Second Chance Summer(95)

“I am ski patrol,” he said.

She ran her gaze up and down the length of him. It wasn’t ego to say that usually when a woman did such a thing, it was with a light of lust in her eyes. Okay, maybe it was a little bit of ego. But he was athletic—big and built—and women usually gravitated to that.

Not all women, he corrected. This one in particular didn’t appear impressed at all.

In fact, she looked distinctly unimpressed, so much so that he looked down at himself. “I’m not in my gear,” he said, having no idea why he was defending himself. “I’m not technically on duty this morning.”

She didn’t respond to this, either, instead once again pushing off on her poles. Not heading down the face of the mountain thankfully, but toward the ski lift, about a hundred yards back.

He watched her go and swore to himself. She moved a little unsteadily, keeping her knees straight instead of bending them, incorrectly putting her weight on the backs of her skis. Whoever had given her those three lessons at Breckenridge should be fired. But she hadn’t asked him for advice, and if he taught anyone to ski these days, it was little kids because they were actually fun.

She’d be fun to teach too, came the unbidden thought, which he shrugged off. She was on the right path now, out of his hair, leaving him free to take Devil’s Face hard and fast the way he’d planned before heading into work.

Except … she’d left her helmet in the snow at his feet.

He had no idea how anyone could forget the eye-popping cherry-red thing against the white snow, but she had. “Hey,” he called after her. “Your helmet.”

But she must have had her earbuds back in because she didn’t stop or turn back.

“Well, hell,” he said and scooped up the helmet.

Giving Devil’s Face one last longing look, he headed toward the lift as well and caught up with her halfway there.

She’d stopped and had her weight braced on her poles. Bent over a little bit, she was huffing and puffing, out of breath. It could have been the altitude. They were at well over 8,000 feet and it affected everyone differently.

But he got the worrisome sense it wasn’t the altitude at all. When he’d lifted her, she’d been light, almost … frail. People didn’t realize it took a lot of strength and stamina to ski, and he was nearly positive she didn’t have either of those things. He once again tapped her on the shoulder and once again she jumped.

Yep, the earbuds again. She pulled one out and looked at him questioningly, like he’d been so forgettable she hadn’t even remembered he was behind her.

“You forgot this,” he said.

She grimaced. “Sorry. I think the altitude’s getting to me. I should really have gotten myself some caffeine first.” She put the helmet on and waved him off. “Thanks again, my fair prince.”

It wasn’t often he found himself baffled but he was baffled now, in a big way.

“Cinderella?” she asked. “You know, her prince had her slipper and you had my helmet— Never mind,” she said on a laugh when he just stared at her. “Probably I should’ve put far more practical things on my list than skiing.”

Before he could ask her what the hell she was talking about, she’d tightened the strap beneath her chin, put her hands back into the handholds at the top of her ski poles, and pushed off.

He watched her head straight for the lift, thinking two things. One, he really hoped she knew how to stop. And two, she was definitely a nut, but possibly the prettiest, most bewildering nut he’d ever met in his entire life.

Bailey got situated on the lift and told herself not to look back, there was no reason to look back.

So of course she looked back.

Yep, he was still there. Tall, dark, and sexy ski patrol guy, and he stood on his skis like they were an extension of his own body. He was watching her as well, or so she assumed since his dark lenses were aimed her way.

She sucked in a breath. Goodness, the rugged badass mountains had nothing on the rugged badass man standing in the sunlight like a ski god. She waved at him.

He didn’t wave back.

Huh. Was he always a Cranky Pants, or did she just have a special talent in bringing it out? While she was wondering that, he planted his poles and executed a lithe jump that had his skis facing the other way now, and then he pushed off, skiing away with an effortless, easy motion that she knew she could never in a million years of lessons hope to replicate. Damn. Mr. Cranky Pants was pretty hot.

Volcanic hot.

But as Bailey had discovered the hard way, the hot ones weren’t the keepers. For the most part, they’d never been disappointed or hurt by love or life, and as a woman who’d faced it all at one time or another, she had no patience for the weak, shallow, or clueless.

And actually, no patience for this line of thinking. She had other problems. She’d told herself it wasn’t defeat that she hadn’t skied down under her own steam. The lift would take her to the midpoint on the mountain and she could still ski down from there.

Assuming she’d read the map correctly this time.

Laughing a little at herself, she turned her head to take in the top of the mountain. And it had been the top, the very tippy top, and the stunning view had made her glad for her map incident.

She’d never seen anything like it.

For the first time she’d been the highest point, everything below her, the world at her feet. As a woman who until very recently hadn’t been in control of her own destiny, it had staggered her.