Contents
Title Page
Blurb
Dedication
Free Story
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Free Story
Post a Review
Also by J.B. Reynolds
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright (Mobi)
Taking the Plunge
J.B. Reynolds
Sometimes all you need is a leap of faith...
When her husband's recent infidelities are exposed, Kate Hensley does what any sensible woman would; she kicks him out of the house and pursues a younger man. Could her snowboarding instructor, Evan Randall — blue-eyed, blonde, and gorgeous — be the solution to her problems?
If only love lust was that simple.
Gossip travels fast in the high-country, and while Kate’s new BFF supports her romantic endeavours, it seems no one else does. With opposition to her amorous adventure mounting, Kate learns that Newton’s third law applies to love as it does to motion, and she must decide whether the price of being true to herself is one she’s prepared to pay...
For Leanne.
FREE BOOK ALERT!
A gritty and engaging story of human faults, fears, and frailty, What Friends Are For is the prequel short story to Taking the Plunge.
Get your free copy now and discover where it all began for Kate, Tracy, Evan, and Lawrence.
Find out more at jbreynolds.net
PROLOGUE
Kate tipped the plastic can so a stream of petrol flowed from the spout and splashed over the collection she had stacked in the back yard. She was careful to lean forward and extend her arm as far she could — it wouldn’t do to set herself on fire as well as her husband’s belongings.
It had taken her a couple of hours to gather the items together and mounded as they were, like rugby players in a ruck, the heap was not inconsiderable. Oh well, she thought, if the neighbours call the fire brigade I’ll just have to accept it. No doubt they’d charge for the callout but Lawrence could pay for that.
The assembled items included a set of golf clubs, a mountain bike, all Lawrence’s clothes from their wardrobe, two sets of skis and boots (racing and telemark), fishing rods and flies, a wetsuit and dive regulator (she’d left the oxygen tanks, worried they might explode), a pair of water skis, his collection of awful, nineties techno CDs, a large backpack, hiking boots and the sail from his windsurfer (the board itself was a large, unwieldy thing, and she’d been concerned about the flammability of its foam core and how toxic the smoke might be. The CDs alone would be bad enough — she didn’t want to poison anyone). The windsurfer was functionally useless without a sail anyway, so she’d still get her point across.
Kate was under no illusion that the collected items were ideal fuel for a bonfire and so had asked for and been given three wooden pallets from the hardware store that afternoon. When she shifted Corbin’s car-seat to the front of her Santa Fe and folded the back-seats down, there was just enough room to fit them in for the drive home. It had taken an hour of toil to break them up with a hammer and an axe and add them to the pile, toil that had brought on a profuse sweat despite the chill of the winter breeze. With the sun lowering in the sky, the breeze had died, and it really was the perfect evening for a bonfire.
She completed her careful circle round the heap, sloshing petrol into it as far as she could, then backed away towards the house, dribbling a short trail with her. After replacing the cap and setting the can aside, she looked through the viewfinder of the digital camera she’d set up on a wooden stool, checking her framing. Satisfied, she set it to record. Then she took a matchbox from her pocket, struck a match and dropped it at the head of her trail of gas-soaked grass.
The trail leapt into flame, raced to the pile and exploded with an onomatopoeic, hot and extremely satisfying WHOOSH.
Kate watched the burning heap for a few minutes, mesmerised. A seething cloud of acrid, charcoal coloured smoke billowed into the air, but no neighbours poked their heads over the fence and no sirens sounded in the distance. She wrinkled her nose, then turned to the west, noting the sun had dipped towards the mountains. She checked her watch — almost five-thirty, Lawrence would be home soon — collected the camera and returned inside.
Corbin was still asleep on the couch, a happy convenience that made her wonder if God was supportive of her measures. She roused him with a gentle shake, and while he came to his senses she placed another log on the fire and closed the curtains, leaving a gap by the dining table through which she could keep an eye on the fire outside.
Gathering Corbin up, she plopped him into his high-chair, strapped him in and served him dinner, a mix of rice, casseroled beef and vegetables. He smiled at her, brandishing a plastic spoon and attacking his meal with gusto, slopping brown sauce over the side of his bowl and his face.
Kate poured herself another glass of wine and was pouring one for Lawrence when she heard the familiar purr of his car coming up the drive. Sipping her wine, she listened to the garage door opening and closing, the grunting and shuffling in the hallway as he removed his coat and then his muffled footsteps, the pads becoming clacks as he stepped from hall carpet to the tiles of the kitchen. She turned, and for the first time since she had discovered the incriminating photos of Lawrence and she who shall not be named, greeted him with a smile. He looked tired — eyes dark, complexion pale, his forehead rutted with wrinkles.
“Hard day? Here, have a drink.”
His eyebrows reared up at the bridge of his nose, like a furry black caterpillar staring at its reflection in a mirror. He cocked his head and took the glass.
