She’d whipped a tablet computer out of her bag and made endless notes as they talked.
The landscape was dotted with red barns and white-steepled country churches and the late-afternoon sun sent a wash of light over breathtakingly beautiful forests turned white by snow. The view caught him in the gut. He’d traveled the world, but in his opinion there was nowhere more beautiful. Expecting some comment from her, he glanced sideways and saw that her head was bent, her attention focused on the screen on her lap.
“You’re missing the sunset.”
“Mmm?” She glanced up and her expression changed. “Oh! That’s stunning.”
And Jackson realized her lack of response had nothing to do with indifference. She simply hadn’t noticed. But she was noticing now, her eyes fixed on the snowcapped mountains that rose in the distance. “I can see why people choose to visit. It’s beautiful. And relaxing.”
For a person who knew how to relax, he thought, and that person was definitely not Kayla Green.
There was an almost-feverish energy about her, and already her head was back down, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she made more notes for herself.
She fascinated him.
“Where do you normally take your vacations?”
“I haven’t taken a vacation in three years. I’m not good at vacations. But I’m good at knowing what other people enjoy—” she gave him a quick smile “—so don’t start panicking about my ability to do the work.”
He wondered what she’d say if she knew he hadn’t thought about work since she’d climbed into his car.
They drove through villages, over covered bridges, past pretty clapboard homesteads and local stores. Doors were decorated with fresh evergreen wreaths and windows strung with sparkling lights and Christmas decorations.
Kayla alternated between looking at the screen and the gentle rise of the mountains, their snowy tops turning pink under the setting sun.
“That’s part of the ski area?”
“Yes. See the mountains to the far right?” He gestured. “You’re looking toward Stowe, home of the Front Four, some of the steepest and most difficult runs in the Northeast. And we have our share of steep in the mountains above Snow Crystal. The names are designed to make you think twice before getting off the lift—Devil’s Gully and Scream being two of them.”
“Scream? I think I could do that bit.” She turned her head as they passed a sign by the side of the road. “Moose Crossing? How do the moose know they’re supposed to cross there?”
Jackson laughed. “It’s a warning to drivers that this is an area where moose are often spotted. You have to be particularly careful when driving at night. Moose have long legs. If you hit one, the likely scenario is that the moose comes through your windshield, and if that happens you might not live to tell the tale.”
“That’s one fact I don’t recommend using in any marketing campaign.”
“You might be surprised. Tourists love spotting moose.”
“Really? I’ve only ever seen one in a picture. I think I might want to keep it that way.”
As they drew closer to Snow Crystal, Jackson lifted his hand in greeting to the people they passed, and she raised her eyebrows.
“You know everyone?”
“Small community. Everyone knows everyone. I’m talking about the locals, obviously. The population swells by a few thousand tourists all year round.” He turned the wheel and eased carefully into the long road that twisted and turned through the forest toward the lake. “Where did you grow up? I’m guessing not in the country.”
“London.” It was a typically brief answer and Jackson wondered whether it was because she didn’t want to talk about herself or because she was careful to always focus on the client.
They passed the sign for Snow Crystal and she tilted her head. “Someone built a snowman.”
“Favorite activity for kids around here.”
She studied the carefully sculpted snow and the twig arms and mouth. “Was it yours?”
“Mine was stuffing snow down my brothers’ necks and then running like hell before they could retaliate. We were more into destroying than creating.”
“I suppose that’s what happens when you have three boys. Tell me about your other brother.”
“Sean? He’s an orthopedic surgeon. I take credit for that choice....” He slowed as the surface became more uneven. “I broke my arm snowboarding when I was seven. Ran into a tree. Instead of running for help he stood there staring at the bone sticking out.”