by Stacy Gail
Or, maybe it just seemed easy because Quinn was with her every step of the way, telling her he had no doubt she could achieve anything she set her mind to.
It was amazing what she could accomplish when a good man had her back.
That good man kept things hopping. As the ski season wound to a close in late spring, they’d thrown a private party to celebrate their first successful season. Much to her surprise, he’d stolen her away amidst the festivities and led her out onto the resort’s main viewing terrace. There, as a rare Aurora Borealis silently painted the sky with rippling waves of green and yellow, he’d kissed her while slipping a ring onto her finger. Her gasp of shock had broken them apart; they’d been so crazy-busy with Whiteout Mountain’s grand opening, starting school and making room for each other in their lives that her brain hadn’t traveled that far down the road yet.
But Quinn’s obviously had, and when she’d done nothing but stare at the knockout solitary diamond ring on her finger, he’d begun to curse a blue streak. It was finally her turn to shut him up with a kiss, laughing all the while. She couldn’t do anything else but laugh, because she was so happy, and because she’d never seen her man so uncertain.
As adorable as it had been, she never wanted Quinn to be uncertain when it came to her. She wanted to be the one thing in his world that he could always count on.
So she was.
The moment they’d rejoined the party, Jase had boomed out from across the crowded room, “So, did you ask her? What’d she say? Wait, doesn’t matter. Just hogtie her and drag her to the altar. It’s more fun for us that way.”
The Kingfishers would never be known for their subtlety.
Once that hurdle had been overcome, she again thought things would slow down, but by that point she was starting to grasp that “slow” wasn’t a speed that Quinn understood. He’d told her he had every intention of “getting hitched” before the first snow flew, and up in the high country she’d learned that meant the end of summer. The extreme sports competition going on now was the last event of the summer season before their wedding next week, and she still hadn’t made it down to Honey Pot to do the final fitting for her wedding gown. Daria texted her approximately every twelve minutes to offer a running commentary on her ridiculous hunt for the perfect maid of honor dress, her complicated travel plans and her hope that she, too would fall out of the sky and into the arms of a yummy, long-haired, tattooed, successful, sexy beast of a man.
Daria was the only thing that kept her laughing when it came to the general shenanigans of the wedding party, because she’d all but given up on wrangling West, Dev and Jase into formal wear. It had been hard enough getting Quinn to agree to it, but the threat of letting her inner Bridezilla out to rampage had nipped his protests in the bud. West, Dev and Jase didn’t have to live with her though, so they were proving to be a tougher sell.
Another wedding-related problem she hadn’t foreseen was Brody. While Quinn had mended fences with many members of his family, the rift between the two brothers was as wide as ever. Unlike Jase, who had a damn fine explanation as to why he’d done a disappearing act on Quinn, Mia had never heard the reason why Brody had cut his younger brother out of his life when Quinn had left Kingfisher Corporation. She knew that wound was still there, though both men went on with life like nothing was wrong. Their mother, Elise, stressed over it constantly, but ultimately it was up to the brothers to fix whatever it was that had broken between them.
But Brody’s absence in the wedding party was painfully obvious.
She spied Olivia and Thomas at the doors leading to the back viewing terrace. Through the glass doors she could see Whiteout Mountain, a brilliant blue sky and a ton of scaffolding, temporary bleachers, an array of lighting, a couple camera booms and a raised judges’ stand along with throngs of crowds. Currently the resort’s main attraction was the BMX half-pipe contest going on in the converted snowboard half-pipe. It looked like total suicide to her, but Olivia and Thomas looked singularly unimpressed to see guys flying through the air like they thought gravity was optional.
“Hiya, peeps. Anyone died yet?”
Thomas snorted. “Way to be positive, Mia.”
“I’m trying to be, but holy crap, have you seen how high they are when they fly off the edge of that thing? It’s like they think they can live forever.”
“Trust me, if you’re not laughing in the face of death, you’re not doing it right.”
“So speaks the Olympian who thought nothing of crashing into safety nets like a human cannonball,” Olivia muttered at her husband, shivering, before she glanced over at her. “What was all that yelling I heard earlier at the front?”
