Snowbound Weekend Read online

  Snowbound Weekend

  By

  Amii Lorin

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  SNOWBOUND WEEKEND

  "You're that good, are you?" Jen sneered at him—and at her own uncertainty.

  "I'm that good." His flat agreement, delivered without a hint of bravado, drew a shocked gasp from Jen. Before she could form the jumbled words of defensive ridicule that crowded into her mind, he added forcefully, "But my expertise—for want of a better word—has nothing to do with it. You have been mine for the taking from the moment we met. I know it, and although your mind's been dodging around in a frantic attempt to deny it, you know it too."

  SNOWBOUND WEEKEND Copyright © MCMLXXXII by Amii Lorin

  CHAPTER 1

  The alarm rang at four thirty. A soft groan preceded the slim pale hand that emerged from under the brightly colored paisley comforter to depress the shutoff button. Yawning sleepily, Jen followed her arm out of the warm cocoon of bedding into the chill air of the bedroom. Still partially asleep, she pushed her way out of the tangle of covers and sat up. The sudden shrill ringing of the phone on the bookcase headboard of the bed brought her fully awake with a start. Who in the world would be calling at this hour? Eyeing the instrument warily, she lifted the receiver, hesitated, then said crisply, "Hello?"

  "Jen?"

  The dry, croaking voice was hardly recognizable as belonging to her friend Chris.

  "Yes, of course it's me," she answered. Then, frowning, she asked, "Why are you whispering?"

  "I'm not," Chris rasped. "Oh, Jen, I can't go."

  Can't go? Chris's words didn't register for a second. Can't go! Then they sank in with a bang.

  "What do you mean you can't go?" Jen exclaimed loudly. "The trip's been paid for for weeks. The bus leaves in an hour and a half. Four thirty is a bad time of the morning for making jokes, Chris."

  "I wish it was a joke," Chris wailed raggedly. "I'm sick, Jen. I've been up all night doctoring a sore throat, but it hasn't helped. My mother just took my temp and it's 101.6. She says there is no way she is going to let me go off into the mountains for a weekend." Chris paused to cough roughly, then went on, "And to tell you the truth, I don't have the strength to argue with her about it. Right now all I want to do is lie down and die." Again the dry, rough-sounding cough came over the wire. "I'm sorry, Jen."

  "Don't be silly," Jen scolded gently. "You didn't try to get sick." Submerging her own disappointment, she sympathized, "What rotten luck. I don't suppose there's any way you can get a refund?"

  "Mother's going to call Liz in a half hour to tell her I'm sick," Chris croaked. "I did take the insurance against just such a contingency." Her voice was beginning to sound reedy, tired. "Didn't you?"

  "No," Jen laughed ruefully. "Or I'd call and cancel too. The cost of the trip alone was enough, and as I hardly ever get sick, I never even considered it. But I'm glad you did."

  "Oh, Jen," Chris half sighed, half coughed, "I feel terrible about this. I hope you have a good time."

  Jen bit her lip at the sound of tears in her friend's voice. What was she thinking of, keeping Chris on the phone like this when her friend obviously belonged in bed?

  "Of course I will," she replied bracingly. "There's bound to be a lot of young people on the bus and at the lodge, even though I will miss you. Now, I think you ought to hop into bed and take care of yourself. I'll call you when I get home, okay?"

  Chris promised she'd take care, told her she'd be looking forward to her call, and then, before hanging up, wailed, "Oh, Jen, I was looking forward to this trip so much."

  As she replaced the receiver Jen felt like wailing herself. The pleasurable glow that had filled her as she'd counted down the last few days had been extinguished with Chris's first words. What, she asked herself, did a young woman do on her own at a ski lodge? Never having been to a ski lodge, Jen didn't have the beginnings of an idea. But she was sadly certain that the long four-day weekend was going to be a total disaster. Glancing at the clock, she gave a soft yelp and jumped up. If she didn't get moving she'd miss the bus, and she simply could not afford that.

