Chapter One
Thwack . The
steel axe-edge slammed into the soft wood of the Douglas Fir. It
stuck there and Candice pulled on the handle, attempting to lever
it free. The axe refused to budge. She tried to decide if this was
better than her first swing which had ricocheted off the wood like
a hockey puck off the boards, or the two dozen loud but piddling
attempts in between.
She tamped down the
pang of guilt she felt over cutting down the pretty little
evergreen. Or rather the guilt she’d feel if she emerged from this
encounter triumphant. Her house had a fireplace for crying out loud
and she wasn’t opposed to sustainable forestry. There was just
something about finding the perfect tree — the right shape and
shade of blue-green — then cutting it down. It seemed melancholy.
Or maybe that feeling was just par for the course this time of
year.
Christmas was always
lonely. Starting from her teenage years when she’d spent Decembers
training, because it was easier to brush aside the pain of loss
when she was on the ice. But earlier this year she retired from
competitive figure skating. Endorsement had left her financially
secure and she’d bought a little cabin in the Colorado mountains,
near Aspen. Where the preceding years were lonely, sorry affairs,
this year she was determined to embrace the season.
Starting with this
tree.
She wrenched on the
axe handle one more time and it came free. The momentum flung her
back, flat on her ass in the snow. Frustrated, she raised her head
and banged it back down into the soft white fluff. “Mother-fucking
tree.”
The sound of a slow
hand clap had her turning her head, searching for the source.
Somehow knew what she’d find before she saw him.
Nolan bloody Ducayne. Best left defenseman in the NHL and the bane of her
existence. Tall, long limbed, and strong, he could take any hit
levelled at him and get back up. He was leaning against a nearby
spruce, booted feet crossed at the ankles. “You tell him,
Sweetheart.”
She closed her eyes in
momentary supplication — when the hell did he get home? —
then opened them and pinned him with blue darts. “You’re on my
land, Ducayne.”
Of the dozens of acres
that comprised each of their neighbouring properties, the previous
owners had built their houses on the shared boundary, within
shouting distance. And there had been some shouting going
on. Of course, the reason for the placement was obvious. They’d
built near the pond that sat half on her property, half on his.
“Guess again,” he
replied. “Boundary’s about ten yards that way,” he gestured past
her with his jaw. “That’s my tree you’re cutting down.”
Candice swung her head
in that direction, then further, towards her cabin, before turning
back to stare beyond him, at his. She closed her eyes again.
“Mother-fucking tree.” All feelings of guilt evaporated.
Nolan chuckled and the
husky sound floated across to her like snowflakes. He pushed away
from the spruce and his boots crunched against the snow. They
paused beside her. He gazed down, an enigmatic look on his face.
Then he reached out a hand.
Candice raised her own
instinctively. Nolan grasped it and tugged her upright, as easily
as if gravity didn’t exist. A small sound that may have been gasp
escaped her as she became aware that she was three inches away from
over six feet of lean mean ice-hockey machine, her bare hand
engulfed in the startling warmth of his. She’d removed her gloves
to grip the axe handle properly. Who knew where Nolan’s were.
In the months they’d
lived next to each other, she didn’t think they’d ever touched
before. Sensation flowed through that point of contact and, okay,
she knew they hadn’t. But being entirely aware of the fact she’d
never touched him was more revealing that she could admit. Not
while they stood so close.
“Thanks,” she muttered
and tried to step back. Her brain did, anyway. Her body refused to
co-operate. Candice’s head reached just
Thwack . The
steel axe-edge slammed into the soft wood of the Douglas Fir. It
stuck there and Candice pulled on the handle, attempting to lever
it free. The axe refused to budge. She tried to decide if this was
better than her first swing which had ricocheted off the wood like
a hockey puck off the boards, or the two dozen loud but piddling
attempts in between.
She tamped down the
pang of guilt she felt over cutting down the pretty little
evergreen. Or rather the guilt she’d feel if she emerged from this
encounter triumphant. Her house had a fireplace for crying out loud
and she wasn’t opposed to sustainable forestry. There was just
something about finding the perfect tree — the right shape and
shade of blue-green — then cutting it down. It seemed melancholy.
Or maybe that feeling was just par for the course this time of
year.
Christmas was always
lonely. Starting from her teenage years when she’d spent Decembers
training, because it was easier to brush aside the pain of loss
when she was on the ice. But earlier this year she retired from
competitive figure skating. Endorsement had left her financially
secure and she’d bought a little cabin in the Colorado mountains,
near Aspen. Where the preceding years were lonely, sorry affairs,
this year she was determined to embrace the season.
Starting with this
tree.
She wrenched on the
axe handle one more time and it came free. The momentum flung her
back, flat on her ass in the snow. Frustrated, she raised her head
and banged it back down into the soft white fluff. “Mother-fucking
tree.”
The sound of a slow
hand clap had her turning her head, searching for the source.
Somehow knew what she’d find before she saw him.
Nolan bloody Ducayne. Best left defenseman in the NHL and the bane of her
existence. Tall, long limbed, and strong, he could take any hit
levelled at him and get back up. He was leaning against a nearby
spruce, booted feet crossed at the ankles. “You tell him,
Sweetheart.”
She closed her eyes in
momentary supplication — when the hell did he get home? —
then opened them and pinned him with blue darts. “You’re on my
land, Ducayne.”
Of the dozens of acres
that comprised each of their neighbouring properties, the previous
owners had built their houses on the shared boundary, within
shouting distance. And there had been some shouting going
on. Of course, the reason for the placement was obvious. They’d
built near the pond that sat half on her property, half on his.
“Guess again,” he
replied. “Boundary’s about ten yards that way,” he gestured past
her with his jaw. “That’s my tree you’re cutting down.”
Candice swung her head
in that direction, then further, towards her cabin, before turning
back to stare beyond him, at his. She closed her eyes again.
“Mother-fucking tree.” All feelings of guilt evaporated.
Nolan chuckled and the
husky sound floated across to her like snowflakes. He pushed away
from the spruce and his boots crunched against the snow. They
paused beside her. He gazed down, an enigmatic look on his face.
Then he reached out a hand.
Candice raised her own
instinctively. Nolan grasped it and tugged her upright, as easily
as if gravity didn’t exist. A small sound that may have been gasp
escaped her as she became aware that she was three inches away from
over six feet of lean mean ice-hockey machine, her bare hand
engulfed in the startling warmth of his. She’d removed her gloves
to grip the axe handle properly. Who knew where Nolan’s were.
In the months they’d
lived next to each other, she didn’t think they’d ever touched
before. Sensation flowed through that point of contact and, okay,
she knew they hadn’t. But being entirely aware of the fact she’d
never touched him was more revealing that she could admit. Not
while they stood so close.
“Thanks,” she muttered
and tried to step back. Her brain did, anyway. Her body refused to
co-operate. Candice’s head reached just
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