My Kind of Wonderful(47)

“I just needed to see that she’s in good hands when she’s up here,” Aaron said. “She’s important to me.”

Yeah, Hud was getting that loud and clear.

“As her fiancé,” Aaron went on, “I worry.”

Hud stopped breathing. His lungs just refused to accept air.

“Ex,” he heard Bailey say firmly. “Ex -fiancé.” She smacked Aaron in the chest. “You always forget that part.”

“Whoops,” Aaron said. “Sorry.” Except he didn’t look all that sorry.

And he didn’t look like an ex either.

Hud pulled his radio off his belt and stared at it wondering why it went off twenty-four-seven except for when he needed it to. “I’ve got to go,” he said, still staring at the radio.

“But it didn’t make any noise for once,” Bailey said.

“Got a meeting,” Hud managed, and spun on a heel and took off toward the offices.

Marcus, their equipment manager, intercepted him halfway. “Hey, there’s a problem with the quad chair on the backside. My guys’ll have it under control in a few minutes but I just wanted you to know—”

“I’ll check it out,” Hud said.

“I got it, I didn’t mean for you to—”

“I’ve got it,” Hud repeated.

Ten minutes later he was at the quad chair, which indeed had jammed. But Marcus had been right, because maintenance had the problem solved before he even got there. Which left him at the top of the mountain and, for the first time in too long, with nowhere else to be.

Which meant his mind was free to go ninety miles an hour and it did so, flashing images across the back of his eyelids at warp speed.

Bailey sitting at the top tier of the scaffolding with brush in hand, holding a look of fierce concentration on her face as she painted the Kincaid family tree in super-size.

Bailey sitting with his mom, listening to her babble on with sweet patience and not an ounce of condescension.

Bailey laying on his bed, flushed, eyes hot, body soft as she showed him her port scar, a visceral reminder of her f*cking bravery.

Bailey meeting his gaze head-on and saying she didn’t want a relationship…

Bailey kissing her ex-fiancé…

His radio went off. Thank God. An emergency, which would take his head out of his own ass and put him back in the game.

A kid and an adult had reportedly collided on the bunny hill down at the bottom, near the parking lot. From where he stood it was a seven-minute hard ski. There were at least five team members who were closer than Hud, and who could and would get there first.

But he still headed that way. Three minutes into the trip, he was able to take in the lodge as it came into view and he nearly wobbled off his skis. He’d been skiing since he could walk and it’d been a damn long time since anything had shaken him into a near tumble, but this did it.

Apparently just as momentarily stunned by the sight, Aidan pulled up next to him and stopped short, sending snow flying into the air with his edges.

“Wow,” Aidan said.

Yeah. It was a big holy shit moment for Hud too. Not only was Bailey an artist—a hell of one, too—but she’d captured the Kincaid spirit. Her mural was the embodiment of what the mountain meant to them, depicting the love of the entire place in a simple tapestry-like painting of the family tree.

“Really amazing,” Aidan said softly. Reverently.

Speechless, Hud could only nod.

What had once been just a wall that no one had even looked at was now a nearly half-painted mural. It was a gorgeous, epic rendering with vibrant colors that popped. Gray and Penny were… amazingly 3-D. As was the half of Aidan she’d filled in.

This morning he’d been close enough to see some of what she’d planned for him. The bare outline of Hud depicted him in the middle of the sort of ski jump only a superhero could have made, but it had made him smile.

She was having fun with it and fun with them, portraying the family in a way that included their patrons in the joke.

“So what happens when she’s done?” Aidan asked.

The question didn’t help the burning in Hud’s chest. The mural was both a tangible thing and a ticking clock, and the time was already winding down. “She leaves.”

Aidan tore his gaze off the mural and met Hud’s eyes, his own lit with surprising understanding. “Have you told her you don’t want her to?”

Hud looked at him.

“Don’t even try to deny it, man.”

Hud sighed. “I can’t.”

“Can’t?” Aidan asked. “Or won’t?”

“No, I mean can’t.” Hud shook his head. “She just came through what should’ve been a death sentence. Do you get that? She’s lived the past decade of her life thinking that tomorrow wasn’t going to come at all. Ever. Those days and weeks and months and years were spent inside doctors’ offices and hospitals, in cold, white rooms with no sense of joy or hope or anything real.” He stared at the mural. “And then when it was miraculously over, she made a list. A list of things she’d never been allowed to do, things she could only dream about—like painting a mural—and she’s working her way down that list.”

“Cool,” Aidan said. “But what does that have to do with not telling her how you feel?”