BRETTON HEATHROW stood by the front window of the den staring out at the crisp, clear night that pretended it wasn’t a dangerous mix of deep snow and freezing temperatures. The picturesque setting of a true midnight blue sky, pin cushioned with stars and set with a full moon, was the perfect halo for the Rocky Mountains and evergreens at its footstool.
Behind him, footsteps shuffled unsteadily from the back of his ranch-style home before his brother’s voice, in the throes of a yawn, loosely articulated, “What are you doing?”
“Can’t sleep.”
“Hggmmm.” Lance’s croak signified he may have fallen asleep where he stood.
Brett turned to head for the kitchen. Lance swayed on his feet with his eyes closed, hair in fifty directions, scratching his chest through his t-shirt. And the guy wondered why he was a bachelor at thirty.
“Stop dropping your fleas all over my hardwood floors.” Brett managed to swat him in the side of the head before the guy knew what hit him.
“Hey!”
Brett laughed, but maybe at thirty-three, he shouldn’t wonder why he was a bachelor either. He’d have been married by now if he hadn’t pushed the issue. Maybe forgiven more? Had an open mind?
He followed his nose to the coffee maker. The contraption was a godsend. It did everything but his laundry. The huge shiny red device had been a wedding gift from his fiancée’s best friend. Male best friend. The same male best friend who pulled Brett aside the night before the wedding and explained he knew Brett’s soon-to-be-wife biblically.
Too shocked to react, he’d let the man pat him on the shoulder and walk away before he even breathed again. Christina broke down when confronted. She’d cried and begged his forgiveness. By the end of the longest night ever, she’d been the one to leave him with a dagger in his heart and a hundred guests in need of an explanation.
Ohio all of a sudden became too stifling. Any job offer that spelled his fastest ticket out of there became too good to turn down. He’d made his escape. Lock, stock, and kitchen appliance extraordinaire.
Reaching down a skillet from the overhead hook, he turned to the fridge for supplies, grabbing everything at once and taking the load to the counter. The coffee machine didn’t remind him of acts of betrayal one bit. It was a much useful and necessary piece of equipment which kept him functioning day to day. Yeah, he’d kept the gift. And anything else that came from Christina’s friends who’d covered up the friendship-affair one way or another.
The machine made a perfect mug of perk-me-ups. Gave him espresso, cappuccino, hot water for any occasion. Quite the deal for what he gave up.
While he busied himself with loaded eggs and toast, he checked the time. Five-fifteen a.m. Really? He’d have guessed two-thirty, three-thirty tops. He’d been wandering around the house for a couple of hours at least. Hmh. Been there over a year and still moved on Ohio time whenever the holidays drew near. Maybe Lance brought the time shift with him. Brett glanced over his shoulder. Sleepy Head had his cheek balanced in his hand propped on the long wooden table.
The sight made him smile. He was glad Lance flew all the way out here to exercise his counseling degree. Branching out was difficult. His came from necessity, but Lance from the goodness of his heart. They both had a spirit to explore what life had to offer. Got that from their father. At least Dad passed on something other than his brown hair and gray eyes, because he sure didn’t pass on the love.
“Wake up, Einstein. Might as well get a move on if we’re going to have that cabin cleaned by sundown.”
“Huh?” Lance’s pillow-creased face fell onto his folded arms. “Don’t doctors sleep? I’m sure you slept once. There was sleeping going on when you were home.”
“You’re the one who wants his own place at the back of the ranch, so let’s go clear it out.” He slid their plates onto the table. “Don’t know why you won’t stay here. There are plenty of rooms.”
“Oh, right. The one where the guy died. The one across from where the guy died. The ones beside where the guy died. Or the one adjacent to where the guy died.”
“You do know Mom buried the pet rabbit in the backyard, don’t you?”
Lance didn’t move. “And this is not a ranch. This is a big house on a lot of land. Only you would move into a place where the previous owner croaked in his bed. How can you afford it anyway?”
“I make loads of money.” Brett grinned and sat down.
Lance raised his head out of its nest far enough for one eye to squint up at him with a storm.
“All right, it came cheap because the previous owner croaked in his bed.”
“Not funny. Also why I’m not spending another night here. Thanks for sharing.”
He wouldn’t spook Lance further by saying rumor had it the previous owner died of a broken heart the week after his wife kicked the bucket somewhere conspicuous in this very home. He’d never see his brother again.
Sixty-three years of marriage gone. Poor man. Brett had never missed anyone enough for his heart to cry out to them.
He focused on the business at hand. “If you’re as gung-ho as you claim and want to help me run a clinic here, you need to get used to the hours.”
“You said you get up at seven. At the hospital by eight-thirty.” He pointed at the wall clock without turning his head. “Not one of those numbers is correct.”
Brett dug into his eggs with a smile. “Eat. You never know when you’re going to get a chance again, and we—”
A pop and whistle cracked the deathly still hills. Was that what he thought…?
Brett scrambled from the table and peered out the window toward the south. Seeing nothing, he ran to the mudroom and threw on his boots, grabbing his winter coat to shrug into as he pushed through the outer door.
Where…? Where…? His legs sank knee-deep into the fresh groundcover, making precious time slip away. Rounding the front of the house, he hiked forward to get a good look at the tail end of the streak in the sky. Witness to only one flare gun burst in his life, he scarce believed he saw one now. The trajectory appeared to originate from the north, but definitely from the direction of the interstate.
“Get the kit! And the snowshoes.”
Lance’s approaching crunches detoured to the front porch. He slipped inside, Brett following, neither bothering to remove their snow-ridden clothes. He should have known the unpredicted storm would leave somebody stranded.
Brett headed straight through the house and out the back door again to prepare the sled.
Well. Day one of his Christmas vacation certainly started with a bang.
CHAPTER THREE