The Snowflake Inn

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Copyright @ 2013, 2016 by Samantha Chase

Cover and internal design © 2016 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

Cover design by John Kicksee

Cover images © solominviktor/Fotolia, krysek/Fotolia

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

The Snowflake Inn was originally self-published individually in ebook format in 2013.

Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca Sourcebooks, Inc.

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

(630) 961-3900

Fax: (630) 961-2168

www.sourcebooks.com

For my favorite U.S. Marine

Not a day goes by that I’m not in awe of you and completely proud of all you’ve accomplished in your life. Thank you for your help and for just being awesome.

Love you, Justin Ryan.

Semper Fi!

Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

A Sneak Peek from This Is Our Song

About the Author

Prologue

Riley Walsh was a free man.

Only it wasn’t by choice.

So what are you going to do with yourself now?

Riley stood staring out the window of his commanding officer’s office, lost in contemplation. Turning, he faced the man who had become like family to him over the past twelve years. I’m heading home to see my mother. After that, I’m not sure.

How’s her recovery coming along?

Riley shrugged. I guess it’s going okay.

His CO quirked a brow at him. Okay? Don’t you know for sure? When was the last time you talked to her?

Riley shrugged again and began to pace the sterile office space. Before I got injured.

The lieutenant colonel stood and came to halt in front of Riley. Is there a problem?

Riley knew that tone of voice. Over the years, it had made him tremble in fear at times. There was no fear this time. No problem. I just didn’t want her to worry. If I’d called while I was in the hospital, she would have instantly known something was wrong. I didn’t want to add that kind of worry while she was dealing with her own recovery.

Relaxing his stance a bit, his CO placed a hand on Riley’s shoulder. You did an outstanding job for your country, Riley. I know this isn’t the way you wanted your career in the marines to end. Go home, spend some time with your family, and finish recovering. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.

To do what? Riley asked with more than a hint of bitterness.

For the first time in his military career, he saw a hint of a smile on his CO’s face. Whatever you want.

If only that were true. Riley knew what was waiting for him at home, and he didn’t like it one bit. Truth be known, if he hadn’t gotten injured, he would have made the marines his entire life and only gone home when absolutely necessary.

That sounded cold even in his own head, but it was the truth. His whole life, he’d been told how the family business would one day be his. Riley shuddered at the thought. There was no way he was taking over the family business. Not in this lifetime. Maybe now that his mother was dealing with her recovery, she’d see that running the place was too much for her. Of course, he’d have to make it abundantly clear that although his time in the service was up, he wasn’t coming home to take over the reins.

After all, how could anyone expect Riley Walsh, a dedicated marine injured in the line of duty, to run a bed-and-breakfast? Especially one called the Snowflake Inn.

Chapter 1

Whose idea was it to move to the mountains? Grace Brodie mumbled to herself as she pulled her wool scarf a little tighter around her neck. I left the possibility of sun and sand…for this? As if Mother Nature herself had heard her, a biting wind kicked up. Perfect.

Actually, it had been her own idea to make the move, and on most days, she loved it. Today, however, was not one of those days. It was cold, it was gray, and Cute Angry Guy was walking behind her again. Grace chuckled to herself. She was sure he had an actual name, but she hadn’t had an opportunity to find out. When she had first noticed him around town a couple of days ago, she had named him Cute Serious Guy. The next day he had become Cute Brooding Guy, but today, he was looking pretty fierce, so she went with Cute Angry Guy.

Every morning, Grace came into town, did a jog around the park, ran her errands, and grabbed a coffee at Starbucks before heading to work. The park was the first place she had noticed him. There was something oddly familiar about him, but for the life of her, she couldn’t put her finger on it. He was well over six feet tall and clearly worked out, because as he jogged around the same path she did, he didn’t seem to get winded.

She usually felt like stopping to vomit three times.

Every day.

Sure, she could feel nervous about the fact that this guy had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and seemed to be following her around, but she had a feeling he was harmless. But she was rattled a bit when he showed up at Starbucks. The first thought to pop into her head was that he was clearly attracted to her and had followed her to get coffee in hope of striking up a conversation.

But he stayed ten feet away from her at all times. The closer she moved toward him, the farther he moved away. It was a little odd.

And disappointing.

Now, as she finished the last quarter mile of her jog, Grace couldn’t help but wonder what his story was. Did he live here? Have family here? Did she somehow know him and had just forgotten?

Hell no. If Cute Angry Guy had ever been in her life before, Grace was certain she would have remembered him. Clearly. In great detail. And he would have starred in every fantasy she ever thought up.

She was feeling the burn and could clearly see the light at the end of the tunnel—or in this case, the clearing in the trees that meant the parking lot was close—when it happened. Her knee buckled. A cry of dismay escaped before she could help it, and next thing she knew, she was on the ground.

Dammit, she cried, pulling her knee to her chest as she rocked. Why now? Tears threatened to fall, and all she could think about was the walk to the car and how painful it was going to be. As much as her physical therapist had told her recovery would take time, Grace felt like her body had betrayed her.

Are you all right? a deep male voice said from behind her.

Uh-oh… Cute Angry Guy is here, and he’s talking to me! Looking up…and up…and up, her eyes finally met his. Holy cow.

Miss?

Oh, right. He asked you a question. What? Oh, sorry… Um… Yes, I’m fine, she stammered and tried to stand. But her darn knee wasn’t quite on board with the rest of her, and she went down again. She muttered a curse and felt a blush creep up her cheeks in embarrassment.

