by Gina Ardito
She practically bounced on her toes in anticipation. Honestly, she couldn't help herself. Something about the intricate designs Burt carved in ice, glimmering under the night sky and a few thousand watts of light, brought out the wondereyed child in her.
"We could go now if you're not in any rush to eat," he suggested. "You think your favorite taxi driver's available?"
Even the mention of Larry wouldn't dim her excitement. "If he's not, one phone call will make him available. Fair warning, though. He's sort of sweet on me. Once he sees us together, he'll grill you into revealing all your secrets. Make sure you're good enough for me."
"I think I can handle it." He tilted his head and studied her. "You really are the small town darling, huh?"
She flipped her hair over one jacketed shoulder. "I guess so."
"Ever been to the big, bad city, Lyn?" The lilt in his tone suggested he teased her.
The big bad city? If he only knew how many big bad cities she'd visited, competed in, and slept in. She was a veritable George Washington of the ski circuit. But the acidic memories scalded her throat and tongue.
Dropping her gaze to the dirty nutmeg-colored carpet at her feet, she swallowed the pain. "Which one? I've been to lots of cities. Montpelier to check out other bed-and-breakfasts, Boston for the symphony, even New York a few times for the theater. But none are home. Not like here."
As if he sensed she needed a subject change, he released her hand to grab the manila price tag that dangled from a string tied to the hulking bear's left paw. One quick glance at the number in bold black marker and he sucked in a breath, then winced. "Work with me here a sec. Suppose I wanted to buy this thing."
She did a double take. Him? "Why?"
"Well," he replied, "I was just telling Ace yesterday that the one thing missing from my apartment in New York is a giant ferocious-looking bear."
She laughed. God, how he made her laugh!
"What?" He cast her a quizzical glance, eyes wide and brows raised in mock confusion. "They're very popular in Manhattan. Bears are the new low-tech burglar alarms. I hear the mayor's ordered two for Gracie Mansion."
"Funny." She tilted her head, studied him from a new angle, noted the twinkle in his eyes, like fireworks. "Nope. Uh-uh. Sorry. You don't strike me as the bear sculpture type." From day one, she'd never considered Douglas Sawyer as bear material.
"Oh? And what type do I seem to you?"
A wolf, maybe. In fact, she might even consider commissioning Burt to design one of these sculptures for her, a prince emerging from a wolf pelt. But she'd never admit that to him. Instead, she ran her palm over the head of a bear with a fish dangling from its jaws. "A phoenix?"
He shot a gloved index finger, pistol-style, her way. "That's a Ski-Hab answer."
She paused, her hand resting between the bear's ears. "A Ski-Hab answer?"
"Yeah. It's one of those nice little platitudes you and the SkiHab staff say that's supposed to encourage the whiners like me to keep trying, keep fighting the good fight."
"I never called you a whiner." But she did think it when she first saw him. If the squirmy reaction in her feet didn't betray her, the rush of heat flooding her face was bound to give her away.
He chucked her under the chin. "Judging by the color in your cheeks, I'd say you're feeling guilty. You shouldn't, you know. I'm excelling at the whole Ski-Hab experience, thanks to you knocking some sense into me. Kerri-Sue says I'm the best student she ever had."
Kerri-Sue told every student that, but Lyn kept that comment locked behind a smile.
"How did you get involved with Ski-Hab? Did you have someone close to you in the program?"
She picked up a small carving of a bear floating in a blue glass lake, stroked a fingertip over the rounded brown belly. Doug had just provided her the perfect opportunity to open up and explain how the program wouldn't exist without her. Because of who she was. Or who she had been. But old habits died hard, and the words stuck in her throat.
Instead, what came out was, "I have a friend whose son was the first participant."
"Really? Who was he?"
Aaron Bascomb, Mrs. B's only son. But she didn't feel right discussing his story without permission, so she shrugged with a careless air. "A guy who grew up here. Came home from the first Gulf War missing a leg. A bunch of us worked with him to give him back some level of independence. When the skiing not only got him used to his prosthesis, but also improved his outlook, Richie Armstrong decided we had to continue the program for others. The rest, as they say, is history."
