A Matter of Trust

by Susan May Warren

  Ty glanced at the sled, up to Adam. “You sure you can handle the sled alone? Technically we’re above the snow guns—it’s too steep. You sure you won’t get yourself—and this kid—hurt?”

  Maybe it was the bright blue sky, the onlookers, the taste of adrenaline, but in Ty’s question, Gage heard the past rise. Heard the voice, quiet, pleading. Female. “Please, Gage, don’t do this. You’re going to get somebody hurt.”

  It jarred him.

  Then, Hunter groaned, and Gage came back to himself.

  “Yes,” he said. He hiked over to his board, glancing up at Adam. “My friends are going to get you down. Don’t worry, kid!”

  He happened to look at the onlookers just then. Yes, cell phones were tracking his movements.

  Once upon a time, he would have waved; even now he felt the old habit stir inside him.

  Then, three chairs down he spotted the T. rex.

  And behind him, the buddy with the GoPro.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Ty glanced at him, but Gage shook his head. His rant would have to wait.

  Skye was climbing into the belay harness when Gage snapped his boots into his board. He stepped between the brake handles of the sled, and Ty helped him out with a push.

  Don’t lose control. Don’t overcorrect.

  Don’t get anyone killed.

  He glanced up again at the T. rex and shook his head. “Hang in there, Hunter. We’ll be down in no time.”

  The colder it got up here on top of the mountain, stalled on the Timber Bowl chair, the more the T. rex next to her threatened to jump.

  “I could make it. The only reason that punk missed was because he didn’t have enough launch.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Ella Blair curled her fingers into a ball inside her mittens. She already couldn’t feel her toes, and she’d snugged her nose into her neck gaiter, a film of fog covering her goggles.

  Three chairs ahead, at the tower, the two ski patrollers had anchored themselves around the pole and were using a kind of belay system to lower the skier. She still couldn’t believe the bravery of the first responder—climbing up four stories on the pole to fix the kid into the sling. For a second there, she thought the terrified teenager might just leap into the patrol’s arms.

  She turned, looking down behind her, and spied him, attached to the bright red sled, sliding through the powder and down the bowl toward the base.

  His thighs had to be on fire, shredding the hill at first one angle, then the next.

  Now that was the kind of hero she wanted to be—someone who actually helped people with real problems.

  Not tracking down her delinquent brother.

  Now her fingers had gone numb, and save for the adrenaline of watching the ski patrol lower the idiot teenager hanging from the lift, she would be a frozen, hypothermic ball.

  She wanted to get off this mountain, and fast. The bright, sunny day had deceived her into believing that heading west to hijack her brother’s ski vacation was a brilliant stratagem for getting him turned around and headed back to Vermont, and more specifically, his sophomore year at Middlebury. She still didn’t understand why her parents seemed okay with his ski-bum sabbatical.

  But the longer they sat here, the longer she despaired of having a real conversation with Oliver. After all, clearly he wasn’t taking anything she said seriously. Not dressed in that ridiculous costume.

  More, he hardly seemed rattled that his sister had flown across the country, tracked him down, and boarded a ski lift with him nearly out of the blue.

  Not so much out of the blue, because she’d been watching him, trying to figure out how to pin him down for a come-to-Jesus chat since arriving at their parents’ resort condo this morning. No, actually since she’d gotten the semi-drunk pocket call from him three nights ago. Slurred speech and muffled raucous laughter in the bar around him, something about Montana and skiing down Heaven’s Peak.

  She’d yelled into the phone at the top of her lungs before finally giving up.

  And booking a flight.

  “No, really, it’s not that far,” Ollie said, clearly still fixed on his ludicrous stunt. “I can reach it.”

  He reached out, swinging the chair, and she screamed and grabbed the bar. “Stop! You’re going to push me off.”

  “Look, I can almost reach the pole.” He strained toward the rungs on the tower, trying to hook one.

  “Stop it, Ollie!”

  But he turned around in the chair and shouted to the pair behind them. “Bradley! If I make it, be sure to get it on video!”

