Snow

Lauren Martin hiked painfully up the snowy mountainside. After twisting her ankle a few paces back, she was in a foul mood. She flipped back her long black hair and gritted her teeth. She continued up the unfamiliar terrain, hoping to see the lodge everyone said was at the peak of Snowball Mountain. The mountain was living up to its name, with periodic showers of snowballs raining down upon her. She was damp from the constant snow, hungry, and exhausted. She knew she should have gone with someone else, a more experienced hiker, but she had wanted to reach the top alone.

Lauren was on her vacation in Tennessee's Smoky Mountains. With all the conceivable paths covered by thick snow, she wasn't sure if she was on the correct trail or not. She had a sneaking suspicion in the back of her mind that somewhere along the line she had veered off the path. The thought nagged sickeningly in her head. She trudged on, shielding her eyes from the snow, looking for the elusive Snowcap Lodge, approximately a mile and a fifth from the base of the mountain. She stopped and looked for a place to sit and get her bearings. She found a long- dead stump and cleared over seven inches of snow. She consulted her watch and noted with a small frission of annoyance that it had frosted over. She wiped her finger over it and realized that she didn't have much time to reach the lodge.

Almost an hour later Lauren was ready to collapse. The storm had picked up, and it was nearly blinding her. She squinted into the horizon and saw something that was large and dark within the trees. With renewed hope, she began limping up the mountainside. As she approached, she realized that it must be a lodge, although to her it looked more like a cabin. She tried to hurry the last few yards and went to the door of the log structure. She turned the doorknob, and, although it was unlocked, felt it stick. She put the last of her strength to use and shoved her shoulder into it. The door burst open and she tumbled into the room. She stood and shut the door behind her.

This was a nice lodge, but small. It looked so much like someone's personal cabin. The fact that there were no personal effects lying around encouraged her. The structure had a spacious room that seemed to serve as its kitchen, bedroom, and living room. There was a log bed built into the wall on the right hand side of the room, with the kitchen area and table to the left. The bed had a partition built onto the head and foot of the bed, giving the sleeper the feel of a room. The living area was situated around a fireplace with a couch, armchair, and side table. There were two windows, one on the right wall and one on the left, overlooking the trees. A few fuzzy blankets were folded on the couch and on the bed, ready for use. A small door led into a woodsy bathroom with a sink, shower, and toilet. She checked the water. It ran freely, and became hot. She smiled to herself. She went into the great room and piled her belongings on the kitchen table. She stripped off her wet outer garments and stood in her dry sweater and boots.

The room was chilly and next to the fireplace was an ample supply of firewood. She went over and put some logs into the fireplace and lit them with a long match she found in a holder. She got her shampoo, conditioner, and soap and went into the bathroom. She pulled off her remaining clothes and stepped into the shower. She took a long hot soak, and emerged feeling refreshed. She wrapped her slim body in the towel and went back to get her sweats.

She toweled her hair and hung the towels to dry. She grabbed some of the blankets from the couch and went to the bed. There were hunter green flannel sheets on the bed, and she was so tired that she didn't care if they were clean. She spread the blankets on the bed and tucked in the corners. She slid into bed, and pulled the covers to her chin. It was funny... she could smell a man's cologne on the sheets. It smelled good. She turned on her side, facing the wall, and fell to sleep almost immediately.

Tom Sharp was on his way to his cabin. In ten years, he had never accomplished something that meant as much to him as building that cabin on the private side of Snowball Mountain. No one bothered him, because the public trails were on the opposite side of the mountain. He sped up his hiking and made good time to his favorite retreat. He got to where he could make out the form of the cabin and smiled. He rushed up the hillside, keeping it in sight. The smile fell from his lips as he realized that there were tendrils of smoke curling from his chimney.

He ran from where he was standing. He slowed when he reached the door. He never left it locked, because no one even knew the cabin existed, except for him. He slowly opened the door, his hand reaching for the .38 he kept for protection on the mountain. He moved inside, and shut the door quietly behind him. He saw a backpack on the kitchen table and clothes drying by the fire. He didn't hear anything, and moved towards the bed. He peeked around the privacy partitions and saw a form huddled under the covers. He sighed and put his gun back in its holster. He poked the sleeping form.

