Sweet Dawn

A slow-burn, forced proximity romance full of heartwarming tenderness, humor, and raw passion.

It was Thanksgiving weekend, 1987.

Tim Wilson was hoping for excitement—a thrilling ski trip to escape his lonely life. But disaster strikes, leaving him stranded in a remote mountain cabin with Nate Calhoun, a charismatic jock who seems to have it all: money, charm, and a boasting confidence that only highlights Tim’s insecurities.

Meanwhile, Nate’s exterior hides a life of suffocating expectations. As the star of his college football team, he’s surrounded by teammates who would destroy him if they learned the truth. Worse, he’s controlled by a powerful father who leaves no room for defiance and has no tolerance for gay men.

Both men harbor the same secret, and the risks of revealing it are staggering.

With nowhere to run and no way to hide, their isolation forces them to confront their fears, their desires, and each other. Sweet Dawn is a quiet, character-driven love story about the courage to stop hiding and the beauty of finding someone who sees you.

The first in a three-book series—can be read as a stand-alone.

Chapter 1

Devil’s Run - Tim

Wyoming, 1987

This Thanksgiving was going to be different. The good kind of different. Not like last year’s disaster. Then again, anything would be better than last year’s drama.

I shook the thought away. No need to dredge up old wounds while I was on the world's longest ski lift, staring down at Devil’s Run. It was the gnarliest ski slope in the country, with jagged twists and curves that snaked between two famous and majestic peaks known as the Devil’s Horns.

I inhaled deeply, the delightfully crisp mountain air filling my lungs. If I had to spend my first Thanksgiving away from home, this was the way to do it. The only thing that could have made the trip better was if I had a handsome man with me.

Like that would ever happen. I didn’t even know where to find other gay men, and I wasn’t out, so the odds of one finding me were slim to none. I had about as much of a chance at landing a handsome man as I had of the ski lift landing on the moon.

No. No. That was too negative, too defeatist. I needed to have a more positive outlook. It could happen. Someday. Maybe.

At the moment, though, all I had by my side was a woman from the tour group, yammering on and on about the color of the bathroom towels in her suite. Probably learned helplessness—not that I needed to be psychoanalyzing strangers while on vacation. The whole point was to get away from everything, including my psych classes. So I pretended the drone of the lift drowned her out. I also studiously ignored her swinging skis despite that I feared she might clip me in the ankle at any second due to her carelessness.

No, instead of paying attention to all that nonsense, I marveled at the breathtaking mountains blanketed in snow-laden evergreens that shimmered under the midday sunlight.

Before long, the ride was over—and it didn’t land on the moon. I hopped off the lift and turned toward the slope, glancing at my tour group huddled at the far end of the lift. They surrounded a skier in a green-on-green camo ski suit, an interesting, if not odd, choice. Our tour guide? Maybe. Whoever he was, he had their attention, and he must have been witty, as they were all engaged and laughing.

Good for them. I had a mountain to ski.

So I turned in the other direction and positioned myself at the top of the slope. Wind nipped at my cheeks, and my breath formed clouds as I steadied myself and took in the white expanse before me.

This was it. The run I’d dreamed of for years. I lowered my goggles, dug in my posts, and—

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

With an internal sigh and an external smile I hoped didn’t look as uncomfortable as I felt, I turned toward the deep baritone and lifted my goggles. There stood Mr. Camo. I stared into his reflective goggles, then raked my eyes up and down that green-on-green camo-inspired snowsuit, and brilliantly said, “Umm...?”

“Right. Sorry.” He lifted his goggles. “It’s Nathan—Nate… Calhoun. From Texas Tech. I think we had a class together a few years back.”

Nate Calhoun? Seriously? What the heck was he doing here?

I took in his uncannily light hazel eyes, perfect jawline, and nicely trimmed tight beard. Despite not being able to see the gorgeous chestnut hair he had hidden under his beanie, I vividly recalled us working together as lab partners precisely twice during my first semester freshman year. How could I forget, when I’d spent half the time trying not to look at him and the other half trying not to get aroused from looking at him?

Even outside of that, who could forget him? In addition to being one of Texas Tech’s star football players, he was on the club wrestling team, too. He was also what every man like me wished they were: good looking, popular, and outgoing, with everyone at the university fawning over him twenty-four-seven. I was pretty sure his father was rich, too.

Must be nice to have a perfect life. I wished I did.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “BIO-101, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I knew it was you. I saw you on the tour bus on the way up, but I couldn’t believe it. I mean, what are the odds we’d end up at the same place over Thanksgiving, and that that place is all the way in bum-fuck Wyoming, states away from where we know each other from?”

He had a point.

“You here by yourself?” he asked.

I lifted my ski pole, pointing it toward the tour group, still up by the ski lift. “Besides them. You?”

His gaze followed my pole back to the group. “Same. You know any of them?”

