Page 7 of Mountain Struggle

Perhaps he doesn’t favor burgundy.

“Uh … Jamie and I had raclette for dinner with your father, then I read him a book before he fell asleep.”

“That kid would eat raclette every day of the week if we let him. That was some good thinking on your part, Tess. Thank you. We’ll make fajitas tomorrow.”

Tess didn’t mean to judge—she knew the man in front of her only missed doing something with his son when he absolutely had to—but she also didn’t want Jamie to be disappointed again.

“Sounds great. I’ll do the shopping in the morning, while Jamie’s at school, and it’ll be a surprise for him in the evening when you get home.”

Damien gave her a sad smile. He was too smart not to realize what she was saying.

“I’m sorry I miss so many things. And I’m sorry you’re having to take up the slack. Maybe you should take a holiday—go somewhere fun. Wherever people your age go nowadays.”

People my age.

Ouch.

Damien was always talking about people her age, as if they were a whole other species, even though she knew there were only ten years between them.

Ten years is not exactly a generation.

“Stop with the guilt trip, Damien. It’s fine. You’re here now, and Jamie is fine. We had fun together, with your father. Have you had anything to eat? There are some leftover vegetables from lunch.”

“No. Thank you, Tess. I’m going to go to bed.”

She liked the intense way he stared directly into her eyes as he spoke with her. For a moment, Tess thought he might be about to say something else—then he closed his mouth and the moment passed. His arm muscles flexed as he took off his jacket.

“Yeah, me too.”

Maybe a cold shower first.

She picked up her book and her cardigan, and left him standing in the middle of his living room.

Chapter 3

Damien

Damien had woken up that morning with his hand down his shorts. It was the sort of thing that used to happen to him in his teens, but not the way he expected to wake up at age thirty-six.

Thankfully, Jamie slept in his own bed all night.

He’d been dreaming of a green, lush garden. It didn’t take Freud to explain that dream to him. He couldn’t stop thinking about Tess. He wondered what she slept in—did she sleep in shorts and a T-shirt? Naked? He could picture her stretched out naked on the Queen-sized bed, all pale and pink except for those burgundy toenails.

He shook his head to clear an image that had no right to be in his head.

He almost hadn’t hired Tess. In that first interview together, when she’d connected the camera, he’d been rendered inarticulate by her fresh beauty. She had green eyes the color of a mountain lake in summer, fine porcelain skin and a mouth that begged to be kissed. He’d wanted to reach into the camera to see if her dark blond hair was as soft as it looked.

He’d been about to end the call, knowing he couldn’t hire someone so beautiful to care for his son, when she’d said something in a funny voice that had made Jamie laugh out loud.

None of the other candidates they’d interviewed, and he and Jamie had taken the job very seriously and had met over a dozen men and women together over a period of two days, had managed anything of the sort. His son was doing well, but he hadn’t seen his mother since she’d left him with Damien when the boy was two years old, and Damien knew he might still be dealing with some abandonment issues.

So Damien had hired Tess, hoping she was simply one of those photogenic people who always looked great on camera—telling himself she was bound to be less attractive in person.

Except she wasn’t, because the camera didn’t do justice to her sunny personality.

She was one of those rare people who brightened every room she walked into. His father, never one to hold his tongue, had told Damien he didn’t understand how someone like Tess could stand living with someone as sour as Damien.

Not that Damien thought of himself as sour. He was serious, yes—and busy—devoted to his job and to his child. There wasn’t room for much else in his life at the moment, but he enjoyed the little things in life as well.