Page 19 of Mountain Target

Beau started shaking his head no—because his knee and his head were killing him, and because it was a fucking dreadful idea.

Then he caught Valentina’s gaze behind the girl. There was something hopeful, and at the same time desperate, in her gaze. Not the desire he’s seen earlier—this was something else, something that had nothing to do with him at all, and everything to do with the girl.

“Of course he can. Please stay.”

There was so much love and so much hope in Valentina’s expression, Beau couldn’t refuse.

“I’d love to, thank you,” he finally said.

Valentina’s relieved sigh was all he needed to know he’d made the right decision.

Valentina

Val pulled on her oven mitts, inhaling the fragrant scent of chicken slowly braised in dry apple cider.

Mmmm …

The earthy smell alone was enough to transport her back to her childhood.

She hit it with a splash of cream, then placed it back in the oven for those last few minutes while she heated up the instant mashed potatoes.

Behind her, Ren began tidying the books spread all over the dining table.

Val smiled. It was probably the first time that she hadn’t had to insist for Ren to clear the table. Most of the time, Val ended up doing it herself.

Though Val wasn’t by any means a neat freak, the mess Ren could make when her backpack exploded onto the dining table was something Val was still getting used to. For someone so slim, the girl had a real tendency to take up as much space as was made available.

“I remember reading this book in school,” Beau said in his deep voice. “I liked it. But it’s not my favorite book by the author.”

“Really?” Ren asked, and there was something of hero worship in her tone now. Val smiled again. Her neighbor had hit the jackpot with that one. “I have lots of her books. I’ll show you.”

“Can I help with anything?” Beau asked, coming up behind Val. She felt a shudder run through her at his proximity. He even smelled good.

“I’ve got it. It’s almost ready.” She lowered her voice. “Thank you for staying.”

She wasn’t sure he understood what she was really thanking him for.

He almost said no.

She’d seen it in his eyes. He was about to say no. Then he’d blinked. A soft, almost tender look had crossed his gruff face—and he’d ended up saying yes instead.

And bringing that smile to Ren’s face.

Then Ren was back, half-hidden behind an armful of books. Beau took the books from her and sifted through them carefully.

“This one,” he said. “This one’s my favorite.”

As soon as the mashed potatoes were ready, they sat down to eat.

The chicken was okay, because it was impossible to mess up this creamy, earthy one-pot dish, but the side dishes were all wrong, the instant mashed potatoes flaky rather than creamy, the peas mushy rather than crisp.

The perfectionist in Val riled at this failure, telling her she should have cooked both from scratch instead of going for the canned and instant versions. But she’d saved up every spare second of her day just to be able to come up with this dinner, mediocre as it was.

Beau hardly looked at Val during the meal, except to say the chicken was delicious. His full, undivided attention was on Ren—and darned if Ren wasn’t soaking up the attention. His deep voice was gentler, softer, when he spoke with Ren, and Val’s heart filled with gratitude as she listened to Ren ask questions—about Beau’s job, about his team, about the town—talking more over the course of one dinner than she’d talked since she’d arrived in Chamonix.

It was perhaps all the more glaring because Ren hadn’t asked any questions of Val—as if by not asking questions, she could avoid the reality, that this was where she lived now.

“Have you or your team ever gotten hurt?”