Chapter Three

I poked my head into the cupboard Dan had cleaned. Not a crumb or speck of dust remained on the shelves. Even the inside of the door had been wiped down.

Impressive. I’d fully been expecting a half-assed guy-clean I’d have to redo anyway.

“You ladies have a lovely afternoon,” he called after the retreating backs of the women in today’s ski group. They were headed out for a post-lunch half-day of powder skiing, and I was dying to follow. Thanks to Dan—words I never expected to say, even to myself—I could bust out early.

I crossed to my gear locker in the corner and pulled out my pack, and shell pants and jacket while Dan dove into his after-lunch cleanup. If I was fast, and lucky, I’d be a mile up the skin track before he finished.

Almost giddy at the thought of a couple of hours of skiing alone on a sunny spring day, I strapped on my avalanche beacon and shoved my feet into my ski boots. Grabbing my hat, sunglasses, and gloves I made a quick journey to the outhouse, then jerked my skis from the snow behind the hut.

Hooking the toe loop of my climbing skins on my ski tip, I tugged. The rip of the glued sides peeling apart tore through the silence. I flicked on the tail fastener and pressed the skin to the base, then repeated the process with my other ski. Prepped for climbing, I stepped into my bindings and slid onto the wide cat track that wound through the forest toward the open bowls and glades above.

The hut disappeared behind me and I swear my limbs grew lighter. I adored earning my turns. I treasured the silence as I slid through the woods and across the snow-covered landscape. Relished the burn in my thighs as I climbed higher into the mountains.

I kicked and glided up the cat track, focused on the shush of snow beneath my skins, breathing smooth and even until I found my pace. Ten minutes in, I clenched my poles a little less, and my shoulders dropped a little more.

I’d managed to slip out without good old Danny-boy glomming on and spoiling my last ski day of the season. Tonight, I’d have the hut to myself too. One last night to myself to do some writing, and prepare for whatever was to come. Locking up tomorrow morning would be hard, but going back to the real world—especially if I hadn’t landed any of the jobs I’d applied for—would be harder.

“Mind if I join you?”

I jumped, teetered, and almost toppled over, jamming my poles in the snow to catch my balance. Dammit! I bit my lip to hold back the litany of curse words fighting to pop out.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

I peered over my shoulder. With his beanie and half-smile—and the way his hazel eyes caught the sun—Dan looked hot. Way hotter than should be legal. Especially when he was so damn annoying.

“Actually, yes. I do mind.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. Or maybe not. I really did not want company. Not his. Not anyone else’s. But most importantly, not his. Still, I softened my tone. He had helped me out with the cleaning, after all. “I’ve been looking forward to one last day out here alone.”

“Yeah. A few final hours of solitude before you go back to all the noise and demands of the real world. I get it.”

I nodded, relief flooding to my fingertips. At least he understood, and knew I wasn’t just being bitchy. “Okay. Well then, I’m headed up to Hidden Glades. I’ll be back at the hut by four-thirty.”

“Great. That’s where I’m headed too. Gotta hit it one more time. And it’s always safer, and more fun, to ski with a buddy.”

My jaw tightened. Fuck me. This guy could not take a hint.

“No offense, but I really need some quiet time before the dinner guests show up.”

“No worries. You won’t even know I’m here.” He grinned, pressed his lips together and pretended to lock them shut, throwing the imaginary key over his shoulder.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, teeth grinding hard enough to make my entire head ache. I couldn’t come up with another, legit way of getting rid of him. Not without being downright mean. He might be annoying, but he didn’t deserve that.

And, he was right. It’s safer to ski in the backcountry with a buddy, even if the trees I planned to ski hadn’t slid since the monster storm of 1950. Pretty sure he was wrong about it being more fun, though. At least not with him. Definitely not on my last day here.

“Suit yourself.” Resigned, I shoved my ski forward, speeding up the cat track in an effort to dust him, if only for a few minutes. I turned left onto the smaller skin track, Dan stuck on my heels.

The shush of his skis threw off my rhythm. The hoarse rasp of his breathing made it impossible to lose myself in the repetitive motions.

Shit. Fuck. Dammit. Asshole. Motherfucker. Jerk. Dick. Annoying dick…

The ache in my head spread down to my neck and shoulders. I speared my pole tips into the snow as hard as I could, even though it didn’t do a thing to ease my frustration.

****

The way Morgan’s pants tightened across her ass with each step as she climbed up the steeper skin track, it was all I could do to pay attention to where I was putting my skis and poles. When she stopped mid-way to peel off a layer… Damn.

And she didn’t just skin up, she blaaaaazzzed up. Made me work to stay with her. She was tough. And strong.

And hella sexy.

Not that I had any trouble keeping up.

We topped out on the skin track in forty-five minutes. Morgan stopped in the sun by the big boulders that formed a natural windbreak, shrugged off her pack, and bent to fish out a jacket.

I dropped my pack and enjoyed the view. And I don’t mean the mountains.

A chilly breeze filtered through my layers. I stopped staring, pulled out my own jacket, and did a one eighty, checking out the jagged mountain ridges surrounding us. On rare clear days like today, they stretched to forever. Like the world was made of nothing but mountains. For one more day, our world was made of nothing but mountains—and each other. Tomorrow, I’d drive back to Seattle, spend a couple weeks with Mom and the girls, then head to my summer chef’s gig on Orcas Island.

I dipped into my pack for a baggie full of my special dried chili mangoes, and popped one in my mouth. Spicy with a hint of sweet. Just like Morgan. I offered her the open bag and an inviting smile.

“Thanks.” She pulled out a couple reddish-orange slices and tossed one in her mouth.

I nodded. No way was I breaking the silence. Not when she specifically asked for quiet time. I could keep myself company.

“Wow.” She chewed a couple of times. That look I loved so much passed over her face. “Let me guess…you made these too?”

I nodded again.

She sighed. “It’s okay to talk now.”

“You sure? I get the need for silence out here.”

“Yeah, but I’m already talking. And I need the recipe for these. Whenever I dehydrate mangoes, they come out tough and bland.”

“Sorry. I don’t cook and tell.” I let my most charming grin spread across my face. “Like I said, secrets make a man way sexier.”

Her eyes rolled, but she laughed. Headway!

“I’ve got a secret powder stash I’d be willing to share with you, though. Assuming you don’t already know it.”

“Really? Where?” She cocked her head to one side, eyeing me with interest. Way more interest than I’d seen before.

“Have you ever traversed around past those cliffs?” I pointed behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder. “No. Why? I thought it was super tight and bony over there.”

“It is. Mostly. But there’s some hella good meadow skipping once you get past the rocks, and the guides never take clients there.”

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” Morgan bent, crossed one ankle over her knee, unclipped the tail of her skin, and ripped it off.

I followed her lead and tucked my skins away. We shouldered our packs.

“After you,” she said.

I slid past her, breaking trail through the wind-blown snow—totally like a nice meringue—until we passed the cliffs. A thick wall of trees stood below us.

“Here?” Her forehead crinkled. “Those trees look mighty tight.”

She looked cute, all confused like that.

Grinning, I nodded. “Here.” It was impossible to keep the smile off my face knowing I was about to show her the best ski run EV-er.