by Diana Palmer
She’d lost her confidence during the months of her recovery. She was afraid to even go on the ice again. The fear kept her from trying. She’d been doing physical rehab for five months, six months the following week, so that she’d be able to walk again, at least. She held out no hope that she might skate once more. She wouldn’t heal in time for the world championships next month, at any rate. She’d need months more to get back into training and regain the ground she’d lost.
Nationals would be held in January of the following year, just before the Olympics in Pyongyang, but she was sure that she’d never be involved in them ever again, or the competitions that added to the chances of being chosen for the Olympic games. Paul was trying out a new partner. Karina was afraid to try to skate again. It was so depressing.
Her finances were iffy and she needed this job she was applying for, to tide her over until she could decide what to do with the rest of her life. Since she and Paul would lose the envelope, which was based on scores a skater earned and didn’t apply to new teams just starting, money was going to be a problem. She might go back to college. She’d done three years on her undergraduate degree in history. She had good grades and she wasn’t afraid of hard work. There were scholarships available and she knew how to apply for them. She might graduate and, with a bachelor’s degree, teach as an adjunct at a college. Sure. She might fly to Mars....
It was a sad set of choices. She and Paul Maurice had been partners since they were ten years old. It wasn’t a romantic partnership, because he was like a brother to her. They were best friends and still kept in touch. Karina was godmother to the twin boys he had with Helga, another figure skater whom he’d met during the world competition five years ago. Karina loved the twins. She envied Paul and Helga their happy marriage and their children. But she was sure that it wasn’t for her, that kind of commitment. Not yet, anyway.
Poor Paul. He’d offered to stay out of competition, but Karina had insisted he take another partner. She wasn’t sure that she’d ever skate again, or want to. In order to stay in competition, he’d have to have a new partner. Karina would sit out until her injury healed; or possibly, forever. A broken ankle was dangerous if it didn’t heal completely. Her doctor wanted her out for six months to a year. In fact, he said flatly, she should give up skating professionally and find a less dangerous occupation. Her leg already had minor joint issues because of the breaks three years ago. The broken ankle would probably ensure some further pain in that joint. Since it was her main landing leg that was affected, continuing in competition could be deadly, he added.
His attitude had depressed her even more than the injury. Now, she wasn’t certain that she could ever find the nerve to put on skates again. Incredibly, except for bruises and pulled muscles, she hadn’t had a serious accident in all the years she’d been on the ice. And she’d skated since she was three years old. Her accident-free record was a source of amusement to other skaters, most of whom had been sidelined for weeks and months on end due to infrequent mishaps on the ice.
Locals around Jackson Hole called her the Wyoming Legend, after she and Paul won the gold medal in the world championships the year before. That was great. It was the biggest rush of her life. But she’d lost her chance to be a true legend in figure skating. The thought of Olympic gold haunted her, even now, even with the fear of the ice.
Once, she’d loved going to practice. Just putting on her skates, lacing them up, feeling the ice under her sharp blades was exciting. But now, she was just a normal woman of twenty-three, using her real name, Karina Miranda Carter; not the stage name of Miranda Tanner, under which she’d skated for so long. It was her mother’s maiden name, Tanner, and her own middle name. It gave her some anonymity which her mother, a former Olympic gold medalist in women’s figure skating, said that she might need one day when she started winning medals. Famous athletes lived in a goldfish bowl. That was true. She thought of how her mother had encouraged her, delighted in even that eighth place in the Olympics three years ago. Her mother had injuries over the years. She’d always gotten right back onto the ice. Karina wasn’t that confident.
Her gold medal notwithstanding, Karina was a nobody in Catelow, Wyoming, where she hoped to get the job she’d applied for, as a live-in babysitter for a wealthy, widowed rancher’s young daughter. She loved children. She’d never thought about having them, because skating had been her whole life. She and her partner spent every day on the ice, practicing for hours on end, perfecting their technique with the German trainer who’d pushed them and coaxed them into fantasy routines. It was one of those that had gotten them the gold pairs medal at the world. It had been a milestone in their lives, the realization of a dream. But with her accident, the dreams of Olympic gold were folded up and put away, like a special garment with sentimental value, treasured but never to be worn again.
She couldn’t look back. She had to forge ahead. She would heal completely, her doctor said. It was just a matter of doing the daily exercises. But whether or not she would be able to skate again at her former level was suppositious. There had been major damage. At the very least, she was certain that the ankle would require support if she ever put on skates again. She wasn’t sure that she even wanted to try. She remembered with horror the bad landing on the ice, during practice of all things, that had announced itself with a crunching sound. She fell and only then discovered that she was unable to put weight on the ankle. It was her landing foot, which made it all the more tragic and frightening. She thought that the ankle would never be as strong as before, even with her endless physical therapy. The doctor had insinuated as much. A broken mirror was never going to be whole. She was damaged goods. Useless.
