Numbers and text scrambled in the gray-white glare of the computer screen despite the intentionally enlarged font. His hand balled into a fist, but he stopped short of punching the keyboard, mostly because he couldn’t afford to waste seventy-five bucks on a new one.

Unfortunately, spreadsheets and insurance forms had become a permanent part of his life. Sighing, he stuffed another grape Tootsie Pop in his mouth and, after making a final entry, he then stowed his tips in the petty cash box.

Grey raked his hand through the heavy bangs hanging over his eyes. The vinyl office chair squeaked as he leaned back and stretched his legs. Smiling to himself, he scanned the small, windowless back office. Some might balk at the stark, dingy room, decorated with ugly metal file cabinets and a worn wooden desk with sticking drawers, but not Grey.

It may be ugly, but it was all his, thanks to an inheritance from his grandfather and the fortunate timing of meeting Bill Batton just when the man wanted to sell his business.

Now Grey owned a small commercial property, a bunch of equipment, and an exclusive U.S. Forest Service special-use permit to lead guided tours on certain acreage in the San Juan National Forest. Failure was not an option, and not just because he refused to prove his dad right by losing everything.

His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten any real food since the two bananas he’d wolfed down hours earlier. He called in a take-out sushi order, grabbed his coat, and jumped on his mountain bike.

Overhead, the gray clouds swelled, obstructing the moonlight and stars. As he biked the several blocks to Plum Tree restaurant, he smelled the pungent mineral zing of the impending late-February blizzard.

Along the way, he surveyed the late-nineteenth-century, brick-and-clapboard Victorian buildings while navigating spotty patches of ice. The old silver-mining town, declared a historic district in its entirety, had grown into a premier winter-resort community since the early seventies. Despite its similarities to his hometown near Lake Tahoe, this resort didn’t suffocate him with sad memories.

Grey leaned his bike against an obliging tree and entered Plum Tree. While waiting for his order, he wandered over to the sushi bar to watch the itamae prepare futomaki. The chef’s precision with the knife held Grey’s focus until a bright, feminine laugh—almost a giggle—snagged his attention.

He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the enticing voice, to where a cute brunette was relaying a story to her friends. In a town filled with faded denim and muted, earth-tone pullovers, she stood out like a bowl of rainbow sherbet.

A neon-pink coat draped the back of her chair, and a snug canary-yellow sweater hugged her sweet curves. Her pin-straight hair, the color of milk chocolate, hung down to her shoulders. Dimples became more pronounced when she laughed. Her hands gestured wildly then covered her eyes as she shook her head in the middle of her story.

Her vitality stood out in the middle of the crowded restaurant, entrancing him. The energy she exuded reached across the room and tugged at his gut and his groin. He noticed little details like the absence of makeup and jewelry, though from a distance he couldn’t make out whether her eyes were blue or green. They were sparkling and round and faintly curled upward at their outer edges and—oh shit—she just met his unflinching gaze.

Apparently stunned by his boldness, her doe-shaped eyes blinked three times in rapid succession.

Bambi.

Usually it took him a while to choose someone’s nickname, but this one leapt to mind before he’d even had a chance to introduce himself. In any case, she didn’t look away. Bambi might’ve been startled at first, but clearly she had confidence.

As if he weren’t turned on enough.

She’d already busted him gaping at her, so he might as well make the most of the opportunity. He held her stare and winked, feeling pretty good about the fact she hadn’t averted her eyes. Then her two friends turned toward him and he recognized Kelsey Callihan. Hell. Grounded before takeoff.

Kelsey had seemed like a normal girl when he’d met her last month. ’Course, he’d been drinking with Trip that night. He must’ve been temporarily blinded by her sex appeal when he kissed her in the back of the pub before heading home alone.

Since then, she’d sent him several texts and somehow managed to regularly bump into him in town. Granted, in a town of barely twenty-two hundred full-time residents, bumping into folks wasn’t uncommon. Still, Kelsey screamed needy.

Grey didn’t do needy.

Maybe the fact she appeared to be friends with Bambi was a sign. Getting Backtrax to thrive remained his priority. He couldn’t afford romantic complications, and despite her appeal, Bambi had complication written all over her.

“Your order’s finished,” called the cashier.

Grey nodded at the table of attractive women with a half smile then quickly paid his tab and strode out the door. As he unlocked his bike, he stole a final peek through the window, but only caught a glimpse of Bambi’s back. The three girls were leaning into the center of the table, probably listening to Kelsey’s tales about him.

Yeah, no doubt she was cock-blocking him.

Grey shook off the sexual buzz still gripping his body and hopped on his bike. Yet Bambi’s vibrant laugh and animated face kept looping through his thoughts, tying him up in a way he hadn’t felt in more than a decade.

A lifetime ago.

Bittersweet memories doused his libido and diverted his thoughts. He hand-signaled a left at the intersection of South Coyote, vaguely registering the shouts coming from a group of pedestrians. When he saw the car careening toward him, he wrenched his handlebars toward the sidewalk.

The driver swerved, but the car’s rear fender struck the back wheel of Grey’s bike, flinging him into the air. A God-awful crashing sound from across the street punched the air before Grey hit the pavement. He landed in a twisted heap on the road, popping his knee.

Shock seized his muscles and thoughts. Am I dead? Paralyzed? He wiggled his toes and fingers. Sweet relief gushed through him despite feeling like his knee had snapped out of place. He winced before looking down at his leg, expecting to see blood and bone poking through his jeans. Even just that slight movement sent fifty knives slicing through his side. Motherfucker. Had he broken some ribs, too?

Distant shouts and icy snow slowly assaulted his senses. Between shallow breaths, he twisted his neck to search for the car, which was now wrapped around a metal lamppost on the opposite side of the street, steam rising from its engine. The crumpled vehicle didn’t bode well for the driver.

Several pedestrians began running toward him and the car. Some were calling 9-1-1. Others were snapping photos. Assholes.

Pain, hunger, and chaos mingled together. A wave of nausea roiled in his stomach as he removed his cracked bike helmet. He closed his eyes to clear his light-headedness. Goddammit to hell, a knee injury meant big trouble for him and Backtrax. Grey stole a second look at the car, but still didn’t see the driver emerge.

Unbe-fucking-lievably bad luck—for both of them.

The prickly imprint of attraction lingered on Avery’s skin after the gorgeous man left the restaurant. No, not gorgeous. Sexy. An incredibly sexy man whose two-day stubble covered his jaw, surrounding sensual, full lips. Whose disheveled, walnut-colored hair called out to be touched. Whose gaze—intense, steely-gray eyes fringed with long lashes and hooded under straight brows—had burrowed inside her body, making her hot and restless.