by Gina Ardito
Although Jeff and April included Lyn in their conversations, from anecdotes about the kids to wedding plans, she barely listened. Her mind remained fixed on the civilian from this afternoon, Mr. Sawyer.
When he'd risen the second time, after she'd pushed him, rage pulsated off him in waves hotter than the fire blazing in the hearth here. But then he'd paused and somehow pulled himself together. Good thing. Based on his size, if he'd given in to his first reaction, she'd probably be in the hospital right now. And she'd definitely deserve it.
Why had she pushed him, anyway? To do so was not only counterproductive but cruel as well. Ski-Hab's goal was to build its students up, not to knock them down. She should know. She wrote the mission statement when they'd incorporated the program.
A flush of shame warmed her cheeks. Since Ski-Hab's inception, she'd reviewed the students from that particular peak on the Snow Wonder trail hundreds of times. And in all those years, she'd seen dozens of participants falter when they fell.
None had ever compelled her to any drastic action. Until Mr. Sawyer.
Poor Kerri-Sue, no doubt sensing something seriously wrong with Lyn's mental capacities, had immediately jumped to her charge's defense-which was absolutely the right reaction. And honestly, Mr. Sawyer had done nothing to deserve Lyn's heartless interference.
No. The one villain in today's event was Lyn herself. The idea stuck in her chest like an ice pick that stabbed her heart. Worse, a deep, knotting fear tied up her insides and nearly paralyzed her.
After Marc's death, she'd kept her emotions wrapped in a numbing cocoon. Now, all of a sudden, feelings she'd long ago suffocated had revived. She considered her envy of April's happiness, the attraction she'd sensed blooming between Becky and Ace Riordan, and, of course, her overreaction to Mr. Sawyer.
So the green monster had popped up when she saw how happy April was with Jeff and how obviously Jeff adored April. Of course Lyn would feel a pang of jealousy-the sharp reminder of what she and Marc had shared all too briefly.
And the episode with Ace and Becky? Merely a protective aunt guarding her niece's innocent heart from a possible tragedy, her saner self proclaimed.
But she had no easy explanation for what had happened today on Snow Wonder. Perhaps she should go back to that trail tomorrow, find Mr. Sawyer, and offer him an apology.
"You think Summer will go for it, Lyn?" April's question broke through her musings.
She shook herself back into the conversation. "Huh?"
"Help me plan the wedding," April replied with a blinding smile directed toward Jeff.
Had she missed something?
"You're going to ask Summer to help you?" When had the devil donned his ice skates? As long as she'd known them, for more than thirty years now, Summer and April had never gotten along.
"Well ... yeah. You remember her wedding, don't you?" Once again, April swerved to face Jeff. "Everything perfect. Perfect spring day with the perfect blue sky, perfect gown, perfect bridesmaids' dresses. When she and Brad stepped out of the little stone church, a dozen white doves were released to take flight in a perfect arc. At the same time, white rose petals floated down from the top of the church. All in perfect precision."
Talk about a one-eighty. At the actual event, April had called this perfect precision, "Summer's Splendiferous Spousal Spectacular."
And not in a good way.
"So wait," Lyn said. "You want Summer to give you the same kind of thing? Rose petals and doves?"
"God, no" April shivered as if in the throes of some bizarre seizure, eyes bugged out and tongue lolling. "Could you just see me swathed in a thousand yards of white tulle while a cadre of birds flew around my face? I'd look like Cinderella on crack."
Lyn's delicate snickers were drowned out by Jeff's more thunderous laughter. Her older sister's self-deprecating humor apparently appealed to a wide audience.
"Let's face it," April added when the room quieted again, "Summer's much more organized than I am. And since the whole world is gonna be watching, I need as close to perfection as I can get. Without Summer to run her usual drill sergeant interference, I'll just make a muck of it."
Jeff picked up his fiancee's hand, clasped within his, and brushed a light kiss across her knuckles. "You can do this just fine on your own. I don't care what the rest of the world thinks. A nice, small intimate gathering is perfect enough for us. We're not exactly shooting for the cover of People magazine."
Understanding lit fireworks inside Lyn's brain. "Wait a minute. You're looking for perfection on your wedding day so you won't disappoint the press?"
