by Stacy Finz
“Still working it out, huh?”
She blew out a breath. “It’s like dominoes. One tile falls and they all come crashing down. We have to come up with a better scheduling system. During the winter months, we have to set up two dates for every trip—an event day and an alternate day. Our clients need to agree to the substitute date up front. Otherwise, it becomes too complicated to reschedule and people wind up asking for their money back.”
“I like it. Set up the new system.” She stared up at him like she couldn’t believe he was listening to her. “In the meantime, go home and have the rest of your weekend. Win shouldn’t have dumped this on you.”
“I don’t mind.” She started to say something but stopped herself.
“What, Darcy?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek and seemed to contemplate how to proceed. “He seems sad, that’s all.”
“Win?” He seemed distracted. TJ wouldn’t necessarily describe him as sad. “What makes you think that?”
“It’s not any of my business.” She glanced at the clock. “I have to pick up my grandmother now.” She gathered up the calendar and notes and stowed them in her big bag. “I’ll come back.”
“You don’t have to, Darcy. It can wait until Monday.”
She finished packing up and TJ heard the front door click closed as he went in search of his skis. He usually kept them in his office. But he’d recently cleaned and waxed them and had left them . . . somewhere. Maybe the equipment room, which resembled a war zone. Crap everywhere. He made a mental note to put Win on cleanup duty.
“What are you looking for?”
TJ jumped. “Dammit, Deb. Don’t sneak up on someone like that.”
“Sorry.” She held up her hands, but a grin played on her pretty pink lips.
He had an overwhelming urge to put those pretty pink lips to work. On him. “What brings you in on a Saturday?”
“You said you needed help . . . I’m here.” She looked at him like he was schizoid.
“I thought you had plans to ski.” First Darcy, now Deb. Was he that much of a taskmaster?
“I talked to Hannah last night at dinner and got a better handle on the numbers of sweatshirts we should start with. She also told me how many hats to get. I thought I’d at least put the order in now; that way I can work with you on the Colorado Adventure thing next week in between my shifts at the diner.”
“Get the order in and take the rest of the day off, Deb. We’ll deal with Colorado Adventure on Monday.” He was unlikely to find a magazine editor in the office on a Saturday.
“Then what are you doing here?” she asked.
“Getting my skis. I thought I’d get a little time in at either Squaw or Royal Slope.”
“Ooh, can I come?”
He hadn’t skied with her alone since high school and he wanted to. He wanted to badly. “Sure. How long will it take before you’re ready?”
“Just long enough to get that order in and to change.” She looked down at her diner clothes. Black pants and a white blouse. Not a uniform, but all the servers at the Morning Glory did black and white. Deb wore it better than anyone else there. Then again, she’d look good in a gunnysack.
He wanted to get an early start and if he helped her with the orders, they could hopefully get it done faster. “Go get started. Once I find my skis I’ll help you.”
“You don’t have to. I could meet you at the lifts.”
“Oh yeah, how you planning to get there?” He leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest.
“Uh, good point.”
“I called Roger to have him tow your car to that mechanic I told you about. The one who does the transmissions.”
Deb got a panicked look in her eyes. “I can’t afford that right now, TJ. You should’ve talked to me first.”
“You can’t leave the car there indefinitely. There’s street cleaning. I’ll take care of it for you. You’ll pay me back when you can.”
“That’s very nice of you. But I don’t know when that’ll be. Besides, do you cover all your employees’ car repairs?”
She knew damned well he didn’t. “Deb, could you just take care of those orders? I want to get out of here.”
“We’re not finished talking about this.”
Yeah, they were. “Come on. It’s a rare day when I get to go skiing.”
“You went just last weekend,” she said and backed out of the equipment room.
Ten minutes later, he found his skis in the men’s locker room. While he was there, he changed, got his boots, and carried them into Deb’s office.
“How’s it going?”