She could, however, take care of one small child. She hoped. She’d done babysitting in high school. She’d taken care of Paul and Helga’s twins when they were on the road in competition. She knew CPR and how to handle small emergencies. She’d even done tutoring at a local grammar school as part of her college class work. Surely, she could cope.
Besides all that, it was the only job going at the moment. It was February and she had no source of income, with her skating ability lost. She’d been so depressed that she told her trainer she wasn’t going back into competition. So with that decided, until she could figure out what to do next, she had to get a job, and this one paid well. All she had to do was convince the rancher, a man by the name of Torrance, that she was capable and responsible so that he’d hire her. The ad had given very little information, except that the applicant should be good with children and willing to live on a ranch. It hadn’t even provided the first name of the rancher.
Karina had grown up on a small ranch outside Jackson Hole, Wyoming. She loved animals. So the isolation of the ranch wouldn’t be a problem to her. In fact, she liked her own company. She didn’t mix well with most people, and she was nervous around men. Any men. It was what kept her single.
Her partner, Paul, had been only a friend all their lives, and she had no social life to speak of. Easy relationships had never appealed to her. Raised by religious parents, she took innocence seriously. Not for her were the one-nighters that some of her colleagues enjoyed. If she ever settled down, she wanted marriage or nothing.
But marriage, commitment, had been the last things on her mind. She was obsessed with skating. She spent all her free time at the rink. Her grades never suffered, but she was focused on the future. Her friends thought she was crazy. It was so hard to get a place in any competition in skating. Not only was it physically difficult, but there were other pitfalls, the least of which was the internal politics of skating itself. Judges could be biased. Other skaters could be brutal. It wasn’t a sport for the weak of spirit.
But Karina’s spirit was strong, as her mother’s had been. She worked her way up, through divisional championships, all the way to nationals. From the time she and Paul were kids, they’d focused on pairs figure skating, far more dangerous than ice dancing. Karin
a had loved the speed, the recklessness, even the risk. Now, here she was, washed up at twenty-three, with no future on the ice, and her hopes of employment based on the acceptance of a nine-year-old girl who might not even like her. Worse, it was the only job offering she might even remotely be able to handle. Skating had been her life. She didn’t have any other skills.
Her little white sports car was several years old, purchased when she’d been earning a good living on the ice with her sponsors and public appearances that she and Paul made at various venues sanctioned by the United States Figure Skating Association. It was dutifully maintained, although she’d hit a tree with it recently and it had a dent on the front fender. She couldn’t afford body work, but a mechanic had said it was safe to drive. So she drove it through the snow to the ranch, using the onboard navigation system to get her to her destination.
There was a guard on the front gate. That was surprising. She didn’t understand why a ranch would need one. He came out of a small block building and smiled as he asked what she wanted.
“I’m applying for this job,” she said and smiled back. Her pale gray eyes twinkled as she handed him the newspaper with the ad circled. “I phoned last night, and Mr. Torrance’s foreman said that he’d expect me today by two. It’s a long drive from Jackson Hole,” she added with a laugh.
“I’ll say, considering the snow,” he replied. “May I see some identification? Sorry, but it’s my job if I don’t ask.”
This Mr. Torrance must be some taskmaster, she thought privately, but she handed him her driver’s license.
“Okay, that matches what I’ve got down here.” He indicated a cell phone. “Mr. Torrance is expecting you. Main house is straight down this road about two miles. Keep to the main road, don’t turn off on any of the side roads. You can park in front of the house, anywhere you like.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m Ted,” he said.
She smiled. “I’m Karina.”
“Nice to meet you. I hope you get the job.”
“Thanks. Me, too.” She hesitated before she powered the window up. “Are there a lot of candidates?” she wondered.
He shook his head and smiled ruefully. “One lady came up and when she saw how isolated the ranch was, she turned around and went home. Not much to do around here. They draw in the sidewalks at six every day.”
She laughed. “It’s my kind of place,” she said. “I was born down in High Meadow, southeast of Jackson Hole. Not much to do there, either. I like the country. I never was much of a city girl,” she added, not quite truthfully.
He laughed, too. “I know what you mean. I’d wither and die in a city. Go right in, Miss.”
He powered the metal gate open and she drove through with a wave.
* * *
THERE WERE FENCED pastures everywhere, and they were maintained well. She saw herds of red cattle all along the way, along with outbuildings, lean-to buildings that would give them shelter in the harsh winter weather.
Red Angus, unless she missed her guess. She’d read about the various cattle breeds that thrived in a Wyoming winter. Black and Red Angus were popular in this part of the country. She’d only been around cattle in a limited way. Her parents had a small ranch when she was a child. She’d grown up with her father’s farm animals, including a small herd of Black Baldies: Herefords mixed with black Angus, that were beef cattle. She’d helped feed and water them, year-round, as part of her chores. There had been dogs and cats and ducks as well. It had been a lovely childhood, despite the misery of school. She’d never mixed well with the other students. Even then, ice skating had been her life. She’d spent hours at the local rink every day, practicing, while her mother tutored her. Her mother had been an Olympic ice skating champion, an Olympic gold medalist, and she’d trained her daughter well. Karina had always loved the sport. She’d thumbed through her mother’s photo album on a daily basis, delighted at the medals and acclamation her mother had claimed in the sport and the photos of her mother together with many legends of ice skating whom she’d known as friends.
