THIN ICE

  WINTER HEAT AT WOLFE MOUNTAIN CHALET

  HALEY TRAVIS

  Copyright © 2023 by Haley Travis. All rights reserved.

  Edited by Rosemary Stewart.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted or duplicated in any form whatsoever without express written permission of the author. This book is intended for sale to adults. All main characters are over 18. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual people or specific locations or details is completely coincidental, or intended fictitiously.

  CONTENTS

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Preview

  Also by Haley Travis

  1

  DYLAN

  Nobody could ever accuse me of being a sentimental guy. Yet driving up the long, twisting road to Wolfe Mountain Chalet tonight, I'm filled as always with a sense of peace.

  Honestly, though? It also underlines the complete lack of romance in my life, and how I'm starting to miss that. Spending time with my family over the holidays was great, but I really wish that I had someone to care for.

  The chalet appears in front of me, timeless as ever, and utterly charming. The gingerbread woodwork. The many chimneys releasing soft wisps of gray smoke into the clean, mountain air. The later additions making the huge building ramble even further to the back.

  I've seen photos of this place in the summer when it's packed full of families and kids hopped up on sugar. No thanks. This area was meant to be quiet. Tranquil.

  Some might say the chalet is boring at this time of year, but that's precisely what I need.

  Pulling up beside two familiar trucks, I park and grab my suitcase. The tire tracks haven't even been filled with the light snow yet, so they haven't been here long.

  Walking in the massive oak door, it almost feels like coming home. I've gone on this annual retreat for years, and it's pretty much my only social event of the year, beyond visiting my folks at Christmas and the odd summer barbeque.

  That gives me another pang of loneliness. I'm a driven guy, but I've been lazy when it comes to looking for someone special.

  Mrs. Harrison rushes toward me, barely allowing me to set down my bag before I'm enfolded in a huge motherly hug. "Dylan! So lovely to see you."

  She's one of the few women that always makes me grin, with her gentle old-fashioned glamor and particular attitude. Her auburn hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and her elegant, slightly overdone eyeliner is the same as always. A few years ago I overheard her say that she's "Thirty-nine and holding forever, thank you very much."

  "Mrs. H., you're as gorgeous as ever."

  As always, she pretends to swoon, fanning herself. "You know how I look forward to you gentlemen visiting. Are you hungry after the long drive?"

  The building is quiet. It's so late that I'm sure the staff have gone to bed. I slip off my heavy boots so I don't wake anyone. "I'm fine, thanks."

  She pats my arm. "Moore and Baz said the same. I appreciate that you gentlemen are never a fuss. You're the only people I'd ever trust to serve yourselves. They poured you a whisky in the library when they heard you pulling up."

  "Thanks."

  I walk through the formal sitting room that looks out onto the wraparound porch, then pass through the arched door frame into the room with a huge bookshelf and bar that Mrs. Harrison calls the library. I find myself grinning again, and my smile is returned by the only men I know who are as big as me, and the only non-family that I always hug the daylights out of.

  Moore's palm slaps my back firmly as our nearly matching plaid flannel shirts slam together. "Dude! A year already?"

  I spin to hug Baz next, then shove him away and scowl at the expanded width of his shoulders. "Jesus, man, do you live at the gym?"

  He chuckles deeply, then settles back into the worn leather easy chair, passing me a glass. "Nothing else to do up the mountain in the winter."

  Moore tips his head appreciatively toward the bottle on the table, where Mrs. H. has also set out a few bowls of nuts and pretzels. "They've got an incredible selection this year."

  "So… Whisky tonight, wine tomorrow with dinner?" I ask, swirling the dark amber liquid in my glass before taking a slow sip and nearly groaning in pleasure. The chalet never disappoints with its impeccable food and drink.

  "That's what we were thinking," Baz nods. His voice is always a bit rough, as if he doesn't use it very much.

  "How was the drive for you?" Moore asks me. "Took me longer than usual."

  "Me too. This snow feels like it's trying to turn to ice."

  "Same. I've got brand new winter tires, but definitely slower than usual," Baz agrees.

  Moore smiles. "Poor Mrs. H. wanted to wake up the staff and serve us dinner, but I shut that down fast."

  Baz snorts. "You'd think she'd know by now that we just want to be left alone."

  I mimic his snort, making Moore laugh. "Come on, you know we're her favorite guests. We eat anything set in front of us, and don't care that they do repairs and extra cleaning all around us."

  "Plus, we're not tracking ski equipment over her nice carpets," Moore adds. "Hopefully, we're the perfect guests. Nearly invisible, except for at meals."

  Baz stares into his glass. "Is it wrong that I've been thinking about the lasagna here for the past week?"

  "Really?" I throw him a look. "And ruin your perfect physique?"

  He actually growls at me, making Moore and I laugh loudly. "Shh," Baz mutters. "You'll wake the nice people who'll be making your precious coffee in just a few hours."

  "Crap. Good point."

  Settling back, we all stare into the fire in comfortable silence. This is why we enjoy getting together every year. We're quiet men who don't feel the need for constant chatter.