"Hey, who are you? Why are you in my cabin?" he demanded loudly. The person rolled over. It was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She opened luminous crystal green eyes wide, and blinked. She sat up.

"I thought this was the lodge," she stammered. He looked at her incredulously.

"Does this look like a lodge?" he countered.

"I didn't know, this is my first time hiking this mountain. The people at the base told me that there was a lodge at the top called the Snowcap Lodge. I thought this was it." He laughed. As he laughed, she began to take him in. He was huge and over six feel tall. He was a sandy blonde with deep, sparking chocolate brown eyes. He was wearing a ski outfit and dangled sunglasses in his long fingers.

"Number one, this is not the lodge. This is my cabin. Number two, you are only three-quarters of the way up the mountain and are on the opposite side of where you would like to be. You definitely took a wrong turn," he said in his deep voice. She stood in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Mr...," she said.

"Sharp. Tom Sharp. You can call me Tom," he said, reaching out his hand. She shook it as if it were a dead fish. "And you are...?"

"I'm Lauren Martin. Not that it matters, because I am leaving. I am sorry to have confused your cabin with the lodge. I'll be out of here in five minutes," she said standoffishly. "The storm isn't that bad."

She began to move toward her now-dry outerwear. The first step she took on her twisted ankle made her cry out involuntarily and stumble. Tom reached out to catch her. He caught he just before she hit the floor. He lifted her back to her feet.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine," she snapped. She began to limp painfully over to her clothes.

"Look, " he said, "the storm is that bad. You obviously cannot walk without a lot of pain, and it will be dark in a matter of minutes. It would take you another two, three hours to go back around the mountain and then up. Why don't you stay here for the night, rest, and then go in the morning."

"No, thank you. I didn't mean to intrude. I just made a rookie mistake, so I'm going to correct it by leaving. I appreciate your hospitality," she said, picking up her coat. She started to walk back to the table to put it with the rest of her stuff when she stepped down heavily on her injured ankle. Tom saw her bite her lip to keep from whimpering, but he thought he saw a tear slide out of the corner of her eye.

"Okay, that does it. You're staying here." He went over to her and lifted her into his arms. She began to protest.

"Hey, put me down. I'm fine," she said, struggling. He put her down on the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, coming back with some Ace bandages and tape. He knelt at her feet and took the sock off her right foot. He began to probe it gently with his fingers. When he hit the injured spot, he heard her draw in a sharp breath.

"Yes, you've definitely sprained this," he said, wrapping the bandage around her ankle.

"How would you know?" she asked waspishly. He looked up at her.

"I specialize in sports medicine," he said. This shut her up and she let his large, veined hands finish wrapping her ankle. He taped it securely and replaced her sock.

"Thank you," she said. He stood.

"No problem. What the problem is now is that I am hungry and I bet you are too. So how do you feel about some macaroni, potatoes, and Tom's Famous Cornbread?" he asked with a broad smile. She allowed herself a small smile, flashing white teeth. He could feel her warming to him a little. Maybe she would start to calm down and accept some help.

"I am hungry," she admitted.

"Good. Why don't you go back to sleep for a while while I make dinner. I'll wake you when I'm done," he suggested. She nodded. He got up and turned on the light so that he could begin to cook. She slid gingerly back under the covers.

Forty-five minutes later he had set all the food on the table and had poured some hot chocolate frothed over with melted marshmallows.

He touched her shoulder.

"Lauren? Dinner is ready," he said in a quiet voice. She murmured and rolled over to face him. She opened her eyes and inhaled the wonderful smells.

"Thanks," she said. She pushed off the covers and Tom helped her to her feet, she hanging onto his arm. He supported her and helped her to her chair, which he pulled out for her. She smiled her thanks and he went to his end of the table. They began to help themselves to the small feast.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," she said incredulously, shaking her head. "This was supposed to be the most perfect, relaxing vacation. And now I am stuck here in the mountains with you," she said. She noticed his expression changed to a dark look and she added hastily, "No offense." He brightened.

"So what are you relaxing from? Stressful job?" he asked. She nodded.