Mia waved a vague hand. “Another guest insisting they needed to be in the Presidential Chalet. I’m thinking we might need to build another one, since the chalet is always booked and in demand.”
Thomas frowned. “Can there be two Presidential Chalets on-property?”
“We can have whatever Quinn says we can have. Speaking of,” she went on, glancing around the lobby that never ceased to be a hive of happy, energetic activity, “anyone know where I can find my snuggle bunny?”
Olivia laughed. “I think your snuggle bunny has rabies.”
“Uh-oh.” That didn’t sound good. “Why?”
“The last time I saw him, he was frothing at the mouth about satellite TV trucks parking where they shouldn’t park and plugging up one of the driveways.”
“He got over that,” Thomas corrected his wife even as Mia groaned. “I just saw him out on the terrace making nice with the chairman of this event. There,” Thomas pointed through the windows to where Quinn towered over a thin, athletic man who had the appearance of someone who’d spent a lifetime turning his skin to leather in the sun. “How much you wanna bet he’s locking up a commitment from that dude to hold this competition at Whiteout next year?”
“They’re lucky to have a first-class facility that’s so willing to work on giving them and their sport whatever they need,” Mia said staunchly while pride burned through her at how Quinn strived tirelessly to evolve his ski resort into a resort for all seasons. He’d accomplished so much in such a short time that it boggled her mind. His dream of sharing all that he loved of Whiteout Mountain with the rest of the world was exhausting, but as far as she was concerned it was well worth it. Quinn was happy, and she’d do everything in her power to keep him that way.
Waving a quick farewell to Thomas and Olivia, she headed out into the abundant sunshine and smilingly threaded her way through the milling crowds while the overhead PA system introduced the next high-flying half-pipe contestant. She caught Quinn’s eyes about a second before he shook hands with the other man, nodding pleasantly as they parted. He then made a beeline for her, a wicked grin lighting his face.
Lord, what that smile of his did to her.
“Red, you’re not going to believe what just happened.”
“Ooh.” She couldn’t stop from beaming at the edge of excitement in his voice. Her most favorite thing in the world was to see him happy. “Sounds juicy. Tell me.”
“Let’s get you into the shade first.”
Her heart turned over, as it always did, when he got protective. If he wasn’t looking out for her redhead’s skin in the high-altitude sunshine, he was going over her sturdy, sport utility vehicle, on high alert for the beginnings of a bald tire or low fluids in the battery or cooling system. This, she realized, was why she knew all the way to her soul that she’d made the right decision in moving to Montana. In countless ways, Quinn showed her that he loved her more than anyone else ever had or ever would, and as long as they were together, she would be both safe and cherished as the treasure he thought she was.
“Okay.” Coming to stand by the doors and in the shade of the building, Quinn turned her to face him, his arms coming to hang around her waist. “That man I was talking to? He’s Laurence LeBeau, former Tour de France winner and current president of the American Cycling Sports Federati
on, the governing body for all cycling sports here in the States.”
“Wow.” She looked around for the smallish man with interest. “Boom, we’ve got to get a picture of him and you together. We can start a Wall of Fame featuring all the celebrities who come to Whiteout Mountain and display it in the lobby.”
“Not just no, but hell no,” he muttered, his upper lip peeling back in a graphic show of disdain. “I’m not going to pose like some weird starstruck whack job.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’d be good publicity for Whiteout, showing how the best and the brightest stars in the world come here to stay and play.”
“Not gonna happen, babe. Now listen up,” he went on, talking over her until she gave up in a huff. “He’s traveled all over the world for his sport, both as a competitor and as someone who sets up competitions. He thinks Whiteout Mountain would be the perfect backdrop for a series of mountain bike races, in addition to this BMX Half-pipe thing, which he wants to make a permanent part of the competition schedule.”
