When You Came

He stared at the kiss. Long. Sexy. Sizzling. So damn hot.

But just at the moment?

It was really a bit hard to take.

Sven Golden stood on a snowy field in front of Terrence Point’s new ski chalet and stared at Dante Knight and Kelley Dunham. Groaned. Right now, the ‘new since Christmas’ couple were all over each other, under the big angel sculpture in front of Snowy Peaks.

Considering the two had finally become a couple after more than four years of unrequited longing for each other, it was understandable. Normally, Sven would’ve been thrilled for them. Especially with Valentine’s Day arriving in less than two short weeks, he’d be all for it.

But the two blows he’d just been dealt crystallized the mess his own life was in.

His voice caught as he confided to Jake, the golden retriever pup who was quivering from excitement at his side, trying to sit. Basic obedience training, with all its joys. “Look at them. Out in public. Sucking each other’s faces off. Like animals.”

“Woo-ooo!”

The hastily delivered protest from his tiny charge caught his attention and shook him out of his self-pity. He bent and drew the dog close for a cuddle, despite the bulky ski jacket he was wearing in the sub-zero, mountain-side temperatures.

“Sorry, little buddy,” he soothed. “But come on. Look at them!”

With Sven now on his level, Jake jumped up, propped two small paws on his thigh, and licked his face eagerly. Sven laughed, fending off sweet swipes of damp puppy tongue. “Ok, gotcha. Lots of kisses available, anytime. From you. Right?”

The puppy always managed to get him in a good mood. It wasn’t the first time he was glad he’d been partnered with the awkward, yet heart-melting future avalanche dog. Only a few months old, the puppy was responding well to that basic training that would soon flow into getting him proficient in the important work of an avy dog.

Though at home in Sven’s cabin, high up on Terrence Point Mountain, it was another story. Sven was working on his behavior there, too.

He drew the pup close once more, then hearing good-natured laughter, forced his gaze to the team of ski patrollers, to the right. The men and women, wearing the distinctive red jackets with the white crosses on them, were coming on duty. Despite the noisy ribbing, he knew how serious and focused they were on their work.

Damn, he missed them. Being a part of them.

Just like he missed Delta North, too. The elite special ops team he’d been part of when he’d served in Afghanistan.

Seemed he was destined to be taken from the missions he loved.

He’d been deeply honored to be chosen to be part of the unique unit. The fact that the team had been composed of both American and Canadian soldiers had sat well with him. It was unusual, yet it had happened before, most notably with their famous forerunner, the Devil’s Brigade. They were all fighting for the same cause; they were brothers in arms. It made sense.

Their name too, was unique. Delta honored the untouchable reputation of the American Delta Force teams. The North part of the handle called strong attention to the many Canadians that were fully part of the team.

War had been tough, but Delta North Force had been focused and effective. He still kept in touch with many of the ex-Delta Northers. There was a core group here in Terrence Point, and a number in Jack’s Bay, in Ontario. There was also one burly special ops soldier—Og Reiden—that had made his way down to Refuge Bay, in the Chesapeake Bay locale in the U.S., and it seemed like others were following in his footsteps.

Each and every one of these men—his military brothers—were aces with him.

He sighed, stroked Jake’s sleek head. Watched as the men and women headed toward the shack where they’d get their assignments. The desire to be with them burned in him, badly.

The Canadian Ski Patrol served all across the vast country of Canada, and was known as the largest volunteer-based, certified first responder organization in the nation. He’d loved working with them, day in and day out. Felt, in some small way he was continuing his tradition of service.

Until the need for cash led him into this weird gig with the newest, just-opened ski chalet in their area, Snowy Peaks.

Oh hell. Say it like it is, Golden. Things were a shitstorm right now. The fact that Jake pretty much glued himself to his side accounted for any of the happiness he’d felt lately. For a man that was usually six feet plus of cheer and good humor most of the time, that was a sad state. His mind flashed to the text he’d received, just that morning.

Holy shit. She got married, bro!

And no one had to tell him who the ‘she’ was.

