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Doug could barely contain his delight. Talk about the mountain coming to Mohammed! He’d spent half the night trying to concoct a reasonable scenario that would allow him to casually bump into Lyn Hill, aka Brooklyn Raine, again. The best he’d been able to dream up was to get off the bunny hill as quickly as possible and hope for a chance encounter.
With a plan in mind, however lame, he buried his self-pity and faced today’s lessons with Kerri-Sue the way a condemned man might view a last-minute reprieve from the governor. One last chance to fix his life and move on. Or give up for good.
To his surprise, the old skills from all those lessons in West Virginia had come back. Of course, the equipment had vastly improved over the last two decades. Today, Doug had seized his moment. And look how quickly fate had rewarded him. “I’d love to join you.”
Careful, he warned himself. Don’t look too eager.
“If,” he added, “you think I’m ready.”
“I’ve already told you, Doug,” Ace managed to eke through his disapproving frown. “You’re not.”
“Come on, Ace,” Lyn interjected. “It’s Snow Business—a dozen hills, and a nice, even incline. No moguls or steep drops. Only difference between this slope and that one is Snow Business is longer.”
“It has nothing to do with the difficulty of the slope,” Ace replied.
“Oh?” Her hands shot to her hips—a confrontational pose Doug would bet his left arm Ace had never before seen from a woman. “So, what’s the problem?”
Ace leveled a cool stare at Doug. “Ask him.”
Lyn’s focus veered to him, and she frowned. “Mr. Sawyer? What am I missing here?”
“I have absolutely no idea.” He offered her a shrug and a quirky smile. “I didn’t even know Ace was tracking my progress so closely. Tell you what, though. Why don’t we let Kerri-Sue be the judge? She’s been working with me out here on the slopes and inside in the gym. She knows what I can do and can’t do by now.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Ace snapped.
“Umm...” Kerri-Sue held up her gloved hands. “I’m not sure...”
Scanning the group around him, Doug realized he was the only one enjoying this debacle. Everyone else, including Brooklyn or Lyn or whoever, wore a fierce look of either dread or umbrage. What gave? This wasn’t exactly life and death stuff. He’d seen happier expressions in foxholes.
Had he ever fretted over trivial things like this? Funny how perspectives changed when daily living meant dodging incendiary devices, fending off sniper fire, and of course, dealing with a missing limb.
He cast a glance at the soldiers on the sideline. They would understand his confusion. They knew all about living in the moment. And PTSD, and the loss of friends, and returning to a home where they weren’t always welcome.
“This is ridiculous,” Brooklyn said at last. “Look, I’m heading over to the triple chair lift. If Mr. Sawyer decides to join me, that would be wonderful. If not, I’ll take the run alone. End of story.”
In a repeat performance from yesterday, she pushed off with her poles and shussed away.
Oh no you don’t. You’re not getting away easy this time.
With a quick salute to the cluster of frowning individuals, Doug flashed a grin at Ace. “See ya.” He fumbled with his goggles on his helmet, but managed to slide them into place, shove off on his one pole, and propel himself forward. “Hey, Ms. Hill, wait up.”
To his surprise, she stopped. And waited for him to catch up. The smile on her face reminded him of all those toothpaste ads she’d done. God, she still had it: that sparkle he remembered from years ago. Whereas in her youth she’d packaged her wow factor in a sassy look and confident manner, this woman drew his attention thanks to her wistful quality, a hint of sadness that tinged her eyes.
His conscience zapped, an electrical pulse of guilt, but he mentally shoved away the sensation. Brooklyn Raine’s smile, sad or otherwise, represented his way back. After surviving the stormiest episode of his life and landing broken on the rocks, she had become his beacon, his rainbow—the promise of better days to come.
“Thanks for coming along,” she said.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
Once he neared her, she pointed one ski pole at a small break in the otherwise heavy tree line. “Go up this way and down the other side,” she directed. “And don’t stop or you’ll never maintain the speed necessary to make it to the lift from here.”