  When we were in the same engineering class in university, we discovered that the rest of the students drove us nuts with how talkative they were. So we formed a three-man shield against the exuberant babbling. Instead of going to school spirit events, we'd meet for coffee and study together. Instead of hitting up loud parties, we'd check out a whisky bar and sit in the corner, watching the world go by.

  After graduation, we discovered that our families got worried if they didn't hear us mention our friends often enough. So we decided on monthly video calls, which were a great way to catch up without all the driving. I'm the closest, down in Spring Grove. Baz lives on the other side of the mountain. Moore is in Oakton, about three and a half hours away when the roads are clear.

  Sometimes we go camping in the late summer. But this week when the chalet is empty before they close up for two weeks over the worst stretch of winter weather is an ironclad tradition, where we have a true vacation and fight off those pangs of loneliness.

  Single men. Single malt. A single week of the year away from the world.

  It's our version of peace on Earth.

  2

  MAYA

  My hand darts out to tap the alarm clock, my eyes still half shut. I stretch slowly and immediately want to draw my arms back under the heavy quilts. My tiny room at the chalet is downright chilly.

  Shuffling to the window in my slippers, I pull back the drapes, then gasp aloud.

  Ice. Everywhere.

  The world is coated in a thin layer of glittering glass, making each pine needle sparkle. There was barely a quarter inch of snow when I went to bed, and it looks like at least an inch more fell before the sheen of ice settled across the surface. Pretty, but treacherous.

  My body automatically goes through the motions of getting ready, arranging my high ponytail carefully and swiping on just a bit of mascara. This is my first time working at the chalet, and I hope to impress Mrs. H., so I can come back here every winter. My next job in the spring is at a meditation retreat in Nevada, and it runs until the end of fall. The two would fit together well.

  Mrs. H. assured us that this week with only her three favorite regulars as guests would be easy and give us plenty of time to catch up on deep cleaning and repairs. These three men apparently do little but sit around chatting, eating, lounging, and reading. They don't even ski.

  I find outgoing people incredibly exhausting, so being a server in rowdy places doesn't work for me. It's too frantic, and when I get flustered, sometimes I get deeply upset. Luckily, most people come for week-long stays at this chalet, so there isn't constant turnover.

  These men sound like introverts who appreciate quiet. Stillness. I honestly don't know if I've ever seen a man reading in public. For some reason, that intrigues me.

  I want to be sure that they like me. Tips are as much about being likable as giving incredible service. My skills in the service industry are impeccable, as long as I'm not overly nervous. It's being open enough to be likable that I still need to work on.

  I walk down to the kitchen, taking deep breaths and reminding myself to be more outgoing. Single men want a server who is sweet and charming. Many women would flirt outrageously in order to capture a gigantic tip at the end of the week, but that's never been my style. Honestly, I wouldn't know how

to flirt if I tried.

  Rosa is already pulling fresh bread from the oven as I slip into the kitchen. "Good morning, coffee angel," I call softly to her across the room, reaching for the pot.

  "Wait until you try the biscuits today." She grins, and it lights up her entire face. "Whole wheat basil buttermilk cheddar."

  Kallie pours herself a coffee right beside me. "We're seriously spoiled up here. I've worked at a lot of different hotels, but never a place that has both great food and a fair boss."

  "For sure," I nod before blowing on my steaming mug.

  The three of us arrived for the season the first week of November, and have become much closer than I've ever been with coworkers before. We're living here together until at least late March, so we're practically roommates. From early morning coffee to late night hot chocolate together, we've become friends. Usually I keep my distance from colleagues, so this is nice for a change.

  We're always helping each other out throughout the day. Officially I'm the server, Kallie the cleaner, and Rosa the cook, yet we all lend a hand with whatever needs to be done, and share the load fairly. I've always loved pitching in with other people's jobs. It makes me feel useful, and I like the thought of making someone else's workload easier. And there are certainly endless tasks in a grand old building this size.

  After a few energizing sips of coffee, Kallie begins washing a few pots and pans, and I set up the dining room for breakfast. Mrs. H. has told us that these men are super casual and don't like us making a fuss, but I can't help myself. If this is their annual vacation, and our only guests, they're going to get the star treatment.

  The dining room is beautiful and timeless, with dark wooden ceiling beams, chandeliers, antique furniture, and a huge stone fireplace opposite a window that overlooks the forest and mountain. It takes a while for me to pull the rest of the tables slightly out of the way so that the one closest to the fire is obviously the special spot. With cream-colored linens, a low flower arrangement, and a silver coffee service, it looks elegant but not too-too feminine.

  Once the table is set, I find the largest, sturdiest chairs, and start lugging the first into position.

  "Hang on, let me help you."

  The deep voice makes me jump, and I spin to stare into warm brown eyes that…oh my…

  My breath and heart begin to sputter. He's…gorgeous.

  "Damn, I'm sorry." He takes my elbow and sits me in the chair. "I think I scared you half to death."

