Snowbound - Harlequin.com

12 SNOWBOUND
bottles heated at odd hours, snacks for the kids after the
kitchen was closed.
He’d had a particularly hellish group in August.
Ironically a church group. Teenagers. They’d taken over
the lodge as well as all five of his cabins strung along
the river. They sang songs, they built bonfires, they
flirted and wrestled and ate like there was no tomorrow.
They swarmed.
John just wanted to be alone. Didn’t seem like too
much to ask, did it? He’d bought the damn place because
it was about as isolated as you could get without
roaming with Kodiaks in Alaska. Paying guests would
give him enough income to get by, he’d figured. He
would cook, serve, clean. Give him something to do.
Otherwise, he’d keep to himself.
He just hadn’t realized how busy Thunder Mountain
Lodge was. One person after another told him, “We love
the lodge. We come every year. It has to be one of the
most beautiful places on earth.” He also heard how refreshed
they were after their stay.
They should have been here at the same time as the
church group.
He had closed up the cabins for the winter, on the
advice of the old curmudgeon he’d bought the lodge
from, turning off the water and wrapping pipes. He’d
done that just a few weeks ago. The lodge itself had
six guest rooms along with his quarters in the back,
plenty for the backcountry skiers and snowshoers
who came in the winter. He had a couple scheduled
to arrive tomorrow. Something told him they wouldn’t
be coming.