A Long Way to Fall, page 8
She’d found the keys to her dad’s Jeep in the bedroom, but even if she gunned it, she’d never get through the deep snow on the driveway. Is that what you’re supposed to do? Gun it? Or do you try to ease through it? These weren’t problems they had in Miami. She swung her leg over the seat and grabbed both handlebars. She’d only been on one once before, but that was years ago on a beach. Turns out, if you barely cut yourself on some ocean rock, a cute lifeguard named Sarah Jane may just roll up and offer you a ride to the first aid office. She may also tell you to put your arms around her waist and hang on tight. Kennedy had obliged, of course.
So, yes, she’d been on an ATV before; she just hadn’t ever driven one. She was more of a boat girl. The kind that came with a driver and bartender. But really, how hard could it be? She was capable. She knew how to visualize. “Just close your eyes and imagine yourself plowing the hell out of that driveway,” she said.
After a moment, she opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and pressed the start button. Nothing. She pressed it again and again, then jumped off the stupid thing. Was it out of gas? Or oil? Did it need to be primed? Dead battery? She flipped the headlight switch, and it lit up. Okay. The battery was fine. Oh, maybe it had one of those pull-cords like a lawn mower. She circled the ATV. No pull-cord. She didn’t see a kickstart pedal either. She kicked the tire in frustration. “Ow. Damnit,” she shouted as she hopped on one foot. She limped over to the door, switched off the lights, and went back inside. There was no Sarah Jane to rescue her now.
She hobbled back into the house, thinking of all the ways this was Bridget Berg’s fault. To start with, if Bridget wasn’t such a profoundly irrational person, Kennedy would be enjoying a warm meal and a cold drink right about then. Instead, she was looking at an evening of nursing her big toe in a freezing cold house that had all the warmth of one of those minimum-security prisons they filmed reality TV shows in. Not that Kennedy ever watched that sort of thing. Not often anyway. Unless Sundays, and also sometimes Saturdays, were considered to be often. One thing was certain. Bridget Berg would pay for her complete lack of humanity. Once Kennedy had the upper hand, she’d give her a taste of her own medicine. “Damn right, I will,” she said out loud. “You haven’t met revenge until you’ve met me, Bridget Berg.”
Who was she kidding? She’d never plotted revenge against anyone in her life. She tilted her head and wondered what the first step would be. A narrowing of the eyes seemed right. And a tapping of an index finger on the chin. She wiggled her toe again because surely revenge required ten good toes. And strength. She’d need the strength a good warm meal would give her. But that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.
Her thoughts turned to her dad. Was this all his fault? Sure, the man could fly off the handle. He’d been known to say hurtful things once in a while, but his heart was in the right place. Wasn’t it? Kennedy found herself questioning everything now. Did all of their neighbors in Miami hate her dad too, and she just didn’t know it? Was she the only person in the entire world who thought well of him? It seemed impossible. No, whatever had happened on this mountain was an isolated incident. And her dad must’ve had good reason for his actions, whatever they were.
Thoughts of him had her wishing she could see him. Hold his hand. Tell him how much she loved him and hope he understood her words one last time. She sucked back her emotions. Now was not the time to cry. Now was the time to flip all of these people off on her way down the mountain.
But that meant getting the damn driveway plowed. Kennedy had made multiple calls to different plow people, but none were willing to get to her until after the storm. And apparently, no one could bribe a county plow contractor to clear a driveway no matter how long and steep it was. And no matter how easy it would be to do when they were already doing the main road. Something about liability and turning the truck around, blah, blah, blah. If she was going to eat, she’d need to figure something out.
She’d searched “food near here” on her phone earlier that day. Of course, the lodge’s restaurant with its stupid five stars and four diamonds came up first. After that, the search results revealed an actual store in town, a small market that would at least have enough to see her through. Equally important, the town of Elk Mountain had a coffee shop. Yes, please. According to the reviews—and four hundred or so photos—it even had good pastries. Not Boden Berg Lodge great, but still good, the reviews said. Because of course, someone had to mention the lodge in their stupid review.
