He expected her to take a step back, but she didn’t pull away.
They were back to this place. The place where he’d swear she was ready to jump, and he’d be there to catch her. Because if there was one thing he’d learned about Abigail Rose Quinn over the past five days, it was that she gave everything she had and she loved with her whole heart. Her students, the prime example. She treated them with such love and kindness. She’d known them for as long as he’d known her, and it was as plain as day to see that all twenty of those kids were head over heels for their teacher.
He couldn’t blame them one bit.
Abby covered his hand with hers and closed her eyes, melting into his touch. She sighed, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Then her eyes popped open, and she looked around.
“Do you hear that?” she asked as the elevator pinged and the doors opened.
“It’s just the—” he started. But he couldn’t finish.
Abby jumped back. “It’s a helicopter!” she exclaimed over the roar of the propellers.
He glanced at the helipad and waved to the pilot.
She looked back and forth like she was in some crazy sci-fi movie and just got transported to an alien planet. “Why are we on top of the building?”
“Because it’s really tricky to land a helicopter inside, so we have them do it up here,” he deadpanned.
She grabbed onto his forearm. “Brennen Bergen, what’s going on?”
“I told you. We’re going on a field trip.”
“In a helicopter?”
“I can’t put anything past you,” he teased. He offered her his hand. “Come on!”
Abby’s gaze bounced between him and the helicopter. “I’ve never been on a helicopter before.”
“It’s all right. See the pilot?” He pointed to the roaring machine.
She nodded.
“His name is Joaquin. He’s the best. I’ve flown with him a bunch of times.”
“You do this a lot?”
“You know the sticks and thin pieces of wood?”
She cocked her head to the side. “The skis and poles?”
“Yeah, sometimes, I have the helicopter take me to the top of a mountain, and then I ski down from there.”
Her eyes looked ready to pop out of her head. “Holy Toledo! Are you taking me to the top of a mountain?”
He took her hand. “No, I’m taking you to Bergen Mountain to see the resort.”
“In a helicopter?”
“Yes, I’ll be right next to you the entire time, Abby.”
She held his gaze. “Do you promise?”
“I promise,” he answered, the words weaving their way into his heart.
“Okay.” She tightened her grip on his hand as they left the elevator and made their way toward the chopper.
He opened the door and helped Abby in, then slid next to her on the bench seat. He buckled her seatbelt, gave her a headset, then got himself ready for lift off.
He settled in and put on a headset. “Hey, Joaquin! I’m glad we get to fly with you today.”
The pilot turned and shook his hand. “Me too, buddy. I’m mostly out in Kansas City these days, but I’m here for a few weeks visiting my family and decided to pick up a few trips.”
“This is Abby. It’s her first time in a helicopter.”
Joaquin shook her hand. “I’ll take it nice and easy. It’ll be smooth sailing to Bergen Mountain. You tell me when you’re ready, Abby, and we’ll go on your call.”
Abby nodded, wringing her hands.
Brennen reached over and covered them with his and, as if she’d done it a million times, she laced their fingers together. The feeling so new yet so familiar, it sent a heated charge through his body.
She released a breath and squeezed his hand. “I’m ready.”
Joaquin gave them a thumbs-up. “Here we go!”
The aircraft lifted off the ground and hovered above the helipad.
She leaned into him, gaze brimming with wonder and disbelief. “We’re really doing this?”
“We’re really doing this,” he answered as the helicopter left the Bergen Building and glided out over the city.
Denver at dusk was a magical time. Chasing the sunset, they headed west, leaving the city lights behind for the snow-covered peaks of the Rocky Mountains. Abby didn’t say much nestled in next to him. Every so often, she’d ask him the name of a peak or mountain town below. But she’d kept her fingers laced with his.
He’d never liked holding hands. The women he’d surrounded himself with only wanted the recognition the Bergen name could offer them. It was easy to discard these women. Use them and lose them. They saw him as an end to a means just as he’d seen them. Over the last decade, he traded connection and intimacy for meaningless sex. He’d become a cardboard version of himself. The aloof playboy, ready to drop a fortune at a moment’s notice. Ready to be the center of attention. The idea of being tethered to someone for more than just a quick screw seemed suffocating—until now.
Until her.
Until Abby.
Holding Abby’s hand didn’t feel like being on a leash. It felt like…freedom.
Freedom to be the man he was supposed to be.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” she said, glancing out the window at the sea of lights sprinkled around the base of a mountain.
He looked out as the helicopter closed in on the resort. “It is. How’d you know?”
They’d passed several ski resorts, and she hadn’t said anything.
She gave him a sweet smile. “It just feels like you.”
The helicopter touched down on the pad, and Joaquin turned to them. “Flight plan said you’re not staying the night. Is that right?”
Abby tensed.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “That’s right. No stay over this time. We’re here to walk around the village and have dinner. We’ll need to head back to Denver in a few hours.”
“Sounds good.” The pilot glanced at the flight console. “I’m watching the weather. It’s nothing to be concerned about, but if we need to head back early, I’ll shoot you a text.”