"Kind of. I manage a radio station in Indiana, and we're going through a lot of bureaucratic upheaval. My job is in jeopardy, and I was ready to pull my hair out. I used to vacation here with my family as a kid, so I came back to where I felt most relaxed. I had hiked a little before, and decided to tackle this mountain, which was not the smartest move I could have made," she said. He grinned.

"You must not have the greatest sense of direction," he said, trying to be tactful. She laughed at herself.

"You got it. Actually, you're being diplomatic. I never could read maps well, but I am a perfectionist. I thought I could hike this little bitsy mountain with no problem. I figured, hey, I live in Indiana. Snow is no big deal. The mountain is only a little over a mile high. No sweat. And look where it got me."

"Well, you're welcome to stay here until the storm clears, which may be a while. I'm no stranger to the couch here, and I kinda prefer it to the bed, so we'll be okay."

"I honestly do appreciate you letting me stay, and I apologize for screwing up your vacation. Quid pro quo, why are you here?" she asked between mouthfuls.

"Well, I'm taking my first week of vacation in eight years. It feels nice. Actually, you or no one else could screw it up. I have my own practice now, and things slowed down. I told my office staff that I was leaving for a week, and they have no way to get hold of me, so I am completely cut off, except for my cell phone, and they don't know the number."

"Sounds nice. But how in the world did you discover this little cabin?" she asked. He beamed with pride.

"I built it," he said. "In the summer before I went to medical school. It's my baby," he said. She looked impressed.

"Wow. This is a great place. But where do you get your electric and water from?" she inquired. He explained to her about his three weeks of self-sufficiency, and she looked duly impressed. By this time they were finished eating, and he stood and cleared the table, rinsing off the dishes in the sink. She stood and hobbled to the bed. She sat and looked at him, watching muscles ripple under his sweater as he moved. She averted her eyes.

"Does it seem a little warm in here to you?" she asked. He turned.

"No, actually I am all right. But you'll be too hot with those sweats on," he said. "Especially since the floor is warm and the heat from your swelling will warm your feet, you'll be hot. If your feet or face is hot, the rest of you feels hot. So if you want you can wear something of mine until you get cooled off." She pondered it for a second.

"That's fine." He got up and pulled open a drawer next to the bed and fished out a huge denim workshirt. He handed it to her and helped her up. She went into the bathroom and shut the door. She held it up in the mirror. It was huge, faded, and well worn. She slipped off her sweats and her bra, putting the shirt on. It was cool and soft to her skin. The sleeves were too long, and she rolled up the cuffs. She buttoned all of the buttons, it reaching nearly to her knees. She looked in the mirror and unbuttoned the first two buttons. There, that was better. More comfortable. She folded her clothes and emerged from the bathroom.

God, she looked cute in his work shirt! The little vixen had the first two buttons undone, and her nipples were visible underneath the worn material. He shook it off and cleared his throat.

"Feeling better?" he asked. She nodded.

"Well, when it's dark and stormy outside, basically what I do is sit here with the fire going, the lights off, and drink. It's not fancy entertainment," he said. She laughed.

"That sounds fine, but I really don't drink that much. Even a little tends to give me a headache," she said ruefully.

"We can replace drinking with conversation," he suggested. "No hangovers or headaches." She nodded.

"That's fine," she said. He assisted her to the couch. She lay down, facing his armchair. He took a pillow and propped up her ankle. She smiled her thanks. He stoked the dying flames, revitalizing them. He brought her a blanket, and went to turn off the lights. He came back to the armchair and sat his large frame down easily. He grabbed a blanket and shook it out and over himself, his white-stockinged feet dangling over the footrest.

He watched her shift on the couch, and she frequently reached up to massage a spot on her left shoulder as she shifted.

"So, let's dive in. Did you have a messed up childhood or what?" he asked good-naturedly. She gave a short laugh.

"Sort of. My parents had a messy divorce when I was twelve. I lived with my mom for a while, and she drove me to the point of depression. I realized it and went to live with my dad."

She reached up and briefly massaged her shoulder as she asked, "What's your story?" He sighed.

