As soon as Emily stepped out of the Bozeman, Montana airport, she knew she was wearing the wrong kind of winter gear.  She pulled her thin coat closer to her neck, but it wasn’t enough to stop the frigid, icy fingers of the wind from probing around her neck and the gaps of her sleeves. She had placed fashion above practicality, and now she was paying for it. She hoped that the shuttle bus for the Yellowstone Adventure tour group would be waiting for her as promised. She didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to wait outside.

Emily gripped her suitcase handle and shivering, stepped out from the covered portico of the lodge-style airport into the parking lot. The afternoon sun emitted an anemic heat, but the sky was blue, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. It was strange to see the tall mountain range encircling the city. There were certainly no mountains where she lived in East Texas. The peaks were magnificent, their blue-gray edges dusted with snow. For a moment, she forgot the bone-chilling cold. She turned in a slow circle, taking in the raw power of Big Sky country. She definitely wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

“You here for the Yellowstone tour?” a gravelly voice interrupted her reverie.

Emily spun around too quickly and felt herself tipping in her high-heeled boots.

“Whoa, ma’am. Not too fast. The high altitude takes some gettin’ used to.”

A grizzly, gray haired man in a heavy coat was holding on to her elbow. Once she regained her balance, he let go and extended a calloused hand.

“I’m Pete Barnes, your official Yellowstone tour guide. You must be Emily Tucker from Texas.”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“I sort of guessed you weren’t a local goin’ by your get-up.” He gestured at her entire ensemble.

Emily’s cheeks flushed. “I think I need to go shopping.”

He grinned at her with surprisingly white, even teeth. His blue eyes twinkled. “You won’t be the first tourist to need a change of wardrobe.” He reached for her suitcase. “Let me take this for you, and you can get on the bus where it’s warm. We’re just waiting for one more guest.”

Pete led her toward a bright yellow bus with a raised suspension and rugged tires. Splashed along the sides was a colorful advertisement for Yellowstone Winter Adventures.

“One more thing. The rest of our guests are traveling as couples. That just leaves you and our last guest. I hope you won’t mind pairing up at the park? We only have enough snowmobiles for 10 couples.”

For a moment, Emily was lost for words. She had imagined a solo trip with lots of solitary moments in nature. She hoped that the last guest wouldn’t be obnoxious.

“I suppose,” she finally said, her voice filled with doubt.

“I appreciate your cooperation,” he said with a crooked smile.

The hot air blasting from the heater greeted her as she stepped into the small bus, and she sighed with relief. As she scanned the small bus for an empty seat, she saw that there were only two empty ones at the very back. Smiling and nodding at the other passengers, each one wrapped heavily in a puffy coat, scarf, and hat, she moved self-consciously toward the back row. A quick look at all of the guests told her that she indeed was the only unpaired member of their group, as well as the least warmly dressed. She hoped there was a shop near the hotel. Tonight, the group would be staying in Bozeman, but early in the morning, they would be taken to Yellowstone. She had five glorious days ahead of her of cross country skiing, snowmobiling, and site seeing, and she couldn’t wait. Only two weeks ago she had seen an ad for winter excursions in Yellowstone National Park and on a whim, she had booked this trip. She hoped she wouldn’t regret it. Just the thought of mountains, blankets of snow, wildlife, and pine trees had inspired high hopes of a real, wintery Christmas. She was also ready to test out her new camera. After more than a decade of being a painter, she was hoping to expand her artistic repertoire by giving photography a try. And there’s no better place in the U.S. for wildlife photography than Yellowstone.

Since she was on the back row, Emily decided it would be safe to retouch her lipstick. It wasn’t something she’d usually do in public, but she thought that perhaps she would regain her equilibrium somewhat with a fresh touch-up of her favorite lipstick shade, “Scorched.” Despite its name, her lips, like the rest of her, was certainly not scorched. More “frozen” than anything.

Her train of thought was soon interrupted by the last guest who had finally arrived. From her vantage point, all she could see was a navy ball cap. As the man moved toward the entrance, she got a better look.

Ah, he wears turtlenecks, she thought. She would try not to hold that against him.

When the stranger finally boarded the bus, Emily once again felt heat spread across her cheeks. Now that she had a good view, she found that she could actually forgive him for wearing a turtleneck, and for that matter, any number of other sartorial mistakes. She guessed he was around six feet tall and a little on the thin side, all angles and sharp features, kind of like a young Clint Eastwood. Emily knew her brands, and she could tell that he was expensively dressed from his head to his toes, and his Diesel jeans fit him like a second skin. The aviator shades he wore, however, put her off a little. It made his sculpted face a trifle arrogant. His navy CALink ball cap was pulled down low, but even so, there was no doubt that he was no ordinary mortal. From his square jaw to his dark blonde hair that curled at the nape of his neck, he reminded her of a Greek god in disguise. Every move he made exuded a masculine air of confidence. Something else tickled the back of her mind. There was something familiar about him, too. Maybe when she was able to think straight, she’d be able to put her finger on it.

But, more importantly, he was moving toward her. And the empty seat beside her.

Oh boy, oh boy.

Someday at Christmas