  Jen had a quick breakfast of toast and coffee, and moving quietly through the small ranch house so as not to waken her parents, she carried her second cup of coffee into her bedroom. Moving swiftly, she donned lacy minuscule panties and bra, stepped into designer boot jeans, pulled on buff-colored high-heeled suede boots, and slipped into a bulky knit, roll-collared sweater in a shade of rust that should have clashed with her naming red hair but didn't.

  After checking her soft white leather suitcase for the third time to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, she locked it, tossed her key case into her shoulder bag lying on the bed, and headed for the bathroom on tiptoes to prevent her heels from clacking on the tiled hallway. All her tiptoeing and quiet moving around hadn't worked, for a light tapping sounded on the bathroom door as she put the finishing touches to her makeup.

  "Are you just about ready, Jen?" Her mother's quiet voice filtered through the door. "It's twenty-five minutes after five."

  "In a second," she called back softly. Her hand, poised to apply a strawberry scented lip gloss to her mouth, hovered as Jen grinned at her reflection. Would the day ever come when she could slip out of the house unheard by her mother? She hoped she'd never find herself in the position of wanting to elope for, short of crawling out of her bedroom window in her nightclothes, she'd never make it.

  The gold-flecked hazel eyes in the mirror sparkled with laughter at the thought, while the full, beautifully shaped mouth grinned back at her, revealing good-sized white teeth with just a hint of an overbite. Composing her well-formed features, Jen smoothed on the gloss, stuck her small pink tongue out at herself, and left the room. Her mother stood at the front door waiting for her, her suitcase beside her, her handbag in one hand and her ski jacket, purchased for this trip, in the other.

  "You may break a leg," she said blandly as Jen reached for the jacket, "but at least I won't have to worry about you getting lost in the snow while you're wearing this beacon. I really think they saw you coming, Jennifer," she ended with a sad shake of her dark red head.

  "Now, Mom, I was not sold a pig in a poke," Jen laughed softly, plucking the garment in question out of her mother's hand. "I loved it on sight and knew I had to have it." Shrugging into the shiny, bright red jacket with its hot pink stripes, Jen's laughter deepened as her mother squinted her eyes as if against a sudden glare. "And," she added with an impish grin, "as it was the only one like it they had in stock, I considered it a stroke of fortune that it was in my size."

  "It will more likely give someone a stroke just looking at it," her mother quipped dryly. "Unless, of course, you keep dawdling. If you don't get a move on, you'll miss the bus."

  "I'm going, I'm going," Jen laughed. Reaching for her handbag and suitcase at the same time, she planted a kiss on her mother's still smooth cheek, teased, "Be good," and slipping out into the cold morning, she sent a soft "You bet" over her shoulder in answer to her mother's cautioned "Take care, Jennifer."

  Driving along, the dark streets, Jen threw a reproachful look at the car's heater. Why is it things always seem to go wrong the minute you pay something off? She had made the final payment on the Mustang the month before and now, suddenly, in late January when she needed it most, the dratted heater had decided to be temperamental. Moments later she sent up a silent prayer that the windshield wipers had not contracted the no-work malady from the heater as a light misty rain cloud
ed the window. Holding her breath, she flicked the switch, then released her breath in a long sigh as the blades swished back and forth on the glass with reassuring regularity.

  Stopping at a red light, Jen watched the wipers with a sinking sensation. First Chris's call and now rain, she thought dejectedly. What next?

  Easing the car into motion again, she slanted a quick glance at her watch. Five thirty-five, and she should be at Barton's inside often minutes—plenty of time to make the bus.

  Turning onto the road that lead to the large office complex, Jan sighed with relief at the sparsity of traffic at that hour of the morning. The macadam gleamed wetly in the beam from her headlights and at patches slick with a fine film of forming ice.

  The tension of hard concentration eased somewhat when her lights touched the sign reading Barton's—Constructural Engineers, Inc. at the turnoff to the private road. The firm's parking lot comprised a large area, empty now but for the small group of cars parked at the far end.

