Accidentally Hers (Sterling Canyon #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

be getting a good workout in the upcoming months. Despite his broad tastes, however, country music had never quite captured his interest.
    “Driver controls the radio, pal. Suck it up.” Ten minutes later, Trip parked the van in the paved lot adjacent to the office building and retrieved the crutches. “Do you need help?”
    “I think I ’ ve got it.” Grey took the crutches and hobbled toward the entrance to the upstairs apartment. The skyrocketing costs of real estate—a downside to the town ’ s popularity—forced him and Trip to bunk up in the small apartment above the office. Not ideal, but the one-flight commute made up for the lack of privacy, at least for now.
    “Damned ice everywhere is a menace.”
    “Can’t live in a ski town without running into snow and ice.”
    “I know.” Grey lumbered up the narrow steps, and his golden lab, Shaman, bounded toward him as he entered the apartment.
    “Whoa, whoa, boy.” Grey struggled to balance himself on the crutches while preventing Shaman from hurting his knee further or knocking him over. He scratched under his dog’s jaw and accepted a sloppy kiss, ignoring the shock of pain piercing his knee. “Good boy. I missed you, too.”
    Shaman ’s tail wagged, but he quickly became distracted when Trip tossed a dog biscuit in the opposite corner.
    Once Shaman settled with his treat, Grey went directly to the sofa. “Hey, Trip, can you grab me a bag of ice?”
    While Trip filled the blue rubber ice bag and got a dishrag, Grey twisted his neck to alleviate the remaining strain in his shoulders.
    Home.
    Better than some places he’d lived, but not particularly warm and cozy. Just a small beige living area, sparsely decorated with used brown leather furnishings and a square oak table with four chairs.
    No drapes. No pictures or paintings. No personality or style.
    Nothing but Shaman’s dog bowls and the Yamaha piano keyboard in the corner to suggest Grey Lowell lived there. He’d lived a nomadic life for so long—always running, as if distance could make him forget her —he’d never accumulated the possessions or normal friendships most other men his age had in their lives.
    At thirty-three, he craved something more, but had neither the time nor money now. Hell. He shoved aside his maudlin thoughts.
    “How’s Jon working out?” Grey laid the towel across his leg and placed the ice bag on top. “He did his first solo gig yesterday, right?”
    “He’s okay. Clients seem to like him.” Trip grimaced, tugging at the brim of his cowboy hat. “Poached him from ski patrol. He likes the tips.”
    “I hate not being able to get out there to check out his skills.” Grey pulled a bag of Dum-Dums out of his jacket pocket and stuck a grape sucker in his mouth.
    “He’s certified, Grey. PSIA, AIARE, yada yada.” Trip sank into the chair across from Grey, removed his cowboy hat and placed it, upside down, on the table.
    “ Certifications don ’t mean shit if the guy doesn’t have the right combo of personality and restraint on the mountain.”
    “He’s seasoned and mature. Available on short notice. Definitely good enough to get us through the rest of ski season.”
    “Every time I think about the extra salary expense, let alone my personal loss in tips, I could strangle Andy Randall.” Grey locked his hands behind his head. “But I appreciate the way you’ve been picking up the slack these past couple of days.”
    “ No problem. But don ’t micromanage the money for the next few months. It’s a setback, but you gotta focus on the big picture. Take a long-range view.” Trip stared at Grey’s sucker and then motioned for one with his hand. Unlike Grey, he immediately began crunching on the candy after shedding the wrapper. “Just get through surgery and start with therapy right away. I’ve heard it takes seven to twelve months before you can ski.”
    “Don’t worry.” Grey pushed up his sleeves and started sifting through the mail on the coffee