“Well, is he as good as he thinks he is?”
Kris shrugged. “His turns are pretty tight, I’ll give him that. But he’s scary fast and doesn’t seem to believe in stops.”
“Maybe he’s a competitive skier.”
“Then why ski here?”
“Don’t know. Hey, why did you come in? Hungry? Cold?”
“Grrr. The buckles on one boot are not holding properly. I’m spending half my time stopping to adjust them, and even still I feel my heel moving too much for good turns. I’m not going to take chances. I have to call it a day and have Leif Mueller look at it back in town.”
“You’ve been out there for hours.” Jillian put her feet back in her boots. “Have something to eat first. I’ll start putting stuff in the car.”
The day still blazed resplendent on the drive back to Canyon Mines, which was within easy driving distance of half a dozen ski locations. It wasn’t often that Kris could get away from Ore the Mountain, her ice cream parlor on Main Street, for an extended day excursion, but January—especially the lull just after Christmas—was a better time than most to leave the shop in the hands of a part-time employee. Though there might be ski season foot traffic through town, freezing mountain temperatures did not put ice cream at the top of tourists’ lists, and the Canary Cage coffee shop just down the block sold much better hot beverages that Kris did not try to compete with. Hot chocolate was the only exception, because her secret ingredient was hand-tempered chocolate supplied by Carolyn, who ran Digger’s Delight, the candy shop that shared the building with Ore the Mountain.
“So Veronica and Luke are having their usual winter party soon,” Kris said as she turned her car toward the town limits. “Are you and your dad going?”
“With bells on,” Jillian said.
“As usual, the theme is hush-hush. Have you heard any leaks?”
“Not yet.”
“And if you did?”
Jillian smiled. She could keep a secret. “Nia said Meri promised to come back for a weekend at the Inn after she’s settled at grad school in Denver.”
“You all did a good thing for her, helping her sort out her genealogy—and her family.”
“I don’t always get to see the difference genealogy searches make quite so dramatically.” Jillian pointed out the windshield. “It’s starting to snow again.”
“Fresh powder.”
“You’re already thinking about getting back out on the slopes.”
“Sure, if I get my boots fixed. Will your dad cut back his days working in Denver?”
“Just January and February. Two days a week instead of three. If we have a mild stretch, he can always change his mind.” Nolan Duffy’s home office was upstairs while Jillian’s was downstairs. He worked part of the week in Denver and part in Canyon Mines, and she worked fulltime out of the house. Their arrangement had worked for years. Nolan’s practice as a family law attorney and mediator was brisk, and Jillian’s work creating family trees for individuals or looking for missing people for insurance or law firms, along with speaking at genealogy conferences, produced a steady stream of requests for her expertise. Since losing her mom when she was fourteen, Jillian and her dad had created their own rhythms of companionable living.
“I heard Clark Addison is threatening to remodel the Canary Cage,” Kris said.
“He’d better not get rid of our couch.”
“You got that right. We might have to stage a sit-in.”
“How’s Carolyn’s daughter?”
“Getting close to delivering, I think. Carolyn’s going to close the candy store for a month when the baby comes and go to Golden to help out.”
“Makes sense. Business is slower than in the summer.”
“People still buy more candy in the winter than they do ice cream. Without her next door, I could go days without selling a scoop,” Kris said.
“Close up and take a real vacation. Go someplace you’ve always wanted to ski.”
“Hey, do you mind if we go straight to the ski shop? I might as well find out what Leif thinks about my boot and whether I have anything to ski with.”
They drove past the conjoined ice cream and candy shops, past Veronica and Luke O’Reilly’s Victorium Emporium, past the Canary Cage, and detoured off Main Street to Catch Air, the shop Leif Mueller had been running for the last twelve years to take advantage of the town’s proximity to Colorado ski country. Kris took both boots from the trunk and carried them through the door.
Just inside, she elbowed Jillian and whispered, “There he is.”
“Who?”
“The guy from the double-blacks.” Kris pointed by tilting her head. “How did he get here so fast?”
“He drives the way he skis?”
