course,” she replied, her mind still straddling the past and present. A lump rose in her throat, and a quick cough placed her firmly back in the conversation with Mrs. B. “But now, with April and Jeff in the spotlight, the most rabid reporters are bound to track the lovebirds to my inn. And when they do, they’ll put two and two together.”
Confusion puckered Mrs. Bascomb’s crumpled brow. “Why should they? Your sister’s kept mum about you. No one’s ever linked her with the once-famous Brooklyn Raine.”
Lyn gave her brain a few minutes to process these facts, facts she’d repeated to herself over and over since the day April had told her of the family’s vacation plans. “True...”
“And I hate to tell you this, but I sincerely doubt those rabid reporters would care any more about you being April’s sister except as an interesting side note. You’re beyond yesterday’s news. You’re a dinosaur.”
“Once again, thanks a lot.”
Dark eyes twinkled behind thick lenses. “I mean it as a compliment, sweetie. You’ve kept yourself so far below the radar, the public lost interest in you a long time ago.” Leaning forward, she patted Lyn’s hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Besides, if someone dared to ask nosy questions about you, they’d come up against some mighty high brick walls. The entire town’s watching out for you. Your friends and neighbors will make sure to outsiders you’re only known as Lyn Hill, proprietor of Snowed Inn, a nice little widow lady who prefers to live like a hermit.”
She yanked her hand out of Mrs. Bascomb’s reach and tucked her fingers behind her opposing forearm. “I do not live like a hermit.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Mrs. Bascomb sat back, resumed her rocking, gaze now fixed on the rough-hewn crossbeams high overhead. “You know, when you first became involved with this Ski-Hab program, I thought to myself, ‘Finally. The mourning glory’s going to start blooming again.’”
Lyn arched a brow. “‘The mourning glory?’”
“Yeah.” With a grin, the old lady winked. “You don’t know it, but that’s the locals’ nickname for you.”
Acid burned her tongue, and she allowed the sarcasm to drip from her lips. “How complimentary.”
“It isn’t meant to be a compliment.” Mrs. Bascomb pulled the glasses off her face, chewed on the tip of one side. “It’s an observation. Ever since Marc died, you’ve holed up in this inn like you died, too.”
“None of you understand,” she snapped. “When Marc died, I lost everything. He wasn’t just my husband. He was my best friend, my rock, my whole world.”
Mrs. Bascomb waved her glasses with a dismissive hand. “Don’t invite me to your pity party. I lost my husband, too. But I managed to continue living.”
“Your husband was seventy and you’d been married for forty-five years when you lost him.”
“Which makes it even more devastating. You think your piddly little four-year marriage can compare to a lifetime?”
Beeeeeeeeep! Beep-beep! Beeeeeeeeep!
The sudden eruption of a car horn out front broke the disquiet inside the inn. Relief flooded Lyn’s taut skeleton.
“That’ll be April and the brood,” she announced, forcing a happy air.
“I think I’ll see if there are any cookies in the kitchen,” Mrs. Bascomb said. “Children love cookies.” She rose and, leaving her knitting behind, slipped from the parlor with all the finesse of a snake oil salesman.
Shaking her head to dislodge their conversation, Lyn turned toward the inn’s front entrance.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The familiar, rhythmic thud of visitors stomping snow from their boots echoed in Lyn’s pounding heart.
Before she reached the lilac-painted steel door, April flung it open wide, shaking the cranberry wreath hanging outside and allowing a burst of icy air into the overheated room.
“We’re here!” she shouted as she sped into the parlor, arms outstretched to engulf Lyn.
Wow! Lyn had never seen her older sister look so good. A nuclear glow seemed to surround April from head to toe. Her eyes glittered with sparks of light, and her blinding smile illuminated the entire first floor.
“God, Lyn, I’m so happy to see you.” She squeezed Lyn tight enough to crack ribs.
“Well, something’s made you happy, that’s for sure,” Lyn replied as she broke the boa constrictor embrace. “But I don’t think I can take the credit.”
April laughed. “Yeah, it’s Jeff, I guess. If I’d have known seeing a psychologist would turn my life around, I would have made an appointment years ago.”
“It’s not the seeing that’s made a difference,” a rich baritone said from behind them. “It’s the fact the psychologist is crazy in love with you.”