  Jen maneuvered the Mustang into a lined space beside a rather beat-up van and glanced around, wondering, Where's the bus?

  At that moment, as if her thought was its cue, the large vehicle turned onto the parking lot and headed for the parked cars, its high, strong headlights bringing the small group into harsh relief.

  Before the bus had come to a full stop, car doors were flung open, and the early-morning stillness was shattered by the sound of excited laughing voices as people left their cars and collected luggage. Following suit, Jen stepped out of the car, pulled her case from the back, and, depressing the lock button, swung the door to add to the cacophony of sound being made by the other doors being slammed shut.

  Standing at the back of the line that had formed in front of the bus's open door, Jen caught snatches of the laughing banter being tossed back and forth as the group waited for their names to be checked on the guide's roster and their luggage to be stashed in the large compartment on the side of the bus.

  "Yeah, if she ever gets off the beginner slopes," one young man gibed.

  "Right now the idea of a hot cup of coffee in front of a crackling fire sounds like heaven," a slim woman around forty laughingly told her tall, very thin male companion.

  "This being engaged isn't all it's cracked up to be," the good-looking man directly in front of Jen said quietly to the equally good-looking man beside him. "Do you believe I had to swear I wouldn't look at another girl for the next four days?"

  Hating to be an eavesdropper yet not knowing how to avoid it, Jen heard the other man ask softly, "Why didn't she come with you?"

  "For one thing, she doesn't ski," the first young man replied disgustedly. "For another, she had to stay around this weekend as there's a shower planned for her. It's supposed to be a surprise, but she's known about it for weeks. Honestly, the games these women play are enough to drive a man to drink."

  "Or to the ski slopes," the other man said, laughing softly.

  The tiny smile that had begun to tug at Jen's lips disappeared when the man went on even more softly, "Of course, there are some games these gals play that drive a man to other things… I refer to bedroom games, naturally."

  "Yeah, well, you can forget that once you've put the diamond on her finger," the first man murmured bitterly, taking a step as the line moved forward. "All of a sudden they become pure and want to wait. And that will drive a normal man over the edge completely."

  Jen felt her cheeks grow warm in embarrassment, then her spine stiffened in anger at the advice the man's friend proffered.

  "Well, as I'm sure there'll be plenty of more-than-willing females at the lodge, you'll have four days to work off your frustrations."

  Thankfully their conversation was terminated before the other man could reply, as they were given the okay to enter the bus. Creeps, Jen thought scathingly as she moved up to a young woman holding a clipboard in her hands.

  "Are you Jennifer Lengle?" the harried young woman asked. At Jen's nod she went on, "I'm sorry Chris couldn't make it. There must be a bug going around. I had six cancellations besides Chris's this morning, including the travel agency's guide." Then, as the bus driver indicated he had her case, the woman said, "Oh, well, I'm sure you'll have a good time anyway, Jennifer. You can get on the bus now."

  With a murmured "Thank you" followed by a shiver, Jen gladly took the high step up that took her out of the cold misty rain. Making her way slowly along the narrow aisle, Jen ignored an empty seat behind the ones occupied by the young men who'd stood in front of her in the line and stopped at double empties farther back in the bus. After sliding into the window seat, she placed her shoulder bag on the seat Chris would have occupied, then sat gratefully soaking in the warmth from the bus's powerful heaters.

  Settling her long frame as comfortably as possible in the confined seating space, Jen let her eyes roam over her fellow passengers. How many, she wondered, were employees of the engineering firm and how many were guests? Like many similar firms, Barton's had an employees association that, with the help of a travel agency, planned several trips a year for employees and their guests. The destinations of these trips were well chosen, and they were amazingly reasonable in cost.

  This particular tour to a ski lodge in the Adirondacks in upper New York State was the first for Jen. Chris had taken advantage of several previous tour plans during the last few years. She had been to Williamsburg in Virginia; Mystic Seaport in Connecticut; New York City; and, the winter before, had enjoyed a skiing trip in Vermont. And on each occasion she had tried to coax Jen into going along. Jen would have loved to go, but somehow the trips had always seemed to be at times when she had other commitments. Chris had been delighted when Jen told her she could go on this trip. And they had talked of little else the last few weeks.