"Yes." April rolled her eyes with all the subtle meaning of an angsty teenager. "I know. You think it's stupid-"
"No," Lyn interjected. "I understand. Honestly. I do. I've been there. Remember? From our first date in Oslo to the wedding at St. Patrick's Cathedral and the reception at the Waldorf?"
And the honeymoon in St. Moritz, the years on the circuit as "the ski world's love bunnies." Followed a few short years later with the multiple trips to Memorial Sloan-Kettering's oncology center, all while cameras watched and recorded every single, agonizing moment. Right up to the funeral home and that vile photo of Marc's cancer-ravaged face lying on a white satin pillow in a gleaming cherrywood casket.
Pop! Inside the fireplace, a particularly dry piece of wood crackled and snapped beneath the roaring flames.
On a shiver, she pushed the ugly memories away.
Never again. Never again would she allow anyone to entertain the world with her pain. Or her joy. Or even her favorite color.
"Lyn?" Once again, April's voice brought her back from her solemn thoughts. "Are you okay?"
She forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just tired."
April immediately became contrite. "I'm sorry. We're keeping you awake, aren't we? I forgot how early you get up in the morning."
"It's all right," she said with a sigh. "Listen, April, Jeff? Can I give you one piece of advice?"
The couple exchanged a wary glance, then April nodded. "Sure."
"I know this may sound silly, but indulge me anyway. Try to think of the media as a giant monster with an unlimited appetite. You keep feeding it with photo ops and interviews and the monster keeps growing bigger and bigger. The bigger it grows, the hungrier it becomes. Until soon, you don't have enough to feed the media monster. And that's when it rips your heart out of your chest."
By secretly crashing a wake to take photos of your dead husband lying in his casket, which wind up splashed on the front page of every rag in the country.
"Don't do it, guys," she murmured. "Don't feed the monster. Please."
Ace would have probably been disappointed to know his departure came as a blessing to Doug. With the familiar adrenaline pumping through his blood, Doug called his editor in New York to talk about Ski-Hab, Brooklyn Raine, and his recent run-in with the former ski champ.
Jake practically salivated at the idea of a full-length feature article regarding the program and, more importantly, its heretofore unknown sponsor.
"You're sure it's her?" Jake's rapid speech communicated his eagerness to believe what Doug told him. "Brooklyn Raine. The Brooklyn Raine."
"The one and only," Doug said. "Ace confirmed it for me a few minutes ago. I'm guessing that's how he got to use the program for his community service. Apparently, he and Brooklyn know each other fairly well."
"You think they're an item?"
An image popped, unbidden, into Doug's head. Ace scanning the girls in the lodge with his biggest yes-I'm-who-youthink -l-am grin lighting up his beach boy features. Then the Coyote, eyes glittering with feral challenge. Brooklyn Raine and Ace Riordan? An item?
"No." No way the Coyote on the hill would come second to anyone in life. Not even Ace Riordan, snowboarding's Aerial Snowball. "Not a chance," he added for emphasis.
"Too bad."
"Excuse me?" Jake, looking for gossip? Since when?
"Women love a good romance, Doug. Particularly between a y
ounger man and older woman. Cougars, they're calling 'em nowadays. By adding the female point of view, we could double our readership with a story like that. Remember Brooklyn's husband? Handsome guy struck down in his prime?"
"Marc Cheviot," he rattled off automatically.
"That's him. You remember when he died?"
"Vaguely." He'd been an intern at a small newspaper in Iowa at the time, in charge of digging up the research on Cheviot's accomplishments on the slopes for the obituary. Hadn't really thought about Marc Cheviot since. Until now.
"Every reporter worth his ink had a piece of that press pie," Jake was saying. "The world wept. It was beautiful. One of those perfect news stories that touched everyone. Men, women, kids, Americans, Canadians, Europeans, sports fans, romance fans, gossip fans. For a full week, the global spotlight shone on Cheviot and his widow. Then, after it was all over, the widow disappeared." Jake paused to take a breath, but before Doug could say anything, he pressed on. "You're sure it's her? Ace confirmed it? How? When? Give me particulars, Sawyer."
Doug offered a quick rundown, skipping over his many conversations with Ace regarding his adolescent crush.
"So Ace never let on until now," Jake replied. "That alone tells me there's a story in this somewhere. Something sweet and juicy. My eye's twitching like a jackhammer."