Beautiful, sleek, stunning Tara Lynn Jeffries. The woman he’d gone through ski patrol advanced refresher training with, only one year ago. They’d clicked, had an immediate connection and then, a blisteringly hot time, off the slopes.

They were perfect for each other. She was witty, drop-dead gorgeous. Athletic. Slim. Long, straight blonde hair, down to her ass. Ambitious.

And him? He didn’t see it, but everyone called him a golden boy, and not just because of his last name, they said.

Well, he was blond. Definitely athletic. Ski patrol members had to stay in top shape, and he exulted in his workouts, pushing himself to the max, building his pecs and deltoids, and everything else. That meant regular gym time at the SP gym, weights in his cabin. Daily cardio on the slope. It all played into it.

And Tara Lynn?

She was perfect for a man who wanted to go somewhere in life. Do things. Big things. Change life for the better for everyone he could, while enjoying the good things that life had to offer.

But she’d left as quickly as she’d come. After only a few months of emailing back and forth, with cute heart emojis and stellar phone sex, the only contact he had with her was when he stalked her on her immensely popular YouTube skiing channel.

Longing. He knew all about it.

Now, she’d gone off and married some duke in a little known European country. Probably had their own damn ski chalet too.

His gaze flitted back to Dante. Oh, crap. Now he was just holding Kelley, his eyes closed.

“Freakin’ frostbites, look at them,” he muttered to Jake. “The way they gaze at each other, finish each other’s sentences. Act like they’re fighting half the time, but you know they’re just flexing their muscles, showing the world how they can totally be themselves with each other, while behind the scenes they can't wait to tear each other's clothes off.” He groaned again. “I hate it.”

He knew, in fact, that the two had just had quite the reunion. After his life-changing accident—which Dante kept under wraps—the man had ended up, snow-bound, at Kelley’s grandparents’ cabin, right before Christmas, with nowhere else to go. Kelley had been hermitting, coming off the loss of a career she loved, and worse—being dumped by a jerk of an ex-fiancé. She’d fought the feelings she still had for Dante, and fought them brutally. Stuck together and forced into close confinement, they’d had to face all their issues, and not surprisingly at all—the relationship had caught fire. They’d had a torrid Christmas, and now, they were finally solid. Back where they both belonged. Together.

He was happy for them, especially with Dante having been a Delta North Team man, too, though they’d missed each other, in a necessary unit shuffle. Immensely glad. Even though he’d made a play for Kelley himself, when Dante and her had been on the outs. Despite their best efforts, it had gone nowhere.

Kelley wanted Dante who wanted Kelley. One of those perfect equations, once they both realized it. Checkmark in the YEAH column. Only it reminded him, all the more, of what he didn’t have. Especially with that smoldering kiss, in front of everyone.

Obviously Jake understood, because he nudged Sven's fingers. Tucked his tiny muzzle into the crook of his hand.

The second blow had fallen quickly too.

This nonsense with Williams, the owner of the chalet, reneging on their work agreement. He stiffened. Not cool, man. Not cool. And worse…

“Hey, Sven!”

Kelley caught sight of him, waved wildly. She grabbed her man and yanked him toward Sven.

Memories intruded, made him smile. “You know, boy, just a few short weeks ago, I offered her a night. When I knew I needed to get over Tara Lynn. Plus, you know, the old boy scout thing. Always be helpful.” He stifled a chuckle, his normal good mood reasserting itself. Hell, he still wanted to be mad.

But Kelley’s heart had been all wrapped up in the man she was now glued to. To top it all off, when they’d finally kissed briefly—he’d totally felt like her brother. Ick.

Now there she was, all vivid and bright and glowing. Yep. No doubt about it.

Love was disgusting.

The last few years of Sven’s life coalesced in front of him. Tara Lynn. Before her, the many ladies he’d enjoyed, the partying after a hard day’s work. The work at western Canada’s numerous ski resorts had given him an opening into the world of so many exotic, beautiful and interesting women. Hardcore, skiers, slope bunnies. All of them. Yet it all seemed, abruptly, in vain. Except for the fact he’d kept many of the women as good friends—hell, Jenny Wu had written him only that morning inviting him to her wedding—he was in the mood to consider it all a waste.