The man was older than Jillian’s twenty-eight years, in his midthirties, tall. The pockets of his radiant green ski jacket overflowed with yellow hat and gloves. At least he took the precaution of being visible on the slopes during his daring downward flights. Jillian didn’t have to be wealthy or a skier to recognize that this man had invested some serious money in outfitting himself, and he wasn’t shopping the clearance rack now. Over one shoulder, in stark contrast to the high-end garb that covered him head to toe, hung a gray cloth backpack well past its best days.
Leif looked up. “Can I help you ladies—or at least the one of you who skis and is not afraid of tripping over herself?”
“Ha-ha.” Jillian grimaced. Having the shop owners in a small town know you had its downside. When the weather improved, she’d get back to running—and she rarely tripped.
Kris deposited both boots on the counter, and she and Leif entered a conversation about the technicalities. Jillian hadn’t been in Leif’s shop many times and began to wander. Even nonskiers could find warm winter gear here. Her dad’s latest winter jacket had come from this shop, and it was easy to recognize the vivid hats and gloves around town. The daredevil skier Kris had seen on the slopes was browsing a rack of goggles and had two pairs in his hands with the grip of intention to purchase.
“Are you sure?” Kris’s pitch rose. “That’s pretty pricey.”
Jillian shuffled back toward the front of the store.
Leif tilted his head and shrugged one shoulder. “You asked my opinion. Your main problem is the power strap. Yes, I can try changing that for you, but the other buckles are not in great shape either. We’ll have to do them all, and they might never snap the way someone of your caliber deserves. You’ve had these boots forever, Kris. At the level of skier that you are, I really think you’d be happier in the long term if you started looking at a new pair.”
Kris threw her head back and stared at the ceiling.
Jillian put one hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You’ll figure something out.”
The man with the goggles put both pairs on the counter. “Give her whatever she needs and put it on my bill.”
Kris’s head snapped back into position and spun toward him. “What? No, of course you can’t do that, Leif.”
“Why not?” the man said. “Leif here says you need new boots. I saw you skiing today. You clearly warrant an excellent pair.”
Kris colored. “No. Definitely no.”
He extended his hand. “Tucker.”
She took it. “Kris. My friend Jillian.”
Jillian nodded.
“Knowing your first name does not mean you should buy me a pair of ski boots,” Kris said.
“Pay it forward,” Tucker said. “Isn’t that what it’s called?”
“This is not a Starbucks drive-through,” Kris said. “This is a different animal altogether.”
Even Jillian knew that the quality boots a skier like Kris needed would cost hundreds of dollars.
“I insist.” Tucker looked at Leif. “What boot do you recommend for Kris?”
“I can suggest something,” Leif said.
Tucker opened his wallet and laid down six crisp hundred-dollar bills. “Will this cover it?”
Kr
is gripped Jillian’s arm, gulping. “No … Tucker. That’s very generous, but I cannot accept.”
“The thing about generosity is it’s a gift. Freely given.” Tucker looked at Jillian. “What could you use?”
“Nothing, thank you. I don’t ski.”
“A new jacket?” He opened his bulging wallet again. “I hear it’s going to be a cold winter.”
“No, really, I’m fine.” Her jacket was only two years old and perfectly warm. Why was he carrying so much cash? Hadn’t the man heard of credit cards?
“A new hat, at least?”
Jillian pointed to the blue knit cap with its red stripe that contained her mane of black hair.
“Some decent sunglasses, then.” He grabbed a designer pair off the nearest rack and set them on the counter with another two hundred dollars.
“Please, that’s not necessary.” Jillian shook her head at Leif. Why was this perfect stranger determined to give away so much money? Skied like crazy, drove like crazy, and apparently spent like crazy. Cash. Who did that?
“None of it is necessary,” Kris said. “I’m sorry if I sounded like I was whining. It’s a thing I do. React sometimes without thinking. I’ll sort out the boot dilemma.” She slid the stack of bills so new they looked like they’d come straight from the Federal Reserve toward the end of the counter, away from Leif and toward Tucker.
Tucker picked up the money and put it directly into Leif’s hands. “Fit her for the boots she obviously needs, and the sunglasses go home with her friend. If this is not enough, you know where to find me. Try not to have any left over.”
He picked up the goggles and left the store.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Olivia Newport’s novels blend the truths of where we find ourselves now with insights into what carried us in the past. Enjoying life with her husband and nearby grown children, she chases joy in stunning Colorado at the foot of Pikes Peak.
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