One look told Lyn the truth of Jeff’s words. The tall, striking man standing in the doorway flashed silver eyes glowing with adoration in her sister’s direction. The heat flowing between these two could set the inn ablaze.
The serpent of jealousy wound around Lyn’s heart. How did April get so danged lucky?
Shame slammed a spiked heel on the snake’s head. Lyn would not begrudge her sister a good, honest, trustworthy man. After all April’s trials, she deserved happiness. And thinking of trials...
On either side of Jeff stood April’s children, Becky and Mike. Luggage surrounded the trio like a fortress.
“Gag me,” nineteen-year-old Becky exclaimed with a smirk. “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.”
Jeff’s smile only deepened. “Then my work here is done.” He ruffled fourteen-year-old Mike’s hair. “What about you, sport? Your mom and I nauseate you, too?”
“Maybe a little.” Mike’s tongue lingered outside his mouth, sending a shiver up Lyn’s spine.
She loved her nephew, but sometimes, facing his disability head-on made her squirm. Michael was a child with Down Syndrome. She chastised herself for her discomfort. He was her sister’s son. Her only nephew. She vowed to spend time with him this week, really spend time with him.
“Jeff.” April dragged Lyn toward the door. “This is my sister, Lyn. Lyn, this is Jeff.”
Jeff stepped forward and removed his gloves, tucking them under his arm. “Brooklyn.” He extended his bare hand. Big, warm, gentle hold. Familial. “Nice to meet you. I’m a big fan.”
With a broad smile, Lyn clasped his fingers. “Same here. And please call me Lyn. I never use my real name anymore. When I was a teenager, a name like Brooklyn Raine set me apart on the racing circuit. Now...” Sighing, she shook her head. “It’s embarrassing. So, for the record, I’m just plain Lyn Hill.”
“Hello, hello, nice to meet you, too.” Becky’s sarcastic tone cut in from the doorway. “Can we come inside please?” She hopped from one foot to the other. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Whoops! Sorry. That’s my fault.” Jeff whirled and after replacing his gloves, stomped to the door to pick up the largest of the three suitcases. Gesturing to the fireplace with its crackling flames, he told the kids, “Go warm yourselves up over there while I drag these inside.”
The teenagers thundered into Lyn’s parlor, dripping gray slush and trailing white wires attached to earbuds.
“Guys?” April prompted. “Got anything to say to your Aunt Lyn?”
“Yeah. What’s there to do around here?” Apparently, Becky missed her mother’s veiled hint.
“Guess again,” Jeff told her.
When he paired the command with a scathing look, Becky’s face flushed.
“Sorry.” She stepped forward and embraced Lyn stiffly. “Hi, Aunt Lyn. How are you?”
Approval for Jeff rose a hundred degrees in Lyn’s mind. Taking on April’s ruffians required a lot of guts, a lot of patience, and a little insanity. To her surprise, Jeff seemed to have reined in both teens and earned their respect in the process. No wonder April raved about him the way she did.
Lyn gave her niece a quick squeeze. “I’m fine, Becs.” She released Becky and hugged Mike, as well. “I’m glad you guys came. And if you’re up for it, I thought we’d hit the slopes while your mom and...” She shot a questioning look at April. How should she address Jeff in front of the kids? She doubted they’d call him Dad.
“Jeff,” he supplied, as if she’d asked the question aloud.
“While your mom and Jeff are getting everything settled,” she finished. “Your gear is in the locker room, all ready for you.”
Mike’s slanted eyes widened, and his mouth grew slack with his excitement as he nodded vigorously.
“Sure,” Becky said. “Think there’ll be any cute guys out there today?”
April laughed. “It’s a ski resort, Becky. There are cute guys there every day.” She wagged a finger. “Just be careful. Some of those ski bums can steal your heart if you let them.”
Lyn’s gaze swerved from the excited teens to the adults. “Is it okay with you two?”
“Why not?” April replied. “I’m sure we can find some way to pass the time while you’re gone.” Another heated look passed between April and Jeff, a look so passionate, the serpent around Lyn’s heart squeezed her breathless.
“Come on,” Lyn murmured to the teenagers. “Let’s get our gear and hit the snow.”