Treacherous Slopes

by Terri Reed

  “Oh, so you do want this to be a date?” There was laughter in his tone.

  Her cheeks flamed. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

  “I’m game. I’ll fix you my mom’s famous curry chicken salad.”

  “You don’t have to cook for me.”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” he said. “But I’d like to cook for you.”

  She swallowed back the spurt of very unprofessional pleasure. “I appreciate the offer but—”

  “No buts,” he said, cutting her off. “Be at the West Village parking lot by eleven-thirty. I’ll see you then.”

  He hung up, giving her no chance to tell him she didn’t think it was a wise decision to spend time with him outside of the interview. She stared at the phone. She should dial him back and tell him no.

  She didn’t. For the sake of her interview, she’d go. Besides, it would help him relax and be ready to open up when Bob arrived with the camera. She had a little over two hours to prepare. Did she have time to buy a new outfit?

  Not a date, remember. She decided on a knee-length purple skirt, a cream-colored sweater and knee-high low-heeled boots. After twisting her hair and securing the mass with a jeweled clip, she made her way to the second bedroom of the riverfront condo she’d inherited from her mother. They’d lived here before her stepdad, Marshal, came into the picture, but Mom had hung on to the condo. After graduating from college, Julie had moved in. Now it was hers, along with the fees and taxes. She’d turned her old room into a den with a vintage writing desk, an armoire that did double duty as a bookshelf and printing dock and sofa with a standing reading lamp. This room was her haven. She’d repainted the walls herself a light peach and stenciled Scriptures along the top, creating a border so that she was surrounded by God’s word as she worked or read. Her laptop lay on the desk.

  She sat in the plush custom-made chair Marshal had given her for Christmas several years ago. He’d taken one look at the task chair she’d bought at the local office supply store and decided she couldn’t possibly be comfortable in that chair. The task chair had been what she could afford. Having made millions in real estate, it was nothing for Marshal to provide her with a chair. But she wanted to provide for herself. It had been her and her mom alone for so long before Marshal had come along. Her mother had taught her to be strong and independent.

  From her purse she took out her notepad. She’d scribbled notes and possible questions when she had first thought of the idea to interview Nick. Now that the time was here, she needed to strategize her interview questions. And she needed to do more research on Nick and his career. She hadn’t really followed Nick’s rise through the skiing ranks. Of course she’d known he was doing well and had hurt for his family when Cody had his fatal accident. But the first couple of years out of high school had been hard for her with her mother’s illness, college and then Mom’s passing. That was five years ago. And every day she missed her mom.

  The only family she had left was her stepdad. And that relationship was strained at best. Marshal Evans had wanted her to go into real estate so she could take over his business. He’d made it very clear he thought she was wasting her time at the station. But she wasn’t interested in selling property any more than she was in taking over his business. She wanted to make her own way in the world. Unfortunately, her salary wasn’t cutting it. The promotion would make a huge difference to her financially.

  She opened a file folder, labeled Nick, that was sitting on the desk. She wanted to know what made him tick.

  Because he was the subject of her story, not because she was attracted to him. Okay, maybe she was even after all these years, but that didn’t mean she would let her emotions rule her. She was a professional. She had a job to do.

  Her thoughts scattered in a million directions.

  Who wanted him dead? Why?

  Clearly he’d angered someone enough that the person had tried to kill him.

  She sent up a silent prayer of protection for Nick and a plea that whoever wanted him dead would be stopped.

  A chill chased down her spine.

  She reached over to the sofa and snagged an afghan to throw across her shoulders. Searching the internet, she read every bit of information she could find about Nick Walsh, jotting down more notes as she clicked through the links.

  He had a track record of wins that went back to his early teen years. She made a note to ask him about learning to ski on Mt. Bachelor. That was a no-brainer.

  He was credited with being one of the sport’s most innovative competitors. She could ask about his inspiration both on and off the slopes.

  There was an article about a mission trip to India. She made a note to ask about his philanthropic endeavors. And there was a short piece about him guest coaching at a training center back east. Another good topic to cover in her interview.

  Of course, she’d focus on the recent attempts on his life. Today at lunch she’d get some specifics and then contact the police investigating the attempts.

  She clicked on the images tab and a collage of photos appeared, all featuring Nick.

  As a kid, as a teen. The same guy who lived in her memories.

  As a young man new on the aerial freestyle roster.

  The progression of maturity made her smile.

  He’d fulfilled every promise of being a hunk.

  There were photos of Nick with ski buddies, two of whom Julie recognized as the men who’d been in the tent with Nick last night.

  There were also pictures of Nick with female skiers, both on the slopes and off.

  Staring at the images, she thought back to their high school days. He’d been cocky and larger than life, with a grin that made everyone want to respond in kind. That grin hadn’t changed over the years and still had the ability to make her catch her breath.

  She tagged a few photos and sent them to the production department at the station for use as background.

  She made a note that in the articles, there had been no mention of a steady girlfriend.

  The curiosity building within her was purely professional. He was an eligible bachelor and her viewers would want to know about his love life.

