Snowbound Cinderella. Ruth Langan

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      He ran a hand through his hair and realized he was sweating. He hadn’t really left any of it behind. He’d brought it all home with him. And he feared it might remain with him for a lifetime.

      By the time Jace returned to the cabin, Ciara had added a fresh log to the fire and had set her boots nearby to dry.

      As he placed the carton of milk on the counter, she noticed that he had carefully composed his features. But, though he was no longer frowning, there was no warmth in his eyes. Whatever memories he carried, they hadn’t been resolved, she thought. They’d merely been tucked away.

      Like her, he’d come here to be alone—to think, to bleed, to resolve. And then, hopefully, to move on. But like her, he was forced to snatch what little time he could find alone, to do just that. She wished, for both their sakes, that the snow would melt quickly, so that each of them could find the solitude they sought.

      Jace stepped outside and retrieved the rusty generator that he’d hauled from the shed.

      “You have a choice to go with the hot chocolate—” she poured milk into a pan and set it over the fire “—plain toast or cinnamon toast.”

      “That’s it? No sandwiches? No soup?” He closed the cabin door and slipped out of his parka and boots.

      Ciara grinned. “You can have whatever you’d like. As for me, I wouldn’t want to spoil my appetite for that fabulous dinner you’re going to make.”

      “You’re not going to let me forget about that, are you?” He spread newspapers over the floor, then knelt and began disassembling the motor.

      “Not a chance.” She set bread over the coals, turning it often until it was evenly browned on both sides. “After all, it isn’t every day I have a reporter willing to feed me.”

      He glanced over, enjoying the way her hair had escaped from the ponytail to dip provocatively over one eye. “Oh, I bet there are plenty of reporters willing to take you to dinner.”

      “Sure. And they’re all after something. A scoop about a fling with my leading man. A feud with my director. A catfight with some other actress.”

      He couldn’t resist saying, “Not to mention those reporters who would just like to get you into bed.”

      Instead of disagreeing, she surprised him by nodding. “That too. So they can brag about it the next day. You wouldn’t believe how many sharks there are out there who feed on celebrities.”

      At the tone of her voice he looked up. “Sounds like you’ve been bitten a time or two.”

      “Oh, yeah. I’ve been bitten. But I’ll never give them the satisfaction of seeing me bleed.”

      “So you came up here to bleed in private.”

      “Yeah.” She thought about it a minute. “I guess I did.” She looked over. “How about you? Any blood left in those veins?”

      “Very little. I practically bled to death before I made it here.”

      She was surprised, and more than a little touched, by his admission. It had to be difficult for a very private man like Jace Lockhart, who wasn’t accustomed to sharing much of his life with others.

      “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

      He nodded. “The walking wounded.”

      She crossed the room and knelt beside him, placing the toast and hot chocolate on a tray between them. She nodded toward the generator. “Do you really think you can fix that thing?”

      He shrugged. “I’ve never thought of myself as a mechanic. But in a jam, I’ve been forced to repair a motorcycle engine, a truck’s driveshaft, and the broken wires on my sound equipment. Not to mention the time I had to defuse a bomb.”

      “A…bomb?” Her hand went to her throat. “Where?”

      “Myelinore. A town so small it isn’t even on a map. I was following the trail of a group of terrorists who had blown up a U.N. truck and had taken a survivor as hostage.”

      “Why?”

      “Because they wanted to get world attention.”

      “No. I meant, why did you follow them? Why didn’t you just report the incident and let somebody else do the tracking?”

      “Oh.” He gave that quick grin that always did strange things to her heart. “I was the only one around. If I hadn’t followed them, they’d have gotten clean away. And the man they’d taken hostage was a friend of mine who had a wonderful wife in Paris, along with two small children. I figured I’d never be able to face Monique and her kids if I didn’t do all I could to save Henri.”

      “And did you? Save him?”

      “Yeah. After nearly getting us both killed. When the terrorists left him bound and gagged in a deserted house, I broke in, thinking I’d just untie him and we’d slip away. But the terrorists had very cleverly booby-trapped the place before they left. There wasn’t enough time to escape, so I had to figure out which wire to cut or we’d both have ended up like that rabbit with the hawk.”

      Ciara shivered. It occurred to her that the danger she’d sensed about Jace Lockhart was very real.

      “Weren’t you scared to death?”

      “There wasn’t time to think about being scared. I did what I had to.”

      I did what I had to. Those words triggered a memory of her childhood. She’d once asked her mother how she had kept going, when she’d found herself alone with six children depending on her. And her mother had said, I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself, honey. I just did what I had to.

      Ciara shook aside the eerie feeling, to concentrate on Jace. “After you’d freed Henri, and had escaped the booby-trapped house, what did you do?”

      “We ran as far and as fast as we could, and hid in the forest until we could make our way back to safety.”

      “Did you ever go back to that town? Myelinore?”

      “There was nothing to go back to. When the terrorists were done, they’d blown it clean away. The few buildings that remained were empty. All the residents had fled.”

      Ciara’s voice lowered. “And Henri?”

      Jace smiled then, and she could see in his eyes a sense of satisfaction. “He went back home. To Monique and his kids. The last I heard, he was serving as an advisor to the U.N. team in Paris. And living quietly in a cozy cottage in the country.” He bit into the toast and shot her a look. “Hey, this is good.”

      “Of course it is.” She sipped her chocolate, still reeling from all the things he’d told her. His life was so different from anyone else’s she’d ever known. And so far removed from her life in Hollywood that she couldn’t even begin to imagine it. “Why does it surprise you that I can cook?”

      “I didn’t expect you to be handy in the kitchen.”

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