Jake considered his facial tic akin to a personal Magic 8 Ball. The more his eyelid fluttered, the hotter the story promised to be. Like Doug, Jake sensed a bombshell in Ski-Hab. Unlike Doug, Jake wouldn't be interested in the heartwarming aspect, but in the secrecy.
"You've got a former ski champion dumping money into a program to help disabled vets. And she isn't looking for publicity? Why? What's she got to hide?"
"Probably nothing-"
"Cow pods. All women have something to hide, Sawyer. Remember that. You'll save yourself a lot of heartache."
"Right," Doug replied, biting back most of the sarcasm that tingled on his tongue. "What was I thinking?"
According to legend, Jake's chauvinistic attitude had first flared when women reporters were finally allowed in men's locker rooms a few decades ago. His animosity had only increased in volatility with the appearance of the WNBA, Danica Patrick in the Indy, and Muhammad Ali's daughter in the boxing ring.
Of course, his four marriages and consecutive divorces only added to his suspicions regarding ulterior motives in the fairer sex.
"What do you need from me?" Jake asked.
This time, Doug didn't hesitate. "A laptop with voiceactivated typing software and a steady source of Internet service. Wi-Fi is spotty up in the mountains.'-'
"I'll have it expressed to you first thing tomorrow. And Doug?"
"Yeah?"
"Welcome back."
For the first time in months, sheer joy warmed Doug from the inside out. "Thanks."
At precisely 3:45 the next afternoon, Lyn stood on the same crest between Snow Blind and Snow Wonder. A paper-white sky surrounded her, and the air held that sharp clean scent of coming snow.
Once again, she studied the group of students, this time, though, paying special attention to the man working under Kerri-Sue's tutelage. He seemed more confident today, more in tune with his skis and his balance. The uncertainty she'd sensed yesterday had evaporated like mist over the mountains.
Now, Kerri-Sue stood at the bottom of the hill, looking up at her protege, much as Lyn stared down from above-twin guardian angels. Meanwhile, Mr. Sawyer carved perfect S-shaped lines, working the pole in his left hand with precision to propel him downhill at a steady, even pace. His skis dug deep grooves into the packed powder, his knees clearly pushing with all their might. How quickly he'd become acclimated to the balance needed with one arm! Almost as if some inner demon drove him to succeed.
As Lyn watched, an idea glimmered in her brain. She knew exactly what she had to do. Before logic or fear could take hold and dissuade her, she barreled down from the top of the hill until she skied beside him.
His double take registered surprise at her approach, and he came to a hard stop with a scritch of his skis on the hardpacked snow. When she halted alongside him, frown lines etched the area around his full lips. He lifted his arm, and his ski pole flew, nearly hitting her shoulder. Luckily, she leaned back, out of harm's reach.
Without so much as an apology, he gripped the edge of his goggles and yanked them atop his gleaming black helmet. Coceyed, of course. Some one-handed skills still eluded him.
His eyes, a clear hazel that reflected gray, green, and gold, glittered feral in his sharp, angular face.
My God. He's the Big Bad Wolf. And I'm about to tangle with him? After yesterday?
Anxiety skittered like ball bearings over her nerve endings. She sucked in icy air, felt the old Brooklyn Raine persona rouse inside her.
Breathe deeply. Maybe he doesn't remember you.
"What'd I do wrong this time, Ms. Hill?"
Dagnabbit. He remembered her.
She gulped a huge ball of emotion, a jumble of exhilaration and dread she hadn't experienced since her competition days.
He was older than she'd originally thought, probably close to her own age. A refreshing change from the twentysomethings normally involved in Ski-Hab. And not bad looking, if only he wouldn't scowl at her so lethally.
Down, girl. Lyn silently scolded the inner Brooklyn. Unfortunately, once awakened, the old Brooklyn didn't surrender easily.
Oh, come on, Lyn. Look at him! She studied Mr. Sawyer with the smoldering awareness of a female alone too long. Hubba, hubba.
"Well?" he demanded. "Go ahead already. List my errors and faults. Just be sure to keep your hands to yourself this time. What would you like to correct for me today?"
She could have taken offense, could have responded with her own biting retort. Instead, she offered a weak smile. "Nothing. In fact, as far as I know, you did nothing wrong yesterday either. And yet, you've improved vastly since I was unforgivably rude to you"
"I-" He started to say something, but she cut him off with a quick upraised hand.