  She called Bob and arranged for him to meet her at Nick’s motor home at 1:00 p.m. In a moment of inspiration, she decided to take her tablet, which had a camera. It might just be the two of them in the motor home for lunch, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t share the experience with the world. She left her condo with purpose in her steps.

  When she arrived at the West Village parking lot at the base of Mt. Bachelor, she parked her all-terrain hybrid in an empty slot. She looked toward the West Village Lodge sitting at the rise of a steeply sloped walkway. It had been a while since she’d been to the lodge. Toward the end of her life, Mom had loved to come and sit on the balcony with a mug of hot cocoa and watch Marshal ski.

  The bittersweet memory misted Julie’s eyes. She blinked to clear away the bout of grief and climbed out of the car. She scanned the lot, looking for Nick’s motor home. The RV side of the parking lot was filled with recreational vehicles of all sizes and shapes.

  Her gaze landed on a huge RV. That was it. There was no mistaking the Thunderbird logo, a bird depicted in an explosion of color with its wings spread wide and its distinctively shaped head. She set off in that direction.

  A shiver of unease shimmied down her back. The sensation of being watched made the small hairs at the back of her neck rise in an alert tremor. She glanced around. The mostly full lot was busy with people gathering at their cars for tailgate lunches. She didn’t see anyone paying special attention to her. Her gaze snagged on the nearest lift ticket booth and the dark-haired woman standing in front of it. She didn’t face the window as one would expect, but rather the parking lot. Though the woman was too far away for Julie to make out her features, Julie was sure it was Kitty.

  Keeping vigil over Nick?

  It would be disconcerting to have someone following you around the country, always showing up
and trying to make a connection that wasn’t there.

  Stalking of celebrities and athletes wasn’t a new issue. Bothersome for sure, and in some cases, deadly.

  Julie hadn’t felt that Kitty was a threat to Nick last night at the hospital. The woman had seemed genuinely concerned about his well-being. Surely Kitty wasn’t a danger to anyone. Julie was curious to see if Kitty would actually call and set up an appointment to be interviewed. Sometimes people found the idea of being on camera too nerve-racking to attempt. Julie’s first time hadn’t been perfect, but she’d loved it.

  She turned away from the ticket booth and the woman watching to knock on the motor home door. A second later, it swung open. Ted filled the frame. His intimidating stare softened. “Ms. Frost. Nick’s expecting you.”

  He stepped down and to the side so she could enter.

  When he didn’t follow her up the stairs, she paused to look back at him. “You’re not coming in?”

  He flashed her a grin. “Three’s a crowd. I’ll be out here making sure no one disturbs your lunch.” His gaze rose toward where Kitty still stood, staring in their direction.

  Julie entered the motor home and the door swung shut behind her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. The smell of curry and grilled chicken hung in the air, making her mouth water. Nick stood at the sink in the galley. Light blue jeans fit snugly over his long, lean legs and the teal-colored cable-knit sweater emphasized the width of his shoulders. No sign of a sling. He was chopping a stalk of celery and dropping the bits into a large bowl filled with savory chunks of chicken covered in a yellow curry sauce.

  “Hey there, pretty lady,” Nick said with a welcoming smile, flashing even, white teeth.

  “Hello.” She gave him an answering smile. “How’s the arm?”

  He flexed it. “Still works.” He gestured to the dining area. “Have a seat. It’s just about ready.”

  The table had been set up with colorful stoneware plates, utensils, tall tumbler glasses and a pitcher of lemonade.

  “Wow, this is great.”

  The walls were decorated with framed photos of Nick and two other men on the winner podiums. Beneath the photos, the captions stated a date and the name of the competition. Apparently his buddies competed in not only aerials but also moguls and ski cross.

  She noticed a box sitting on a shelf with two red baseball caps sporting the Thunderbird logo on the crown and Nick’s name embroidered on the bill. “These are cool.”

  Nick wiped his hands on a towel before stepping over. He lifted the hats out of the box and plopped one on her head and the other on his. “A matching set.”

  “Does Thunderbird gift you with lots of merchandise?”

  “One of the perks of sponsorship.” Nick stepped back to the sink. “Every company makes some sort of paraphernalia. These are just hitting the shelves. Though I doubt they all have my name stitched on the peak.”

  “Nice.” She removed the hat from her head and placed it back in the box. Then she scooted onto the cushioned bench seat and placed her tablet on the window ledge, with the camera facing over her shoulder toward the spot where Nick would sit. She pushed record.

  He brought the bowl of chicken salad to the table and set it in the middle, then glanced at the tablet. “Is that recording?”

  She nodded. “It is okay? I may not use it.”

  For a moment he contemplated her, then lifted a shoulder. “That’s fine.”

  Relieved, she set her napkin in her lap.

  He brought over a stack of pita wedges and loose lettuce leaves. “Help yourself.”

  Taking one of the wedges, she asked, “What made you decide to concentrate your career on aerials? If I recall you could bomb a hill pretty fast.”

  He sat on the bench seat to her left and took off the hat to lay it beside him. “I still love to bomb down the slopes. But there’s nothing like being a human rocket.”

  She paused as she scooped a spoonful of salad onto her plate. “Rocket?” That sounded dangerous.

