Snow Angels. Fern Michaels

when I couldn’t find the turnoff…I just need to use your phone, then we’ll be on our way,” Grace explained. “As soon as—”

      He gestured with his hands, preventing further conversation. In an impatient tone, Max said, “Follow me.”

      “Miss Grace, can we pet the dogs?” Amanda asked when the pair of Huskies blocked their path.

      Grace looked at the dogs, then their owner. She’d always been fond of animals but knew some were skittish around strangers. That didn’t seem to be a problem in this case, but one never knew. She’d already put the girls at risk once tonight.

      “Go ahead,” Max replied to Amanda. “They’re harmless.”

      Both girls looked to Grace for permission. “If Mr.—” She stopped, realizing she didn’t know his name. “Yes, you both may pet the dogs while I make the phone call.”

      “Name’s Max Jorgenson,” he offered.

      Grace looked at him oddly, then held out a slim hand. “Grace Landry.” He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t place who.

      Their host, if you could even call him that, was beyond handsome. With golden brown hair that hung way below his collar and robin’s-egg blue eyes rimmed with long black lashes most women would die for, “sexy” didn’t begin to describe him. Then there was the body. Grace couldn’t help but admire the broad shoulders that tapered down to a slim waist. She’d also noticed that his faded Levis clung to his rear end like a glove.

      Max reached for her hand, then stopped. He’d promised himself after Kayla’s death he wouldn’t touch another woman. At the moment, that promise seemed irrational and stupid. He was thirty-six years old. Did he really think he could live the rest of his life without touching another woman? Without companionship? Without love? Without sex? It was just under two years since Kayla had died. He hadn’t given women much thought before tonight. And then this…snow angel appeared on his doorstep. Literally.

      “The phone’s in the kitchen. This way,” Max said gruffly.

      Without bothering to see if his guest followed, Max proceeded to the kitchen. He viewed his home as they made their way to the kitchen. Thick round pine logs made up most of the walls throughout the custom-built home. In the daytime, sunlight filtered through large floor-to-ceiling windows facing the mountains, revealing blue skies, puffy white clouds, and snowcapped mountains. The designer he’d hired to decorate used deep shades of forest green, with bright splashes of candy-apple red. With the custom-made pine cabinets, splashes of red and green in framed pictures of bright red apples, and pottery in matching shades of red and green from local craftsmen, the desired effect of hominess and cheer would have been complete had there been any personal touches added. Like a shopping list stuck to the bright red refrigerator with a magnet or a tea towel draped over the sink. Maybe a few unwashed dishes in the sink. Instead, the kitchen looked like it had the day he’d moved in, something right off the pages of one of those catalogues he’d seen advertising log homes. Max couldn’t remember ever making a real meal in the kitchen.

      “Phone’s over there,” he said, pointing to an area in the kitchen comprised of a small counter, where a laptop sat upon the black marble, its screen as blank and impersonal as the rest of the space. A cordless phone was sitting next to the computer.

      “Thank you,” Grace said. She stared at him, willing him to step out of the kitchen and allowing her a modicum of privacy, but he didn’t budge. Taking a deep breath, she quickly punched in the private number to Hope House. When nothing happened, she dialed the number again, this time hearing the requisite beep beep beep as she hit each number. Lifting the phone to her ear, expecting to hear a ring, instead she heard nothing. She tried the number a third time. Still nothing.

      “The phone lines go down when there’s snow,” Max offered.

      No kidding, she wanted to say but refrained.

      “Do you have a cell phone I could use? I really need to make this call. The girls”—Grace nodded toward Ashley and Amanda, who were busy petting the dogs—“they need to…I just need to make a call, then we’ll be on our way.” She was about to explain that the girls’ mother needed to know they were alive and safe but thought better of it.

      Leaning casually against the pine-log wall, Max said, “Nope, never bothered with one. Sorry.”

      Grace tried the number again, but there was still no dial tone. Realizing it was fruitless to continue trying to make a call on a phone that didn’t work, Grace placed it back on the base unit.

      Not knowing what else to say, she hurried past the man with the familiar face to the girls, who were still playing with the lovable Huskies. She rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them. She dreaded what she was about to do, but there wasn’t much choice.

      “Girls, tell Mr. Jorgenson thank you for his hospitality. We have to leave. Now,” she stated firmly, hoping the girls wouldn’t question her.

      “And just where in the hell do you think you’re going?” Max asked.

      Galled that he had the audacity to question her, Grace turned around to face him. “Really, Mr. Jorgenson, it’s none of your business. Thank you for the use of your phone.”

      Turning back to the girls, Grace spoke gently to them. “Amanda, Ashley. It’s time to go.”

      “But—”

      “No buts, girls. It’s time to go.”

      Grace took each girl by the hand. “Put your mittens on. It’s still very cold out.”

      Thundering footsteps came from behind. “Listen, lady, I don’t know what your problem is, but you can’t take these kids out now! The snow is getting heavier by the minute.” He pointed to the floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the mountains.

      Grace realized he was right, but what other choice did she have? “We’re going back to the van. I’m sure a patrol officer will find us.” She realized she should be staying put. Taking the girls back out into freezing temperatures was stupid, but once they got back to the van, she’d crank up the heat. There was plenty of gas. And who knew? Maybe a patrol officer would find them. It wasn’t the greatest plan, but it was all she could come up with given the circumstances.

      In complete frustration, Max combed his hands through his messy hair. “Why don’t you spend the night here? I’ve plenty of room. In the morning, I’ll drive you back to your van myself.”

      “Please, please, Miss Grace? Let’s spend the night here. We can play with the dogs. Puhleeze?” Amanda asked.

      It would be the smartest choice. Really, it was their only choice. She couldn’t take the girls out again in this weather. For the girls’ sake, she swallowed her pride, making a snap decision. “Thank you, Mr. Jorgenson. We accept—but just for the night.”

      Grace turned to him. He seemed surprised she’d agreed to his offer. “That’s all I’m offering.”

      She wanted to tell him to forget it, but there was more at stake than her pride. She had two small children to consider. “If you’ll show me our room, I’ll take it from there,” Grace insisted, knowing that the invitation had cost him. Though how much, she didn’t realize.

      “What about some food?” He stared at the girls. “Maybe something hot to drink?” He shot Grace a questioning look.

      Maybe he had a trace of manners after all. Grace turned to him. “I think we’re okay, but thanks for the offer.”

      “I’m hungry!” Ashley said. “And thirsty. And I need to use the bathroom.”

      “Me too,” seconded Amanda. “Really, really hungry!”

      Grace raised a sculpted brow. “I guess I spoke too soon.”

      Max didn’t know where this sudden urge to be hospitable came from, but when he saw the excitement on the little girls’