“Good.” She remained fully focused on her computer monitor, looking ridiculously beautiful. Her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. He took a few moments to appreciate her. Last night, when he’d given her a ride home, they’d been all business. TJ was pretty sure she’d been upset about something, perhaps her car.
“This is kind of fun,” she said, and he took his eyes off her long enough to collect himself. “So we don’t have to pay until the stuff is delivered?”
“Normally,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “But because it’s custom, we may have to pay in advance. Let me see.” He pulled up a chair. She had on that perfume she always wore. Something light and sweet. “Yep, see here.” He read her the fine print, pulled his wallet out, and flicked her a credit card. “Use that.”
She punched in the numbers and printed an invoice. “I can’t wait to see what they look like.”
He wished he could get as enthusiastic over clothes as Deb, especially if they were going to sell them. He just wasn’t that in to fashion—not that you could call hoodies fashion—never was. Josh’s snowboard idea, now that was a different story.
“You ready?” he asked because sitting here so close to her was getting difficult.
“I have to go home first to change.” She eyed him up and down, taking in his skiwear. “I can meet you back here.”
“I’ll go with you.” It was a supremely bad idea. But apparently, he’d become the kind of guy who regularly showed poor judgment.
“I’m warning you, it’s a mess.”
He’d once had a girlfriend whose chow shed all over her apartment. Big clumps of red, dog hair everywhere. If that wasn’t bad enough, she tossed her clothes on the floor. Dirty, clean, she didn’t seem to care. The whole place was a laundry basket. It wasn’t like TJ was a neat freak by any stretch. But the fact that she never scrubbed her bathroom—there was a film around the tub that gave it a third-world vibe—made him not want to stay over there. She was sensitive about it, accusing him of using it as an excuse to leave after they’d had sex because he wasn’t that serious about her. He supposed there was some truth to it. After all, he could’ve just helped her clean the place.
He doubted Deb’s apartment was that bad—or that he’d leave after sex.
“Let me just make sure the back door’s locked.” He checked it and turned on the alarm when they left. Glory Junction was a relatively crime-free town. But Garner Adventure housed hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment. No sense tempting fate.
They walked to the diner and climbed the stairs to Deb’s apartment. She definitely wasn’t going to win housekeeper of the year, but it wasn’t that bad. A few dishes in the sink, some clutter on the kitchen table, and a bunch of magazines on the couch. It looked lived in, unlike his house, which was neat as a pin. Not because he kept it that way but because he was never there to mess it up.
“I’ll be out in a second,” Deb said and disappeared down a narrow hallway to what TJ presumed was her bedroom.
He snooped around while she changed. There were lots of pictures of her, Hannah, and Foster on a baker’s rack in the kitchen area. Mostly of them in various forms of drunkenness. He perused her bookcase and found a high-school yearbook. He thumbed through the pages and a loose picture fell out. Deb and Win at their senior prom. Win had his arm around her, a cheesy gri
n on his face, like the whole thing was a big joke. But not to Deb. The camera, which never lied, had caught her smiling up at him as if he’d hung the moon—and her heart. TJ’s slammed against his rib cage. Carefully, he put the picture back between the pages and closed the book.
He’d been in college when that picture was taken, sleeping and drinking his way across campus. Trying hard to make the feelings he had for her go away. He’d come close a time or two in grad school, met a few women who he could fall for, but it’d never stuck. Then he’d come home and there was Deb.
“What are you doing?” she called from her bedroom.
“Checking out all your stuff.”
“Don’t look too closely. I haven’t dusted in two years.”
She came out in a snug pair of ski pants and a zip-neck top that clung to her every curve. For a second, TJ gawked before catching himself. Deb didn’t seem to notice—TJ got the sense she had no idea how gorgeous she was—and just went about her apartment, collecting her boots and skis. On their way out, she tried to put on her jacket with her hands full.
“Here.” He took her skis and poles and helped her shrug into the jacket.