She wanted very badly to be part of that world. She was willing to do whatever it took. But that precluded any social life. Other students laughed at her dedication, at her naiveté. She wasn’t pretty, but she had a lovely figure. Boys wanted to date her, but she was wary of them. She only had one real boyfriend all the way through school, and he dated her only because his girl had thrown him over. Karina was his comfort. She liked him very much, but she hadn’t felt anything for him physically. She wondered sometimes if there was something wrong with her. She’d never felt those passionate urges she read about in her novels. There was a reason that she never really tried to have a relationship. But it left a bad taste in her mouth even to remember it. She’d pushed it to the back of her mind. She didn’t really want a boyfriend. Her whole life was skating.
As she approached the ranch, she noted that the ranch house was a huge Victorian mansion, with gingerbread woodwork and black accents. It, like the fences, was quite well kept. It sat on what must have been two acres of level terrain with a long, paved driveway, automatic gates, and trees and shrubs placed decoratively around the open spaces. The front yard adjoining the house itself was paved as well. The front porch had a swing and chairs everywhere. There were many outbuildings. It looked more like a modern complex than a ranch, and it was obvious that the owner was rolling in cash. Karina had seen properties like this listed online, and they sold for millions of dollars. A traditional small cattle ranch, it was not.
There was a big black-faced German Shepherd sitting on the wide front porch when she parked next to it. She hesitated about getting out. She knew that dogs, especially guard dogs, could be ferocious if a stranger approached them.
A small girl came out onto the porch and petted the Shepherd. He laid his head against her. She grinned and motioned for Karina to come out.
Karina slid her purse strap onto her shoulder and got out slowly. “Is he friendly?” she asked.
“Sure! He only attacks if Daddy says a word in German,” she assured the newcomer. “Are you the lady who’s going to take care of me?” she added.
“I hope so,” Karina replied gently.
The little girl was petit, with long jet-black hair in a ponytail, and pale blue eyes in a rounded, pretty face. “I’m Janey,” she said. “Who are you?”
“I’m Karina,” she replied, smiling.
“It’s nice to meet you. My daddy had to go down to the barn. One of the bulls stepped on Billy Joe Smith.”
Karina raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Billy Joe?”
She laughed. “He’s from Georgia. He says lots of men have two first names down there. He’s nice. He raises our German Shepherds. They’re famous!”
“That one is very handsome,” Karina said, eyeing the dog.
“He’s Dietrich,” Janey replied. “Go say hello, Dietrich!”
The dog ambled over to Karina and sniffed her. She put out a hand to let him smell her, and when he looked up, she ruffled the fur on his neck. “Hello, handsome,” she said softly. “You’re a gorgeous boy!”
He laid his head against her and drank in the affection.
“You like dogs, don’t you?” Janey asked.
“I love them. We had a Siberian Husky when I was little. He was named Mukluk and he was an escape artist. He was always getting away. Dad spent so much time hunting him,” she laughed.
“I like Huskies, but we have lots of cats,” Janey sighed, “so we can’t have Huskies. Daddy says that a lot of them are dangerous to little animals.”
“Mukluk certainly was,” Karina said with a smile. “We had to keep our cat in a room of his own, when Mukluk came inside. Mukluk loved to chase him.”
“Dietrich just licks our cats,” Janey chuckled.
“He’s a sweetheart.”
The sound of an engine diverted them.
A big black truck drove up and parked next to Karina’s car. A man got out. A big man, with a light olive complexion and jet-black hair under a wide-brimmed Stetson, husky and somber, with dark brown eyes and an attitude that stuck out a mile. He was wearing a fringed leather jacket with black beadwork that emphasized wide shoulders on a body like a wrestler. He glared at Karina.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked.
She was taken aback by the sudden, sharp words.
“She’s Karina,” the little girl said, smiling and unafraid of the big man and his bad attitude. “She’s going to be my companion.”
The big man moved a step closer. Karina moved a step back. He was intimidating. “I’m Karina. Karina Carter.” She put out an unsteady hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr.,” she searched her memory, addled by his confrontational approach, “Mr. Torrance.”
He cocked his head and deep brown eyes narrowed as he surveyed her. Light blonde hair that was probably very long, pinned up in a bun on the back of her head. Pale gray eyes. Medium height, slight build, comfortable clothing that looked as if it came from a high-ticket store, sturdy shoes, one foot in a support boot. She was leaning on a cane.
“How can you take care of a child if you can’t even walk?” he asked shortly.
“Sir, your daughter hardly looks as if she’d run from anything, even me,” she replied with faint humor.
He made a sound, deep in his throat. “No. She doesn’t run from much.” His eyes narrowed, glittery. “Why do you want this job?”
