Christmas In Mustang Creek. Maisey Yates

he washed the dishes, she asked unexpectedly, “Do you ski?”

      “I’m from Idaho.” He rinsed a glass and handed it over. “Yes, I ski. Can’t remember when I didn’t. My dad taught me, probably as soon as I could walk. He still loves the slopes, but he’s been told to lay off since his heart attack. Why?”

      She hesitated.

      Jax waited with slightly lifted brows.

      “Oh, hell, here goes,” Charlie said, her eyes reflecting uncertainty. Then the words tumbled from her lips in a breathless rush. “I have friends who offered to lend me their condo near a resort. You met Hadleigh this afternoon. She and her husband, Tripp, have a new baby and haven’t had a chance to use the place this season. I wondered if you wanted to go up there with me tomorrow. I’ve checked the forecast on my phone. It’s supposed to be just like today, cold with intermittent snow flurries. If you have other plans—”

      “I’d love to,” he interrupted swiftly, unable to stifle a smile, but trying not to look too elated.

      A secluded night with her after a day on the slopes? Early Christmas present for sure. Thanks, Saint Nick.

      “I’m a little rusty,” Charlie continued with uncharacteristic shyness. “I went skiing a few times in upstate New York with friends, but it’s been several years.” She put away another dish, keeping her face averted. Was she blushing? God, he hoped so, because that would mean she knew what he was thinking, might even be thinking the same thing herself. “And I’ll have to dig out my skis from the basement. You can rent equipment at the lodge.”

      “Are you kidding? Do you suppose I’d come to a place like this, right by the mountains, and not bring mine? They’re in the back of my truck. My poles and boots, too.”

      “There’s a nice restaurant at the lodge. Maybe we can have dinner there unless it’s completely booked, which is possible, with the holiday rush. I’ll call and check. The food won’t be as good as it is here... What did she put in those potatoes?”

      “I have no idea,” Jax replied, wiping off the gravy boat carefully; it was obviously antique—Spode, he saw, turning it over—and probably irreplaceable. “She must’ve waved a magic wand over them or something. How long has she known your aunt?”

      “I asked, and Aunt Geneva was pretty vague about it.”

      He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he thought about it before asking neutrally, “Was she vague in general?”

      “No.” Charlotte’s voice was firm but held a hint of sorrow. “Smart as a whip, to use an expression of hers. But she’s aware that she’s having some issues in the memory department, and she can’t manage this big house. That I understand. I think she’s happy to be in a community of people like her, and it’s a comfortable place. She’d love to have Mutley and Can-Can there with her, but she’s afraid she won’t be able to take proper care of them. I guess it makes her feel better to know that someone else—Mrs. Klozz, and now me—is on it, and that eases her mind.”