Then this thing with Tara Lynn? That’d clinched it.

Yep. His heart was flatter than a Valentine’s Day pancake.

* * *

They were standing in front of him, trying to bite back their wide grins, looking so damn happy.

Kelley, all red-cheeked and beaming. Dante, with an aura of deep peace about him, as if he’d finally found his love.

Because he had, damn it.

Sven mustered a greeting. “Hey guys. Looking good!”

“Sure, sure,” Kelley teased. “We’re half frozen and we only came down because we heard you guys were doing some kind of Valentine’s Day thing this year. Plus, I heard a wild rumor. Can’t be true. That you…you…” She seemed to make up her mind to just go for it, and spout the outlandish thing she’d heard. “You’re in charge of it?”

It was a knife in his chest. His ill mood was back.

“We’re short-staffed,” he pushed the very real upset down. “The owner emailed me and appointed me as MC for the whole freaking day.” He groaned audibly. “Plus Activity Leader for the lodge. I’m already busy enough as temporary assistant manager, while he finds a steady person.”

Dante, who was his neighbor high up on Terrence Point and was also slowly becoming one of his best friends, speared him with a look. “You know why he chose you for that gig, right? The management thing?”

Sven stared at Dante. “Drawing a blank here, bro.”

“You’re military. You got the leadership thing down pat. Of course he’d pick you.

“Not just that, but since he brought you on, hasn’t teamwork improved? Initiative, staff loyalty? Fun, in general?” Kelley flicked snow-covered lashes at him. “I mean, he’s had issues from the moment he opened, right? So hire a former you know who, who knows what the hell he’s doing.” She tapped her toque-covered head. “Guy’s not stupid.”

“Well, it’s a shit storm in a snow-cone for me. And he’s reneging on our deal. I haven’t been with the patrol one day since I took over.”

“What?” Kelley, her arm solidly through Dante’s, frowned. "That doesn’t make sense. The deal was you’d be doing that management thing half and half with your patrol bit, right? You need to keep that up. I know the others can take care of the day to day. But what if there’s an unusual circumstance, calling for more experience? Or worse…what if there’s an avalanche?”

“Yeah. Or some idiot poaching? You’ve got plenty to do whether or not there’s extreme weather. What about all the prevention duties?”

Sven bristled. They were right. He was doing none of the activities that seasoned professionals carried out all winter long. Assessing the snowpack. Marking hazards. Deciding where avalanches needed to be started in controlled areas to ensure a hapless skier or a backcountry traveller who went off normal routes wouldn’t end up triggering a death-dealing slide.

There was a real technology and art to it, something he knew well, having worked in ski patrol for years. It all played into the fact that their area had had no deaths for many years in a row now.

It was a matter of personal pride to him.

Sven glared. “Tell that to the new owner. And between you and me and the ski lift? We’re short-staffed with the paid patrol team, too. I should be with them.”

His phone dinged. He pulled it out of his pocket, read the text, and frowned. Great. The crap was hitting in real-time, now. “Oh, and now this. This just takes the cake.”

“What?” Kelley asked.

“He’s hired me an assistant. From Toronto, and not a skier. New to the area, unfamiliar with everything. Isn’t that great.” He shook his head with irritation.

“Hey, bro. That could just be the answer to your dilemma.” Dante rubbed the outside of his right leg lightly, something he did regularly since the accident over a year ago.

“How do you figure?”

Dante shrugged, and a bit of the hockey brat—he'd been a worldwide sport star after Delta North—showed in him.

“Seriously? If I don't want to do something—or at least this is how I operated in the old days—I’d just pawn it off on my assistant. Play it that way,” he urged. “Tell him or her you're too busy with more important things, hand them a list, and you’re golden. Literally.” Dante grinned. “Then get gone and do what you want to do.”

"Snowy Peaks, British Columbia. We're here, people!" 

