Snow Angel (7 page)

Her pulse gave an enthusiastic jump, which decided her against the idea instead. A jumping pulse wasn’t something she should pursue, especially with her best friend.

Besides, she didn’t relish the early start in the morning. Her bed and book called. She was exhausted from the emotional upheaval of the past few days.

CHAPTER FIVE

Jacob helped Stan and Eddie’s dad, Peter, cram Melinda’s suitcase into the back of the SUV, one of three vehicles making the trip to Utah. Her bag weighed a freaking ton. If he hadn’t watched her pack it up, he’d have sworn she’d added a layer of bricks to the bottom. It took all three of them to wrestle it into place.

Once they were done, Stan slammed the door, wiped his hands together, and patted him and Peter on the back.

“That’s the last of it, boys,” he said. “Thank God, because nothing else is going to fit.”

Jacob left Stan and Peter discussing the weather conditions for the next day’s drive and wound his way back to the family room where the rest of the guys, minus the adults, were about to start the first
Die Hard
movie.

“Classic,” he said, and flopped into one of the recliners, pulling the lever to raise the footrest.

Eddie tossed him a beer, which he placed in the cup holder on the chair’s armrest. He propped his hands behind his head and hunkered down to watch Bruce Willis kick some serious ass.

The guys called out encouragement as Bruce mucked up the bad guys’ nefarious plans, or quoted their favorite lines from the film. Rick, who had a talent for mimicry, did his outstanding impression of Alan Rickman.

Jacob joined in by rote, but try as he might, he couldn’t get his head into the flick. Instead, he kept reliving the moments in Melinda’s room when their eyes had met. Something had happened. For an instant, his hands had actually tingled.

Tingled
for God’s sake.

And he’d wanted to touch her.

Her.
Melinda.

His friend.

One of his best friends, a girl he’d known literally his entire life.

If he let them, his hands would tingle again right now, just thinking about her.

He wasn’t that much of a pig, was he? To think about touching his best friend that way? He’d hoped all those random thoughts of her were just that—random thoughts, like changing the channel on the radio. Just his brain tossing out whatever stupid crap it landed on.

He’d mostly tuned it out. Had tried, for her sake, to be sorry the prick, Mitch, had broken up with her. Had tried, for their friendship’s sake, to ignore the fact that he, Jacob, was unaccountably, unreasonably, undeniably happy knowing they were both single.

But tonight—oh, hell, if he was honest, it had been a lot of nights now. Something else had slid in there, had slid inside him, and he couldn’t seem to change the freaking channel.

Sure, she was pretty. Beautiful, in fact. He’d always thought so, long before everyone else had caught on. It was only one of many facts about her, along with her intelligence, and her snarky sense of humor, and her nearly guy-like love of football. Even if she was a Packers fan.

A lot of guys had the hots for her, but it was his job to shut them the hell up if they talked about her in a way he didn’t like. Because he was her friend. He watched out for her, and she watched out for him. They had each other’s backs, always.

This was something else.

It freaked him out.

And had been for months.

Maybe even years, if he dared to look back that far.

But tonight, he’d swear she’d felt something, too.

And if she had…

Nope. Don’t go there.

Reining himself in took effort, but it was the right thing to do. To protect the friendship. He tied it all down again, hoping this time the rope would hold.

Anyway, he’d only been screwing around. Right? Having fun. Being flirty. And she knew how to give as good as she got. That was all. It would be stupid to read anything more into it. Even if she had had that look in her eyes.

Jacob shook his head as if clearing water from his ears.

No, it had been a long day, and she was obviously still vulnerable, obviously still emotional over that dog turd, Mitch. Of course she was. It was to be expected.

Didn’t he have things on his own mind, as well? Like the secrets he’d almost shared at dinner. Jacob blew out a breath. Eddie’s dad’s interruption had been well timed, cutting him off the way he had. It would be better to wait and spill those beans after the trip.

That was part of his problem—there were way too many loose strands crisscrossing all over his brain, tangling everything together, making a mess.

Hell, he’d been thinking about Nicole, too. That was all it was. Crossed wires and timing. He’d imagined it, whatever it was. It was nothing to worry about, had nothing to do with the fantasies that had been plaguing him for months before she’d even met her now ex-boyfriend.

He only had to look at his aunt and uncle to see what a bad idea it would be to even think about traveling down that path. Shelly and Victor had been best friends once. Now their divorce was tearing his whole family apart, hurting their kids, shredding relationships.

If there was one constant in his whole life he counted on, it was his friendship with Melinda. Crossed wires were no way in hell going to interfere with that friendship.

No way.

Satisfied, Jacob tuned back into the movie in time to cheer along with the rest of the guys as they all yelled out, “Yippy-ki-yay...”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rubbing her eyes, Melinda put her book away, went through her nightly yoga routine, and set her alarm clock for the ungodly hour of four in the morning, yawning hugely. But once in bed, sleep eluded her, despite her fatigue.

The hands on her bedside clock seemed to move at half-speed. She brushed her cheek against her pillowcase, breathing in a faint wisp of Jacob’s familiar scent.

An hour passed, then two.

Staring unseeing at her ceiling, she listened to the gradually decreasing noises in the house as everyone settled in for the night.

Three days ago, she’d been on top of the world, about to spend a romantic week with her boyfriend at a beautiful ski resort, including New Year’s Eve and that all-important midnight kiss.

Now she was single once again, her heart broken, with no New Year’s kiss in her future.

She’d thought she was so smart about Mitch. Smart and safe. She hadn’t rushed it, hadn’t pushed. He’d met all of her markers for a successful, genuine relationship. He’d called when he said he would. Did what he said he was going to do. She’d met his family and friends, he’d met hers.

Hadn’t he said, “I love you,” first? Hadn’t he been the one to bring up marriage and long-term plans?