His face fell. Did he know she had something to hide? If he suspected anything, he didn't contradict her. He simply took her hand again. "I'd say we're reasonably warmed up. Let's go find that cab"
She shook her head. "No. You want a chance to change and get Norm. So let's head to your condo first." Give me a chance to find some courage. Find a way to tell you the truth before the lies become insurmountable. "We'll eat and then hit the Wonderland."
"Whatever you say," he replied. "Tonight, you're in charge."
Lyn didn't know if that made her dilemma better or worse.
For the rest of the walk, she remained deep in her own worries. She had to tell Doug about her past. About Brooklyn Raine. But how? And when? She'd never divulged this information before. Not to anyone who mattered. Most people either knew, like Mrs. Bascomb, or didn't, like most of the soldiers in SkiHab, who were probably still in diapers when she was at the height of her celebrity. Doug was an anomaly.
And how exactly would he take the news?
Her father's voice chastised from the Great Beyond. Don't do it, baby. You know how people react to your celebrity. Before long, he'll be looking for handouts and favors.
But Marc's logic argued, He works for Ace Riordan, Lynnie. If he wanted to take advantage of someone's wealth and celebrity, Ace is a much better target. I know you're scared, but don't let your fears cloud your judgment. Go for this. You've been alone too long. I never expected you to mourn me forever.
Her brain spun in a vacuum of questions and self-doubt. Whose advice should she heed this time?
Me, Dad insisted.
Marc only blew exasperated air in her ear in reply.
"Almost there." Doug's voice pierced the fog of ghosts. He led her inside the locker room for the Andiron Condominium residents, past the row of locked skis and wooden benches meant for removing gear, to the automatic doors that would take them to the bank of elevators.
The hallway's creamy walls, cut crystal sconces, and taupe carpet wore a tired air. Or maybe Lyn's mental calisthenicsjumping from this life to the other side and back again-had exhausted her senses. By the time the elevator doors opened, she'd made up her mind. She'd tell Doug the truth tonight. Not during dinner-the man had a tough enough time dealing with his prosthesis and utensils. Add this bombshell, and his head would probably explode.
Okay, that was a weak excuse. But courage didn't just magically appear because she'd decided to follow Marc's advice this time. So she'd cling to her anonymity for as long as possible. Feel Doug out about a few things before she spilled her guts. Like if he could forgive someone who'd deceived him since their first meeting.
The elevator doors slid open, and Doug placed his hand against the jamb until she boarded, then pushed the button for the fourth floor. Her belly flipped as the car jerked for the ascent. Through the veil of her lashes, she studied the man beside her. Would he forgive her? Would he be willing to move into something a little more than friends? What if he decided he couldn't become involved with her? Because she'd lied? Or because of who she really was?
God, she was such a mess over him. How had he managed to pierce her armor in such a short time? Simply standing close to him released butterflies through her bloodstream. She became a teenager again, hoping her crush would ask her to the prom. Not that she'd ever gone to the prom. Bouncing from ski resort to ski resort, her adolescence wasn't exactly the normal suburban upbringing.
She'd kn
own Marc on the circuit for years before considering a real date with him. They'd cultivated a friendship first. Of course, she'd been fourteen when they first met, and Dad never strayed from her side on social occasions in those days. Still, she'd been given ample opportunity to know Marc and become comfortable with him before they were ever alone together. They'd shared the spotlight, the ski world, and all that their fame and money could provide. Theirs had been a charmed life, a charmed romance, a charmed marriage. Too short, but charmed.
Doug, on the other hand, was an entirely different animal-in physical stature, in background, in interests, and probably in the financial realm. Yet, he had won her over in less than a day. Simply by being who he was. The one quality he had in common with Marc, a lack of guile. No ulterior motives that Dad would fret about. With both men, what she saw was what she got. In many ways, he saw himself as ruined, imperfect without his right arm. Perhaps that was why he appealed to her. He shook her out of the cocoon she'd wrapped around her heart, made her realize that, like him, she'd allowed her loss to paint her as broken. Useless.