  She didn’t have to look to know that his stupid friend probably gave him a thumbs-up.

  “You’re not—stop it.” She grabbed his jacket and pulled him back, her other hand in an iron grip on the bar.

  He laughed. “Calm down. I was just kidding. I just like our little game.” He gave her a wink.

  “That wasn’t funny. I’m having a flashback of when you were six and I was—”

  “Ninety-three?” Oliver glanced at her, grinning. Only his face stuck out of the hole right under the inflatable costume’s head. He’d shoved the legs into his snowboarder boots.

  “Can you even move in that thing?”

  “Sure. It’s a little tight, but I’m going to get so many hits once we post this on YouTube. I’ll be nearly as famous as you.”

  “Funny.”

  Under that ridiculous costume was a good kid. He couldn’t help it that he’d experienced a completely different childhood than hers. Grown up with different parents, different expectations.

  Wealth and security.

  “I just have to know—why the T. rex outfit?”

  “Are you kidding me? T. rex videos are killing it. When we put this up—”

  “Stop. I can’t hear this. Let me get this straight. You dropped out of your very prestigious private college so you could become a ski bum in a Tyrannosaurus rex costume? This is why you broke your parents’ hearts?”

  “I didn’t break their hearts.” His smile dimmed. “And they’re your parents too.”

  She’d forgotten how the wind off Blackbear could slither inside her jacket, find her bones, rattle them. “Legally. But you know they love you the best—and for good reason. Even though we were both adopted, I was just their ward. You are their son. You’re everything to them, and now you’re not only going to get hurt but you’ll look ridiculous doing it.”

  Oliver’s mouth tightened. “I won’t get hurt.”

  “Maybe not, but what’s next, Ollie? BASE jumping?”

  “I dunno. Maybe I’ll go to Outlaw.”

  She stilled. Took a breath, dug deep, and this time hung on to her inner attorney, refusing to let Ollie undo her. No, she grabbed for the woman who’d been a state senator for two years, one of the youngest in the nation. She’d stood her ground in front of tougher opponents than her kid brother.

  Still, just the name—Outlaw Mountain—and the memory behind it left wounds.

  “If you did, I’d know you were really stupid,” she said crisply and looked away, a little unnerved at the gloss filming her eyes. She blinked before they iced over.

  The patrol had lowered the kid to the snow and pulled the rope free of the lift. He seemed unhurt but shaken.

  Oliver fell silent as they watched. Then, “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded.

  “You didn’t have to come all the way out here. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m not cut out for school, okay? I failed nearly every class last semester—”

  “Because you were partying! Don’t tell me you weren’t smoking pot, Ollie. You couldn’t hide it from me in high school, and you can’t hide it now—”

  “I wasn’t high, Ella. I was . . . not smart. I studied. I went to class. I want to be—I wanted Mom and Dad to be as proud of me as they are of you.”

  She could hardly take him seriously in that inane costume. “Mansfield and Marj love you�
�”

  “But they’re proud of you.” He looked down at his hands. “I’m never going to be a lawyer or . . .” He looked over at her. “A state senator.”

  “You might—”

  “I don’t want to be that. I’m sorry, sis, but your idea of fun is a bowl of popcorn and a political debate. Sorry, I know I should care, but I don’t. I like powder boarding. I just need some breathing room, okay? I’ll figure it out. You’ll see. I’ll do something amazing and it’ll blow you all away. So you can pack up and go back to Vermont and save somebody else.”

  And, with a jolt, the lift started.

  “Too bad,” Ollie murmured. “I could’ve made that jump.”

  She closed her eyes.

  They rode in silence, and she averted her eyes as they passed the bloody smudge in the snow. The ski patrollers skied on either side of the rescued snowboarder; the kid clearly looked rattled as he rode down the bowl. She couldn’t see the other patroller anymore. Maybe he’d reached the bottom.

  Or fallen.

  She didn’t want to think about that—the danger that could occur on a mountain.

  Outlaw. The name pressed in, leaving bruises. Maybe she didn’t know how to have fun. Not anymore.

