New Year's Resolution: Romance!. Leslie Kelly

more guests arrived, and he was drawn into other conversations. A few hours later, he’d sent the bulk of the visitors off with gear or with directions of where to rent gear, and the house had quieted. He found Declan and his wife, Miriam, playing cards in the library. Another older couple was perusing the books arranged on the tables upstairs in honor of National Science Fiction Day.

      It didn’t appear he was needed.

      Maybe now he could get to work on his own agenda: Ashley in his bed.

      No daytime nookie—he still had enough hold on himself to wait until the cover of darkness—but he could seek her out. Soften her up a little.

      Tease her in preparation for the night to come.

      But she’d disappeared. It wasn’t until afternoon, when the first of the guests returned to the house, that she made her way down the stairs and went about offering up the hot tea, coffee and cookies that Mrs. Erwin had prepared for a snack.

      Delicious smells of dinner cooking were drifting from the kitchen, and Chase and the bartender were setting out glassware in the great hall when the house’s landline rang. He strolled toward the phone in the library. Ashley was closer, and he nodded to her when she glanced his way.

      “Bradley residence,” she said into the receiver. Then she grabbed the back of her desk chair as her face drained of color.

      Alarmed, Chase rushed forward. “What—”

      She held the phone his way. “The ski patrol. Asking for you.”

      He continued to watch her with concern as he took the call. The information imparted relieved him somewhat, but he remained puzzled by Ashley’s wan face as he set the receiver back in its cradle. “Are you all right?” he asked, placing his hand on her stiff shoulder.

      “What’s happened?” she asked, her voice low.

      “David Albright,” he answered, naming one of the guests. “He fell, and in doing so sprained an ankle and busted his cell phone.”

      “He’s okay other than that?” She searched his face with anxious eyes. “You’re sure?”

      “He’ll be fine. I’m going to the ski resort in the limo and I’ll settle him into the rear seat. Then I’ll take the wheel of his car and drive it here. Can you handle drinks and hors d’oeuvres until I get back?”

      “Sure.” She released her death grip on the chair and managed a weak smile. “I’ve got this. Don’t worry.”

      But he did, both going to and returning from the Mountain Magic Resort. At the Bradley house, David managed to get himself into the great hall just fine on a pair of crutches. As a matter of fact, he looked better than Ashley, who still appeared shaken. She soldiered on through dinner, though, only to disappear on Chase again.

      Carrying a snifter of brandy in each hand, he searched the house for her as most of the guests tromped up the stairs toward the playroom in order to try their hand at science fiction. Chase was interested in storytelling, too—but Ashley’s story...the one that had caused her distress.

      Maybe he should question this protective side she brought out in him. But instead, he wanted to question her.

      It took him several minutes to discover her hideout. As a matter of fact, he’d walked past the half-lit kitchen three times, presuming it was empty because Mrs. Erwin and her staff had left an hour before. But finally he found Ashley, seated at a banquette in one corner of the large kitchen, tucked behind the table and sitting in near-dark.

      “There you are,” he said, keeping his voice soft so as not to startle her.

      She started anyway, and then glanced over. “Did you need something—”

      “Only to find you,” he said, and realized it was true. Skirting the table, he seated himself on the cushioned bench beside her. Not touching, but close enough to settle his unease a little. “I was concerned.”

      “About me?”

      He took a sip of one brandy and placed the other snifter in front of her. “Why do you sound so surprised? You’ve seemed...off since this afternoon.”

      “I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

      “I don’t think ‘anyone’ did. Just me.” Another truth. From the moment he’d seen Ashley, he’d been attracted. But upon talking to her, he’d somehow...found her wavelength. Or she operated on the same as his. Chase didn’t know. He’d never experienced this with any other woman, this heady rush of recognition.

      He recalled a night out with Arch, very soon after he’d met June. The other man had been drinking heavily, and Chase had come to understand it was because he’d been so knocked on his butt by the brown-eyed woman whom he’d been introduced to at the wedding of mutual friends.

      We just...worked from the first moment, Arch had said, as if he could hardly believe it. Our edges line up. She fits with me like a baseball in that old glove of mine.

      At the time, his friend and his baseball analogy had amused Chase. He wasn’t laughing anymore.

      Slightly unnerved, he focused on Ashley once again, nudging the brandy toward her. “Have a drink of this.”

      Maybe she was getting sick, he thought, and lifted his hand to press the back of his fingers against her cheek.

      She drew away. “What are you doing?”

      “Checking if you have a fever.” Good God, he wasn’t going to admit it was the same move his mother had made when he was a kid. What was it about Ashley that made him want to care for her so? He looked about the room. “Are you cold? Should I get you a blanket?”

      “I’m fine.”

      “You hardly ate any dinner.” Now he really did sound like his mother. But the thought didn’t stifle his concern. “Ever since that call...” His voice petered out as he realized there was his answer. Since the ski patrol had phoned, she hadn’t been the same. “What’s going on, Ashley?”

      She shook her head.

      He struggled against his impatience. “Okay. Let’s start over.” Whatever was wrong, he’d fix. “Are you sick?” Whatever it took, he’d make her well.

      She shook her head again.

      “No? You’re not sick?” He might have growled. “Ashley, talk to me. Your silence is making me nuts.”

      “I’m not sick,” she said, looking down at the snifter she was cradling in her hands. Lifting it, she took a sip, then set it down as she shifted her gaze to his. “What I am...is a widow.”

      “A widow,” he repeated. A widow? How could someone so young have been married and then...not?

      “It happened four years ago last month.”

      “I’m—” no, he was never speechless “—so sorry for your loss.”

      “Thanks,” she whispered. “I’ve had time to get used to it.”

      “But something about today...”

      He saw her fingers tighten on the snifter. “We only had a season together.” She glanced up at him again. “We have those here, you know, not like in other parts of Southern California. We have four true seasons. Stu and I had an autumn of married life.”

      “His name was Stu.” Maybe Chase should tell her he didn’t want to hear any more, but of course he did.

      “Stuart Phillips. Mountain kid, like me.”

      “You loved him.”

      “Of course,” she said, lifting her hand. “My first and only love.”

      Those words felt like five separate stabs. And he asked for more pain when he questioned her again. “What happened?”

      “He