“Fine,” Amanda said. “I’ll type up the terms and email them to you. Send me confirmation.” She clicked off her phone and holstered it as if she were some sort of old-world gunslinger. Brody leaned against the motor home, his eyes hooded, his cap low, looking like John Wayne assessing his opponent before a gunfight.
She took two steps toward him, her boots crunching in the snow. “There’s a way out of this, Brody. If we get it over with quickly, it’ll be less painful.”
He laughed, but the mirth didn’t reach his eyes. The light from the headlamps spilled over his body, showing his snug jeans, his cotton shirt open at the neck, his big arms crossed across his chest.
He’d tossed on a pair of boots, but hadn’t tied the laces. He was without a parka or a coat, and it was well below freezing. Icicles covered the windshield wipers, which she’d forgotten to turn off, and they click-click-clicked with the thump of ice against glass and metal.
He held out his hand, palm up. “Give me the keys, sweetheart.”
“Not on your life.” She pushed past him and opened the driver’s door, easing herself into the now-familiar worn seat, adjusted to her height and style. She rummaged quickly through her purse before Brody had time to enter the van.
She had to get the interview done now. Something told her Brody would be out of here before the two days were up. She had to make time. Get her quotes. Get her hunches straight.
He opened the passenger door and sat beside her. He looked pointedly at the voice recorder she’d set on the dashboard.
There was no time for dickering between plan A and plan B. This time she was all hardball, right out of the gate:
“Why don’t you start by telling me the truth about why you came back this year.” She gave him her best reporter’s stare. “You already have Olympic medals. You already have more placements and trophies than anyone else competing. What is it that you’re trying to prove, Brody, and what does it have to do with my father?”
With a determined look, Brody leaned over and closed his hand atop hers, pressed against the ignition switch.
And God help her, at his touch, a thrill went through her. This was not good.
“Drive, Amanda,” Brody said, his voice rough. “If you don’t, I swear to you I will.”
The snow was piling up. The tracks the motor home had left behind them were covering quickly, now nearly indistinguishable from the white field that spread up the slope in the rearview mirror. She swallowed and swatted his hand away, shifting into Drive.
Brody was so big and so strong, he could toss her out of the way like a ski pole if he wanted. But she had to trust he wouldn’t. And the way to make sure was to continue to assert herself.
She pressed her foot onto the gas pedal. The RV was nestled in a shallow ditch of snow, and like any good north-country girl, she rocked the van out of the rut by first easing the transmission into Drive, then Reverse, then Drive again—until they were back on solid traction.
Brody gave a grunt of approval.
She gripped the steering wheel, hard, the moisture from her palms making it slick. She couldn’t see well—she should have thought to wipe down the headlights while they were parked. Man, it was dark. The snow was flying fast and furious and the windshield wipers beat a fast tempo. But at least they were no longer on a hill; a level lane stretched in front of them.
She dared to relax. Turning in her seat, she gave him her best stare. “Tell me what happened the race before you quit, Brody.”
“Tell me why a promotion at Paradigm magazine is so frigging important to you.”
“You were injured in that last race, weren’t you? Only you weren’t telling anybody.”
“I don’t see you telling me anything about your job.”
“Nobody cares about me, Brody. The world cares about you, and that’s why people like me have to interview spoiled arrogant guys like you.”
“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Amanda?”
“This isn’t about me, it’s about you.”
“Is it?”
“Why did you turn down my father’s funding?”
“Why do you care about him disowning you?”
“I don’t have to take this.”
“Now you know why I shut down in interviews.”
“You should shut down now. You’ve lost all goodwill I felt for you.”
“That’s just great. You know what? You are a reporter. Congratulations.” He set his cap over his face and leaned back his head in an I’m-finished-with-you pose.
Argh!
She pounded her fist on the steering wheel and gave a little scream. He’d pushed every one of her buttons. And worse, she’d let him.
“Brody?”
Nothing. No answer.