“Thank you.” He looked at her, questioning, but she stared blankly back, giving no answer other than the thin smile tracing her lips.
“Daddy!” Corbin saluted Lawrence with an upraised spoon that sent a dollop of brown goo flying across the table.
“Hello, my beautiful boy. How are you?” He moved to Corbin’s side, bent and plastered his son’s cheek with kisses, blowing a raspberry that made Corbin shriek and giggle. He looked at her again, lips parting to reveal yellowing teeth, but her smile had vanished and his withered and died. He straightened, and with a shake of his head, said, “Greg was in again this afternoon. He’s impossible, that man. It’s like he thinks tax laws should only apply to poor people.”
“Don’t they?” She arched her eyebrows and took another sip of wine.
Lawrence snorted. “Of course not. There’s still l
aws for rich people,” he said, swirling the crimson liquid in his glass. “They’re just different ones.”
She leaned over the kitchen counter, elbows and wine glass sliding across the granite. “Have a drink. It’s not poisoned.”
His eyes flicked to hers, springing wide for an instant.
The thin smile returned.
He nodded, a tiny bob of the head, returned his gaze to the glass in his hand and sniffed at it, then took a sip. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then paused, brow furrowing, and stepped towards the curtains. “What’s with the fire?” he asked, peering through the gap.
She shrugged. “Oh, just thought I’d burn some rubbish I found round the place.”
Another step. “You’re not supposed to have outside fires in town. Not without a permit anyway.”
“It’s only a little one. And there’s no wind. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
A third. “That smoke’s pretty thick.” He parted the curtain and pressed his nose against the glass. The words that came to her then were strangely muted, as though they were being strangled in his throat. “Why are those flames green? Wait, is that my…?” He yanked the door open, a rush of cold air flooding in.
His next sentence was short, but loud and clear.
“What the fuck!”
ONE
Kate shivered as a gust of wind ripped across Coronet Peak, shaking the chairlift. She looked down at the rented snowboard dangling from her feet, reaching out to dislodge a chunk of snow from the binding. It fell, dropping onto the head of a skier weaving beneath the lift, who skidded to a stop, squawking up at her with a clenched fist.
“Sorry,” she shouted down, but the wind whipped her words away and she was unsure if the skier heard them. She returned her gaze to the chair in front of her, where Evan and his companion were engaged in animated conversation. The woman, from some South American country — Brazil? Argentina? Chile? — was angled towards Evan, her arms raised and extended in a gesture that suggested they were discussing the size of a fish she’d caught. Like a bunny in its winter coat, she was wrapped in a pale grey and white ski jacket, her thick black hair flowing in waves from beneath a fluffy grey beanie, so cute it made Kate sick. Even from behind, Kate could tell she wore a smile so big it was a wonder her head didn’t fall off. She’d been flirting with Evan the entire lesson and he’d lapped it up, barely giving Kate or anyone else in their group a second glance.
She placed her gloved hands on the bar and rested her chin on top of them, sighing. The only reason she’d booked the lesson in the first place — the only reason she’d travelled all the way from Cromwell to Queenstown to come snowboarding — was so she could flirt with Evan.
She’d met him for the first time earlier in the winter, when she’d come skiing with her bastard ex and on a whim had decided to ditch her skis and try snowboarding for the first time. She’d joined Evan’s group lesson and even then, before everything had gone tits up with Lawrence, she was smitten. The way his blonde curls fell around his forehead, framing bright blue eyes and an easy smile, the warm and friendly manner in which he delivered his instructions, the relaxed but purposeful movement of his body across the snow — all combined to send a delicious little tingle up her spine when she thought of him.
She’d seen him again a week or so later, a chance encounter in the street when she’d been out shopping with a friend, a few days after she’d discovered Lawrence was cheating on her. That meeting had been brief, but the imaginary ones she’d had since were anything but. In the long nights following her decision to send Lawrence packing, feeling lonely and sorry for herself, eyes wide despite her exhaustion, she’d spent hours thinking about Evan. Her fantasies had helped to calm the buzzing in her skull, replacing it instead with a buzzing between her legs.
Finally, she could stand it no longer. She’d booked a lesson, asking for Evan by name. In her head, the plan was perfect. The day would dawn bright and clear and she’d make the long drive with the stereo blasting. Evan would welcome her with a beaming smile, resting his hand on her hip as he guided her across the snow. They’d laugh and chat, have eyes only for each other, and he’d ask for her number. She’d already written it on a slip of paper, folded into the pocket of her jacket. She was nothing if not prepared, and if he asked her out for a glass of mulled wine after the lesson she could always call Lawrence and tell him he could keep Corbin a little longer — she was going to be late home.