With Doug, she woke up after years of some sleep-life. A grief coma. No wonder the town called her the mourning glory. All the old platitudes murmured for years by well-meaning friends and relatives ran through her head.
Get back on the horse.
Just because Marc died doesn't mean you did.
And her personal favorite from, naturally, April. You don't just take a chance when you play Monopoly, kiddo.
Well, apparently, she was finally ready to take that chance again.
The elevator's chimes announced they'd reached their destination, and the doors slid open.
As she followed him down another tired cream-colored hallway, she bolstered her reserve. Yes. She'd tell him tonight. Take a chance. Dare to grab for another shot at love.
Inside the condo, when Doug took her coat and turned toward the storage rack, Lyn's gaze lit on his makeshift office setup on the kitchen counter. Despite her numb fingers and icy cheeks, she bypassed the warm living room with its cozy furniture and gas fireplace. She headed straight for the laptop, printer, and other paraphernalia. "You've been working?"
In three long-legged strides, he cut her off before she could round the counter's edge. "Just testing out my prosthesis."
And obviously embarrassed by whatever clumsy attempts he'd made. Well, she'd have to put him at ease. Assure him she wouldn't belittle him for his struggles.
"That's wonderful." She pushed past him. "Show me what you've done."
With one quick motion, he grabbed the sheaf of papers near the printer and stuffed them into a manila folder.
She pretended not to notice and focused instead on the tiny microphone and headset near the mousepad. "Ooh." She ran a finger over the slender black cord. "The system is voiceactivated?"
"Uh-huh. I've been trying to work with both the fake arm and the voice software. When one frustrates me, I switch to the other."
Working his way back to normaljust like her. "When did you get all this?"
"I ordered it the night you pushed me in the snow."
He did? A thrill rippled through her, dissolving all doubt. She whirled and wrapped her hands around his waist. "I'm so proud of you!"
Surprise knocked him off-balance for a breath. But on the next inhale his arm snaked around her hips. She snuggled closer, fitting so perfectly in his embrace-even if he couldn't hold her with both arms. She tilted her head up, caught the warm glow in his eyes. Inside her rib cage, her heart melted to a puddle of goo. Every smile, every touch they'd shared had roused her attraction, drawing her to him like a moth.
He bent and touched his lips to hers. She welcomed his invasion, mouth parting under the slightest pressure. His breath, sweet and cool, melded with hers. Her arms rose as he deep ened the kiss. Even through the layers of clothing he still wore, she swore she felt his heartbeat. Or perhaps she felt her own, straining to burst from her chest.
The world tilted, stealing the breath from her lungs, and she broke the contact on a sharp inhale. Her thumb lightly traced the pale scar that marred his right cheek. "Is this from the accident too?"
He stiffened and stepped out of her embrace. "Yeah," he said flatly. "The accident."
His bitterness tinged the air, turning a sweet moment into a sour memory. Her fault. She had to tread softly around what had happened to him. Eventually, she hoped, he'd understand she didn't care about his missing limb. And because she didn't care, the handicap would become less devastating to him.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I shouldn't have asked."
Opening the drawer to his left, he pulled out a cordovan leather-bound book embossed with the words In House Dining in gold. "Here. Choose a meal based on cuisine or restaurant. I'll just be a few minutes."
She smiled shyly. "Okay if I play with your equipment for a while?"
"Huh?"
Her fingers threaded through the voice appliance cords, dangled them near his face. "This," she said on a giggle.
"Oh. Umm . . ." His complexion paled. "I don't have internet access up here. I'm only testing this stuff on documents."
"That's fine. I want to see how it works. Maybe Richie can find it in the budget to add a few of these voice programs to Ski-Hab's occupational therapy program next year."
