Snow Angels

By Sabrina York

The last thing Wade Masters wants on his month-long getaway to his sister’s wilderness cabin is company. A wounded warrior, Wade is looking for complete isolation to deal with the tragedy of his life and his screaming guilt.

But company he gets, in the form of Lyssa Salk, a spunky, diminutive massage therapist, who says she can talk to dead people.

Trapped together in the snowbound cabin with his dog and her cat, Wade and Lyssa have little else to do but help each other heal, spiritually, physically, and sexually.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Decadent Publishing
• Release date: Dec 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781613336724

Sabrina York

Sabrina York is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous romance. Her titles—Contemporary, Historical and paranormal—range from sweet & sexy to scorching romance. Her awards include: 2018 Holt Medallion, 2017 RITA Nominee, and 2017 NERFA.She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband of 30+ years and a very drooly Rottweiler.Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Snow Angels

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 by Sabrina York

ISBN: 978-1-61333-672-4

Cover art by Mina Carter

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

Look for us online at:

www.decadentpublishing.com

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~Dedication~

This book is dedicated to Alyssa, the Coffee Goddess who kept me awake while I wrote this. And to Kate, for asking.

Chapter One

The rhythmic pound of each step resonated through him and exhilaration flared. Wade Masters didn’t slow his pace as a thick branch rose before him. He ducked beneath it and plowed on, running through the woods, dodging snow-covered scrub, and leaping over ice-crusted streams.

He hurdled over a fallen log and landed at an awkward angle. A scorching pain lanced through his hip, but he ignored it and increased his pace. He was familiar with pain. The way to fight it was to ignore it. Push it down. Press on.

He focused on the pleasure instead. The pleasure of the moment. Of his pulse thrumming in his veins, his muscles toned and tight and surging with oxygenated blood, and every corpuscle tingling, singing with life.

Running. It was the only time he felt alive.

His breath huffed out in frosty clouds. The crunch of each footfall on the frosted earth echoed against the hush. His heart pounded in his ears. The peace of this place, the isolation, the wildness, fed something in his soul.

A shaft of sunlight slanted through the denuded branches in the canopy, hitting the banks of snow in a glittering rainbow of color. Dancing diamonds. He was tempted to stop and stare, but couldn’t. Dusk was falling, and he was only halfway through his circuit.

He knew he was probably pushing too hard, too soon. But he couldn’t resist. He needed this. This affirmation.

Running hard—until sweat beaded his brow and trickled down his back, until his muscles ached and his lungs burned—was a true delight. A miracle for a man who’d been told he would never walk again.

The sharp ache in his hip pinged once more, and he had to slow. But he didn’t stop. He would never stop. If he stopped running, the past might catch up.

For a moment, memories crowded in. The resounding blast. Screams. Agony. Guilt…. A dark shadow whipped across his path, distracting him, and he grinned. Did you find me, boy?

Bo glanced up at him, tongue lolling and froth flecking his mouth. Bo loved to run, too. Though his gait was a little uneven, a little slower than it once had been. But even missing one of his front legs, the shepherd could keep pace with any man.

It was amazing how quickly dogs could adapt to a severe loss.

People…not so much.

The trees broke to an open meadow—the last stretch of his familiar run. A flicker of regret lanced through him. It was almost over.

He didn’t want to go back. Didn’t want to sequester himself in his sister’s cabin, alone with his ghosts.

Maybe coming here hadn’t been a good idea, but Wade had needed to escape—and not just the dark reaches of his soul or the lingering horror of loss. At the request of his friend Leo, he’d agreed to do a calendar shoot to benefit wounded warriors. He figured it was the least he could do in memory of Sam and Kip. He’d never expected the response.

As soon as the calendar had come out, his quiet life had shattered. Women had emerged from the woodwork. They had stopped him at the coffee shop, stalked him online, and proposed in restaurants, for Christ’s sake. Women of all sizes, all ages, all kinds of backgrounds. Most of them were sweet, but some were downright crazy. One woman had followed him into the men’s room at Casey’s Bar. Into the bathroom. She had peeped over the stall while he was in the middle of…something. It had been mortifying. Another had discovered his address and greeted him when he came home one evening. She was wearing nothing but a smile. And in his bed.

He didn’t even want to think about the dental assistant….

Had he been whole, he would have reveled in it. Well, except for the bat-shit crazy ones. What warm-blooded man wouldn’t?

But he wasn’t whole.

And the last thing he wanted, or needed, was a woman.

God knew he didn’t deserve that privilege. Not after the way he’d failed in his last relationship.

So when December rolled around, and the cacophony reached zombie apocalypse proportions, he’d asked his sister to let him hide here in her cabin in the Cascade Mountains. No woman in her right mind would make the trek up the remote track. No Google search could find this place.

Perched in an isolated valley with a poorly maintained access road and no neighbors for miles, this place was exactly the refuge he needed. The only connection with the outside world was an old ham radio that hadn’t been used since Val’s husband had died.

Val hadn’t been enthusiastic about the idea—she had a tendency to worry about him. She’d nibbled her lip and studied him with that annoying expression. He’d been certain she would refuse outright. But she hadn’t. She’d simply tossed him the keys and told him to be home by Christmas. The relief had pole-axed him.

Wade slowed his pace as the cabin came into view. He focused on the bliss of the endorphins he’d awakened, already dreading the sharp slide he knew was coming when they wore off.

He transitioned into a jog and then into a walk. Bo shadowed him, as though he knew how important the cool down could be in keeping the inevitable pain at bay. If his muscles locked up, Wade would be paralyzed by it.

Nothing horrified him more than the thought…the memory, of not being able to move.

By the time he stepped onto the porch, he knew he’d overdone it. Shivers flicked his nerve endings, the ones that would never quiet. A shard of prescience—the coming migraine—snaked up his spine and nested at the base of his skull. His gait, no longer fluid and swift, became labored.

Holding onto the back of the old sofa, he made his way to the kitchen and pulled two bottles from the shelf. He opened his first and tipped one pill onto