“Permanent?” Her breath caught, thrilled. While they had chosen to keep Whiteout Mountain open for business during the summer season—and to their surprise it was doing quite well—it was still nothing compared to the ski season. This, however, would go a long way in balancing things out. “Hot damn, that’s fantastic. Though not surprising, since Whiteout is the total bomb, and you’re so good at hosting these huge events.”
That made him grin, his teeth a dazzling white slash in his beautiful face. “Glad you’re impressed, baby. Now, it’s going to take about a year to get the mountain bike course laid out and set to their governing body’s specifications, not to mention I want to get my own team of experts in to make sure we don’t impact the environment with—”
“Uh, guys?”
Surprised, Quinn and Mia turned to Olivia, who had such a strange expression going on that Mia stepped forward, hand out. “What is it, hon? Otto didn’t tell that Gaudin guy to suck it, did he?”
“No, as far as I know that’s been taken care of. Um…” Olivia’s swallow was audible. “There’s someone here to see you, Mia.”
“To see me?” Baffled, she went through a mental file of who would possibly want to meet up with her specifically before she lit up. “Is it my aunt and Professor Brockman? Daria? My father? The wedding’s not until next weekend, but I—”
“Sorry, hon, it’s not anyone who’s awesome,” Olivia said, grimacing. “It’s…oh, boy. Okay, I’m just going to say it. He said his name is Jackson Hackler, and as I recall that was the name of—”
“Her ex.” A murderous look flashed alarmingly across Quinn’s face before he wheeled toward the doors. “Show me.”
Oh shit. “Quinn, wait!”
Quinn didn’t wait. He did the exact opposite of waiting, and pushed his cousin ahead of him into the cavernous main lobby area. Mia rushed after them, her heart in her throat while inside she reeled with shock. After all this time, what the hell was a blast from the past like Jackson doing there? Ever since she’d dumped the whole contract mess onto the combined doorsteps of Professor Brockman and Quinn, she hadn’t given her ex-fiancée a thought. Not only would it have upset Quinn if she’d continued to try to get the money she was owed back from Jackson, but she simply didn’t think about her ex anymore. Why would she? Her world was now filled with Quinn, the man who had redefined what happiness was, the man who’d shown her how real men treated their women. She had no room for anyone else.
“That’s him,” Olivia murmured, nodding in the direction of the front desk. “The dude in the board meeting suit.”
Mia looked across the lobby and sighed. Leave it to Jackson to wear Armani for a trip into the mountains.
As she hurried along in an attempt to stay within restraining reach of Quinn, she distractedly took Jackson in. Like Olivia had pointed out, he was in a tailored blue textured suit, crisp white shirt and navy paisley tie that had been loosened, the only concession to being in a casual environment. His blonde hair was Ivy League short with its usual, cheesy Ken Doll wave over the forehead and held carefully in place by what she knew to be a monster dose of hairspray. When they’d been together, she’d always admired his perfect hair-grooming skills, mainly because her hair had always laughed at her attempts to tame it.
But now Jackson seemed plastic and shallow, even borderline asexual. A poser who lived in terror that the world would ridicule him if he ever had a hair out of place. Looking at him, with his shiny leather shoes and tanning-bed tan, Mia couldn’t for the life of her remember what it was that had made her think he was the one she’d wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
She must have had rocks in her head.
Either that, or every man looked shallow and sexless compared to Quinn.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The words shot out of Quinn as they approached, and at last she was able to grab his hand to hold onto it, while Olivia veered off to where Thomas stood to one side, on alert and clearly ready to jump in at a moment’s notice. “You’d better not be who I think you are.”
“Excuse me?” Jackson had turned at Quinn’s opening volley to pierce him with a hostile look that turned almost immediately to contempt. Mia didn’t have to be a mind reader to know why. Jackson, preppy upper-middle class product that he was, sneered at men who grew their hair long. He also had a prejudice against anyone with tattoos or piercings that weren’t “socially acceptable.” Since she and Olivia had gotten their belly buttons pierced at the beginning of summer in addition to having Quinn’s name tattooed around her left ring finger, she suspected she’d probably be dismissed as socially unacceptable at this point too.
