“I am not going to sleep on a couch.” Then my head jerked and I asked, “Duchess?”

“My couch is comfortable and beggars can’t be chosers.”

I let that slide and repeated, “Duchess?”

He threw his other hand out, his gaze drifting the length of me as he said, “Fancy-ass clothes, fancy-ass purse, fancy-ass boots, fancy-ass accent.” His eyes came to my face and he finished firmly. “Duchess.”

“I’m American!” I shouted.

“Right,” he replied.

“They don’t have duchesses in America,” I educated him.

“Well, that’s the truth.”

Why was I explaining about aristocracy? I returned to target.

“Let go!” I shouted again.

He completely ignored me shouting and looked into the boot.

Then he asked what I thought was insanely, “Groceries?”

“Yes,” I snapped, “I bought them in Denver.”

He looked at me and grinned again and again I thought it was insanely before he muttered, “Rookie mistake.”

“Would you let go so I can close the boot and be on my way?”

“Boot?”

“Trunk!”

“English.”

I think at that point I might have growled but being as I was alarmed at seeing only red, I didn’t really take note.

“Mr…” I hesitated then said, “whoever-you-are –”

“Max.”

“Mr. Max –”

“No, just Max.”

I leaned toward him and snapped, “Whatever,” then demanded, “Let go of the car.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” I bit out. “Seriously. Let. Go. Of. The. Car.”

He let go of the car and said, “Suit yourself.”

“It would suit me if I could travel back in time and not click ‘book now’ on that stupid webpage,” I muttered as I slammed the boot and stomped to the driver’s side door. “Idyllic A-Frame in the Colorado Mountains, not even bloody close. More like Your Worst Snowstorm Nightmare in the Colorado Mountains.”

I was in the car and had slammed the door but I was pretty certain before I did it I heard him chuckling.

Even angry, I wasn’t stupid and I carefully reversed out of his drive, probably looking like a granny driver and I didn’t care. I wanted out of his sight, away from the glorious yet denied A-Frame and in closer proximity to a bed which I could actually sleep in and I didn’t want that bed to be in a hospital.

I turned out of his drive and drove a lot faster (but still not very fast) and I kept driving and I didn’t once look into my mirrors to see the lost A-Frame.

Adrenalin was still rushing through my system and I was still angry as I think I’d ever been when I was what I figured was close to the main road but I couldn’t be sure and I hit a patch of snow shrouded ice, lost control of the rental and slid into a ditch.

When my heart stopped tripping over itself and the lump in my throat stopped threatening to kill me, I looked at the snow in front of my car and mumbled, “Beautiful.” Then I went on to mumble, “Brilliant.”

Then I burst out crying.

***

I woke up or at least I think I woke up.

I could see brightness, a lot of it, and a soft, beige pillowcase.

But my eyeballs felt like they were three times their normal size. My eyelids actually felt swollen. My head felt stuffed with cotton wool. My ears felt funny like they were tunnels big enough to fit a train through. My throat hurt like hell. And lastly, my body felt leaden like it would take every effort just to move an inch.

I made that effort and managed to get up on a forearm. Then I made more of an effort and pulled my hair out of my eyes.

What I saw was a bright, sun-shiny day out of the top of an A-Frame window through a railing. I could see snow and lots of it, and pine trees and lots of those too. If I didn’t feel so terrible, I would have realized how beautiful it was.

Cautiously, because my stuffed up head was also swimming, I looked around and saw the loft bedroom from the A-Frame website.

“I’m dreaming,” I muttered, my voice was raspy and speaking made my throat hurt.

I also needed to use the bathroom which I could see the door leading to one in front of me.

I used more of my waning energy to swing my legs over the bed, I stood up and swayed mainly because, I was realizing, I was sick as a dog. Then I swayed again as I looked down at myself.

I was in a man’s t-shirt, huge, red, or it was at one time in its history. Now it was a washed out red. On the left chest it had a cartoon-like graphic of what looked like a man with crazy hair, madly playing a piano over which the words “My Brother’s Bar” were displayed in an arch.

I opened up the collar to the shirt, peered through it and stared at my naked body, save my still in place panties.