She sucked in a long, deep breath and then blew it out. “You won’t put me off finding out about you. Because I will find out. Uncovering secrets and bringing them to light is what I do. And yes, if I do my job well, it brings me promotions. And power. And a position from which to bargain. And it will put me on the same importance level as you, the celebrity skier. So don’t go lecturing me about what I do. Think about the irony in what it is you do, Mr. Integrity.”
She hadn’t meant it, but her voice was raised and she was yelling at him. Her fists were clenched. Brody roused from his shut-down pose and stared at her, and then, his eyes widening, at the passing road before them.
“Amanda, slow down.”
She swiveled her head forward. In a flash she saw the baby deer dart out, a gentle Bambi, his eyes wide in fright, and without thinking, she slammed down her foot on the brake.
“Amanda, no! He’ll get out of the way—”
But it was too late. As Bambi scampered safely to the side of the road, they went into a long, heart-wrenching skid, the van squealing sideways down the snow-covered mountain road.
Amanda screamed, but Brody’s hands were already on the wheel, fighting to control the skid. He threw his body beside hers and was frantically using his boot-clad foot to pump the brakes.
Yes, that was what you were supposed to do in a fishtail skid. But everything seemed upside down…
Items started flying from the back of the van, smacking against the side of the RV. But Brody managed to straighten the motor home, and they were windshield first again. Amanda’s recorder smacked into her forehead, hard. She felt a searing pain, and for a moment she saw stars. She moaned and then her head jerked toward the steering wheel, and then back, past her neck.
Everything hurt. Everything swam. Everything was in a fog.
It was as if she was inside a dream, floating in water. They must have stopped, because Brody was shouting her name (Manda, he called her, Manda), lifting and carrying her to a spot beneath a pine tree on the side of the road.
Dimly she felt a streak of warmth roll down her nose. Blood. It smelled like blood. And then she felt cold where the warmth had been. She blinked her eyes open, and Brody was holding a packed ball of snow to the bump on her forehead while he wiped away her blood with his shirt.
“God, Manda, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”
He curled her up in his strong arms, on his warm lap. He rocked her. He sounded anguished in a way she’d never heard.
She guided his hand with the lump of cold snow away from her face so she had a clear line of vision to him. “I’m okay. It’s just a bruise from my voice recorder. Nothing lasting.”
He shook his head. His eyes were a desolate, burning blue. “I should have driven. I should have insisted. I shouldn’t have argued with you about the interview.”
“It’s okay, Brody.”
“No, it’s not.” He shook his head harder. “It was my fault. It’ll never be okay.”
“Hey.” She touched his cheek. It was fevered and moist. “Why are you blaming yourself? I’m the one who was driving. I’m the one who wasn’t watching the road.”
“Don’t let me off the hook, Amanda,” he said brokenly. “It’s my vehicle. It’s my
responsibility. I should have been paying attention.”
“You are paying attention,” she whispered. She slid her hand inside his shirt, feeling his bare skin. He flinched at her touch. But when she felt his heartbeat beneath her palm, she kept it there. “I forgive you,” she said calmly, gazing into his eyes. “And if I can forgive you, then you can, too.”
She didn’t know why she’d said it, but she knew it was the right thing when he crushed her to his chest and held her there.
She leaned her cheek against his heart and felt it beat, rapid-fire, against her. Her own heart felt as though it was bursting open. Something had just happened with him, here in the snow and cold, though she wasn’t exactly sure what. This feeling was more intimate than when they’d slept together, if that was possible.
She closed her eyes. If only she could change the awful situation their jobs put them in. It sucked. Ten minutes ago, she’d been counting on the comfortable force of her drive and her anger to get them through it. But obviously that wasn’t working anymore. It could have gotten them killed, in fact. Brody was still shaking from the near miss. She wasn’t, but maybe that was because she needed to stay emotionally strong for him. Or maybe she was in shock. Either way, it was obvious she needed to find a new approach to their impasse, something beyond the anger and fury of her helplessness.