Keara Faye Linn grabbed her carry-on as the bus driver vaulted into his end of the trip litany. Two days of traveling through gorgeous western Canada, and she was finally here, the location of her next job. Two weeks to start, a possible extension if she did good.

Hell.

Outside, in the madhouse that was disembarking and the gathering of the luggage from the bowels of the bus, she waited until the driver found her bags. Watched as he hoisted the first one, and his face turned blue. Almost.

He turned to her with a scowl. "Lady, what you got in this thing? Bricks?" 

Ridiculously happy to see her bag and its precious cargo intact, she shook her head anxiously. "One more."

"Well, I’ll be ready for this one." The driver braced his legs, angled his shoulders, then yanked it out and practically flung it over the curb. He barely managed to skim it, and the old-style brown, rumpled suitcase came to rest on the pavement. A bit lopsided, but none the worse for wear. 

With a massive burst of pent-up oxygen, he blinked at her, rubbing his arms. "Holy hell, lady. Good luck with whatever you’ve got in there." 

Next, the taxi. It was supposedly going to take just ten minutes; she'd read in the brochure. Ten short minutes, and more precious dollars for cab fare she didn’t have. 

Worse, she was starving. She dug around in her satchel, scrambling for food. Anything. A spare piece of candy, maybe the small bag of peanuts she'd started in Saskatoon.

And came upon the bag of chips her ex-landlady Ilona had tossed in there, just in case she got hungry. 

Oy. Chubby European ex-land-ladies that had your best interests at heart, and knew how to cook vats of soothing, rib-sticking, carby food? 

Priceless. 

And dangerous.

Her fingers closed over the puffy cellophane, and she could almost taste the salt, relish the crispness. Rumbling, tumbling into her tummy.

Abruptly, she clenched her eyes shut.

No. No. She wasn’t going to start the next bit of her life off like that. She'd made the decision. No matter how hungry she was—diet. 

Regardless of the health problems she had because of that stupid stepbrother of hers and the hardcore anxiety he'd put her through, she wasn’t going to end the next few weeks up in weight more. Continuing old patterns that didn’t serve her. 

No. Damn. Way. 

She shoved it back in her purse, wishing she could fling it out the window instead, as the gorgeous scenery flew by. Out of sight, out of mind. But Ilona's ghost would probably appear, shaking a fat finger at her.

Thankfully, her cell rang, and she gratefully pushed the talk button. 

"Okay, you want to tell me what's going on?"

Effie. Thank goodness. Her bestie. She could sure use a talk with her now, just when she was flying into the wild blue yonder on a totally unexpected, crazy mission to who knew where.

"I got the job at that ski resort, Eff. On a trial basis. Isn’t that great?" She forced the cheerfulness she didn’t feel into her voice.

"Great? You weren’t happy with it when we talked about it before. In fact, you were totally not impressed. You said it was going to interfere with everything. Your studying, your degree, the deadline for your thesis. Your life. What the hell changed?"

Keara let out a quick breath. "I can never put anything over on you."

Remonstrance spilled from Effie. "No, you can't, Missy. Talk."

Keara dropped her voice lower in case the cab driver was a regular at Snowy Peaks and heard her. Now wouldn’t that be a nightmare? Talk about starting off your new life with intrigue. Without trying to, mind you. Kind of her specialty, and a minor she didn’t want.

"Eff, it’s a job being an assistant to someone planning activities at a ski lodge. For the holidays. Specifically Valentine's Day." She tried to keep the disdain for the job out of her voice. "How hard can it be?" 

"I don't think you should be taking a job right now. Yeah, yeah, I know you're broke. You could've stayed with me for a few more months till you got everything sorted, found a job, then launched your new life. You’ve got too much on your plate, and you're coming off way too much stress." Effie paused. "They got your stepbrother for sure?"

The turmoil of the last year crashed in on her again, as did the real reason she wouldn’t go near Effie's place right now. Too dangerous for the woman she loved like a sister.

"They did. They're still hunting for Blaine, though." The mention of her lowlife stepfather creeped her out. Just the thought of him made her flesh crawl.

And the fact he probably wasn’t too crazy about her right now, since her cooperation with the police had put his son away? That worried her even more.

