by Lisa Jackson
Stiffly, he dropped into the desk chair. “Seems to me you didn’t mind too much.”
“That was a long time ago,” she shot back, closing her mind to the fact that she’d loved him. Now he was a stranger, a stranger with a biting cynicism that had the ability to slice deep. “And you’ve changed.”
He leaned back in his chair, and his lips twisted. “I wonder why? It couldn’t be because I trusted the wrong person, could it?”
Stunned, she swallowed hard. Pain welled up as if he’d struck her. “It doesn’t matter,” she replied, refusing to let him know he’d wounded her. “I’m here to do a job. That’s all. What you think happened in the past really doesn’t matter, does it?”
“You bet it matters!”
“Not anymore.”
One of his golden brows lifted, challenging her, but she ignored it. Instead she picked up her camera case and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get to work. When Mr. Johanson shows up, point him in my direction. I’ll be outside.” Opening the door to the back deck, she flung over her shoulder, “I’ll be at the blue chair.”
Slamming the door shut, she marched across the deck, rested her palms on the thick weathered plank of the rail and took in three deep breaths.
Damn him, damn him, damn him, she thought, shaking inside.
She brushed her hair from her face and tried to calm down. The mountain air was clear and crisp with the promise of winter. Sunlight dazzled over the rocky cliffs and pine trees while dry grass and wildflowers added the fresh scent of a summer that hadn’t quite disappeared. High overhead, against a backdrop of diaphanous clouds, a lonely hawk circled.
Melanie heard the door open behind her and braced herself.
“We don’t have a blue chair anymore,” he said, his voice soft and caressing. She dug her fingers into the weather-beaten railing but didn’t turn to face him.
“Well, then, whatever you call it. You know the one I mean!”
“The Barbary Coast.”
“The what?” Slowly she looked over her shoulder and caught him smiling, his eyes dancing with amusement at her bewilderment. But as quickly as it appeared, that fleeting hint of humor fled. “The runs have been named by the colors of their chairs for as long as there have been lifts.”
“Then it’s time for a change.” He walked up to her and propped his injured leg on the lower rail.
What did she care? She wasn’t about to argue with him. He could rename the whole damn mountain for all it mattered to her. She turned again, heading for the Barbary Coast chair.
“So where is that partner of yours?” he asked.
“I don’t have one.”
“The reporter who was here the other day.”
Melanie shrugged. “I’m not Jan’s keeper. I told her I’d get the shots we needed and she could arrange for another session with you. I didn’t see that I needed to be involved.”
His lips twisted. “How long is this going to take?” She’d had enough of his foul mood. “I guess that depends on you,” she said sarcastically. “If you’re a good boy and answer all Jan’s questions, it’ll be over quickly, but if you start baiting her like you’re doing with me right now, I guarantee you it’ll be long and drawn-out.”
“And what about you? How long do you plan to be here?”
“Believe me, I want it over as soon as possible. I plan to take some pictures now, a few more when the reconstruction really gets into swing and then, of course, more when the first snow hits and there are actually skiers up here. We’ll probably end with a big spread when the lodge opens. That is,” she added, “if you don’t disapprove.”
“Would it matter?”
“I don’t know.”
Suddenly she was staring at him as she had years ago—full of honesty and integrity. And she felt a very vital, private need to explain. “You’re big-time, Gavin. Whether you want to admit it or not. Of course the press is interested. And it’s not just your career, you know. It’s your lifestyle.”
His eyes darkened a fraction.
“You’ve been seen all over the world, in the glitziest resorts with the most gorgeous women, with a very fast, exciting crowd—actors, actresses, models, artists. You know, the beautiful crowd, the people middle-class America has an affair with.”
His jaw clamped tight, and for a few long seconds he stared at her.
“Your name will become synonymous with Ridge Lodge Resort. It’s only natural that the public will be curious. And face it, you and that partner of yours are counting on it. So why don’t you quit fighting me every step of the way and enjoy it?”
