Make Me Stay (Men of Gold Mountain)

by Rebecca Brooks

  It was a reminder to Sam to look up, and when she did she was once more at a loss for words—but this time not because of terror or lust. The whole mountain stretched out at their feet, an endless expanse of snow and trees down to the valley below.

  “It’s something else up here,” she murmured.

  “Worth it for the view alone.”

  “Unless it’s the last thing I ever see.”

  “Would I let anything happen to you?”

  “I don’t know,” Sam said truthfully. “I barely even know you.”

  Austin leaned in to her again. “Yes, you do,” he whispered.

  He was so close, kissably close, but Sam made herself concentrate on the trail. She couldn’t say yes to him, no matter how true it felt. Because he didn’t know her. And if he did—or when he did…well, she didn’t know what he’d do. She only knew it was going to be bad.

  Her stomach knotted in a way that made her nerves from the ride up feel like nothing. Fear of the trail could be overcome. It was a boardroom, a speech, the day she officially became CEO. Her nerves rattled until it was over, and then it hardly seemed worth worrying about anymore.

  This feeling with Austin was different. She pushed it down, hard, as small as it would go.

  “Are we doing this or what?” she said.

  He pushed over the edge so suddenly Sam wanted to yell for him to wait—she was kidding, she wasn’t ready, she couldn’t actually take this on by herself. But before she knew it he was down below, and she couldn’t wait another second on the rim by herself. Because if she didn’t do it now she never would, and there’d be no hope of anything further with Austin, because unbelievably hot Olympic-caliber athletes didn’t take home women and fuck them senseless if they had to be escorted down by ski patrol because they were too chickenshit to tackle the trail.

  Plus, he was ski patrol. Which meant he’d be the one to save her, and he was already too far down to come back.

  She clenched her jaw like when she was little, afraid to jump off the pier into Lake Washington on the hottest days of summer. Doing it anyway because she didn’t want to be left behind when her father jumped first. The thought of him sent a jolt through her heart, and then she was moving even though she didn’t remember giving her legs permission to go.

  The first turn was sheer terror, weightlessness rising up in her stomach as the ground dropped away.

  And then her skis found their purchase and suddenly she remembered how to do this. One turn led to another until she was past the lip of the trail and down in the thick of the moguls, and there was no going back. She was making it happen. Because she could, and because there was no other way.

  She stopped next to Austin, breathless, her quads on fire even though they weren’t even halfway down the trail.

  “How does it feel?” he asked, grinning.

  “Holy shit,” she said.

  “You looked good up there.”

  “Holy shit,” she repeated.

  Her legs were shaking. Her mind seemed to have gone blank except for her capacity to swear. Somewhere inside her jacket her phone buzzed, but no way was she getting it now.

  “Come on,” he said. “Pick a line.”

  She looked down at the trail and all that she still had to conquer. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “You go first, I’ll follow.”

  “No, you choose. Look down below you and plan where you’re going to turn. Mark where on the bumps your skis are going to hit. It should be three-quarters up, just around the side.” He demonstrated with his pole where on the next mogul her feet should land. “You’re getting a little stuck in the ruts. That’s where it’s icy and it’s hard to stay in control.”

  “But I can’t turn that fast,” Sam said. “I pick up too much speed.”

  “That means you need to whip the turn around more before you go on to the next.” He bounced on his skis, facing sideways across the mountain. “Each time you bring your skis around, stay perpendicular to the drop. You can take the turns as slow as you want—you’re in control.”

  “I always am,” she said pointedly.

  “You’re in control, as long as you let the mountain take you just a little.”

  “I can be taken, too.”

  He let out a low groan. “I like the sound of that.”

  “You go first. I want to see you,” she said, afraid to get too far off topic while she was still in the middle of this, heart pounding, exhilaration making her shake.

  “Okay,” Austin said. “But don’t just follow my line. See the turns for yourself. Visualize what you’re going to do.”

  Sam swallowed hard. Of course she could visualize what she was going to do…to him. But she nodded. She had to focus.

  Austin pushed off on his poles and jumped—he didn’t ski but literally jumped down to the next bump, twisting his body and whipping his skis in the air. The accuracy was unreal. It was as though his legs were made of springs.

  “Facing sideways,” he called up to her. “Not picking up any speed.”

  “If you think I can do that you’re crazy.”

  “I think you can do just about anything. And I’m pretty sure you know I’m right.”

  He took off before she could answer, and she was once again swept up by the beauty of his body and what it could do. He took the bumps so quickly and with such precision her eyes were glued on his form, trying to memorize every move. When he skied down a ways and stopped to look up at her, she didn’t let herself fall prey to any more waiting. She pushed off and went.

  It wasn’t the same as him—she knew she didn’t look like that. But she could feel the difference, the bumps falling into place so that she was skiing them instead of letting them push her around. Thank God yoga was the one thing that had kept her mind clear during the long stretch during and after her father’s death. She was stronger and more flexible than she’d thought. She was grateful to her legs for not betraying her in front of this man who watched as though he could see all the way through her. Not only to where her weight shifted and her limbs bent but to something deeper, so she wasn’t even sure what he was looking at when he caught her eyes.