  He took a pita wedge and filled it with lettuce and salad before laying it on the plate. “You fly down the ramp into the jump at forty-plus miles per hour, hit the kicker at a seventy-degree angle, shooting your body upward like a rocket as gravity tries to tether you to the ground, but you’re moving up and up and your body’s spinning and twisting and twirling.”

  Exhilarated by the sheer joy on his face as he talked about the sport that had captured his heart, Julie felt her own heart beat a frantic melody. She could almost feel the wind on her face, the air lifting her up.

  “And there’s this moment of pure bliss when you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you’ll never come back to earth,” he said.

  His blue eyes were lit from within, drawing her forward as if as she could hitch a ride on the wonder in his voice.

  “You’re skyrocketing through the air, the sky over you clear and bright and the white ground below. And there’s this weightless sensation unlike anything else you’ve ever experienced. Like you could float forever and not miss having your skis touch down.”

  “You make it sound so breathlessly exciting,” she murmured.

  “Then the landing track rushes at you and there’s a second right before touchdown that makes your heart leap in your throat. Will you stick it? Will you bobble and tumble and crash? The not knowing...” He took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. “Addictive.”

  She sat back, feeling as though she’d run a mile uphill.

  Addictive. Spoken like a true adrenaline junkie.

  If she’d needed a reminder why she shouldn’t get involved with this man, he’d just delivered one. She dropped her gaze to her plate and wondered why she felt so dejected.

  * * *

  Nick watched the play of emotions over Jules’s expressive face. She’d been caught up in what he was saying; he’d seen the way her eyes had flared, the pulse point at the base of her neck jumping and her lips parting as she sat on the edge of her seat. Then all of a sudden she’d deflated, like a balloon losing air. She poked at her salad, her eyes downcast, her mouth pinched at the corners.

  “Okay, what’s wrong?” he asked.

  She shook her head, visibly pulled herself together and lifted her chin. “Nothing. Can you tell me about your training? I’ve heard you ski off ramps into large pools.”

  “We do and I would love to tell you all about it. But first I want you to tell me why you look like I just kicked your puppy.”

  She laughed and waved her fork dismissively. “Nonsense. I don’t know what you mean.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Come on, Jules, spill it.”

  “I think it’s great that you get so much pleasure from jumping. You’re very good at it.”

  He wasn’t going to let her get away with that. He reached out and placed his hand over hers. “Did I say something to upset you?”

  “No, no.” She gave a vigorous shake of her head. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

  “That sounds like something one would say when breaking up with someone. Are you breaking up with me already? On our first date?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not dating.”

  “I’m teasing you.” He wished she’d worn her hair in a braid so he could tweak it. He was acutely aware they weren’t dating. Reporter, remember? Except this was Julie. He had a hard time putting her in the same category as any other reporter. “Now, tell me what upset you.”

  “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  She took a drink of lemonade and set her glass down. “I was engaged two years ago to a guy who...had an addictive personality.”

  Why did he feel as though he’d misjudged a landing? “Were engaged? Meaning you aren’t now?”

  “I broke it off.”

  “Was he a gambler?” A logical assumption about a person with an addictive personality.

  Her mouth pulled up at one corner. “I wouldn’t be surprised, but not that I know
of. He liked to say he lived life to the extreme. He was an adrenaline junkie. Into fast cars, fast motorbikes, fast boats. Rock climbing, BASE jumping, skydiving.”

  “And that didn’t appeal to you.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. She was the type of woman who’d appreciate fine art, quiet sunsets and classical music. He couldn’t see her willingly leaping out of a plane or off a building. Her hands were too delicate for the rough business of rock climbing. And she probably drove sedately, always just under the speed limit.

  “The opposite.”

  All his assumptions crumbled with those two words. “Really? So you’d go skydiving or rock climbing?”

  “I did.” She wrinkled up her nose in a cute way that made him smile. “I’m not strong enough for the rock climbing.” A smile lit up her eyes. “But I enjoyed the skydiving.”

  “I’d have never guessed you had that in you.”

  She shrugged. “You don’t know me. So how would you know what I like?”

  She had a point. Just because they’d grown up in the same town, in the same radius of life, didn’t mean they knew anything about each other. Yet he felt a connection to her in a way he hadn’t with anyone else. Ever. A very unnerving realization. “Then why’d you break it off?”

  “Unfortunately, fast women were on his list, too....” Her voice trailed off and her gaze dropped to her plate.

  “You being the exception, of course,” Nick pointed out.

  She shrugged again.

  The guy must have been wrong in the head to blow a chance with a quality woman like Julie. Not that Nick wanted a chance with her. He couldn’t forget her ambitions.

  Suddenly long, hairy legs appeared over the top of her shoulder, then the body of a gnarly spider came into view. A two-by-two-inch dark brown spot against the creamy off-white of her sweater. Nick sucked in a breath. His heart pounded as though he’d taken a spin down a double black diamond run. “Julie, don’t move.”

  “What? Why?”

  He picked up a butter knife from the table.

  Her eyes widened. “Uh, Nick, your arm.”

  He followed her gaze to an exact twin to the spider on her shoulder. All his childhood nightmares came rushing back in vivid images.