Jackson wanted to ask how the hell she planned on tuning out something that was almost the size of the Empire State Building, but she had the door open and was giving him that fixed, formal smile she’d perfected. “Thank you for a lovely evening. I’ll get to work on that proposal.”
* * *
“JESS?” TYLER THUMPED his fist on the door and wondered whether this whole parenting thing would have been easier if he’d had Jess living with him all her life. At least he would have had more practice. “Open this goddamn door right now or I swear to God I’ll break it down and I’ll be patching up the wood with those skis of yours.”
That threat received the same lack of response as the others he’d thrown at her.
Ash and Luna whined as they watched him from the top of the stairs.
“What?” He glared at the dogs. “If you know something, for fuck’s sake tell me.”
He’d started patient. Then patience had given way to manipulation. Turned out he wasn’t above bribery—hell, he’d tried everything from promises of hot chocolate to new skis, but he still couldn’t get the girl to open the door.
She’d been locked in there all afternoon, since he’d arrived back from guiding that group of powder hounds. He’d nipped out for an hour to cut down and deliver the tree to Jackson’s woman from New York on his grandmother’s instructions, and when he’d arrived back Jess had still been in her room.
Tyler planted his hand on the door frame and cursed. “Jess? If something is wrong, just give it to me straight. I can read the weather, I can read the snow, but I sure as hell haven’t ever been able to read a woman’s mind, so cut me some slack, will you?”
Still no answer.
Irritation mingled in with unease.
There was no sound from inside the room. Nothing.
In his experience a quiet woman was a dangerous woman.
Turning the air blue and trying not to think how much extra work this move was going to cost him, Tyler raised his leg and kicked the door hard with his boot.
It flew open and Ash barked loudly, bounding forward to investigate the source of the drama.
The room was empty except for a pile of scrapbooks on the bed.
Wasn’t she too old for scrapbooks?
r /> He flipped one open and saw a picture of himself standing on the podium receiving a medal.
“Shit.” He sank onto the bed and carried on turning the pages until he realized that what he was looking at was basically a chronicle of his life.
Jess had kept a record of his entire skiing career. And there, in the front of the book, were two words written in a childish scrawl.
My dad.
His throat felt scratchy and raw.
He’d thought she didn’t want to be here. He’d thought Janet had poisoned her against him, but the contents of those scrapbooks said otherwise.
He was about to close it when he saw the photograph of the baby.
And he saw something else.
Jess O’Neil.
Not Carpenter. O’Neil.
Unease turned to panic. “Jess? Where are you, sweetheart?” Closing the scrapbooks, he glanced around him, searching for clues. He yanked open doors, wondering if she were hiding. “If this is some sort of game, I’m not close to laughing so just—” He shivered as cold air brushed his skin and saw what he hadn’t immediately seen when he’d walked into the room.
The window was open.
And Jess was gone.