"I had a great childhood. I have a younger brother and sister, and we all got along great. We're all a year apart, and we always had the same friends and school. It was pretty good, considering what a lot of families go through," he said. He stopped for a second.

"Not to pry, but methinks you're not saying something," she said carefully. He laughed wistfully.

"There was this girl in high school. Her name was Dana. We went out all four years and planned on getting married after college. After I graduated and she graduated we did get married. It was great. We had only been married for a few months and my dad had a heart attack and passed away. My mom had a nervous breakdown. My brother and sister and I finally had to put her in a nursing home. It was just the worst. A couple of months after that, Dana went in for a mammogram. She had breast cancer and it was extremely advanced. No one knew. They started treatment but it had an adverse affect on her. The radiation treatments weakened her immune system. She died of breast cancer with complications from pneumonia she caught in the hospital. "

This long outpouring made him misty-eyed. He paused for a long moment. And there's been no one since, he thought.

"And there's been no one since," Lauren stated quietly, eerily reading his thoughts. He looked up.

"No. How did you know?"

"I didn't. I guessed. From the type of lifestyle you profess to lead, it sounds like you haven't made time for anyone. You don't want to lose someone again." She let this hang in the air while he contemplated the gravity of her statement.

"I guess you're right." They didn't talk for a long while, the stillness broke by the rustling of blankets as she moved to touch the spot on her shoulder.

"Want to change the subject?" he asked. She nodded in response, stretching and kicking off the blanket with her good foot. He saw the hem of his shirt rise on bare legs as she stretched to reach the spot in her shoulder.

"Is your shoulder bothering you?" he finally asked, almost tired of seeing the repetitive movement.

"Yes, a little," she said.

"Would you like me to rub it for you?" he volunteered, eager for a change in conversation.

"That would be great." He let down the footrest of his chair, and she plopped from the couch onto the floor. There was a large area rug facing the fireplace, and he motioned her to it. She moved onto the deeply piled rug, and faced the fire, her legs out straight in front of her. He moved in behind her, and straightened his legs around her body.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked. Her right arm came back and touched the sensitive spot. He reached up and massaged his thumb into the spot. She instantly tensed.

"Okay, you need to relax. I'll show you how just relaxing your muscles can make some of the pain go away. Sit up straight, but let your shoulders down." She sat up, and let her shoulders droop.

God, but he was horny. It was the first time in a long time. All of the talking had stirred up long forgotten memories. He brushed her silky hair from her shoulders, letting it filter though his fingers. He took his fingertips and pulled the collar of her shirt away from her neck so he could touch her bare skin.

She felt the soft material sliding away from her neck. She felt warm fingertips start to massage the base of her skull and warm breath on the nape of her neck. She shivered in anticipation. She felt her nipples harden against the material and felt a warm feeling sweep though her. She wasn't sure if the heat she was feeling was all from the fire.

He massaged her shoulders and back, avoiding the sore spot. She felt the warmth of his fingers through the material. He worked her muscles so that she was putty in his hands. She had moved back between his legs, and he had inched forward. He went back to massage her neck. It was then that he really noticed that she was sitting against his chest and the bulge in his jeans. He didn't even realize until he looked down that her hands were resting on his thighs. The ache that he had only felt for Dana's attentions was flooding back. He only hoped that Lauren was feeling it too, and that Dana would understand.

"I forgot to show you the pressure points," he said in a low, silky voice in her ear. "The first is here, at the base of your skull." He reached up and held her hair away from her neck. He leaned forward and placed a small but warm kiss where his fingertips had just been. She shuddered, waiting. She felt him release her hair and watched as his hands came around her and unbuttoned the next button. He slid the material down to her shoulder blades.

"There's one here," he murmured, kissing her left shoulder blade. "And here," he said, kissing the right. She let out a small oh. Again the large hands came around her and unbuttoned the next two buttons. He moved the material and it fell from her shoulders. She caught it, holding it over her breasts.

"And there are a few minor ones here, and here, here too," he said, kissing them each in turn on both shoulders. She moved her head to allow him to kiss her skin gently. He blew hot breath on his fingertips and touched them to her skin. Ten spots of warmth made her moan and stretch.