I let the collar go and whispered, “Oh my God.”

Something had happened.

The last thing I remembered was bedding down in the backseat of the rental having covered myself with sweaters and hoping someone would happen onto me somewhat early in the morning.

I’d tried unsuccessfully to get the car out of the ditch and, exhausted and not feeling all that well, I’d given up. I’d decided against walking in an unknown area to try to find the main road or happen onto someone who might just be stupid enough to be driving in a blinding snowstorm. Instead, I was going to wait it out.

I also suspected that I’d never get to sleep not in a car, in a ditch, in a snowstorm after a showdown with an unfriendly but insanely attractive man. So I took some night-time cough medicine hoping to beat back the cold which was threatening, covered myself with sweaters and bedded down in the backseat.

Apparently, I had no trouble getting to sleep.

Now I was here.

Back at the A-Frame.

In nothing but panties and a man’s t-shirt.

Maybe this was My Worst Snowstorm Nightmare in the Colorado Mountains. Weird things happened to women who travelled alone, weird things that meant they were never seen again.

And this was all my fault. I wanted a timeout from my life. I wanted an adventure.

I thought maybe I should make a run for it. The problem was, I was sick as a dog and I had to go the bathroom.

I decided bathroom first, create strategy to get out of my personal horror movie second.

When I’d used the facilities (the bathroom, drat it, was fabulous, just like in the photos) and washed my hands, I walked out to see Unfriendly, Amazing-Looking Man, otherwise known as Max, ascending the spiral staircase.

Like every stupid, senseless, idiotic heroine in a horror movie, I froze and I vowed if I got out of there alive I’d never make fun of another stupid, senseless, idiotic heroine in a horror movie again which I did, every time I watched a horror movie.

He walked into the room and looked at me.

“You’re awake,” he noted.

“Yes,” I replied cautiously.

He looked at the bed then at me. “Called Triple A, they’re gonna come up, pull out your car.”

“Okay.”

His head tipped to the side, he studied my face and he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“You don’t look too good.”

Immediately a different, stupid, senseless, idiotic feminine trait reared its ugly head and I took affront.

“Thanks,” I snapped sarcastically.

His lips tipped up at the ends and he took a step toward me.

I took a step back.

He stopped, his brows twitching at my retreat then said, “I mean, you don’t look like you feel well.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” I lied.

“And you don’t sound like you feel well.”

“This is how I sound normally,” I lied yet again.

“It isn’t how you sounded last night.”

“It’s morning, I just woke up. This is my waking up voice.”

“Your waking up voice sounds like you’ve got a sore throat and stuffed nose?”

I kept lying. “I have allergies.”

He looked out the windows then at me. “In snow?” I looked out the windows too and when he continued speaking I looked back at him. “Nothin’ alive in the ice out there that’ll mess with your allergies, Duchess.”

I decided to change the topic of conversation however I was becoming slightly concerned that I was getting lightheaded.

“How did I get here?” I asked him.

His head tipped to the side again and he asked back, “What?”

I pointed to myself and said, “Me,” then pointed to the floor, “here. How did get here?”

He looked at the floor I was pointing to, shook his head and muttered, “Shit.” Then he looked back at me and said, “You were out. Never saw anything like it. Figured you were fakin’.”

“I’m sorry?”

He took another step toward me and I took another step back. He stopped again, looked at my feet and then for some reason grinned. Then he looked back at me.

“I waited awhile, called the hotel to see if you’d checked in. They said no. I called a couple others. They said no too. So I went after you, thinkin’ maybe you got yourself into trouble. You did. I found your car in a ditch, you asleep in the back. I brought you and your shit to the house. You were out like a light, dead weight.” His torso twisted and he pointed to my suitcase which was on a comfortable looking armchair across the room then he twisted back to me. “Put you to bed, slept on the couch.”

I was definitely getting lightheaded, not only because of being sick but also because of what he just said. Therefore, in order not to fall down and make a right prat of myself, I skirted him, walked to the bed and sat down or, if I was honest, more like slumped down.

Then I looked up at him and asked, “You put me to bed?”