She eased onto the floor in front of the fireplace so she could get her boot off. A whimper escaped her lips with the first tug, and then a high-pitched yelp when the edge of the boot grazed her injured toe. “Don’t be broken,” she whispered. “Please, big toe. Don’t be broken.” It was red and already starting to swell. She took a deep breath and tried to wiggle it. When it moved, she could have cried due to the pain but also because that usually meant the bone wasn’t broken. “Thank you, big toe. Oh my God, thank you for not breaking.” It was obvious she’d jammed it or sprained it or something, but at least it moved.
Since the ATV appeared to be a literal nonstarter, Kennedy weighed her other options for getting off the mountain. She could flag down one of the employees on their way home from work and beg for a ride into town. That would require another hike down that steep, winding driveway in deep snow. If she hadn’t broken a bone yet, she surely would then. It also presented the possibility of a long wait in the cold since she had no idea when their shifts ended. Even if she did make it, would someone really help her out? In all likelihood, they’d probably see who she was and drive like hell to get away.
She put both feet near the fire and wiped a few tears away with her sleeve. Allergies, obviously. It wasn’t like she was crying because she was frustrated or mad at her father or hungry or unable to figure out why the hot hotel lady hated her with a passion. Hell, everyone on the mountain hated her with a passion. Except maybe Seth, but he only liked her for her cash, and without an ATM nearby, she’d soon run out of that too.
None of it made sense. Maybe there was some bad blood over the Jerry Fleming Correctional Facility being built in the shadow of the lodge. She could see people being angry about that, but did that really warrant the hungry hippo business and her being kicked out so unceremoniously? It was an ugly house, but watching someone trapped in it without food or heat? That seemed a bit much, even for Bridget Berg. What was her deal? Did she think being an adorable, athletic, redheaded sex kitten would excuse bad behavior? Kennedy meant all that in an objective way, of course. Obviously.
For some reason, she felt the need to lie on her side with her legs curled up. But not in a fetal position or anything. That would have been pathetic. Again, it had nothing to do with her miserable situation. She simply enjoyed lying on cold hard floors while staring into flames, just like every other revenge-plotting person in the world.
If only those lodge people understood that being the daughter of the man who made the mountain ugly didn’t automatically make her his cunning, manipulative, devil-horned offspring. Or worse, that she had bad taste. She’d already invested considerable time sitting in this cold house trying to figure out why and how and who had helped her dad put that ridiculous, monstrous thing on the roof.
She straightened her leg so she could check in on her swollen toe and said, “This house is awful, Big Toe. You could do a better job of designing a house than Dad did. Hell, your baby friend on the end there could do a better job. And now, I’m talking to my fucking toe. This is turning into a Cast Away situation. You’re the volleyball, and I’m the one who’s hungry.”
She rolled onto her back and clasped her fingers on her very empty tummy. “She’s beautiful, BT. That’s what we’re calling you now, Big Toe. BT Fleming the second. Anyway, Bridget Berg is beautiful. Stubborn. Smart. Sexy. But Jerry’s Fucking Daughter—that’s what we’re calling me now—anyway, she, or me, can’t seem to flirt her way into that woman’s heart. I mean, her restaurant.” She lifted her leg and wiggled her toe again. “I know. It’s starting to get weird for me too. Glad you’re feeling better, though.”
She sat up because she really needed to get off this mountain and find a hotel with a warm bed and room service before she started talking to other body parts. Maybe there was a how-to video on YouTube she could watch. She took her phone out of her pocket and typed in the search bar, How to start an ATV. She went still when she heard something outside. It sounded like one of those snowmobiles she’d seen go by on the slopes, but it was coming from the other side of the house. Was someone riding up the driveway? Was she being rescued? She got up and promptly forgot about her injured toe when she took a step. “Shit, shit, shit.” She hopped around for a second and then gingerly limped her way to the door.