“All right! Thanks, Joaquin,” Brennen answered as Abby relaxed her grip.
He was pushing the limits of her man fast—he knew this. She couldn’t date, but she seemed okay with these field trip excursions.
It was almost ironic. These fake, non-dates with Abby were more substantive and more real than any date he’d ever gone on.
“Are you ready to see my home away from home?”
“I’d love that. It’s breathtaking,” she said, gazing out as the last rays of light shimmered against the snow blanketing the mountain.
“Let’s get you unbuckled.”
She glanced down at their hands. “Look at me! Do you have any feeling left in your fingers?”
He had nothing but feelings. Feelings that touched a part of him he’d locked away.
He smiled. “I’m good.”
But as soon as he released her hand, he wasn’t good. It was like losing a part of himself. He missed the connection, the warmth. He missed her.
He opened the door, climbed out, then helped Abby. The Bergen Mountain helipad was situated on the east side of the resort. The property consisted of three main areas: Bergen Center Village teeming with shops, restaurants, and several condo buildings, East Village, where they’d landed, with a lodge and tubing area, and West Village comprised of mountain homes and luxury townhouses. That’s where his grandad had built their family’s mountain house, known as Bergen Cottage—a not so accurate name for a thirty-thousand square foot, eleven-bedroom mountain mansion.
He led her down a wide path past a ski lift and explained the resort’s layout.
Abby gestured toward the east lodge. “It looks like a giant log cabin.”
“You’re right! It was the only thing here when my grandparents bought the mountain. It was just a small shell of a cabin then. They wanted to keep the spirit of the old west and ha
d the lodge built in the same log cabin style.”
Abby gasped. “Could everyone stay there? I think it would be fun to have all the Whitmore families together.”
“That’s a great idea! Hold on.” He took out his phone. “How many families?”
She cringed. “Two hundred and twenty-six.”
“Done,” he answered.
She went to take a step, then stopped mid-stride. “Hold on. What do you mean, done?”
“I just messaged the resort’s general manager. He’s going to move things around so the Whitmore group can use the entire lodge.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, I sent him your contact information, too. He’ll be getting in touch.”
Her brow knit together. “Why did we have to come all the way here if all you needed to do was send a text?”
He smiled. “Because you needed to see it. Once you’re here, it all makes sense.”
She chewed her lip, weighing the explanation. “So, what now?”
“I thought we could eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
“Me too. Can we eat at the lodge?”
He continued down the path. “We could. But I had something else planned.”
“Planned?”
“An excursion.”
She did a little twirl as they walked, taking in the resort. “Okay, I’m game. Where are we eating?”
He’d texted the resort’s executive chef when he’d come up with the idea to whisk Abby away to Bergen Mountain. “How are you with heights?”
“Fine,” she answered, a suspicious bend to the word.
“Good! Are you warm enough?”
“Yes, why? Are we having dinner in an igloo?”
He chuckled. “No, but that’s not a bad idea. People would love that. Nope, tonight I’m taking you up in Dolly.”
“Who’s Dolly?”
“What’s Dolly?” he corrected. “She’s a gondola.”
They followed the paved path that linked East Village to Bergen Center Village, and he led her to the base of the mountain.
She stared up at the darkened gondola lift. “It’s not running.”
He waved to one of the Bergen Mountain staff. “It is for us,” he said as the man entered the booth and the gondola came to life.
“This is just for us?”
“Tonight it is,” he said, helping her inside. “There’s a restaurant at the top. It’s always open during the day when people are out skiing and snowboarding. They do special events there at night from time to time, but it’s not booked tonight.”
“Tell me more about the resort,” she said, gazing out as the gondola began its gentle ascent up the mountain.
“That’s Bergen Center Village. There are twenty-nine condo units and an ice-skating rink in the center.”
She nodded, taking it all in.
“There’s West Village. It’s made up of larger homes and townhouses.”
“And another lodge,” she said, pointing past the grand homes.
“No, not a lodge. That’s Bergen Cottage.”
“That’s your house?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
She was right. Lit up at night, the long rectangular heated pool glowed a terrestrial blue against the dark backdrop of the sprawling house nestled between blue spruce and illuminated by twinkling outdoor lights.
“I have a lot of good memories there.”
“It’s not really a cottage, though, is it?” she said, a teasing edge to her words.
He grinned. “Yeah, we get that a lot.”
The gondola slowed then came to a stop, and a lift operator opened the door. “Dinner’s all ready for you at Hannah’s Point, sir.”
“Thank you,” he said, helping Abby out of the gondola.
Her gaze bounced between him and the building. “It’s so small.”
He chuckled. “During the day, everyone eats outside. They order from a window. All that’s inside is the kitchen and a few tables.”
She nodded. “And Dolly and Hannah? Are those your relatives?”
His throat grew dry. “Dolly is my grandmother’s sister who died of measles as a baby. That was before they had the vaccine. Of course, I never met her.”
“And Hannah?”
He stilled. “Hannah’s my mother.”
“It’s a lovely name.”
