A Snowbound Scandal. Jessica Lemmon

aside through the gathering snow.

      The white stuff on the driveway was untouched by tires or boot prints. After debating leaving her truck running, she shut it off to save fuel and climbed out. The walkway to the front door had been shoveled at some point, but since then a few inches of snow had filled in the gaps.

      She shuddered as icy wind sliced through her hair, the temperature colder coming off the frigid lake below. A porch light snapped on and Chase appeared outside wearing a sweater and jeans and sneakers that didn’t appear weather resistant.

      “Running shoes in this weather. Are you crazy?” She pulled three containers filled with his dinner and dessert from the passenger seat and then shut the door.

      “You’re calling me crazy? What the hell are you doing here?”

      “I told you I won’t be long.” She shoved the pie container into his hand and his scowl deepened. Her teeth chattered, partially from nerves. This was the moment she’d been waiting for—to set Chase Ferguson straight. On her terms. She glanced around at the pale moonlit mounds of snow. Okay, not exactly her terms, but it was too late to back out now.

      “Get inside,” he commanded, his breath visible in the cold. Out of habit she locked her truck and it beeped briefly, letting her know. Chase glared over her shoulder at the sound, but she refused to let him scare her off from what she came here to say. She was going to set him straight, then turn this big bastard around and drive straight home.

       Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.

      She’d really miss playing games with her family tonight. A dart of regret shocked her ribcage. And then a dart of something else when Chase cupped her elbow and started toward the house.

      “Watch your step,” his low voice rumbled as he gestured to the nearly invisible porch steps. “You’d better have a good reason for being here other than bringing me pie.”

       Oh, no worries, Mayor McCheese. I have one.

       Five

      Chase had known Miriam was headstrong, but driving through a snowstorm to bring him dinner was a touch more than headstrong. It was dangerous. Miriam being in danger wasn’t acceptable—especially when he was the cause.

      Inside, he shut the door behind them as she checked out the interior of the house. He looked with her, admiring the rich warm-colored woods and the tall, beamed ceilings. Every inch of this place had been polished to dustless perfection, and it should’ve been, given what he paid his housekeepers.

      Logs were stacked in the fireplace, the matches sitting next to a newspaper pages he’d twisted for kindling. He’d left his task when the buzzer to the gate rang. He’d had groceries for the week delivered that morning and a cord of firewood had been delivered after that. The weatherman had predicted the storm with its massive amounts of snow to miss Bigfork, but Chase wasn’t taking the risk. Luckily, he’d heeded the warnings and overprepared...which was less than he could say for his gorgeous houseguest.

      “Would you mind directing me to the ‘wing’ where you keep your kitchen, Daddy Warbucks?” Mimi asked with a snide smile.

      Nice to see her sharp wit was intact.

      “What are you doing here?” It was the most obvious question and the answer she should have offered upon showing up unannounced at his doorstep.

      “You said if I needed anything...” She craned her chin to look up at him since he’d already ascended the three steps leading to the kitchen. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her cheeks had lost some of their fullness allowing rose-colored cheekbones to angle across her model-like features. The thinness of her face made her lips appear even more plump—and far more kissable than they ought to.

      He took the remaining containers from her and gestured to the entryway closet with his head. “Hang up your coat.”

      “I’m not staying that long. The storm is worsening and—”

      “And you’re going to wait it out here.” Over his dead body she’d navigate through this blizzard tonight.

      “No. I will not be doing that.” Her eyebrows climbed her forehead. “But I will accept a gallon or two of gas for the short drive home from here. I don’t want to get—”

      “Coat, Mimi.” He came down the stairs to hover over her, his nostrils flared. “Then walk past the living room, take a right and you’ll see the kitchen.”

      “I’ll follow you,” she snapped, but slipped her coat off and draped it over her arm.

      He could do without the attitude, but at least she’d met him halfway.

      He settled the containers—one with the sweet potato pie she’d showed him at the gate and the other two overflowing with Thanksgiving dinner.

      A long would you get a load of this whistle of appreciation came from behind him.

      “Wow. Every inch of this place is more amazing than the last.”

      She turned a one-eighty as she inventoried the kitchen: the wide island in the center, the floor-to-ceiling cabinets, six-burner gas stove, and a shiny, double-doored fridge. She tossed her coat over one of the stools at the island. Slim jeans accentuated her mile-long legs and a cranberry sweater with a scoop neck revealed creamy, pale skin. No cleavage—a fact she’d bemoaned plenty when they were together a decade ago. He couldn’t have cared less. The sight of her in a string bikini, and the way the chilly lake water caused her nipples to point from behind the bright blue top, had been more than enough to pique his interest.

      “Yeah, so turkey, stuffing, green beans. All the basics.” She folded her fingers together while she talked. “Sweet potato pie is for dessert, though, I suppose you’re grown-up and could spoil your dinner if you wanted. Did you eat?”

      “What the hell are you doing here, Mimi?” he repeated.

      At his tone, she narrowed eyes as brown as the forest floor. Deep mulch in color and blasting him with an accusation she hadn’t spoken yet.

      “I’m here—” she pointed at the ground, seeming to gather her courage “—to show you that I’m no longer the besotted twenty-three-year-old you left on an airfield in Dallas. You may be a billionaire oil tycoon politician with a mansion the size of your hometown, but I became someone, too.”

      “Is that so?” He came out from behind the island in the center of the kitchen and Mimi took a hesitant step back. He wouldn’t allow her to make him out to be some billionaire asshole without an argument in his own defense. “Tell me, then, how you’re the next incarnation of Mother Teresa.”

      She snapped her mouth shut then opened it to let out a little tut of surprise. “I didn’t say I was Mother Teresa.”

      “No, but you implied I’m the devil incarnate, so I assumed...”

      “You have no idea what I implied. You don’t know me. You knew me.”

      “Likewise.” He scanned her from chestnut hair to the toes of her knee-high boots. She dressed differently than she used to and not just because the season had changed. There was something more formal about her. Less playful than he remembered. “You grew up. I grew up. It happens.”

      “Unlike you, I don’t sit around counting the zeroes in my bank account. I actually help people.”

      “So do I. Are you going to cut the crap and tell me why you’re here?” It was the last time he was going to ask.

      “I just did! You weren’t listening on the phone, so I had to come here in person to—”

      “Bullshit. You made a twenty-minute drive—”

      “That took over an hour.”

      “—in