“Can we go, Bennett?” She’d actually proven to be faster than most women. That was the thing about Deb; she was as much of an outdoor fanatic as the Garner brothers.
They walked back to TJ’s truck and took off for the mountains.
“Squaw or Royal Slope?” he asked.
“The Slope.”
He smiled to himself. For an official trail, Royal Slope was probably the most challenging run in the Sierra. Only very advanced skiers felt comfortable on the piste, though occasionally some jack-off new guy would try it and end up crashing.
“Unless you want to go backcountry?” she said.
“Nah, it’ll take too long.” Although the nonsanctioned trails were the best, daylight was burning. “Hey, let me ask you something. Does Win seem sad to you?” Sad had been Darcy’s description. The only time TJ had known Win to be truly sad was when Josh had nearly lost his leg in the bombing. They’d all been devastated, not knowing if he’d ever walk again.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“He seems off.”
“He’s definitely been distracted,” Deb said. “But isn’t that just his attention deficit disorder talking?”
Is that what she called it? TJ supposed it was better than the alternative: treats-Deb-like-shit disorder. To be fair, Win didn’t treat anyone like shit. He just went through life woefully unaware of how his indifference hurt others.
“If anyone would know, it would be you.” TJ slid her a glance. He didn’t know what was up with Win, but Deb’s dismissal of it being anything serious was a relief.
“I doubt it. We haven’t been close for a long time. Not even friends, really.”
“Doesn’t that change every couple of days with you two?” All part of Win’s so-called attention deficit disorder.
“Not anymore,” she said, an edge to her voice that TJ couldn’t read.
“You moving on?” In so many words, she’d said she was, but TJ didn’t necessarily believe her. The whole town assumed they would someday tie the knot. He wouldn’t be surprised if Reno bookies were laying odds right now on whether they’d get back together. He shouldn’t have asked. It was disloyal to Win.
“I told you I was,” she said and sounded testy. TJ didn’t know if she was trying to convince him or herself. “I don’t even feel the chemistry anymore.”
“A person can be great but just not right for you,” he heard himself say and felt like a complete traitor.
“What about Mandy or Karen?”
He lifted his shoulders. “They meet the criteria on my list, but . . . not feeling it.”
“You have a list?” Deb wiggled under her seat belt to turn sideways. She was laughing at him. “Of course you do.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re nosy as hell?”
“What’s on the list?” she asked, undeterred.
You. “We’re not doing this again.” Better to end the conversation now, before he told her the truth.
“Come on, tell me.” She poked him in the shoulder. “Karen or Mandy?”
“Hey, I’m driving.” He grabbed her finger and held on too long. “Neither.”
“Give me a break; you wanted to sleep with Karen.”
Maybe that’s what she’d been pissed about last night. Or maybe he was delusional. Either way, he didn’t want to sleep with Karen. He slid her another glance. “News flash: men want to sleep with women, period.”
“I don’t think you’re like that,” she said.
“Well, you’re wrong.” He pulled into the resort.
Unlike Winter Bowl, Royal Slope didn’t have a hotel or a village with upscale shopping. It was fairly bare bones, with just a lodge that housed a snack bar, bathrooms, and a seating area with a fireplace. The no-frills atmosphere helped keep the price down and appealed mostly to locals and experienced skiers. Glory Junction residents got special deals on season lift tickets and, in the summer, cyclists used the gondolas to go to the top of the mountain and ride down. He and his brothers loved it. And it kept the resort alive after the snow was long gone.
TJ carried his and Deb’s gear to the lodge, where they put on their boots and got in the chairlift line. Not much of a wait; the runs weren’t too crowded despite the recent snow. TJ figured locals, fearing mobs of weekenders and tourists, had stayed home, opting to ski Monday through Friday. It was the kind of town where people took off in the middle of the day after a fresh dump to be the first on the mountain. Recreation was a way of life in Glory Junction, part of the reason his parents had moved here from the Bay Area and founded Garner Adventure.