“No. But there’s no other way to get into the chalet than by booking with the group, so that’s what I did. It’s probably safer anyway, considering how challenging this slope is.”

He looked back at me. “So you came on this trip by yourself on purpose?”

“Uh… yes. Why? Didn’t you?”

“Hell no. I never travel alone. But my moron best bud knocked up this chick, and she dropped that bomb on him yesterday. So the bastard bailed on me at the last minute.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” I said, though I wondered if his ‘best bud’ ever heard of condoms. “Will he marry her?” I asked, just for my own amusement.

“Ha! It’s Jake Nelson.”

Jake, the team’s quarterback, had a reputation for being a real ladies’ man—or player, if one didn’t want to be so generous. Nate was no different.

“Ain’t no way that irresponsible prick is marrying anyone,” Nate said.

At least he thought Jake was irresponsible. That gave me hope for jocks across the land.

“So anyway,” Nate continued, “he cancelled, and I didn’t figure I’d know anyone, so—” He shrugged, then turned, gazing at the slope before us. “Seeing this, though, I’m happy I came.”

I joined him in looking at the slope. “Yeah, this mountain is killer. I can’t wait to ski it.”

He smiled and lowered his goggles. “Race?”

I chuckled and lowered mine. “You’re going to end up eating my snow,” I said, in a taunt especially brazen for me, but I’d been skiing since I could walk.

“Not if I have a head start,” he said as he took off.

“Hey!” I dug my ski poles in as fast as I could and rushed to catch up. A few seconds later, I jumped the first mound smoothly, my skis landing with a soft whoosh. The wind beat against my cheeks, invigorating me as I tore down the mountain at a blistering pace. He’d only gained about a dozen feet on me with his head start, but his turns weren’t as tight as mine, and I started catching up quickly.  

Then he went off to the side, taking a longer route. I chuckled to myself. He wasn’t just going to lose. He was going to lose badly, and I was going to beat one of my university’s most athletic and popular men. Go me.

But then he reappeared ahead of me down the trail. How the…? I crouched and tightened my turns even more, scanning the terrain for any route I could take that would cut him off. No luck. Instead, he cut a corner I didn’t see in time and pulled even further ahead.

His lead only increased my determination. He might be larger, stronger, and more athletic, but skiing was my sport. I had to win.

Whether by skill or sheer force of will, I began gaining on him again. Confidence filled me. I could catch him, and the five-mile run gave me plenty of time and distance to do it.

But a few seconds later, right after a huge mound had me sailing through the air as graceful as a peregrine falcon, an enormous puff of snow flew up in front of me as he bit the dust. A momentary sensation of triumph filled me at the inevitable victory, and I almost blew past him. Except… what if he hurt himself? 

I twisted a hard right to slow way down, then skied to him. When I reached him, I extended a thickly gloved hand.

“Thanks, man,” he said, taking my hand as he rose from the snow. “Can’t believe I wiped out.” He dusted off his camo-inspired snowsuit, and white fluff blew in the wind.

I shrugged. “It happens. Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah. I learned how to fall right a long time ago.”

I chuckled, knowing exactly what he meant. I’d become a master at falling by the time I turned four. “Yeah, me too,” I said, then couldn’t help a smug smirk. “But this means I win.”

“Pfft,” he said, but he was smiling. Then he tossed his chin toward my feet. “You’re pretty good on those skis there, bud.”

“You too,” I said, and meant it. He’d impressed me. Not that the football and wrestling weren’t impressive. At least those sports seemed to impress all the women. But skiing impressed me far more. That Nate could manage it, and so skillfully to boot, made me respect him in a way I respected few people.

Then he fractured my newfound warm feelings for him by saying, “Yeah, but I didn’t expect you’d be any good.”

My brow furrowed. “Uh… thanks?”

“Sorry, man. Don’t mean it in a bad way. You’re just…” He gestured toward me vaguely. “Well, you know.”

I lifted my goggles and peered at him, giving him a look that said I didn’t.

“Well, you’re”—he waved his hand in dismissal—“probably in the math club or one of those fantasy gaming clubs or something, right?”

Oh, the geeky stereotype. Of course. “Chess club,” I admitted somewhat reluctantly, annoyed that people still considered chess nerdy.

“Yeah. See. Not really the type anyone expects to be able to ski like a maniac… Anyway”—he looked at the pass we’d just come down, then down the mountain—“what are we? About halfway?”

I followed his gaze, then used my ski pole to point to a series of rooftops far enough away they were slightly hazy, despite the sunny sky. “Yeah, that’s the village over there.”

“Damn. Still a good distance. This is one helluva run. And I thought this trip wasn’t going to be worth it.”

“No. Definitely worth it.”

“Agree.” He held out his gloved hand, and I bumped his fist. As our gloves touched, I thought I heard a faint murmur in the distance. I couldn’t identify the sound, but something about it carried a sense of foreboding. I looked through the pass up the mountain for the sound’s origin but saw nothing.

