Christmas in Cowboy Country by Janet Dailey Page B

truck, so new that the bright light hit it like a diamond. She knew whom it belonged to.
    Marshall Stone must be inside it. Unless he’d just parked it and was walking around somewhere out of sight. She swept the field of vision with the binoculars, seeing no one. Maybe he was finishing up a survey with the gear he stashed in the cab.
    Was it a point in his favor or not that he was actually working at the time he’d told her he couldn’t make it? Yes, she decided. If he was working.
    But what could he be doing out there? The subdivision had to have been professionally surveyed before ground was broken or permits wouldn’t have been issued. The site had been parceled out with mathematical precision. The development company didn’t need a freelancer to second-guess their measurements.
    Although he didn’t freelance. Stone worked for a company he hadn’t named. Hmm.
    She peered at the truck from several angles without seeing him, but noting that his tire tracks were the only marks in the snow. After a while, she stuffed the binoculars back into her pocket. It felt weird to be spying on Stone and she didn’t want to do it.
    A muffled clomping made her turn around. Darla was approaching, wearing abominable-snowman boots that looked awful, but comfortable.
    â€œHey, Annie. Whatcha doing?” she called. Her face was flushed with the exhilaration of her swift downhill runs.
    Annie fought back a pang of envy. “Soaking up the sun.”
    â€œYou must be freezing, sitting there like a lump,” Darla said cheerfully. Darla had never been particularly tactful, but she meant well.
    â€œI’m a little cold,” Annie said.
    â€œI say we treat ourselves to hot cocoa and to hell with the calories.” Darla turned, stumbling in the huge boots but quickly righting herself with a skier’s honed sense of balance. She pushed open the sliding glass door to the lodge interior.
    Annie allowed herself one last look below. The truck was in the same place.
    They had to shed a few layers of outerwear shortly after they got inside the lodge. Darla tossed her jacket over a sofa positioned in front of a stone fireplace, and Annie did the same. Blazing birch logs were piled high and would burn for hours, radiating heat throughout the great room.
    Darla led the way when they returned with two cups of marshmallow cocoa, which Annie carried. She set hers down on the low table in front of the fireplace and gave the other to her friend.
    â€œAhh.” Darla’s hands curled around her cup as she sipped it slowly. “Bliss.”
    There weren’t very many people in the lodge on a weekday and Annie was fine with that. She listened absentmindedly to Darla, getting in a soft-voiced question or comment now and then.
    Darla was as talkative as ever, but not as nosy as Annie remembered. Still, she seemed to think it was her obligation to get Annie caught up on everything and everyone in Velde.
    â€œSo what was it like being the queen of Aspen and Vail?”
    Annie gave a low laugh. “Some queen. I worked really hard. But I had a great time.”
    â€œWe were wondering about you coming back home to this little town.”
    Those would be the friends Annie still kept up with online, who had scattered all over the West. Only a few had stayed on in Velde. Facebook was better than nothing, but she didn’t check her page too often. After the initial flurry of get-well wishes and concern, the news tended to be about the same and she wasn’t into posting her every thought and what she had for lunch.
    â€œAre you going to keep on being a ski instructor?”
    The direct question rattled her a little. “That’s what I do,” Annie answered vaguely.
    â€œAspen and Vail are so pricey. I’ve been to both, but I had to stay in some funky places. Still and all, I pretty much had a blast.”
    â€œIt’s not any less expensive when you work there.”
    â€œDo you