  But really, who could blame her? She’d blown her chance at happily ever after—even self-respect—after the tragedy at Outlaw Mountain.

  Or more specifically, after Gage Watson.

  The top of the lift came into view.

  “Life is more than fun, Ollie. And we’re not done with this conversation.”

  The T. rex lifted his board to disembark. “Roar,” he said.

  “Ollie—”

  “Meet you at the bottom, sis.” He slid off the chair and away from her, then bent to clip his boot back into his board. She too slid off, remounted her board, and parked herself away from the lift, waiting for Brette and Bradley on the chair behind them.

  Bradley rode his board over and high-fived his dinosaur friend. “Let’s shred this gnar!” He adjusted his GoPro and gave his subject a thumbs-up.

  Ollie, in costume, headed to the edge of the bowl. He gave her one last look, wiggled his backside, and slipped off the lip and down the hill.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. But Ella couldn’t help a smile. Her brother, despite everything, always knew how to make her laugh.

  He disappeared from view, and her attention turned to the breathtaking scope of Glacier National Park, the jagged horizon glistening white and glorious. Below her, miles away, she could just make out Whitefish Lake, the tiny town of Whitefish, and the run of high-end condos, including the one that belonged to her family, just off the slope.

  She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the smell of pine and crisp air.

  Maybe it was time she did have some fun. After all, she’d managed to sneak away from the maddening swarm of the press after the passing of Proposal 241, a bill she’d worn out her voice trying to defeat.

  A clear indication that maybe she shouldn’t run again, if 80 percent of Vermont supported the use of marijuana for recreational purposes.

  Crazy.

  Brette slid over, clipped her boot in, then stood up and adjusted her goggles. She glanced over at the view. “I don’t know, Ella. I’ve never ridden powder this deep. And this is pretty steep.”

  Ella glanced at her. “Thanks for coming along. I know I roped you into this.”

  “No, I’m glad to be here. I haven’t been skiing in years—since we came out that time with Sofia.” Brette’s wheat-white hair hung out of her helmet in two thick braids. Athletic and petite, Brette was a deceiving package of curves and brains, her journalist mind always on the hunt for a good story. Ella was glad her former housemate was, and always had been, on her side. “I’m just not sure I’m not going to end up taking my own toboggan ride down the hill. Although, if I could get that cute ski patrol to save me . . .”

  Brette grinned at Ella and pulled out her phone. “I got a few close-ups.” She thumbed open her app and began to scroll through the pictures. “Here’s a good one. Handsome, huh?”

  She handed the phone over to Ella. The glare on the phone made it hard to see, so she took off her glasses, cupped her hand over the phone, and turned away from the sun.

  Everything inside her froze. Wait—no. She angled for a better view. He wore his helmet, his face intense and straining as he reached out to fit the sling over the head of the dangling snowboarder. But that set of his jaw under a layer of brown whiskers, the curly brown hair peeking out of his black ski helmet . . .

  It simply couldn’t be. “Yeah, he’s handsome,” she managed, her voice barely hitching.

  “I think I’m going to fall, just so he can rescue me.” Brette winked at her, tucking the phone back in her jacket.

  Ella offered a weak smile.

  She tried to remember—had the voice sounded familiar as he called up to the boy?

  Maybe.

  Yes. She possessed a nearly photographic memory when it came to the regretful moments of her past, and a news article flashed in her mind: Gage Watson, from Mercy Falls, Montana.

  He’d returned home to hide.

  Or survive.

  Maybe restart his life.

  Whatever. It didn’t matter. Really, not at all.

  Except . . . She’d told herself for years that she didn’t have to see him, track him down, talk to him.

  Let her heart remember.

  But she’d also told herself that someday she’d face Gage Watson and explain everything.

  Maybe it wasn’t him.

  She wasn’t going to let Brette crash and find out. “Listen, Brette, just keep your arms open and wide, like you’re reading a newspaper.”

  “I’m sorry, what is that? A news—what?”