He skied into the pine and birch-framed path, then caught the downward slope and picked up speed. The narrow route gave him just enough of an incline to allow his skis to glide onward. Snow-covered needles brushed his jacket in soft whiffs.
Seconds later, he wended his way into the clearing that brought him to the end of a longer trail, a few feet from the boarding area for the triple chair lift. A chair lift that had already stopped running for the day.
A lanky teenage boy rearranged the gates to block anyone from entering. Near the steps leading to the lodge, the diehard snow enthusiasts popped off their skis before trudging inside to pack up gear or regroup in the upstairs tavern for some après fun.
Doug blew out a breath of frustration. Too late. He’d missed his opportunity by mere seconds.
“Keep going!” Brooklyn shouted from behind him. “Don’t stop now.”
He pushed himself forward, but she sped past him in a blur of black and red. Skis spitting snow, she stopped near the kid at the gates while Doug inched slowly toward the quiet lift. Whatever she said, Doug couldn’t hear, but the boy nodded and stepped aside to pull the barriers apart.
“Come on.” Brooklyn waved Doug closer.
He barely edged inside the black vinyl tape before the teen closed off the entrance once again.
“Give me two seconds,” the kid said as he ran to the booth beside the boarding area. “I’ll let Ryan know you’re on your way up.” Once inside the booth, he picked up the phone.
On a squeal and hum of machinery, the chairs began ascending again.
Brooklyn Raine broke into a little hip shimmy reminiscent of her ski style so many years ago. “Shall we, Mr. Sawyer?”
“Doug,” he corrected and faced the front of the boarding area.
Inside the booth, the teen hung up the receiver and flashed a thumbs-up.
Clumping forward on his skis, Doug asked the woman beside him, “How’d you do that?”
“Do what?” For a moment, she looked genuinely puzzled by the question. Her finely arched brows peaked, and her eyes crinkled in the late afternoon sun. “Oh, you mean the lift?” She shrugged. “I know people.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, biting back a smile. “I bet you do.”
♥
ONE OF THE CHAIRS IN the line made the turn, and Lyn deftly maneuvered to the right side for Mr. Sawyer’s benefit. She pushed forward with him now on her left, allowing him the use of his one arm to board the next triple chair as easily as possible. When she craned her neck, she caught a glimpse of her companion’s profile. Despite the helmet with the goggles once again askew on top—a look that would make the toughest Marine seem like a helpless wuss—Mr. Sawyer gave the impression of a man of great strength. Probably in personality as well as in physical stature.
Those gorgeous hazel eyes she’d seen flash in anger and amusement sat perfectly above razor-sharp cheekbones and a well-defined jaw. He towered over her, maybe stood as tall as six and a half feet, and even with the padding of his ski jacket and pants, she discerned a broad upper body, tapering to slimmer hips. All in all, she sensed a man accustomed to going after life with both hands.
How would such a man react to the sudden loss of a crucial limb?
Not well, she figured. After all, how would she react if she were in his boots? That old photo of the H-bomb’s dust cloud over Hiroshima filled her imagination. Yeah. Something like that.
The chair back hit her knees, and she collapsed into the hard, cold seat as Mr. Sawyer did the same. When they were settled, she raised her hand to lower the overhead bar. He couldn’t help—not if he wanted to keep his grip on his ski pole, but he made the gesture anyway.
“I’ve got it,” she assured him.
He lowered his hand, and she pulled the rail to slowly sink the bar into place. Clunk!
She set her skis on the footrest, and he followed suit. Silence reigned, broken only by the whoosh of a snow gun on some trail beyond the tree line, and the creaky sound of the chair lift as the overhead cables wound through the flywheels.
The overwhelming heat of self-consciousness flared in Lyn’s cheeks, then steamed up her hairline. God, she was an idiot. No good at small talk, never had been. But she had to say something to the man.
“Umm...”