She peered through the peephole. To say she was surprised by the visitor would have been an understatement. She’d have been less taken aback by the Publisher’s Clearinghouse Prize Patrol showing up with a giant check. Instead, she watched Bridget Berg climb the steps while taking her hat and goggles off. Her shoulders were covered in snow. The tips of her hair were wet. Her cheeks were rosy. Kennedy opened the door and tried to act casual, even though she wanted to grab Bridget and cry in her arms because she was that glad to see that someone cared if she was alive or dead. Even if that someone had some serious issues.
She put her weight on her good foot and leaned against the door with her arms folded. Yeah. That looked casual. “This is a surprise. Unfortunately, I don’t have a thing to offer you in the way of food or drink, but you already know that.”
“May I come in for a moment? It won’t take long.”
Her softer tone surprised Kennedy. “Um, yeah. Of course.” Before closing the door, she noticed that the snow was coming down harder than before. “Is it going to do that all night?”
“All weekend, if we’re lucky.” Bridget stomped her feet on the door mat.
Lucky for you, maybe. Kennedy closed the door and turned to find Bridget staring at the place. “Have you never been inside before?”
Bridget shook her head. “I imagined something quite different.”
“Not exactly up to my standards, either. Can I take your coat?”
“I’m not staying,” Bridget snapped back.
Okay, so the kinder tone had lasted all of five seconds. “Of course not,” Kennedy said. “How silly of me to think that this was a friendly visit.”
Bridget turned back to the door as if she was about to leave but stopped and turned around. “I’m not a cruel person. In fact, I wouldn’t let my worst enemy go hungry, and since you seem to be the closest thing I have to one of those, I brought you dinner.” She took off her backpack and pulled out an insulated shopping bag.
Part of Kennedy wanted to decline the offer with, “I wouldn’t take food from you if it was the last thing left to eat on Earth.” But that part of Kennedy was not her stomach. Instead, she was ready to shed tears of gratitude. She imagined herself falling into Bridget’s arms and kissing her rosy cheek. She’d unzip her parka and slide her arms around her waist and bask in this little moment of kindness and connection. But that might scare her away, and more than anything, she wanted Bridget to stay a little longer. Okay, evidently, the hunger had taken hold of Kennedy’s grasp on reality. She wasn’t actually crushing on this horrible woman. She couldn’t be.
She took the bag and said, “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” She’d have to limp her way to the kitchen with one bare foot. It wouldn’t be the least bit sexy, but she needed to get Bridget away from the door so she couldn’t make a quick exit. She limped away, hoping she’d follow her. “Is there any alcohol in this bag? I’d love to pour us a drink.”
“I didn’t come here to drink with you.” Bridget turned to open the door.
“Why did you come here, Bridget? You could’ve sent someone else on this little errand, couldn’t you?”
“This property is off-limits to my employees. Your father has seen to that.”
“Why would he do that?”
“If you really don’t know, you’ll need to ask your father, Kennedy.”
“Okay, secret squirrel. Have it your way. But they’re banned, and you’re not?”
“Technically, I am too, but I figured you’d overlook it for food.”
It hadn’t taken much time on the internet for Kennedy to confirm that the good sheriff and Bridget were both gay. Both were USA Ski Team members who had dated at one time. And both were sexy, hot, athletic women. She wondered if there was any chance her attraction to Bridget could be mutual. The chances were slim, given all the animosity, but when Bridget’s eyes landed on Kennedy’s bare foot, she decided that maybe being flirty wasn’t the way to go at all. The sympathy card was worth a shot, so she held up her foot and said, “I may have broken my big toe.”
It was a pitiful attempt, followed by an even more pitiful pushup onto the counter with a shy shrug added for good measure. She swung her foot out and waited.
Bridget didn’t move from the door, but her internal struggle was obvious. Every second that passed gave Kennedy hope that she’d break through that thick armor, if only out of pity. Hey, she’d take it, or any other reason that kept Bridget firmly planted on this side of the door.
“It looks fine from here,” Bridget said.