He cradled the back of her head in his palm, and a flood of emotion overcame her. This wasn’t going to be easy. But maybe if she held on to the compassion she felt for him—for both of them—then she could find a way to make this work.
Because she needed to make it work. Desperately.
BRODY WAS STILL SHAKEN when he tucked Amanda into the passenger seat of the motor home. He wanted to be gentle with her. He didn’t want to risk putting her in the back because he needed to keep watch on her, even though she would be more comfortable in his bed. He couldn’t tell if she’d hit her head hard enough to have a concussion. They were many kilometers from the nearest hospital, and neither of their cell phones was working. The storm must have knocked out the communications towers.
He leaned on the motor home, briefly stretching the cramps from his arms and shoulders and looking up at the snow that was still falling. One thing was certain, he didn’t deserve Amanda’s forgiveness. He should have been stronger, more assertive from the beginning, and because he wasn’t, she could have been seriously hurt. Forgive himself? Not likely.
Then again, he knew that feeling and, as before, all he could do was move on, so he pulled the blanket from his bed and tucked it around her. Then he buckled her in. He wished he had time to make her something hot to drink—tea, cocoa, anything—but the storm was getting worse. He needed to get her to warm shelter, and soon.
As he shut her door, he saw her observing him through the side window. Thankfully she was conscious and not in pain. He shivered, glancing at the road they’d fishtailed down. One long, scarred trail of broken snowdrifts marked their trail. Now they were in the middle of nowhere at midnight. Snow blanketed the pine trees and firs surrounding them in a silent, white chapel, except for the cove where she’d bled in his arms.
Shaking the image out of his head, he went inside and put on a maroon-colored chamois shirt. His old shirt was shredded, stripped into a makeshift bandage that he’d pressed to the cut on Amanda’s forehead. He hadn’t felt safe enough to risk leaving her to raid his first aid kit, but once he’d realized she wouldn’t bleed to death, he’d applied a proper bandage to her wound. He’d also studied her pupils, and they weren’t dilated. Even now, she gave him her normal intelligent, if amused look. Though what was funny, he would never understand.
He cleaned up everything inside the RV, made sure there was nothing loose that could harm her if he needed to brake suddenly. And then he climbed into his seat, adjusted it and turned the key in the ignition. The engine gave a low whine, but then revved to life. His shoulders relaxed. Their next move was simple: they needed to find a more stable location to ride out the storm than his RV. The snow came more quickly and he had no idea of current weather forecasts—the radio gave nothing but static—but several more inches had accumulated since they’d set off. They were at the capability limits of the aging motor home’s snow tires.
Holding his breath, he turned on the GPS unit mounted to the dashboard. The satellite access was working, because it keyed in their location. Yeah, pretty much the middle of nowhere, still in Italy but not far from the Swiss border. He knocked at his teeth. Thought back through ten years on the World Cup circuit. Who did he know who lived nearby?
Of course. He pulled up an address he hadn’t used in years.
“Can I help navigate, Brody?”
“No. Don’t worry about anything.” He spoke with reassurance he didn’t feel. “I’m taking you someplace close where you can rest and I can watch over you.”
“Guess we’re not making it to the airport hotel Paradigm paid for, huh?” She winked at him as if making a joke.
He felt her cheek. Her skin was cool and clammy. Alarm threaded through him; he blasted the heat dial up another notch, then wove his fingers through hers and squeezed.
Warm up, Manda. She needed to raise her body temperature. “How’s your vision? Is it blurred? Or can you see straight?”
She leaned back and smiled at him as he pulled forward into the storm, the windshield wipers clicking, the snow groaning under the tires. “I see you, Brody.”
“I’m serious, Amanda.”
“So am I.”