Oh, what an excellent start. This whole sorry episode kept getting better and better.
When she turned to face him, he smiled. “Am I making you nervous?”
Someone shoot me. Shoot me now.
“I... umm... I don’t usually invite strangers to ski with me.”
He didn’t laugh at her. Score one point in the sensitivity column. In fact, his expression reflected genuine concern.
“Should I be flattered?”
Despite her nervousness, a giggle escaped. “Take it any way you like it. But honestly? I’m terrified.”
“Of me?” His tone registered disbelief. “Why?”
“Because I don’t know you. And since you don’t know me, let me tell you. I don’t do this.”
“Do what? Share a chair lift with someone you don’t know? Let me make it easier for you. My name’s Doug. I live in New York. Oh, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m missing my right arm.”
“Yeah, I got that.” Tension eased from her neck and shoulders. “Can I ask...?” She looked down at the trails below, the white swaths like satin ribbons in an expanse of spiky trees and lumpy gray rocks. “What happened to you?”
“Car accident... well, more like a Jeep accident. Me and a couple of buddies rolled over an embankment.”
“I’m sorry. Were your friends all right?”
“Died on impact, I was told. I don’t really know what happened. I woke up in a hospital with no arm and no memory beyond getting into the ride at the start of the day.”
“They say that’s for the best,” she replied.
“Do they?” He arched a brow in her direction, but the easy grin never left his lips.
She relaxed even more and actually found her own smile. “Well, yes. Supposedly, it helps with the healing process and keeps you from dwelling on the injuries.”
“And who exactly are ‘they?’”
The lilt he placed on that last word communicated how he delighted in teasing her. All shreds of anxiety wafted away on the crisp air.
“The medical professionals,” she replied loftily. “Surgeons, physical therapists, even my... the students here all say that not remembering the details is often a blessing.”
“Ah.”
She’d almost lost control with her slip about her students. Better to turn the subject far away from this place before she made a major gaffe. “You said you lived in New York?”
“Mmm-hmm. Manhattan. Upper East Side.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah, it was. Until my mother moved in.”
“Your mother?” She couldn’t shield her surprise if she’d tried. The last description she would have used on this man was Mama’s Boy.
He nodded and rolled his eyes more dramatically than her niece Becky on her best day. “Part of the trials of being the only child of a single parent. After I was discharged from the hospital and sent home, she moved into my apartment to take care of me.”
A pang of regret struck Lyn’s heart. “That’s sweet.”
In the last decade, her mother had refused to visit, always insisting Lyn come to her. Even when Marc had passed away.
She and her mother had never been close. Of course, while growing up, she’d spent six months—sometimes more—of the year with her father on the ski circuit. Mom, strong-willed, independent, and often abrasive, seemed content with an absentee husband for half the year. But was she really? Or had she just made the best of the situation her husband had presented her? And did she still resent her youngest daughter for causing a rift in their marriage?
“She would have come on this trip if I hadn’t brought Ace instead.”
Lyn blinked. For a moment, she’d fallen into memories better left unexplored. But Mr. Sawyer’s statement came at the right time to jolt her back to the present.
“Ace,” she said thoughtfully. Now there was a conundrum. “You do know he’s got a competition in Canada, right?”
“I know. He’s not staying much longer. He’ll train as much as he can here—”
“Here? At Mount Elsie?” Despite her best efforts, amusement escaped with a snort. “With its twelve hundred foot vertical?”
Mr. Sawyer nodded. “I know. In competition terms, this is like snowboarding down a residential driveway. Which is why I’ve insisted he leave by the end of the week. He’s got access to a private course a few hundred miles from here. They’re building up the terrain park to challenge him and get him completely ready for next month’s games.”
She shot an inquisitive stare his way. “And you know all this because...?”
“He told me.”
Puh-leez. “And you believe him?”
“Ace would never lie to me.” For the first time since they’d sat on the lift, he frowned. “He knows better.”
“What exactly is your relationship to him anyway?”