“Enjoy it,” he repeated on a short laugh.
“Most men would love your fame.”
“I’m not most men,”
“Lord, don’t I know it,” she said, hurrying across the deck, down the steps and through the tufts of dry grass. “I still need a few pictures of the interior of the lodge, you, your partner and . . . I don’t know . . . something spectacular.” She was thinking aloud, staring at the chair lift. “Something like a view from the top of the mountain.” Her gaze landed at the hut at the base of the Barbary Coast lift. Twin cables, supported by huge black pillars, swept up the rocky terrain. Blue-backed chairs hung from the strong cable.
He followed her gaze. “You’re not going up on that thing.”
“Is it unsafe?”
“No, but—”
“It would be such a breathtaking view,” she said, her mind already spinning ahead to the panorama that would be visible from the top of the lift. She’d been up there many times in winter, but never had she seen the mountains from that height before the snow season. “Oh, Gavin, it would be perfect!”
Gavin shook his head. “No way.”
“Why not?”
“Too risky.”
She cocked a disbelieving brow. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.” She started for the hut at the base of the lift and motioned to the cables. “Can’t you turn this thing on?”
“Yes, but I don’t think it would be a good idea.”
“That’s no surprise. You haven’t thought anything about the Tribune’s interest in the resort has been a good idea.” She was already climbing down the steps of the deck and heading for the chair.
Gavin, using his cane, was right on her heels. “What’re you trying to prove?”
“Nothing. I just want to get my job done. Then I won’t bother you for a while.”
“Promise?”
Spinning, eyes narrowed, she said, “I’ll swear in blood if I have to!”
He almost smiled. She could see it in his eyes. But quickly the shutters on his eyes lowered and no hint of emotion showed through.
“Then let’s go!”
“You don’t have to come with me—”
“Like hell.”
“Really—”
“Look, Mrs. Brooks, I don’t know what kind of liability I have here, but I’m going with you to make sure you don’t do something asinine and end up falling off the lift and killing yourself.”
“Thanks for your concern,” she mocked.
“It’s not concern. It’s simply covering my backside.”
“And what can you do . . . ?” She motioned to his injured leg and wished she hadn’t.
His face tightened. “It’s with me or not at all,” he muttered, turning away from her and mulishly crossing the remaining distance to the chair lift.
Telling herself she was about to make a grave error, she tucked the strap of her camera over one shoulder, pocketed an extra memory stick and followed him. “I must be out of my mind,” she muttered under her breath but decided he was more crass than she as he struggled up the slight incline.
Gavin walked stiffly, jabbing his cane into the dry earth until he reached the hut, which was little more than a huge metal A-frame, open at one end to allow the chairs of the lift to enter, revolve around a huge post, then, after picking up skiers, start back up the hillside. He went into a private glassed-in operator’s booth
that was positioned on one side of the hut. Inside, visible through the glass, he picked up the receiver of a telephone and punched out a number, then waited, his fingers drumming impatiently on the window.
She watched as he spoke tersely into the phone for a few seconds, then slammed the receiver back into its cradle.
“We’re all set,” he said, meeting Melanie in the shade of the hut.
“You don’t have to—”
“Of course I do,” he clipped. “All part of our policy up here at Ridge Lodge to keep the public and the press happy.”
“I bet.”
A wiry, red-haired man shouted from the lodge, then dashed across the rough ground to the hut.
“This is Erik Link. He’s in charge of maintenance of all the equipment,” Gavin said as the freckle-faced operator entered the hut. “Erik—Melanie Brooks—”
“Walker,” Melanie corrected, extending her hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Erik replied.
“Melanie’s a photographer for the local paper and she wants some pictures from the summit of the lift.” He turned back to Melanie. “Erik will make sure we get up and down in one piece.”
“That’s encouraging.” Melanie said dryly.
Erik grinned. “Piece of cake.” He withdrew a key ring from his pocket and went into the lodge.
