The opening sequence showed the mountain on a bluebird day, the peaks stark against the crisp sky. The broad panorama narrowed, homing in on a grove of birch trees. There was a panning shot of a deer, its head turned toward the camera, eyes alert with caution, before it turned and fled over the crest of the ridge, tail flipped up to show its white underside. The movement startled a brown-and-white hawk into sudden flight. Almost simultaneously, the scene dissolved into a sequence of a snowboarder exploding straight up into the sky as though shot from a cannon. A trail of sunlit snow sparkled in her wake; then she landed in a spray of knee-deep powder, then floated along through a forest glade.

“That’s Darcy, by the way,” India told her parents.

“The snowboarder?” her mother asked. “Heavenly days, really?”

“She’s good, huh?” India said.

“Good” did not begin to cover it. She was phenomenal, gliding through the snowy wilderness as if, for her, gravity was optional. She embodied everything a snow sport should be—fun and colorful, graceful and exhilarating. Saddle Mountain had never looked better.

At the conclusion of the presentation, Bilski leaned over to China and said, “Let’s take snowboard lessons.”

“Better yet,” said China, “let’s go shopping for all that cool gear.”

“My client would love to hear that,” Darcy said.

“The resort looks lovely,” said Logan’s mother. “I’m glad we’re here for the holidays. Truly.”

“Thanks, Mom. It’s going to be great, you’ll see,” Logan promised her. “It’s going to be awesome.”

“I hope those weren’t my brother’s famous last words,” said India after the parents had gone to bed.

Darcy, who was with her in the kitchen washing up the Irish coffee mugs, asked, “What, does disaster follow him?”

India chuckled. “I guess we’ll find out.” She reached for a glass jar and took off the top. “Christmas cookie?”

“Thanks.” Darcy helped herself. It was cut out in the shape of a gingerbread man, though it was missing a limb and had only one cinnamon candy eye. The red-and-white icing resembled bloody bandages.

“Those are the Walking Dead Christmas cookies,” said Logan, carrying a few more dishes into the kitchen. “The kids and I made them.”

Darcy took a bite. “Oh my gosh. This might be the best cookie I ever ate.”

“I bet you say that to all the guys.”

“I swear, I’ve never said that to a guy in my life.”

“He’s good, too, huh?” said India.

Darcy savored another bite. The cookie was tender and delicately spiced. It tasted exactly like Christmas. “I think he knows it.”

“He doesn’t mind hearing people say so.” Logan dimmed the kitchen lights and switched on the yard lights.

She gazed out the big picture window of the kitchen while polishing off the cookie. “It’s snowing again,” she whispered.