  Sighing regretfully, Jen continued her perusal of the other passengers, hearing yet not registering their chatter. Although there were a few older people, it was, in the main, a young group, the females outnumbering the males almost two to one. Remembering the words about plenty of more-than-willing females the young man in the line had whispered to his friend, Jen grimaced. Promising herself she'd stay clear of that young man during the next four days, Jen dismissed him from her mind.

  On the whole the group appeared open and friendly, calling to each other back and forth from one side of the bus to the other. There was no reason why she shouldn't enjoy herself, Jen mused. And there really was no reason why she should.

  At twenty-three Jen was happy with her life and it showed. Her more than just pretty face, given a wholesome look by the fine sprinkling of freckles across her pert nose, glowed with good health. Her taller than average, somewhat lanky frame had the firm, supple appearance that comes from plenty of exercise. And her crowning glory was exactly that: a long, glorious mane of flaming red, wavy hair that framed her creamy-skinned face beautifully.

  Content with herself and her life, Jen viewed the world serenely. Not subject to extreme emotional moods, she was usually pleasant and outgoing. In her position of private secretary to two struggling young lawyers, she had to deal with people, old and young, from all walks of life. She had been in the office less than a week when she'd decided that, by and large, most people were basically nice. The idea that she might be observing the world through rose-colored glasses never occurred to her.

  Glancing at her watch, Jen frowned. It was already ten minutes after six. What could the delay be for? Shrugging mentally, she rested her head back against the seat. At that moment the murmured conversation in back of her erupted into laughter and movement, and in the action the hair at the back of Jen's head was ruffled.

  "Oh, gosh, I'm sorry!" The contrite exclamation came from directly behind Jen.

  An understanding smile curving her generous mouth, Jen twisted around in the high-backed seat.

  "That's okay, no harm done," she assured the worried-faced girl leaning forward in her seat. About Jen's age, the girl was small and cute. The smile that replaced her concerned expression wa
s singularly sweet. Bright blue eyes studied Jen a moment, lingering on her hair.

  "Are you Chris Angstadt's friend Jen?" she asked in a surprised tone.

  "Yes, I am." Jen's smile widened. "How did you know?"

  "Oh, Chris has mentioned you a couple of times," she said, grinning. "And she has described your hair." The grin broadened. "It's pretty hard to miss. But where's Chris?" Her grin was replaced by a frown. "If she doesn't get here soon, the bus will go without her."

  "She can't go," Jen sighed, then explained why.

  "That's too bad. I know how excited she was about this trip." The girl shook her head, then added, "Oh, that means you're on your own." At Jen's nod she offered, "If you like, you can kinda hang around with us. I'm Lisa Banks, and this is Terry Gardner." With a wave of her hand she indicated the young woman in the seat beside her. "We work in the same department Chris does."

  "Hi," Jen said, returning Terry's smile. "And thanks. You're sure I won't be intruding?"

  "Of course not," Lisa laughed. "But Terry and I do have an agreement not to cramp each other's style if something interesting turns up."

  "Something male, you mean?" Jen teased: She laughed softly as both girls nodded emphatically. "I'll go along with that agreement."

  "That is if we ever get there," Terry grumbled. "What the heck are we sitting here for?"

  Wondering the same thing, Jen turned to the front of the bus. At that moment Liz jumped up onto the high step. Shrugging disgustedly to the driver, she said tersely, "Go."

  The door was closed, the air brakes were released, and the big vehicle began moving slowly across the parking lot. Before Liz could seat herself, her name was called from a half dozen voices back through the bus. As one of the voices belonged to Terry, Jen turned questioning eyes to her.

  "Liz is the head of the committee that arranges these tours," Terry answered Jen's unasked query. "And I'll bet everyone wants to ask her the same thing: exactly what was the holdup?"