Snow Falling on Bluegrass Read Online Free PDF Page B

knew gave way to this occasionally distant, tongue-tied version.
    As the van bumped along the interstate, I told myself for the twentieth or so time that morning that I couldn’t let my feelings affect my job. I closed my eyes and visualized a weekend spent handling the mundane details I could manage so deftly. I pictured hours of quiet time in my room, resting and restoring a psyche that had been smacked all to heck by Darrell’s dickery, not to mention Charlie’s mood swings. I pictured coming home to a newspaper headline reading LOCAL MAN DARRELL WATTS DIES OF OVEREXPOSURE TO AXE BODY SPRAY .
    â€œWow,” I heard Jacob whisper. I opened my eyes and saw that we were turning off the access road, past the weathered stone Lockwood Lodge sign.
    Nestled in the heart of the heavily wooded Lake Lockwood Nature Preserve, Lockwood Lodge was a four-story, four-hundred-room resort constructed of local granite and timber. As the one who booked the accommodations for the retreat, I spent a lot of time considering our hotel options. Beyond the sturdy “country manor” exterior, I was drawn in by the cozily decorated rooms with their pearly blue walls and queen-size beds covered in blue-checked quilts. The lodge also boasted an eighteen-hole golf course, an indoor/outdoor pool with accompanying spas and saunas, and a stunning view over Lake Lockwood. Even through the tumbling sleet, it promised warmth and comfort.
    I supposed it was too much to hope that I could forage a bottle of champagne and just sit in one of those hot tubs all weekend.
    â€œNice job, Kels,” Josh said, winking at me in the rearview mirror. I grinned back at him, pleased to feel that familiar flutter after a job well done. Charlie nudged me with his elbow and started to wink, but I gave an exaggerated gasp and cradled my side as if I’d been stabbed. “I was wrong, your elbows are bonier than mine .”
    â€œWhen Kelsey is done with her death throes, we can unload the van,” Sadie told us.
    â€œDead people don’t carry their own bags!” I said without opening my eyes.
    Josh tossed a Starbucks napkin at my head. “They do when their bags are the size of coffins.”

    With much leg stretching and griping about oversize luggage, we eventually piled out of the van. The rain was already forming a thick crust of ice over the pavement and the few cars in the parking lot. Sadie was going to have to send the Kentucky meteorological community at large a note of apology for openly mocking their predictions.
    As we dragged our luggage inside the lodge, I couldn’t help but notice how vacant the building was. Our voices practically echoed off the buff-colored cathedral ceilings. The comfy-looking tooled leather club chairs arranged around the huge stone fireplace were vacant. The cozy bar off to the left of the registration desk was quiet and dark, as was the dining room just beyond the glass double doors etched with two leaping white-tailed deer. While the carefully placed furniture and shiny maple floors were immaculately chic, the large room seemed oddly tomblike without the hum of conversation and excited tourists. When I’d booked the reservation, the clerk had warned me that this was considered the lodge’s off-season, but I’d expected a few other guests. The only person I could see was a big piece of tall, dark, and handsome standing behind the front desk.
    Yowza.
    Typically I didn’t go in for the broad-and-burly type, but the way the front desk clerk filled out his long-sleeved green Lockwood Lodge collared shirt was enough to make me change my mind. He wasn’t some gym-built meathead, but he was definitely fit. I imagined he’d built those sinewy arms chopping wood or wrestling bears or something equally manly. He glanced up at our party and my eyebrows rose. Blue-black hair and bright blue-green eyes so clear they reminded me of the ocean? Check. Rough-hewn, craggy features that