Sighing, she glanced down at his cane. “Really, Gavin, I can handle this alone. You’re still laid up—”
“Temporarily.”
“Unless you do something stupid and injure yourself again,” she pointed out. “I bet your doctor would have a fit.”
He smiled then, that same blinding flash of white that had always trapped the breath in her lungs. “My doctor’ll never know.” He leaned forward on his cane and surveyed her through inquisitive eyes. “You’ve changed, Mel,” he said quietly. “There was a time when you’d do anything on a dare. Including being alone with me.”
“This has nothing to do with being alone with you.”
“Doesn’t it?” One eyebrow arched dubiously. “You’re the one who wanted the best pictures for that damned paper of yours. I’m just giving you what you wanted.”
She was tempted. Lord, it would be great knocking the wind from his sails. She eyed the lift with its tall black poles and hesitated.
“Come on, Melanie. I won’t bite. I’ll even try to keep a rein on my temper.”
“I won’t hold my breath.”
“We’ll see.” He motioned to Erik, who positioned himself at the station in the hut. A few seconds later, with a rumbling clang and a groan the chairs started moving slowly up the face of the mountain. Erik, smiling, stood at the attendant’s box. “Any time,” he yelled over the grind of machinery.
Melanie second-guessed herself. “What if we get stuck?”
“We won’t.”
“How will you get off?” she asked, eyeing his leg and cane. At the top of the lift, the platform had to be several feet below the chair to allow for snowfall. He couldn’t possibly jump off the lift without reinjuring himself, and then there was the problem of climbing back on.
“I won’t,” he said, edging toward the moving chairs. “You’ll have to take your pictures from the chair.” Before she could argue, he shoved his cane into one hand, grabbed her fingers tightly, moved in front of the next chair and let the lift sweep them off their feet. Within seconds they were airborne.
“Nothing to it,” he said, flicking her a satisfied glance.
“Right,” she said, still steaming. “You always were bullheaded.”
He frowned. “When I want to do something, I just do it.”
“That could be dangerous.”
“For me—or you?”
“Give me a break,” she murmured, angry at being bullied into the chair but feeling a sense of exhilaration nonetheless. A rush of adrenaline swept through her veins as the chair began its ascent. The mountain air was clear, the sky a brilliant shade of autumn blue, broken only by high, thin clouds. A playful breeze was cool against her neck and cheeks and carried with it the fresh, earthy scent of pine.
Melanie slid a glance at Gavin and told herself firmly that the fact that her heart was beating as rapidly as a hummingbird’s had nothing to do with the fact that his shoulder brushed hers or that his thigh was only inches from her leg.
Her throat grew tight, and she forced her gaze back to the view. Uncapping the lens from her camera, she stared through the viewfinder, adjusted the focus and clicked off several quick shots of the mountain looming straight ahead.
The peak was dusted with snow, but the rest of the mountain above the timberline was sheer, craggy rock.
“Why’d you come back to Taylor’s Crossing?” she asked as the chair climbed up the final steep grade of bare rock.
“Because the deal was right on the resort and because of this.” He kicked up his injured foot and frowned at his leg.
“But that’s only temporary.”
“Maybe.”
“Will you be able to race again?”
“It all depends,” he admitted, “on how I’ve healed.” His lips tightened. “Maybe it’s time to retire.”
“At thirty?”
He laughed, but the sound didn’t carry any mirth as it bounced off the mountain face. “Looks that way.”
The chair rounded the top of the lift and started downward. Melanie had to grit her teeth. Riding the chair up was one thing, but staring down the sheer mountain was quite another. Her hands began to sweat as she lifted the camera again.
Gavin’s fingers clamped over her upper arm. “Be careful.”
Melanie’s concentration centered on those five strong fingers warm against her bare skin, heating her flesh.
