He took the next curve a bit more deeply, enjoying the thump of adrenaline that pumped into his veins as he leaned into the turn, unsure if the cause was the tight curve or the thoughts of Kirby, or both.
These past few weeks, since the two of them had decided on launching the charitable event, had been a new form of chaos for him, and not a little frustrating. He hadn’t gotten to spend much time with her as the demands of putting together the event as quickly as humanly possible had kept him at the resort almost full time, and on the phone more often than not the rest of the time. Kirby, meanwhile, had been more than a little busy herself, preparing for her onslaught of guests, all slated to arrive in just a few short days now.
Though the temperatures in the evening were dipping lower and lower, the daytime temps had remained unseasonably warm, and yet that hadn’t curbed the enthusiasm of the guests wanting to come out and be part of the event. He was thrilled for her, as that had been the goal all along, but, personally, selfishly, he was missing her, missing their alone time in the seclusion of her empty inn.
And yet, that same passage of time had been grounding, and illuminating, for the precise reason that it had frustrated him. He wanted to be with her. Needed to be. More. Often. All the damn time. And not just for the sex, or even the conversation, though he had swiftly come to wanting and needing both all the damn time, too. He wanted to play house with Kirby Farrell. Cooking dinner, doing odd chores around the inn, reading the paper over the breakfast table, hauling mounds of bed linens down the basement stairs to the industrial-size washer and dryer.
Sitting next to her on the porch in the evening, sipping a glass of wine, enjoying the crisp bite in the air as the sun finally ducked behind the surrounding peaks. Talking about what she was going to plant in her spring garden and the final improvements she wanted to make to the inn, watching her face as she listened to some of his ideas, seeing the light enter her eyes as she realized he was as invigorated by the architecture and character of the old place as she was. Like spirits, crossing paths by chance or divine design, now moving forward, with barely restrained anticipation, on a newly created path of their own.
Yes, he wanted to play house with Kirby Farrell. And not just for the next few weeks, either. A good-size part of him couldn’t wait for the damn event to be over so he could go back to…what, exactly?
Hanging out with Kirby? Sleeping with Kirby? Living with Kirby? He didn’t rightly know. He didn’t know where her head was at, regarding him, her future, or any possibility of their future.
Hence the spontaneous road trip this morning.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it all, about what was going to happen when the event was over. He had people waiting for him back in Vegas. Family, at least to him. But now he also had Kirby. And with all these thoughts and emotions swirling through him, he wasn’t sure he could face her without blurting it all out. And when he did that, he wanted all those thoughts and emotions to be a bit more cohesive than they were at that moment. Because this time, when he went all in, the stakes were going to be the biggest of his life.
And then there was that other part, too. The rest-of-his-life part. And what the hell he wanted to do with that. And if there was any way that rest-of-his-life part could find a place here in the mountains of Vermont. A place that would give him the chance to see what could come of a future with Kirby. A place far, far away from flashing lights, endless noise, and playing cards. But also far, far away from the only other people on the planet he loved and cared for.
His gut knotted-or more precisely the knot already in his gut tightened-at the thought of actually playing again. Not the game itself. In some odd way, when he was playing, at least against a good table, the world shrunk down to that green baize surface, the cards in front of him, the stacks of chips being flipped, toyed with, shoved in, raked out. Everything else fell away.
He slowed his bike as it hit him, that it was that feeling, that solitude among chaos, that, in and of itself, was the bigger draw for him. Not of winning, or involving himself mentally in the challenge of the game itself. He wondered when that shift had actually happened. A long time back, that much he knew now. When money had ceased to be the reason for playing. When there was no real need to win, other than to keep all those folks who had given him a shot in the first place happy. He slowed down further as another realization sunk in. That place out of time was exactly what he felt when he was with Kirby.
Did that mean she was simply another escape hatch from the real world? Was that feeling he had when he was with her merely one of…what, relief?
Partly. He had to admit that was partly it. There were two places in the world where he absolutely knew who he was. Sitting at a poker table…and sitting across from Kirby Farrell. But there was more to it. Nothing in his life had ever stimulated him on so many simultaneous levels as playing in a high stakes game did. Until Kirby.
She reached all kinds of places that no game could. There were simply no other stakes that could climb that high…or penetrate that deep.
But what did that say? Was he merely trading one fixation for another? Was that healthy? Would it make him any happier in the long run?
He honestly didn’t know.
He just knew he wanted the chance to find out.
Brett sped up and took the next turn at a scream. Then he slowed as a glint of sun off glass from somewhere deep in the trees on the slopes high above caught his eye. He slowed further, but after a quick flash of a building-a home, the prominent structure of which made it appear as if it were thrusting out beyond trees, soaring, almost- vanished as the road took another turn.
He couldn’t have said why it mattered, or why he suddenly had to see more of it, but if it blessedly took him out of his own head for a few minutes, then he welcomed the distraction. On the next curve, he spied another road, a narrow, roughly paved track, snaking up the hill, in the direction of where the house had to be. He took the turn without asking himself why. Thinking wasn’t getting him anywhere. So, for the next hour or so, he planned to just go, follow his gut, turn off his brain, and the hell with what came next.
It was early afternoon by the time he rolled back into Pennydash. His brain wasn’t going any slower than it had when he’d taken off that morning, but the thoughts running through it right now had taken on a decidedly new slant. One that might lead to a few answers. And probably a whole lot more questions, too. But he was excited about that part this time.
He discovered he’d had a call as he’d descended back into cell range, leaving him with a voice mail. It was from the resort, telling him there was a guest there, impatiently waiting for his return. Brett knew Maksimov was due into town shortly, and he had purposely put off thinking about the conversation he was sure to be having with the stubborn Russian. But Brett hadn’t been in any mood to contemplate. Too many other, far more tantalizing thoughts crowding his brain. He’d known he would handle whatever the hell Maks wanted when he finally saw him face to face. No point in dwelling on it.
And now it appeared that the happy event was imminent. Lovely. Kirby had shifted Maksimov’s reservation from the inn to the resort after all, telling Maks after the fact. She said the transition had been smooth and he had seemed fine with her apology for over-booking. A light fib at the time, but she’d filled that room since, so all was okay. At least until he had to talk to the man himself.
He sighed. As much as he wanted to race back to the inn, back to Kirby, share with her the million new thoughts racing around inside his head, get her feedback…he decided he’d get this out of the way first.
So he leaned into the turn heading up to the main resort hotel and conference center and gunned it up the steep, winding entrance into the ski resort. Winterhaven wasn’t nearly as fancy or over the top in design as the resorts he’d grown up prowling around, but it definitely had an inviting air about it. It was styled to look like an extended series of Swiss chalets, all curved in a giant arc along the base of the slopes, allowing guests to ski right from their rooms to the slopes. The main resort building containing registration, shops, restaurants, and other guest services was tucked into the center of the chalets. It was designed to look like a larger, more complex version of the rest. This unique concept offered a rather intimate, more casual-slash-village feel to the place, while at the same time making guests feel they were staying somewhere special.
His thoughts drifted immediately to Kirby and he found himself trying to picture her running a resort the size of Winterhaven. Very likely the one she’d helped manage in Colorado had been decidedly bigger than this one. And though he was well aware she was competent enough to handle whatever she was thrown…he thought the small, quaint inn atmosphere suited her personality better. Like its owner, Pennydash Inn was an openly warm and welcoming establishment that made you feel instantly at home…yet housed in a quietly elegant, beautifully detailed structure.