But when she’d arrived the South American skank was already there, batting eyes like chocolate icing and wrinkling her freckled nose when she giggled, which seemed to be every time Evan opened his mouth. Of course her name was Maria, with an R that rolled like a burst of machine-gun fire, and it was her hips his hands rested on, her face he looked for when he stopped halfway down the learners’ slope, beckoning the rest of the group to follow. She’d stuck to him like glue for the duration of the lesson and now they’d left the learner’s slope, graduating to the main chairlift for their final run.
Approaching the terminal, Kate sucked in a breath. It would be mortifying to fall over, especially if the lift operator had to stop the chairlift to assist her. After years of skiing, she still hated that feeling — dangling in mid-air, stomach lurching — while some useless bugger was being scraped off the snow at the top of the lift. She was damned if she was going to be that useless bugger.
Ahead of her, Evan and the luscious Latino had reached the terminal. As they exited, he placed his arm behind her, guiding her away from the chair to the edge of the run, easing her down onto the hard packed snow. Kate snorted in disgust. Sure, it was easy when you had someone to help you.
Her stomach fluttered as the chair bounced over the rollers on the final approach. She focused, envisioning the steps in her mind, then lifted the bar, placed her left foot onto the snow, stood and dropped her right foot onto the back of the board, letting the chair push her forward and out of the way as it swung round. She pushed with her back foot and glided across the snow, smiling, hoping Evan would turn around to congratulate her on her perfect dismount, but he didn’t, having eyes only for the Brazilian bitch. She came to a slow stop, slumping down onto her bum behind them.
She heard a yelp and turned to see another member of their lesson group, a slight, bespectacled man in a red ski-suit, go down in front of the chairlift, his legs sliding out from beneath him. He grabbed desperately for his wife beside him but she dodged and let him drop, skiing gracefully out of the danger zone. The liftie, a young man with dreadlocks and a scraggly beard, hit the emergency-stop button and ran to his aid, helping him up and dusting him off. No damage done, except to his dignity, and perhaps to his faith in his wife. Kate thanked God it was him and not her.
If Evan and Maria had noticed, they ignored it. Kate punched her loose binding, dislodging snow so she could tighten the ratchet, and watched them both stand and begin their descent — Evan relaxed and smooth, followed by Maria who was tentative and twitchy. They hadn’t gone far, perhaps fifty metres, when he turned and skidded to a halt at the side of the run and faced back up the slope, beckoning Maria to join him. Then he caught Kate’s eye, waving her down.
She didn’t move, considering her options. If she didn’t do something to get his attention it would be Maria and not her he’d be sharing a mulled wine with at the end of the day. And by the way their eyes kept sliding towards each other, whatever Kate did, it would need to be dramatic.
She swung her board over so her body was facing the slope.
Drama had been her favourite subject in high-school.
Pushing herself up off the snow, she pointed her board downhill, beginning the descent, then leaned on her heels to cut across the run. She turned again, onto her toe-side, executing it perfectly, picking up speed. She crossed the run again, made another heel-side turn, this time adding a clumsy wave of her arms for effect. Adjusting her balance, she aimed directly for Evan and Maria, then let out a squeal. Maria’s eyes sprang wide.
&nbs
p; “Heeelp!” Kate shrieked, flailing her arms.
“Turn, turn!” Evan shouted at her.
“I can’t! I’m going too fast!”
She saw Maria take evasive action, dropping down the slope. Evan stayed where he was, hands pushed forward and knees bent, bracing for the collision. At the last moment, she kicked her back foot out hard, spraying a wave of snow at Evan but also taking the bulk of her speed off. She hit him just after the blast of snow, arms outspread, turning her head so that their faces didn’t mash, and he caught her, softening the blow. Her momentum pushed them back to the edge of the trail, his feet catching on the small ledge formed by the snow groomer’s passing, and they collapsed into the lumpy snow beyond.
Evan groaned. The brim of her beanie had slipped over her eyes and she raised it so she could see. Evan’s face was covered in a coating of white powder, like a cupcake dusted with icing sugar.
“Oh, my God! Are you okay?” she asked, wiping his cheek.
“Your knee’s in my crotch,” he said, his voice tight.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…” She shifted her knee, moving it down, and felt him relax, exhaling warm breath into her face. It smelled of spearmint. “Is that better?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“I’m awfully sorry. I don’t quite know what happened. I thought I had it under control, but then all of a sudden… I didn’t.”
“Don’t be. Happens to everyone. It’s all part of learning.”
She looked into his eyes and gave him her warmest smile. “Thanks for saving me.”
He cocked his head slightly, and perhaps she imagined it — maybe it was just the glare of sun on snow — but she thought she saw a flash, a little spark of chemistry there. Then he smiled too, ripe lips sliding apart, and it was all she could do in that moment, with him lying helpless beneath her, to stop herself from planting a kiss on them.
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