She knew he could feel her pulse, hoped it wouldn’t betray her as she forced the camera to her eyes and found breathtaking shots of the mountaintops. With her wide-angled lens, she caught the broken ridge of the Cascades. Thin, lazy clouds drifted between the blue peaks, and tall spires of snow pierced the wispy layer.
As the chair moved downward, past the timberline, she caught rays of morning sunlight. Golden beams sifted through the pine trees to dapple the needle-strewn forest floor.
Lower still, she focused the camera on the lodge, snapping off aerial shots of the weathered shake roof and sprawling wings.
“It’s beautiful up here,” she admitted, hazarding a glance at Gavin. Their gazes locked, and for a breathless instant Melanie was transported back to a place where things were simple and all that mattered was their love. He felt it, too; she could read it in his gold-colored eyes—a tenderness and love so special it still burned bright.
He swallowed and turned quickly to focus on the pines. His voice, when he spoke, was rough. “Look, Mel, I think we should get some things straight. I didn’t know you’d be in Taylor’s Crossing when I came back.”
“Would it have changed your mind?”
“Probably—I don’t know. Rich was hell-bent to reopen this lodge, but . . .” His voice drifted off, lost in the gentle rush of the breeze and the steady whir of the lift. “I—you—we made a lot of mistakes, didn’t we?”
Her heart wrenched as she thought of their child—a child who hadn’t even had a chance to be born. “More than you know.”
“And I was wrong about a lot of things,” he said, still avoiding her gaze. “And one of those things was you.”
Bracing herself, she decided to try to bridge the horrible abyss that loomed between them, to tell him the truth. She placed her hand on his arm and said, “Look, Gavin, as long as we’re talking about the past, there’s something you should know—”
“All I know is it’s over!” His face grew dark. “The past was just a means to an end. A way to get what I wanted.” He stared straight at her. “And what happened didn’t really matter. You and I—we were just a couple of kids playing around!”
“And that’s why you’re carrying this chip the size of Mount Everest on your shoulder,” she mocked, “because it ‘didn’t
matter’? Who’re you trying to kid?”
He smiled then, slowly and lazily. “If it makes you feel better to think you’re the cause of my discontent, go right ahead. But that’s making yourself pretty damned self-important, if you ask me.”
“Why wouldn’t I think it?” she challenged, angry again. “The minute you set eyes on me again, you went for my throat. There has to be a reason you hate me, Gavin.”
A muscle worked in his jaw, and his voice, when he spoke, was barely a whisper. “I’ve never hated you, Melanie.”
Her heart turned over. Don’t, she thought desperately. Whatever you do, Gavin, don’t be kind!
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something clever, but couldn’t find the words. Besides, what good would it do, dredging it all up again? Instead, she fiddled with her camera, pretended interest in a few more shots and wished the ride would end. Being this close to Gavin, tangled up in old and new emotions, was just too difficult. “You’re right,” she agreed, forcing a cool, disinterested smile. “We were just a couple of kids. We didn’t know what we wanted.”
“Oh, I knew what I wanted,” he said. “I wanted to be the best damn skier in the world.”
“And nothing else?”
“Nothing else really mattered, did it?”
“No, I guess you’re right,” she replied tightly. “Skiing is all there is in life!”
His shoulders tensed, and the corners of his mouth tightened. At the bottom of the lift he motioned to Erik. The lift slowed, and Gavin helped her off, hopping nimbly on his good leg and swinging her to her feet as the lift stopped.
Leaning heavily on his cane, Gavin started hobbling back to the lodge, and she knew she couldn’t leave things unsettled. Not if they were going to work together.
“Gavin . . .” Reaching forward, she touched his forearm again, and he spun around quickly, his expression stern, his eyes blazing.
“Go home, Melanie. You’ve got your pictures, though why you’re taking them for that rag’s beyond me.”
“‘That rag’ is the paper I work for.”
He stopped dead in his tracks. “Couldn’t you find a better one in Seattle?”
“I moved back here,” she said, inching her chin up a fraction. “After the divorce.”