At twenty-seven, Mitch was older, accomplished, so different from the high-school boys she’d dated, or even the college guys. A man. He’d made even casual dates into events, had turned the mundane into beautiful moments now etched in her memory.

In the end, he’d turned out to be just as big a jackass as any other guy she’d dated, and more than most. No one else had gotten beneath her skin the way he had, and looking back on it now, it all seemed so calculated, so deliberate. As though he’d had an agenda. As though he’d been proving something to himself about his own desirability as a boyfriend rather than being a great boyfriend for her sake.

The jerk.

Flipping over, she held one fingertip straight out toward her bay window, tracing the faint beams of moonlight streaming between the slats of her blinds and dancing through the air.

A not-so-tiny part of her was glad her parents were making her go on the ski trip, despite her earlier protests. Despite everything. Her messy bed—with its warm, white flannel sheets covered in bright yellow daisies, her blue, white, and yellow-striped down comforter, the veritable mountain of giant, squashy pillows, and the stuffed animals she’d collected since early childhood—was a comfortable haven, as was her sunny room.

She’d wallowed in that comfort for two solid days.

While a part of her wanted to keep right on wallowing, the rest of her knew it was time to get herself together and start getting over the rat bastard, no matter how much it hurt.

Somehow, after spending even a little time with Jacob, the ache had already eased to an almost-bearable level.

That moment with Jacob had sparked a different sort of ache. A heavy, drugging, delicious one. But she had a firm grip on the whole deal now. It was just rebounding from her ex.

Totally normal.

Melinda sniffed, but she was done crying over Mitch. The heartache would last for a while—damn it, she’d
loved
him, hadn’t she?—but she was not about to let him ruin the ski trip or another single day of her life. Spending time with Jacob and her cousins, being out in the gorgeous scenery, working her muscles.

It would be great.

She was going to have the best time ever and prove to Mitch, herself, and anyone who cared to notice, that she didn’t need him to be happy.

Reaching across her bedside table, she snagged her phone from its charging dock and brought up her photo album. She took a steadying breath, then before she could rethink it, went through and deleted every photo she had of Mitch and all the places they’d been together.

There. Step one. No more mooning over his image.

For the big finish, she deleted him from her contact list and blocked his number.

Feeling strong, feeling positive, Melinda drifted into sleep, her arms wrapped around her pillow.

She dreamed she was sitting on Jacob’s lap in a ski lodge, his strong, sculpted arms around her while he nuzzled her neck with lips that were soft and warm and sent the most incredible longing crashing through her heated body, making her tremble. Braced against his chest, his hard-muscled thighs beneath her legs, she wanted to melt into him and run her hands all over his hot, smooth skin.

When Mitch walked in and stood over them, an angry frown creasing his brow, she turned away from him deliberately, placed her hands on either side of Jacob’s handsome face, and pressed her lips to his, sinking into a deep, sensual kiss. Every neuron in her body lit up like a Fourth of July sparkler, and Mitch’s presence faded away like the wisp of smoke from a dud firecracker.

Jacob’s arms banded around her tightly, holding her pressed against his long, muscular length, and nothing about it felt wrong at all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At five the next morning, Melinda sat shivering in the front passenger seat of the middle—and largest—SUV in their long, circular driveway, a thermos of hot chocolate in her cup holder. Though thoroughly bundled in a heavy blanket, mittens, a knit hat, and her red ski jacket, she could not get warm, or seem to wake up. She’d hit the snooze button on her alarm clock so many times, she’d only had time to brush her teeth, throw on her clothes, and dash to the car.

Eyes closed, she leaned back against the headrest, her iPod turned up loud enough to block out the noise of the last-minute preparations for leaving.

Brisk desert air flowed over her with the opening of the driver’s side door, sending another shiver up her spine. She burrowed more deeply inside her blanket. The scent of sagebrush came in with the cold, fresh and clean.

Her cousin Danny, who was driving, climbed in beside her and turned on the engine to get the heater going. The oldest of the Carlisle boys, he was a natural leader and the most serious of the three. Or at least he seemed that way until people got to know his goofy side. He was studying to become a lawyer like his mother, and like Aunt Pat, he would make an excellent attorney someday.

Melinda peeled one eyelid up enough to peek at him, disgusted to find him looking rested and ready to go. It was five-freaking-a.m. The man was a machine.

“Morning, Princess,” Danny said, patting her heartily on the knee through the layers she’d piled up.

She grunted at him and shoved his hand away, making him laugh.

“Nice to see you, too,” he said.

“Shut up, Daniel,” she said, her voice gravelly.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Peasant.”

Melinda turned her face to the window, shutting him out. The rest of the guys traveling in their car—Jacob, Christian, Gabe, and Wendell—climbed in back.

“Kumquat,” Jacob said to her by way of morning greeting, patting her gently on top of her beanied cap as he plunked himself in the seat directly behind hers.

“Celery stalk,” she answered, not opening her eyes. At least he sounded properly raspy and tired, as any normal human should so early in the morning.

Loud rustling filled the vehicle as the guys shifted around. Finally they settled and, from the sounds of it, went instantly back to sleep.

Her dad, who’d brought her the hot cocoa and a bear hug when she got in the SUV, would drive the lead car, along with her mother and Jacob’s parents, Bill and Lois. The rear vehicle contained Aunt Pat and Uncle Allan, Nancy and Peter Thomas, along with their son, Eddie, and her cousin Rick.

Pulling out of the driveway, only twenty minutes late, they drove single-file over the bridge spanning the dry bed of the Mojave River. Skirting downtown Pasodoro, with its 1950s movie-set perfection, they passed the small cemetery where Seth was buried, then traveled along neighboring Hesperia’s nearly empty Main Street through the cold, misty-gray morning air.