Kennedy tilted her head and frowned at her foot. “Really? Because you wouldn’t believe how badly it’s throbbing right now.” Okay, so maybe other body parts were throbbing harder than her toe. And maybe as Bridget slowly approached, she lost her breath for a second or twelve.
She wouldn’t have the background chatter of a busy restaurant to muffle whatever physical reactions she might have in the next few seconds. She’d have to control her breathing if Bridget actually touched her, or she’d know this was all a ruse to keep her there. And not just because she was maybe crushing on her slightly. She wanted her to stay long enough to see that Kennedy wasn’t a threat to her or any of her guests. She wanted to chat. Get to know her.
Bridget stood in front of her, her hands tucked deep inside her coat pockets. “Wiggle it.”
Kennedy ignored the request. She so badly wanted to reach out and wipe a melting snowflake from Bridget’s brow. Maybe tuck her damp hair behind her ears and caress her cheek. The thought sent her heart into overdrive, causing her to take an unexpectedly short breath. Not quite a gasp for air but close. She disguised it as a sign of pain and wiggled her toe as best she could.
“You should ice it.” Bridget turned and headed for the door.
“Said the ice queen.”
Kennedy said it under her breath, but it stopped Bridget in her tracks. She turned back around, and Kennedy pointed. “See? Icy glare from the ice queen. Are you ever going to tell me why you have such hatred for someone you don’t even know? Google me, Bridget. You’ll see that I’m just a normal girl from Miami who sells real estate, has a passion for good wine, fine chocolate, and yappy little dogs I can carry in my purse. Oh, and I appreciate good architecture. So yeah, I know how awful that ridiculous add-on is.”
Bridget lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. “Seeing it from the inside just confirms that Jerry really did make this house taller just to block the lodge’s view of the valley. My dad used to love to take guests onto the balcony at night so they could see the city lights below. Don’t forget to ice that toe.”
“I’m not my father,” Kennedy shouted. But it was too late. Bridget was already out the door.
* * *
Womp. Bridget whipped around to see who had just thrown a snowball at her back. Any other time, she might have returned fire, but she wasn’t in the mood “Seriously, Harriet? What are you doing out here, anyway?”
“I was just saying hi.”
“By throwing a snowball at me?”
“Well, you didn’t answer when I called your name,” Harriet teased. “Where were you?”
Bridget reached under her beanie and took the AirPods out of her ears. She’d parked the snowmobile and sat there for a moment, listening to music and contemplating if she’d done the right thing. She hadn’t needed to take off her parka to know how cold it was in that house. She could’ve asked where the thermostat was so she could check to see if it was working. She could’ve stoked the sad little fire Kennedy had built and had it roaring within minutes. But she hadn’t done either of those things. Nor had she gotten close enough to know if the claim of having broken her toe was real or not. For all she knew, Kennedy would claim it had happened on lodge property and sue them for bodily injury.
It was so easy to dislike the woman because of who her father was and all the history. Easier than engaging her in conversation. Easier than asking why she was there. Easier than asking why Jerry wasn’t there. She wasn’t ready to confront the situation head-on out of fear it would turn into something bigger than she could handle. After all they’d been through with Jerry over the years, she’d be a fool to ever trust his daughter. Luckily, she was able to ignore the way Kennedy tried to look so cute when she hopped up on the counter and stuck out her foot. Bridget might have formed an image in her head of being between those legs and having them wrap around her while she explored a soft neck with her lips and maybe some tongue. She also might have heard the breathy gasps for air and felt fingernails dig into her shoulders, but it was all very short-lived. A split second, really. A flash of passion she’d chastised herself for even thinking because, no. Just…God, no.
“I took some food to our neighbor,” she said. “And don’t tell me I’m a sucker for a pretty face. It’s not about that.”
“No,” Harriet said. “It’s because just like your father, you have a big heart. That’s why everyone adored him. But I thought we’d decided not to feed the animal so she’d seek food down valley. What changed?”