They rode the lift up to one of the most difficult black diamond trails, got off the chair, and put on their skis. TJ let Deb go first so he could hang back and watch her. She was a fantastic skier, smooth, her body completely in tune with the terrain. Like a choreographed dance. He lagged behind her for a while, enjoying the view of her backside swishing across the trail. Eventually, he caught up and skied next to her. It was kind of scary how in sync they were together, intuitively knowing when the other wanted to speed up or slow down. For a time, they just traversed across the slope. But when they got to the bowl—the basin of the mountain—they picked up speed and made big, swooping turns. A few skiers stopped to watch.
Back at base, Deb asked if he wanted to go to the terrain park, a roped-off run that included jumps, assorted obstacles, and a half-pipe for freestyling and aerial tricks. A woman after his own heart.
They took the tram up and spent a good hour or two sliding across the fun box and up the rail and doing hucks off the jumps. When they got down they were exhausted. And cold.
He and Deb took a break in front of the fireplace in the lodge, removing their boots to warm their feet on the hearth.
“God, you’re a good skier,” she said and rested her back against his shoulder.
“You too.” He draped his arm around her, then silently berated himself for doing it but kept it where it was.
“Why do you think you didn’t make the Olympic team?” She moved her feet away from the flames and tucked them under her butt. He watched the move, a little awestruck at how limber she was.
“Not good enough,” he said plainly.
“Yes, you were.” She stuck her chin out, reminding him of her stubborn streak. “I used to watch you guys train. You were the best in the group.”
But not as good as Win, who got a coveted spot and later decided he didn’t want to go all the way, didn’t want to put in the effort.
TJ shrugged because it was ancient history. “It probably worked out for the best.” He’d gotten an MBA instead.
“Probably,” she agreed. “An Olympic skier has a small window of prime time. Sponsors are always looking for the next pretty face. Not that you don’t have a pretty face.” She turned to look at him and snugged her head under his chin. Her hair smelled go
od, like some kind of fruity shampoo, and he felt himself instantly react.
Good thing for the long fleece. He inched away, even though he didn’t want to.
“Did you always know you would run Garner Adventure?”
No, he’d wanted to be an international ski pro. Then he’d whiffed in those last few competitions and had lost his chance. That’s where GA came in. He’d always been the logical brother to lead the next generation of the company. And the fact was, he loved being CEO of Garner Adventure. No regrets. None whatsoever.
But lately, pushing papers, juggling profit-and-loss statements, finagling deals to grow the company . . . well, it wasn’t enough. He didn’t know exactly what he needed to fill the void, only that he couldn’t continue living the way he had these last ten years.
“For the most part,” he replied. “Colt wanted to be a cop. Josh went off to school and then the army, and Win . . .” They both laughed. It was a long-standing joke that Win was the screw-up in the family, when the truth was, he’d turned out to be a rainmaker for Garner Adventure. With his wit and charm, he made friends wherever he went. And as good an athlete as he was, he was laid-back enough never to be intimidating. As a result, he attracted a good number of the company’s clients, often big corporate accounts that wanted to team build. “Anyway, I was the one who showed the most interest in running GA.”
“You’re good at it,” she said. “You could probably be working at a huge Silicon Valley firm, living large. But this is better.”
He’d always thought so. “What about you? What did you want to be when you grew up?” He doubted she’d wanted to be a waitress.
“I don’t remember ever really thinking about it. My family wasn’t like yours. My parents worked hard just to scrape by. There wasn’t a whole lot of encouragement to go to college or to have big goals. Not because they didn’t want me to, but it just wasn’t part of our world.”
The Bennetts were good people. But yeah, she was right, at the end of the day, they didn’t have enough energy left over to dream big for their only daughter.
“I know they’ve been having a hard time of it with your dad’s back.” He didn’t want to say financially, even though he knew the truth. Deb could be touchy about it.