  I feel even smaller next to him now that I'm sitting. The man is huge. Not like a bodybuilder; like a man who spends a lot of time swinging an axe. His dark green flannel shirt is just snug enough to show off his wide chest, and the sleeves are rolled up, showing off thick, tanned forearms and a bit of a dark, swirling tattoo.

  Focus. You're here to serve him, and make his stay special.

  "You're up early." I manage a soft laugh. "I heard you gentlemen got in quite late."

  He chuckles, easily moving the other two chairs into place. I laugh as he lifts the last one with me still in it, setting it in position. "Nothing keeps me from good coffee."

  I stand slowly, noticing the top of my head is barely at his shoulder. The man's nearly a foot taller than me. Looking up at his sculpted jawline and ruggedly handsome features, I can already tell it's going to be challenging to keep my focus.

  "I'm Maya. I'll be your server this week."

  His hand darts out to shake mine rather formally. Does he hold my palm in his a bit too long? "Nice to meet you, Maya. I'm Dylan. I'll be your…" His chuckle is awkward, like he's surprised by it. "Your guest who will be asking for too much coffee at an early hour."

  My smile is usually mechanical when I'm working, but this one's genuine. "I'll bear that in mind. Would you like an espresso, or is regular drip fine to get started?"

  "This is great, thanks."

  Before I can reach for the coffee to pour, he serves himself. Then he notices my look of confusion. "Sorry. We're do-it-yourselfer types. Not used to being waited on. Hope that isn't annoying to you."

  How could I be annoyed with a man like this looking so deeply into my eyes?

  "I'm here to make you comfortable. Just let me know anything I can do." A bell rings faintly from the kitchen. "I'm guessing that fresh fruit and muffins with the coffee will be a good start before the full breakfast?"

  Dylan sinks into a chair, his inviting lips pulled into a saucy grin. "I will eat everything you tell me to, Maya."

  With a quick nod, I dash to the kitchen, replaying what he just said. Oh my… Was he flirting? Did he mean for that to sound so racy?

  My cheeks flame as I gather the trays. Luckily I hear the other two men coming into the dining room.

  I'm going to have to be very careful that Dylan and I are never alone again.

  I don't think my heart can take it.

  3

  DYLAN

  I’ve never had a case of the Mondays when I wasn't working before. But here I am, completely spaced out, unable to concentrate on anything. My eyes are constantly darting around looking for Maya.

  Somehow I manage to sink into a long rambling conversation with Moore and Baz. They're the only people I'm ever chatty with, and we have a lot to catch up on.

  Yet every time Maya enters the room, I almost forget how to breathe – maybe because she is literally breathtaking. Her huge blue eyes are incredibly expressive, although I get the impression that I make her a bit nervous. Maybe she's just jumpy around new people, especially big men.

  She's friendly, and her way of describing the food suggests that she's been a server for quite a while. It's clear that the other guys think she's charming, but they're not staring at her pretty porcelain face or perfect lips, or at the way her hips shimmy enticingly whenever she bends over to reach for something.

  I'm straight up hypnotized. The only thing that keeps me from staring even more is that I don't want to make her nervous.

  For the first time ever, I start to wonder what I would have to offer a sweet girl like her. My life is in order, but it certainly isn't exciting. Moore is full of stories about his landscaping and design business. Meanwhile, Baz has a huge property that he's constantly maintaining, with odd encounters with animals and crumbling trees.

  But I've never done anything extremely interesting. Is that a problem? No girl wants to hear the details of my unusual investment portfolio, or the select roster of clients I assist. My large house and property are great for me, but might not impress a woman unless she's into simple and rustic things, and is drawn by a massive home library.

  Geez, now that I think about it, no wonder I'm alone.

  Maya serves us at exactly the correct pace. It's as if she's got a sixth sense, knowing precisely when we need coffee refills, or waiting until the last man has finished his plate before swooping in with the next course.

  "Every year we come here, we pack on the pounds like bears about to hibernate," Moore chuckles, leaning back and patting his ridiculously flat stomach.

  "We're mountain men. We need the fuel," Baz says gruffly with a twinkle in his eye. "Any one of us could be caught in a snowstorm, and have to tough it out for a week. It's safer to put on an extra pound or two now, just in case."

  "Good point," I agree. "Does that mean we need another round of anything?"

  "I was just about to ask you the same thing," says a clear, sweet voice from just behind my shoulder.

  Turning to grin at Maya, I try to hold her eyes with mine. "You're like a little breakfast elf. Always appearing at exactly the right time."

  The way she blushes so prettily and drops her eyes makes my heart hammer in my chest as if it were loose, flying around my rib cage untethered.

  "I think we need an hour or so of proper digestion," Moore says. "Should we lounge in the library until lunch?"

  "Sounds perfect." Baz stands up, reaching for the coffee pot. "Can we take this with us?"

  Maya goes to grab it before he can. "Let me refill it, and bring you fresh cups."

  My hand rests gently on her shoulder before I realize that I'm touching her. "I know this place is known for its flawless service, but we're not used to people fussing over us."

 

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