He nodded. “Yeah, she was a really lovely person.” He gestured to the door. “We should…” he said, not sure of the last time he’d actually spoken his mother’s name.
They entered the cozy space, and he breathed a sigh of relief when an older gentleman in a chef’s jacket met them at a table set for two. He shook the man’s hand. “It’s good to see you, Klaus. Thank you for preparing dinner up here for us.”
“You’re very welcome, sir.”
“This is all so beautiful,” Abby said, gazing around the candlelit space.
“A beautiful dinner for a beautiful woman,” the old chef said, kissing Abby’s hand.
“Enough of that, Klaus,” Brennen joked, smiling at the man he’d known his entire life. “Klaus Renner this is Abby Quinn.”
The chef shook Abby’s hand. “I wondered when one of you grandchildren would have dinner up here like your mother and father used to do.”
Brennen froze. He’d forgotten that his parents used to come up here and eat dinner together—just like he was doing with Abby. His grandparents would stay with him and his brothers in the cottage, and they’d watch the gondola from the house.
He nodded and swallowed past the lump in his throat.
“I even prepared the same meal your parents used to order.”
“What’s that?” Abby asked.
“Cheeseburgers with double the pickles,” Brennen answered. As a kid, after a morning spent skiing with his family, they’d eat lunch on the mountain, and his father would always tease his mother as she stacked pickle after pickle on her burger. It became kind of a family tradition, his brothers all trying to out-pickle their mom.
“My favorite!” Abby said, pulling him from the memories.
Klaus patted his arm. “I’ll leave you to it.”
The chef said goodbye to Abby then headed out to ride the gondola down to the village.
Abby sat at the table. “It’s just us?”
“Yeah, that’s how my parents used to do it,” he answered, still amazed he hadn’t connected his parents’ old tradition to what he’d planned for Abby.
She poured two glasses of wine. “My parents used to do something similar.”
He joined her at the table. “They did?”
“Yep, when we’d go to Maine, my mom and dad would take the boat over to Monhegan Island and have dinner, just the two of them. I used to sit at the window and watch their boat leave the dock.”
“I used to watch my parents ride up in the gondola from my window,” he said, the words creeping past his defenses. His pulse kicked up as the memories he’d locked away came rushing back. He swallowed hard, unsure of how to organize his jumbled thoughts when Abby took a bite of her burger and hummed her delight.
“This is so good! It’s pickle perfection,” she said, dabbing at her lips with the napkin. “You’ve got to try it!”
It was like she knew not to push, not to ask too many questions. He smiled, grateful, and took a bite. They didn’t speak much through the meal. Maybe he was just in his head, but Abby didn’t seem to mind. The snowcats had started working, moving up and down the dark mountain grooming the snow, their headlights illuminating the massive expanse of the rolling slopes weaved in great veins of snow.
He took a sip of wine and watched Abby as she stared out at the lights trailing up and down in blankets of darkness. “What do you want in life?” he asked before he could stop himself.
She turned from the window, and the candlelight framed her face in a warm glow, catching the gentle auburn highlights in her chestnut-colored hair. “Well, I have a lot alread
y. I love teaching. I love the students. I’m glad I get to live close to my cousin. I’ve missed her.” Abby dropped her chin and smiled to herself. “I’ve always wanted children of my own. A family. That’s sort of the reason for the man fast. I thought I knew what I wanted. I thought I was building a life with someone who loved me and wanted the same things I did. But I was really wrong.”
“What happened?”
She shook her head and hummed a sad sigh. “It’s pretty cliché.”
He waited, giving her space. This was new for him. He’d never—ever—been interested in a woman’s past. But with Abby, he wanted to know.
She took a sip of wine then ran her index finger over the rim of the glass. “I got home after work. I was subbing at a nearby public school in Jacksonville, and there was a note on the door from my boyfriend. He said our life was boring, and he wanted more. He’d left that day with another woman—the secretary from his uncle’s insurance agency where he’d been working.”
Brennen’s heart broke for her. “Holy flip! I’m so sorry, Abby.”
She gave him a resigned shrug. “So, I got things squared away. There wasn’t much to do. It’s kind of sad how easy it was to leave that life. The lease was up on our apartment, and I was only substitute teaching. I didn’t have my own classroom. Nothing was holding me there. So, I just packed up my car and started driving.”
“To be with your cousin?”
“I think so.”
“What do you mean?”
She stared at a point beyond his shoulder. “There was this strange pull to head west. And this very clear realization that my life wasn’t going to be in Jacksonville. It wasn’t until I was halfway through Georgia when I had the sense to call Elle and leave a message that I was coming.”
He couldn’t imagine a life like that. He couldn’t imagine any jackass—jerk—stupid enough to leave Abby in such a heartless way.
But was he much different?
Look at how he’d treated the women he’d left in his wake. He was only twenty when his parents died. Before that, he hadn’t done much more than date a few girls—nothing serious. And then after that day, that awful day, he’d turned into this selfish playboy to numb the pain.
“Brennen?” she said, pulling him from his thoughts.
Man Fast: Bergen Brothers: Book One Page 11