  She paused where he stood, and then they skied down together, riding the moguls, Sam trying to keep up even as she knew he was slowing down just for her. Her breath came fast, her heart racing. A bead of sweat trickled down her back.

  “Don’t stop,” Austin urged, and she pushed harder, the trail beginning to flatten toward the bottom of the bowl but the bumps getting bigger where snow had gathered as it slid down the hill. But she was in it, she was soaring, she’d never skied like this before.

  The next thing she knew she was flying, only her skis were no longer attached. For one brief airborne second her stomach jolted up to her throat and she wished everything would stop. And then she landed facedown with a mouthful of snow.

  Austin pulled to an immediate stop. “Sam?”

  She raised her head and gave a grunt.

  “Please tell me you’re alive.”

  She rolled onto her back and looked up at him. “Good thing I landed on a fluffy part,” she groaned.

  Austin popped out of his skis, went to gather hers, and brought them over. “Not hurt?” he asked.

  Sam did a mental check of her body. Arms, legs, back, head. A little soreness on her butt, but he didn’t need to know that. “Just my ego,” she finally said.

  Anyone watching from above would have seen someone from ski patrol helping a woman who had fallen. But Sam knew what else was going on. Austin’s hand reached for her, but his eyes said he wanted to push her back down. And climb on top.

  He held her a moment too long as she stood, then helped her brush snow from her jacket—not quite how she’d pictured his hands on her when he’d told her to visualize.

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said.

  “I don’t see you falling,” she said, knocking one boot against the other to get the snow out of the bottom so she could pop it back in her b
inding.

  Austin laughed as he put on his skis. “You think I’ve never fallen before?”

  “I bet it’s been a while.”

  She expected him to keep laughing, his whole “you’re not hurt, get back on the horse” routine, but instead the smile dropped away and she thought she saw something new, a trace of sadness flickering over his face.

  “I don’t have an opportunity to push myself as much as I used to,” he said.

  Sam didn’t know how to respond. Because the Diamond Bowl wasn’t hard for him? Because he was no longer competitive like he once was?

  But just as quickly he brightened again and so, like him, she decided not to push it. It wasn’t like she wanted to get personal. The more she learned about him, the more he’d ask about her. That wasn’t the way to make sure she wound up in his bed.

  “I’m still embarrassed,” she grumbled, adjusting her jacket after her inelegant dive.

  “Falling lets you know you’re doing it right.”

  Sam screwed up her face. “I know you’re the expert, but I’m pretty sure falling means you’re doing it wrong.”

  “Falling means you’re pushing yourself, making yourself get better. If you’re not falling, you’re complacent. You’ve stopped growing. And what’s the point?”

  Sam forgot the promise she’d just made to keep things light. “Are you complacent? Have you stopped growing since you no longer fall?”

  He took a breath, then seemed to think better of answering. She was afraid she’d blown it by taking things too far. Finally he said, “This isn’t something I can keep getting better at anymore. My knee’s not good enough to support me like it used to. I can ski all over this mountain, but there’s a limit, and I know what it is. Any time I forget, the pins keeping me together remind me I’m not nineteen anymore.”

  He extended his left leg and knocked his pole against it. Sam pictured a massive fall, a blowout, the kind of thing you saw on the Olympics that made your heart rocket to your throat. No wonder he was so blasé about a bloody nose or a face plant into a powdery mogul, cheeks wet with snow but otherwise fine.

  “You really have pins in your knee?” she asked.

  “If you’re lucky I’ll show you,” he said with a wink.

  “But that means you’ll have to take off your pants.” She flashed him a grin. No possible way to be more direct that she wanted him naked and on top of her, underneath her, standing before her so she could admire every inch.

  “You must be good at your job, able to put two and two together like that.”

  “Not that good,” Sam murmured, wishing he hadn’t had to bring up the J word just then.

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to be too good around me.”

  He was so close she could feel the warmth of his breathing, his sweat from the run. It was amazing there wasn’t steam coming off them from how hot they both were.

  But he wasn’t touching her. He wasn’t kissing her. She should turn away, make this stop right now.

  “You’re an excellent teacher, you know that?” she said quietly, raising her eyes to meet his.

  “I’m a fast learner, too.” He didn’t let go of her gaze.

  Sam was glad they were almost down the trail, because she wasn’t sure she could trust her legs to hold her up for much longer. She didn’t care that it was the middle of the day, they were on a mountain bundled in a zillion layers, and that vibrating in her pocket was probably Steven wanting to know if Mr. Reede had signed. Now. She wanted him now.

  “We shouldn’t stand around,” Austin said. “We’ll get cold.”

  “We should get moving,” she agreed.

  But he didn’t pull away.

  “You’re the leader.” Sam nudged him.

  “But I called you the boss.”

  “Not today I’m not.”

  “I want to show you something.”

  “The pins in your leg?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Am I warm, or cold?”

  “I think you know how hot you are.”

  Sam flushed down to her toes. “Tell me what it is.”

  “I’m going to take you there.”