He quirked a brow as he looked at her. You don’t look like you’re fine, he said seriously and crouched beside her. Did you hurt your knee?

Grace nodded. About six months ago in a skiing accident. I was in rehab and physical therapy for months. I just decided to try to go back to my jogging routine—at a slower pace, of course—and I thought I was doing okay. Until about five minutes ago.

Cute Angry Guy nodded. You probably just pushed yourself a little too hard.

She shook her head. In therapy, I can run twice as long without any issues.

That’s on a treadmill. This is an uneven jogging path. It’s completely different.

Now she glared at him. Thanks for pointing out the obvious, she snapped. If she had better luck, she’d be able to jump to her feet and walk away with a sassy sway to her hips.

Clearly, she had no luck. On her third attempt at standing, Cute Angry Guy wrapped a strong arm around her back and helped her to her feet. Thank you, she said quietly and did her best to disengage from his embrace. But he didn’t let her go. Looking up, Grace found herself trapped by the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Her breath seemed to catch, and she couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. The only thing saving her from complete and total embarrassment was the fact that he seemed just as mesmerized by her as she was by him.

Can you walk? he finally asked, his voice sounding rough to her ears. Nodding weakly, unwilling to break their eye contact, she tried once again to move away, but his arm seemed to tighten around her. I’ll walk you to your car.

He clearly wasn’t big on conversation. At the moment, that suited Grace just fine because she was having a hard time remembering how to form words. Cute Angry Guy was big and a feast for all of her senses, but she had to be careful to remember that he was a stranger. She knew nothing about him, and as much as she wanted to ask him at least a dozen questions, there was something to be said for companionable silence.

And walking really close together.

Deciding to just enjoy the moment, Grace pressed herself more firmly against his warm, solid frame and began to walk slowly with him toward her car. With the way they had been seeing each other all around town for the past couple of days, she figured he’d know which car was hers without her saying anything.

Sure enough, he did.

When they reached her little white sedan, they stopped and Grace pulled her keys out of her jacket pocket. It was then that she realized what a complete mess she must look like: black leggings, white jacket, and a green wool scarf to match her green socks…ugh. And then there was the hair.

She was so not going to think about the hair.

Normally after her jog, Grace would take a few minutes in the car to relax and apply some lip gloss and fix her hair before going anyplace else. That was why she hadn’t been worried about approaching him the other day in Starbucks. But now that he’d seen her in this—well, in all her ill-fated glory—she was certain her current appearance had killed any attraction (real or imagined).

Quickly and painfully.

Awesome.

So, um…thanks for the help, she said, feeling awkward. She fidgeted with her hair, doing her best to tame it, and cursed herself for refusing to wear a hat. At least a hat could have camouflaged the flyaway mess.

His lips twitched with an almost-smile as he watched her fidget around. Are you going to be okay to drive?

Grace ran her hand through her hair and cursed when it got stuck. With a wince, she pulled it out and forced herself to play with her keys and try to remain calm. Yes, she said, wishing that the parking lot would just open up beneath her and take her away. I’ll be fine. I’ll go home and do the whole ice-and-heat thing, take some ibuprofen, and call it a day.

You should probably call your therapist and let him take a look at it.

She shook her head. I don’t have one here.

Then you should set up an appointment for when you get home.

Grace gave him an odd look. Get home? I am home. I live here.

Now it was Cute Angry Guy’s turn to give her an odd look. You live here?

She nodded. I just moved here about six weeks ago. I thought I was done with therapy, so I haven’t bothered to look up a therapist. But I guess I’ll have to now. She shrugged and turned to unlock her car. Once the door was open, she turned and forced a smile on her face. Anyway, she said and did her best to relax, thank you for the help.

My pleasure. His voice was deep and a little rough, and Grace almost wanted to purr. Hearing the word pleasure come from that mouth—which was pretty spectacular too—had her heart rate going into overdrive.

Well, I guess I’ll see you around, she said brightly and sat in the car, wincing slightly as she bent her leg.

Don’t wait to find a therapist. Call the one you know and see if you can get a referral.

Thanks, I will. She was just about to ask his name, but he turned and walked away. And the rear view was as enticing as the front one. Grace almost had to fan herself. Her first instinct was to call out to him, but really, it was probably better not to. If he had been following her these past couple of days, wouldn’t he have asked for her name or phone number? The fact that he hadn’t just proved Grace was imagining things. Bad hair and wardrobe aside, the man couldn’t seem to get away from her fast enough.

With a depressed sigh, Grace pulled the car door shut and decided to cut her losses and go. The drive through the small downtown area didn’t take long, and when she saw Starbucks coming up, she decided she could deal with the pain for a little bit longer. A white-chocolate peppermint mocha would go a long way in helping her deal with it, of that she was certain.

It didn’t take long to park, and then she was surrounded by people she was coming to know. She smiled and made small talk while she waited her turn in line at the coffee shop. When one person was left in front of her, Grace felt an odd tingle go down her spine. Turning her head, she had to suppress a grin. There in the doorway stood Cute Angry Guy, and if her eyes weren’t deceiving her, he was doing his best to suppress his own smile.

She wished he’d stop trying to hide it. With a face like that, he had to have a smile that was positively breathtaking. Certain she’d never really know, Grace turned her attention back to the counter, placed her order, and made her way to the register to pay. She was mentally congratulating herself on the fact that she hadn’t turned around again. Self-control—she’d known she had it in her somewhere.

Thank you, Grace said with a smile as she took