He pulled the snowmobile out of one of the garages and onto the snow-packed lane beyond the driveway. As he revved the engine, my thoughts went to the mountain man who saved me. This man with the layers of outerwear, sunglasses, helmet, and boots wasn’t the Donovan Sherman others knew or could even research. This was the man I loved, wanting to share something new with me.
Our helmets had microphones allowing us to converse.
“Get on the back like you would a motorcycle and hold on tight to me,” Van said.
As I complied, I said, “This is my first time riding a snowmobile.”
Van’s smile flashed over his shoulder as he craned his neck toward me. “You know how I feel about firsts.”
I wrapped my arms around his torso and leaned my body against his when all at once, he hit the accelerator and we took off. I gasped at the speed and the wind against our bodies. Van’s deep laugh calmed me as he weaved us around trees until we came to a wide clearing—a path between trees.
“When the snow is gone,” he said, “this is a lane of sorts. We have four wheelers to drive through here. A truck would make it, but I prefer to keep the large motorized vehicles to a minimum.”
“Where are we going?”
“I want to show you what it’s like to ride on water.”
“Water?”
“Frozen water. The surface is solid, smooth, and wide open. It’s exhilarating.”
My cheeks tingled yet the outerwear was doing its job, keeping me warm as Van whisked us over his property and out onto the vast expanse of Chequamegon Bay. Loose snow scattered behind us much like a long white tail as we glided over the surface.
As the sky above us filled with pink and red hues, our speed decreased, and we headed back toward the shore.
“Do you know where we are?” I asked, hopeful we weren’t lost. Nothing stood out as unique in the picturesque winter scene.
“I do. I’ve spent a lot of time out here.”
“Are we headed home?”
“I have one more stop.”
Nestling close to Van, the roar of the engine soothed me as we made our way on paths between tall trees that I hoped he knew how to navigate. The sun was almost set when we came upon a familiar setting.
“The cabin?” I squinted through the sunglasses and visor as my pulse increased. “There’s light inside.”
“There is,” Van replied.
Soon he had the snowmobile nearly to the small cabin. As he did, an SUV I recognized as Michael’s new vehicle came into view. My pulse returned to normal at the relief of the familiar vehicle. “Michael is here.”
“He is now.”
My arms and legs tingled as Van cut the engine and I lifted myself from the wide seat. “I think I might need a massage.”
After tugging his mittens from his hands, Van removed my helmet and sunglasses. “You won’t need these.”
We stomped the snow from our boots as we neared the cabin.
When Van opened the door, we were met by a gust of warm air filled with the scent of burning pine. A smile lifted my cool cheeks as I took in the fireplace, the woodbin filled with cut logs, and the kitchen table, covered with a tablecloth.
“You did all this?”
“I had help.” His gaze went toward Michael who smiled, nodded, and bid us goodnight.
“Good night?” I looked around. “You want to spend the night out here?”
Van’s palms came to my cheeks. “This is our place, Julia. No one can change that. In two days, we’re going to marry right here in front of the fire. This is where we first made love, where I asked you to marry me, a real proposal. This is our space. Saturday, I want you to feel as comfortable here as you did that very first night.”