“Oh shit, you are,” Quinn muttered in disgust, and continued to walk right up into Jackson’s space, like a big dog claiming territory. “You’re exactly who I think you are. You’re the asshole who shouldn’t be anywhere near this property, unless you’ve got two-hundred large to fork over.”
“My name is Jackson Hackler—”
“I know your fucking name, though I wish I didn’t,” Quinn pushed out through a barrier of teeth he couldn’t seem to get unclenched. “What I don’t know is what the fuck you’re doing here, unless it’s to pay off your debt to Mia.”
At the sound of her name, Jackson’s eyes at last shifted her way, and when their gazes met—something she had half-dreaded—she was relieved to discover she felt nothing at all. Most people didn’t enjoy seeing their exes; the memory of loss or being made a fool of or even resentment or anger came with being confronted with past loves. But as she returned his gaze she realized she was utterly free of everything that had to do with him. She might as well have been looking at a stranger.
And it felt magnificent.
“Hey, Mia.” Jackson’s voice had always been very nice, with a silken quality to it that she’d imagined members of the jury would love. “Long time no see. You’re looking good.”
She tried very hard not to smile, knowing Quinn well enough by now to realize he wouldn’t be a fan of that. “Thanks. You, on the other hand, look a bit lost. Are you sure you’re in the right place?” She couldn’t help but put a voice to the question burning her up inside. It just didn’t make any sense for him to be there now.
“Mia, we need to talk.” Jackson’s attention swung to her hand clasping Quinn’s, then back up to her. “Alone.”
Quinn snorted. “Altitude’s gotten to you. You’re obviously out of your damn mind.”
“That really is asking for the impossible, Jackson,” Mia admitted honestly, giving Quinn’s fingers an encouraging squeeze. “Even if I thought for a moment that the man in my life would be okay with that—which he never would be, just as I’d never be okay with him grabbing private time with his ex—there’s nothing that can’t be said in front of him.”
Jackson’s expression puckered with a flash of impatience he couldn’t hide. “You might feel that way, but there are private things that I need to say.”
“All the more reaso
n to say them in front of Quinn. I don’t keep secrets from him.”
“That might be hard for you to grasp, seeing as how you were fucking Mia over from start to finish,” Quinn offered helpfully, a dangerous edge to his smile as he regarded the other man. “Not that I’m complaining. You were such a piss-poor fiancée, you make me look like Prince fucking Charming.”
“You are Prince Charming, Boom. My Prince Charming.” She leaned into his arm and smiled up at him, wishing that they had the privacy that Jackson had been hoping for. “I couldn’t have dreamed up a better prince if I’d tried.”
The aggressive heat vanished from Quinn’s eyes as he looked down at her, only to be replaced by an encompassing warmth that made her tingle all over. “You’re better than any dream I’ve ever had, Red. We were meant to be.”
Jackson made a choking noise. “You can’t actually believe that. Mia is used to city life and sophistication, not some no-name backwater speck on the map.”
Mia’s attention swerved back to her former fiancée, instantly outraged on Quinn’s behalf. “Look around you, Jackson. Does this resort remotely resemble what you just described? What Quinn has built here on this mountain is paradise, and that’s not just my opinion. Feel free to look for Quinn and Whiteout Mountain Resort on the Luxe channel in October and the Destination channel in November. You’re lucky enough to be standing in a destination resort that sets a new luxury standard in the sporting and adventure-travel industry.”
“Standing in, but not staying in,” Quinn growled, looking as though he’d like nothing better than to throw Jackson out the nearest door. “Sorry, but we just became all filled up. Too bad you can’t stay.”
“I’m not interested in staying,” Jackson snarled, “I’m interested in getting my fiancée back.”
“Holy shit,” Olivia muttered from her place off to the side. Mia couldn’t blame her. If her jaw hadn’t unhinged so hard it clicked, she would have said the same thing.
“Your fiancée?” Quinn’s snarl was so much more impressive than Jackson’s that it made Mia shiver. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re standing here, in my house, looking me in my face, making noise about taking my woman from me? Are you fucking kidding me?”