  “I know, old-school term. Try this—pretend you saw, oh, I don’t know, Kit Harrington at the top of the hill, riding your direction, and only you could save him.”

  “Kit is your type. Maybe . . . Matthew Goode?”

  “Okay, Downton Abbey. I don’t know why you always go for the fancy boys, but whatever works.”

  “Not anymore—I learned my lesson. No more rich party boys for me. But I do love a good English accent.”

  Ella grinned. “Okay, well, the key to riding powder is to hold your arms out and lean back. But not too far or you’ll go over. But you want to lift your tip.”

  Brette held her arms out, settling her hips. “Like this?”

  “You look like a duck, but yeah.”

  “Better than a T. rex.”

  Ella shook her head. “Keep an even rhythm, don’t cut too hard—make a nice smooth line. And don’t rush.”

  “Oh, fear not.” Brette headed over to the edge of the bowl. “And you owe me.”

  Ella laughed. “I’ll ski behind you.”

  But Brette didn’t move, just kept staring at the thick, powdery snow, now bumbled and tossed by a day of skiing and shredding. But still soft, still whisper-light in the crisp air.

  “How did you learn to do this? I mean, I know the M&M’s have a condo here, but—”

  “I spent some time in BC, at Fernie. And Whistler. And . . .” She swallowed, forced out the word. “Outlaw. Best powder on the planet.”

  There, she said it without flinching. And someday, she’d manage it without feeling claws inside, hollowing her out, leaving a burn where her heart should be.

  “Hey, isn’t that where that guy died? Your family knew him.”

  Brette, proving she’d done her journalistic homework.

  Ella nodded. “Dylan McMahon. You ready?”

  “Were you there that day?”

  “I’m really cold, Brette. Sitting on that chair didn’t help.”

  Brette’s mouth closed in a tight line, and Ella hated that she’d hurt her. But she couldn’t—really couldn’t—talk about it.

  At least not the entire story.

  Not without losing her law license.

  But she couldn’t stand Brette’s face, so, “Yeah, I
was there. I saw Dylan die.” And Gage Watson’s brilliant future end in a devastating crash.

  Brette nodded and thankfully turned back to the bowl.

  “No one is going to die today,” she said, and Ella could have hugged her for it.

  “Let’s do this!” Brette yelled. She pushed off, leaning back, arms wide as she flew down the slope.

  No one is going to die today.

  Ella pushed off behind her, praying her words were true.

  2

  MAYBE HE WOULD NEVER DO THAT AGAIN. In fact, if pushed, Gage could admit he could have used a tail. Ty, or even maybe Skye, helping to control the sled.

  “You’re okay, kid,” Gage said as he slid to a stop near the ski patrol shack.

  Hunter appeared a bit whitened, and even Gage’s pulse pounded in his throat at their descent. His thighs burned with the strain of slowing them down through the powder.

  Worse, twice the sled overtook him, and he’d had to rally around it, pull it back into submission.

  His entire body trembled, and sweat filmed down his back as he unhooked his helmet, pulled it off, and guided the rescue toboggan onto the platform near the ski patrol shack.

  Late afternoon shadows draped the receiving area in gray, and he pulled off his sunglasses as he unbuckled his bindings from his board. The après-ski aroma of grilled steaks and the sound of raucous music lifted from the nearby Blackbear Base Camp Saloon.

  “Hunter!”

  Gage turned at the voice and saw a middle-aged woman in a purple ski outfit, white Sorel boots, and short dark hair running toward him.

  “Mom,” Hunter said, his voice shaky. Maybe he’d been holding it in, but the fifteen-year-old hotshot blinked back tears, his jaw tight as his mom rushed over.

  “How could you do this?” she said, bending over him. “They told me you jumped! What were you thinking?”

  Gage turned away, just for a second, the words ringing in his ears.

  “What were you thinking?”

  The Great Question, for every idiotic move. Had Hunter not gotten hurt, the comments on the YouTube videos would be more akin to “stellar, dude!”

  Kids.

  No, kids who didn’t think, who only wanted to show off, or worse, prove themselves to the world.