  He pushed off before she could think of a clever comeback, and once again she was scrambling behind him, a trickle of snow melting down under her face mask, stinging her clavicle with the sudden cold.

  Chapter Nine

  They cut over to the main part of the mountain and took the chairlift to the top. Sam pestered him the whole time to find out where they were going. Austin could tell she was used to being in charge, and he loved driving her nuts with anticipation. It made her talkative. She wanted to know his favorite trail, his favorite part of the mountain, what he liked best about the area, what he would want to see changed.

  “Nothing,” he said when they were on the lift. “I don’t want it to change.”

  “That’s impossible,” Sam argued. “Things can always get better. Couldn’t there be more snowmaking? More trails? There’s that whole second peak that notches above where the lift goes—what if that were open with trails?”

  “You sound like a Kane,” Austin said, and he meant it in a ribbing way, but Sam’s mouth snapped shut. He guessed he’d made it pretty clear last night what he thought of the Kanes. He regretted sounding as though he were insulting her.

  “Part of what makes Gold Mountain so beautiful is that it’s not all trails,” he tried to explain. “Isn’t it nice to look up and see trees, the rocky part of the peak, and appreciate the untamed parts of this place?”

  “Sure,” Sam said. “But I’m not talking about making the whole resort one giant trail. I’m saying, what if more of this area were accessible? Isn’t there some kind of change the Kanes could offer that would make you want to sell that land they want?”

  He shook his head. “No way. There’re no magic words that will suddenly make me want to turn my backyard into luxury condos and parking lots.” He paused. “Actually, I’m surprised they haven’t gotten in touch today. Did I tell you the head of the company is supposed to be in town to come after me herself? It’s weird not to have heard anything. Maybe it’s not going to happen.”

  “Maybe.” Sam looked skeptical, and Austin thought he probably shouldn’t be burdening her with his problems.

  “If they expanded the place, then I wouldn’t be able to spend the morning skiing with you when I’m supposed to be patrolling, because the mountain would be completely overrun,” he said with a grin.

  “I’m not trying to keep you from your job,” Sam protested—although not too strongly, he noted. “I should probably do some work, too.”

  “Please. I’m not going to meet with those people anyway. My job is to ski. Which we’re doing. And I’m not letting you get away that easily.”

  “So now I’m an add-on to your job, just a typical day?” Austin was afraid she was mad until he saw the teasing glint in her eyes.

  He shrugged. “It’s one of the perks that goes with the glamorous life of a has-been racer. Every day I pick another beautiful woman to take down the most treacherous trails.”

  “Well, aren’t I lucky.”

  “You should know it’s a tough job to get. You have to have a sense of humor, be sharp as a whip, no bullshit, and last but not least, you have to actually be able to ski.”

  “And not fall flat on your face.” Sam cringed. “I guess I blew that audition.”

  Austin pulled off one of his gloves and ran a finger down her cheek. A lock of hair was caught in the strap of her helmet, and he gently pulled it free. “You’re not performing for me.”

  “We’re going to get stuck on this lift,” Sam murmured, not moving her eyes from his. But she was right, they were at the top, and they scrambled to get the bar up and dismount in time.

  “So have I convinced you to blow off work a little longer?” he asked when they got off the lift.

  “You have no idea,” was all she answered, and she asked what he had planned.

  Austin
led them away from the area where skiers and snowboarders were dismounting. There was always a bottleneck at the top, when people suddenly turned around and were hit by the view. But Austin was only looking at one thing, and it wasn’t the same sight he’d been looking at for years. “I’m pretty sure I was about to kiss you before the lift ruined my game.”

  “Well, then you should get back to it.” Sam gave a half smile, a tantalizing mix of serious and playful that made him want to pounce.

  But he resisted, even though it was hard to care that there were people around, and the attendant who watched the top of the lift, and he was in his official ski patrol gear.

  Not that what he was planning was much more professional. “Come on,” he said, pushing off on his skis. “I told you I was taking you somewhere.”

  “Not even a small kiss?” she asked.

  He stopped in his tracks, waiting for her to follow. “I see patience isn’t your strong suit.”

  “Absolutely not,” Sam said bluntly. Then her eyes flashed. “I get what I want.”

  Austin turned so his skis were splayed out, keeping him from backsliding down the slope, and planted his poles in front of him. He leaned his shoulders into the mountain, looking up at her. “Sweetheart, I have no intention of denying you a thing.”

  He turned and pushed off again. He didn’t have to look back to know she was following. He had no doubt she’d stay beside him the whole time.

  Every ski place had the equivalent of the Wanderer, a meandering trail that skirted the outer boundaries of the mountain. It was never crowded, because it was long and windy and not very steep. But after the runs they’d just done, it was nice to give their legs a break and cruise.

  The trail wasn’t the reason Austin had come here. It was the cutoff. He was afraid Sam was going to miss the stop since he gave her no warning, but she was right behind him. He realized she’d been skiing in his tracks, mirroring him turn for turn. The thought made him smile.

  He stopped where bright ribbon strung along the trees warned skiers not to go off the trail. Austin glanced around, but they were alone. No one would see the man in the ski patrol jacket lift the rope for the woman to slide under before he followed.