He sighed and squinted into the circles of light the headlights threw onto the narrow road. Three more kilometers. He had to backtrack up the mountain, past where they’d slid. Beyond that was a side road. He only hoped it was passable. He could always hike, carrying Manda if he had to, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Her clothing wasn’t warm enough, and he didn’t have his cross country skis or his snowshoes.
She shifted beneath the blanket, then took his hand and drew it to her pulse at the base of her neck. Here, she was warm. He flexed his palm, covering her skin, and she sighed in response.
What was it with her and him? He snatched his hand away. “I want you to be safe.”
“I am safe. You’re with me.”
“No, I’m worried about your head wound.” He glanced at her. No blood showing through the bandage—that was good.
“I bet you’ve been through worse in your day,” she said cheerily. “Haven’t you?”
And then she looked sideways at him. That expectant pause; she was waiting for him to say something leading. A reporter’s look, questioning him.
He must have bristled, because she burst out laughing. “Got you, Brody.”
“It’s not funny. When I wipe out on the slopes I have a team of experts poking, prodding and x-raying everything. Hell, one time I—” He caught himself. “Don’t try to make me feel better by changing the subject. You hit your head. You could have a concussion. I need to watch you, and I don’t want to be distracted from that.”
“Are we supposed to, like, stay up all night together while you watch me?” Her tone was gently mocking.
“Stop it.” He knew she was trying to keep him from being concerned, but he wouldn’t let down his guard with her again. Nor would he take his gaze from the road. He was gunning it in second gear up a too-steep, too-slick hill. The RV shuddered from side to side. Any moment the side road would be coming up…
Now. He eased up on the gas as the GPS device cooed an instruction for him to turn.
“I’ll bet you purposely chose a woman’s voice for your GPS, didn’t you?” she teased.
“If someone has to tell me what to do,” he said, turning the wheel carefully in a near U-turn through the storm that was starting to blow sideways, blizzard-style, “I’d rather it be a woman than a man.”
She burst out laughing, as if they weren’t in a life-or-death situation. He couldn’t tell if it was intentional, to relax him. “Can I quote you on that?” she teased again.
“Ab
solutely not.” And that wasn’t a joke. Though he looked with relief at the outlines of a driveway where a driveway should be. He could almost let himself celebrate. “There will be no interview and no quotes, and that’s the last I’ll say on the matter.”
“Hmm.” He heard the smile in her voice. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Now you’re really making me worry about your head.” With his fingers crossed, Brody turned the RV toward the driveway. Beyond the curtain of blowing snow, he saw it: a small, two-story snow-covered chalet at the top of the steep hill.
“Is this it?” she asked.
“Thank God, yes.” He gunned the engine, and the motor home made it ten feet up the driveway before the wheels lost traction and spun. He stepped on the brake. The RV would go no farther tonight. Blowing out his breath, he slid the transmission into Park.
“When we get inside, I really would like to stay up for a while and talk,” she said.
Only now did he turn away from the windshield. Amanda was curled up casually in the passenger seat, her knees tucked up beneath her, her chin tilted back. The white bandage was pale in the glow of the headlights.
“What will happen now, Amanda, is that you will sleep and I will wake you periodically to check on your head. And that’s all.” He swung out the door, the cold wind and snow blasting him in the face.
“I suppose this involves us sharing a bed,” she called matter-of-factly.
“Of course not.”
But then he looked at the empty driveway and the dark windows, and he realized that it probably did.
He grabbed a flashlight from his toolbox and headed out to face the bigger hole he’d dug for himself.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AMANDA HELD ON TO BRODY’S shoulders as he carried her to the chalet set off the road and nestled into a hollow.
His flashlight shone brightly in front of them, illuminating the snow that drifted over the pathway. Wind whipped and blew into every exposed crevice.
She shivered, shielding her face inside his warm parka. Brody was nothing if not capable. She was glad she’d driven with him and that he’d found a safe place for them to ride out the storm. He’d been right to insist they stay together; if she’d traveled alone, who knows what could have happened to her?
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