But no matter. There was no way she was going to let that jerk get away with his illegal activities. Once she'd found out, the idiot with whom she actually didn’t share a bloodline—thank goodness—had tried to tell her it wasn’t that bad.

She still remembered Rod in the kitchen, in his signature-stained white T-shirt and dirty black pants, beer in hand. "They're just animals, Sis. If I can make a few bucks, what's the hurt?"

She still hated him for what he'd done. And if she'd known karate, jujitsu or just plain street-fighting—she absolutely would’ve pounded him into the ground. Enjoyed herself. And called the police—later. Maybe. 

After she'd beaten him up again.

Effie's voice, though, was a reassuring balm. "Well, you don't have to worry about Buddy anymore. He’s here with me now, and he’s safe. But he’s missing you. You're sure the vet said he'd recover fully?" 

The thought of her big, clunky, and somewhat overweight golden Lab thudded into her heart. She'd had Buddy for five years now, and the idea that it was entirely possible he would have ended up in one of Rod’s schemes next—she had no words. 

And the fact he'd kicked him that one day in a drunken stupor, before the investigation had yielded its results? It still made her want to do unmentionable things to that excuse for a man. She'd moved out the next day, into the third-floor rickety walk-up on Spadina, into the old century home. Into the two-room, tiny flat without its own bathroom. 

Again, paying money she didn’t have. Money that was supposed to be stretched, and stretched hard, while she got her Masters. 

And when the money ran out, Ilona had let her stay—free. 

But the older woman needed that rental money. Counted on it, to pay her bills and her mortgage. She'd make sure she'd get it, no matter what. 

But right now, only one word escaped her lips, she damn well missed her Buddy so much. "Awww." 

"Yeah. I put you on speakerphone, and he ran right over. Now he’s looking up at me with those big, black eyes. Wondering where you are, hon."

A big lump rose in her throat. "Once this is all over…" Tears threatened.

Once again, Effie—amazing Effie— knew precisely what to say. 

"Chin up, girl. And if you're going to be out in glorious British Columbia anyway—not that I think it’s the right decision, but fine—make sure you relax some. Get rid of that ton of stress you took on, and don't worry right now about losing weight. You're gorgeous to anyone who's got eyes, sweetie. It'll come off when the time is right."

Then, as she did, she switched quickly into business mode. “But how are you going to get your studies done if you're working? Assistant jobs like that can stretch all hours. If you don't get your thesis done, you can't apply again for the scholarship, don't forget."

The thought of everything that was at stake—it wasn’t helping with the no stress thing. She'd spent years studying, already, to get her degree. Her dad had given so much for it. Her mom too. Even married that jerk when Dad passed, because he'd fooled her, pretended he was a loving husband, and especially, a caring stepfather. And that he had big resources he'd gladly use to help her kids.

Yeah, big resources. No money, no brains. No personality. The perfect stepdad.

Now, because of her working with the cops against Rod and Blaine, she'd already lost her scholarship. Though they'd extended this special one-time offer to her. There'd been a lot of back and forthing, and she'd already missed the original deadline. 

But the offer had been made. A special contingency, just for her. After she'd submitted all the paperwork and a special letter from the Toronto Police.

Get the thesis done, and you can still save your Masters. And the date? It was scribed in platinum. Rock. 

Whichever was more unchangeable. 

And if she didn’t, she failed. Simply didn’t get her degree. If she wanted it, she had to start it all over again, and this time with no financial aid. None whatsoever.

Losing out on her Masters and the life of science she could barely wait to start? It wasn’t an option. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd known what she had to do.

And it wasn’t damn event planning. 

"I’ve only got one question left. How in the hell are you going to find the time to do the research, comb through your ton of ancient books, and actually finish your paper?"

Determination blazed in her. "Eff, the only good thing about this mess is, I repeat. It’s not a hard job. I’ll do what I have to, then pawn the rest off on the guy I'm working for. He’s the MC, plus Activity Leader. Poor schmuck. What a job description." She shook her head. "How hard can it be?"