“You think we should wait for the rest of the group?” Nate asked.

Without taking my eyes off the pass, I shook my head, then lifted my beanie and cast my ear in that direction. The sound grew louder, becoming less like a murmur and more like a low rumble. Unbidden, my mind painted an unsettling picture of a sleeping giant waking. Comforting.

“You hear that?” I asked.

“Hear what?”

“There’s some kind of sound, like some kind of—I don’t know. I can’t describe it. Just listen.”

Nate screwed his face up as he tilted his head to the side. He lifted his beanie over his ear like I had with mine. After a couple of seconds, he said, “What is that?”

I shrugged. “Beats me, but it’s not anything I’ve ever heard while on a mountain.” And it was making me nervous.

“Probably just some wind or something,” he said, lowering his beanie, then bending to check his boots and skis.

“Yeah, probably,” I said, still looking up the mountain pass, through the craggy peaks on either side. Maybe there was some kind of aircraft behind peaks in the distance?

But then I caught an unnatural movement—or rather, all too natural a movement. I tapped Nate’s hip. “Look.” I pointed and gulped. “And uh… tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

Nate lifted his head, and I looked at him just in time to see him gape. “Ho-ly shit,” he said, drawing out the words.

A wall of white slid down the mountain in a sheet and then a torrent. It was far away, but not far enough.

He turned to me, his eyes as wide as my own. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a full second.

“Well?” I said, rolling my hand in a hurry-up motion.

“Ski?” he chirped.

“Can we out ski that?” I gestured toward the avalanche. “And if we do, where will we end up? Down at the village… at the bottom of the mountain?”

He glanced back at the avalanche, then at the village. “The very place that thing is going.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking.”

“Shit. We’re dead.”

I scanned our surroundings, the high hills and ridges on either side. “No. Maybe not. Get your skis off.”

“Skis off?”

“Yeah, skis off… fast.”

He gawked at me.

“Skis off,” I repeated. “Now!” I practically yelled the word, though it felt foreign to raise my voice. But we didn’t have time to hesitate. Thankfully, my forceful insistence worked, and he followed my lead when I detached my skis from my boots.

“Are you good at rock climbing?” I asked, glancing at the boulders and ridges running up the side of the mountain once more.

He followed my gaze. “In ski boots?”

“What choice do we have?”

“Right.” He looked at the climb again. “Yeah, I can do those. What are you thinking? That we can get out of the way of it?”

“If we can climb high enough, fast enough. It’s going right through where we’re standing now, though, so we’ve got to move.”

“Jesus…?” He made an obvious search for my name. “Tom?”

“Tim… Timo. Whatever,” I said. “That’s not important right now.”

“Hey, if I’m gonna die, I wanna know the name of the man I’m dying with.”

“We’re not going to die. Come on,” I said the moment I freed myself from the skis. “Run!” I took off in as much of a sprint as my ski boots would allow over the thick snow.

Nate followed on my heels. “This is batshit crazy,” he yelled as he caught up to me.

I agreed, but it beat standing there waiting for that wall of death to mow us down.

Though we didn’t have to run far, our ski boots and bulky snowsuits weren’t meant for sprinting. Then the boots were so weighty and inflexible, Nate had to help push me up the first boulder with his hands plastered to the rear of my suit. I tried not to notice. I had more important things to think about, after all. But I’d never had a man touch my rear before, and if we didn’t make it—

I had to focus. I steadied myself and got a solid grip, then turned to help Nate up. From there, we continued scaling as fast as we could. I alternated between checking on Nate and glancing up the mountain to monitor the death-wave barreling toward us.

Our climb grew steeper.

Then Nate yelled, “Tim!”

When I turned, my eyes widened in horror as he slid downward. I scrambled to reach him, barely catching his hand in time. “I’ve got you!” I shouted, while doing everything I could not to let him slip from my glove before he regained purchase.

After what felt like far too long, considering the circumstances, he got hold of the wall and steadied himself. I released him, and we began clambering up the craggy boulders again.

The rumbling grew in volume, though the avalanche briefly left my vision, plunging between a passage I couldn’t see but had just skied. The dang thing outpaced us by leaps and bounds. “Hurry!” I shouted.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing back here? Taking my time?”

We kept going as the low rumble turned into a far louder, ominous, and sustained drone.

“We’re not gonna make it!” he yelled.

“Shut up and climb!” I wished I could have denied his claim and meant it, but the avalanche grew larger as it drew closer, and I feared he might be right. Its drone became a roar so loud it sounded like a freight train coming right at us.

Nate caught up to me, and we remained neck-and-neck as we bounded up the now less steep, but still craggy, slope. I glanced to my left as the massive barrage raced down the last pass before ours. We had seconds to get on or behind something.  

A lump lodged in my throat. At twenty-two, I was too young to die.