"There's something that confuses me. I would think companies would be lining up to get involved in a program like SkiHab. Yet, Mrs. Bascomb said she and her dime bag group raised the funds for some of the equipment. You said this Winter Wonderland we're going to raises money for Ski-Hab. And Kerri-Sue mentioned there's a community fund-raiser every summer. Why put the burden on the townspeople? Has Richie ever tried just approaching companies for sponsorship, rather than relying on the residents?"
"He prefers not to. Too much involvement from outside interests might compromise the program's goals." Her beliefs, not Richie's, though the entire Ski-Hab staff tended to agree. Unfortunately, lying about these details only added to her list of sins against Doug, weighing down her heart. The sooner she told him the truth, the better. In fact, she thought, as she flipped open the book of menus, she'd call for the quickest and easiest meal she could get to push the evening along.
Exhausted and sweaty, Doug craved a shower. But could he risk taking the time while Lyn played around with his laptop? Craning his neck, he took a deep whiff of his armpit. Phew. Yeah, he had to roll those dice. No way he could sit downwind from her in his current state. He raced to the bathroom, turned the showerhead on full blast, and stripped. Without waiting for the water to fully heat up, he ducked inside the shower stall and scrubbed himself clean in record time. All the while he soaped and rinsed, his mind ticked off time.
What was she looking at now? Worried that Ace would try to check up on him, he'd password-coded his article-in-progress and all his notes about Brooklyn. Thank God. Without the internet adapter, she couldn't check his recent online searches. So, really, he had nothing to worry about. Still, he finished the shower, skipped the shave, and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. When he returned to the kitchen area, barefoot because he didn't want to waste time with socks and shoes, she still sat in front of the laptop. She'd perched the headset behind her ears, and the tiny microphone sat a whisper from her lips.
She looked up at his entrance and frowned. "There's still a few bugs in this, huh?"
"You've got that mic too close." As he pushed the microphone an inch farther away from her mouth, his fingertip brushed her soft lips.
"Oh." On a shiver, she drew back.
"Try it now." He leaned over her shoulder, inhaling the spicy scent of her skin, clothes, and hair. Cinnamon and cider. Like her inn. Warm, inviting.
"Wh-what should I say?" She'd barely uttered the words when the cursor started typing them onto her document. "Oh, look. It's working!" Her laughter rippled down his spine like a silken ribbon. "This is amazing. I've got to talk to Richie about this software."
He placed his hands on her shoulders and ki
ssed the top of her head. "You're amazing."
"Why do you say that?" She whirled away from the screen, and wound up nose-to-nose with him.
Surrendering to temptation, he brushed his lips across her cheek, then her mouth.
Pulling away, she shivered again, this time while a smile lit up her face. In one smooth motion, she removed the headset and dropped it on the table beside the laptop. She traced the stubble of his jaw with her fingertip. "You were about to tell me why I'm amazing," she murmured.
His eyes locked on hers. "I've never met someone so passionate about a program. Tell me about your role in Ski-Hab. You must have a pretty powerful reason to be so concerned." Like a skeleton in your closet.
She turned away quickly, but not before he caught the clouds in her eyes. "That's boring stuff. Let's order dinner." Her index finger drew lazy curls on his prosthetic hand. "I could really go for a burger and fries, if that's okay with you."
A burger and fries? Hardly the food of the gods and certainly not a meal known for setting a mood of give-and-take. He watched her finger on his hand and suddenly understood. She requested the pedestrian food so he might avoid the issue of using silverware with his prosthesis. How could he possibly argue with her?
"Sounds perfect."
After dinner, they called the local taxi service for a ride to the Winter Wonderland. Just as Lyn had predicted, Larry appeared at the resort ten minutes later.
"Well, well," the cabbie remarked. "You're Lyn's new `friend,' eh? Doug, right? I took you to Winterberry's the other night. Lyn, how'd you like the meal?"
"Delicious, Larry." As Doug opened the cab's passenger door, she flashed him a knowing smirk. "What can I say? It's a gift."
