A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain #1)(60)

“But it’s complicated,” Callie says, because she understands.

“Yeah. I feel so conflicted. Mark can do whatever he wants. But Reed… God.” My shoulders sag. “I got so excited when he started to have big ideas for this place. But daydreams are one thing, and real life is tricky. Also, I’m terrified those two men will spend another ten years not talking.”

How much parental rejection can Reed be expected to take? He’s here. Finally. He’s trying, and Mark is pushing him away again.

It’s going to break my heart, too.

Callie squeezes my wrist. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No. But thank you.” My phone chirps in my pocket. I pull it out to find a message from the company that supplies our table linens. “At least it’s opening weekend, so there’s a million other fires to put out.” I stand up from my chair.

“See you out there,” Callie says. “Sutton is fired up to ski in the opening night ceremony.”

“I’m fired up too,” I promise her.

I love my job. I also love Reed.

But I’m afraid only one of those loves can survive at the same time.





It helps that today is a busy Saturday, and everyone wants a piece of me.

The beginning of the season is always chaotic, and today’s upsets include a ski lift with a missing inspection certificate, a shortage of personnel in the ski shop, and a flustered new concierge in need of a pep talk.

Not all of these disasters are technically part of my job description, but running a resort means facing a different challenge every day. When I’d told Reed I like that, I wasn’t lying. No two days are alike, and the views are always magnificent.

Distraction is a wonderful thing, and I lose myself in the minutia of making other people’s vacations a success. I’m good at it, and I genuinely enjoy showing our guests a great time.

But then I walk back into the hotel and overhear another bit of mountain gossip passing between two mouthy bellhops. “Yeah, Madigan is outta here already. His assistant—that hot chick, Sheila? She got him a first-class ticket on a flight so full that it cost two grand.”

“For a two-hour flight?” The other guy looks horrified. “For that coin, it ought to come with a porterhouse steak and a blowjob.”

I don’t hear the rest of their conversation, because I turn right around and walk back outside. If Reed is upstairs packing, I don’t even want to know. If he and his father are so broken, they can’t even have another conversation, I don’t think there’s anything productive I could say right at this moment.

I pull on my gloves and trek toward the new tubing area for children, which opens tonight for the first time.

“Ms. Aichers?” One of the younger members of the kitchen staff waves me over to where she’s standing in the snow beside a folding table. “Is this the right spot for the hot chocolate and cider?”

“That’s not bad,” I say, leaping in to help. “But if we brought this a little closer to the doors, it would be easier to refill tonight when you run out.”

“Yeah, good point,” she says.

“Let me help you with the tablecloth. We have to clip it down or it will blow away before this evening.”

Just like that, I’m swept back into the chaos of our opening weekend celebrations. I help set up the outdoor beverage station and the risers for the band and a million other little things.

When evening falls, I set up my box of torches near the ski lift. Then I pull out my phone to send a group text to the forty people who volunteered for the opening ceremony parade.

But first I check to see if I have any messages from Reed.

I do not. And if he’s left without saying goodbye, I will not be responsible for my actions.

With an hour to spare, I run home to change into skiwear and bolt down a bowl of soup. Afterwards, I heft my skis onto my shoulder to return to the ski lift just before eight.

Still nothing from Reed. He’s probably on the plane right now. He’ll probably call me tomorrow, apologetic. And I’ll have to steel myself for the awkward conversation of whether or not we’re going to see each other again. Somehow.

I can’t think about that right now, though. There’s a crowd of hotel guests, condo owners, and locals forming on the snow-covered lawn in front of the hotel. They’re spreading out waterproof quilts on the snow. And they’re drinking cocoa and hot adult beverages while they wait for the entertainment to begin.

But none of these people are Reed Madigan. This place suddenly feels empty without him.

Damn you, Reed. I spent years not thinking about him, and now I’m looking for his face in the crowd.

I hustle past everyone, because I’m actually running late. Stopping in front of the lift, I drop my skis to the snow and clip into the bindings.

“Looks like a good showing,” says Bert, who’s volunteered to man the lift tonight. “Got a good crowd, and I sent your people up the lift already. Sure hope the new owners will hold onto this tradition next year.”

I fish one of the last torches out of the box as I try to decide what to say. The sale of the mountain is not supposed to be public knowledge. But that’s mountain gossip for you. Everyone seems to know about the sale.

And I have no idea what the Sharpes are planning for this place. Until last night, I assumed everything would be fine and that I’d get a chance to run this place the way I’d like to.