She didn't dare allow him to argue. Given half an opportunity to hesitate, she'd back down for sure.
"No, please. Let me finish." To make sure he heeded her request, she rushed through the rest of what she planned to say. "I've been watching you a good part of today."
God, that didn't sound right at all. Made her seem like some crazed stalker. He must have thought so too because one sooty eyebrow arched in her direction.
Somewhere deep inside her brain, Brooklyn Raine gripped the helm. Taking advantage of Lyn's hesitancy, she careened to the front of the personality line.
Oh, for heaven's sake, could you screw this up any worse?
Well, let's find out, shall we?
Watch and learn, honey.
"I'm not a stalker or anything. Honest. I was hoping to come up with a way to atone for my behavior yesterday. What I did ... pushing you like that? It was horrible. I mean, I think back on it, replaying it in my mind, you know? And I can't believe I did such a vicious, cruel thing."
"Yeah, well, that makes two of us," he said.
Strangely, she detected more humor than malice in his tone. And the lines around his mouth-his generous, full mouthsmoothed. At least he hadn't hauled off and slugged her. Yet.
On a deep breath, she plowed on. "I'm really very sorry. And I'd like to make it up to you."
"Lyn?" Kerri-Sue's iron-laced question came from behind her.
She whirled. And frowned. Apparently, Kerri-Sue had called in the cavalry. Because there was Richie Armstrong on KerriSue's left and Ace Riordan on her right. They flanked her, a wall of disapproval with folded arms and tight lips drawn into stern lines.
Lyn returned Kerri-Sue's frigid glare.
Tattletale.
As if she gained strength from the men behind her, KerriSue snorted. With her eyebrows arched, she added, "Can we help you with something today?"
Oh, for heaven's sake. She wasn't some ax murderer who'd target
ed Mr. Sawyer as her next victim.
"No." She layered her voice with enough ice to freeze Miami Beach. "I was simply speaking to Mr. Sawyer."
"Since that went so well yesterday?" Kerri-Sue retorted.
Wow. The hostility radiating around the trio momentarily left Lyn speechless.
"Mr. Sawyer." Kerri-Sue faced him, her posture ramrod stiff. "Let me apologize for Ms. Hill's repeated attempts to accost you. I have no idea why she's here again today, but we won't allow a repeat of yesterday."
"Actually"-Mr. Sawyer looked over the wall of outrage, then winked at Lyn. Winked at her!-"Ms. Hill was doing a fairly decent job of apologizing on her own before you interrupted us."
Kerri-Sue visibly started. "She was?"
"Yes, I was." Amazing how she managed to strike the right tone between nonchalant and amused. Inside, Lyn simmered.
If Kerri-Sue weren't one of the best instructors in Ski-Hab history, she'd be unemployed right now. Only her stellar results and Lyn's own reticence to announce her link to the program in front of a stranger saved Kerri-Sue from a speedy termination announcement. By the end of the day, though, she and Richie would be having a loooooong talk about KerriSue's future with the organization. Right now, however, Lyn intended to communicate her displeasure in another manner. Give the pretty instructor fair warning of what was to come, in her own subtle way.
"As a matter of fact," Lyn stated flatly, "I was so impressed with his improvement since yesterday, I was about to ask him to join me on a bigger slope for the final run of the day."
Hard to tell who was more flabbergasted by that announcement: Mr. Sawyer, Kerri-Sue, or Lyn herself. Even Richie looked slack jawed and bug-eyed all of a sudden.
Okay. So originally, she'd only intended to invite him for a cup of coffee after today's lesson. Too bad Kerri-Sue's snide insinuations had pushed her into challenge territory.
Lyn Hill wouldn't be suckered in by a dare from anyone. She was a mature woman, a widow. But rile the old Brooklyn Raine, and she'd never back down. As different from Lyn Hill as a ski parka was from a bikini.
In the past, she'd never had trouble separating those two individuals and their unique personalities. Until today. Or maybe yesterday. Brooklyn, after all, would definitely push a struggling man to the ground in a fit of impatience, while Lyn wouldn't dream of placing her hands on another person. Certainly not in exasperation or violence or pique or whatever had been going through her mind at the time.
