by E. J. Noyes
www.BellaBooks.com
When you shop at Bella, more of your dollars reach the women who write and produce the books you love. Thanks from all of the authors & staff at Bella!
Keep up with Bella! Click here to subscribe to our newsletter.
Table of Contents
Cover
Synopsis
Title Page
Copyright Page
Other Books by E. J. Noyes
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bella Books
Synopsis
When you spend your life at the top, there’s only one direction you can go.
Pro alpine skier Aspen Archer’s downfall happened in the worst possible way—a career-ending crash on a gold medal run at the 2010 Vancouver Olympics. Aspen packed up her broken life, picked up her broken body and now hides in comfortable obscurity at ski resorts around the world, coaching tourists and ignoring her problems.
Cate Tierney knows who Aspen Archer is, but the last place she expected to meet the former Olympian was during a ski trip to Australia. Hurt by a past relationship, and with a teenage daughter to protect, Cate’s initial reluctance is quickly overcome by her intense attraction. But with Cate’s vacation ending in a few short weeks and Aspen’s aversion to staying in one place, can their encounter be anything more than a fling?
When Cate discovers Aspen’s secrets, Aspen is forced to face everything she’d been trying to forget. And everything she’d forgotten she wanted. Aspen already knows the route from start to finish doesn’t always go as planned. Now she needs to figure out how to get herself back on course for good.
Copyright © 2018 by E. J. Noyes
Bella Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 10543
Tallahassee, FL 32302
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
First Bella Books Edition 2018
eBook released 2018
Editor: Cath Walker
Cover Designer: Judith Fellows
ISBN: 978-1-59493-610-4
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Other Bella Books by E. J. Noyes
Ask, Tell
Turbulence
Acknowledgments
I never thought I’d write one book, let alone multiple books, and with each new manuscript I find the process differs. But some things never change, like the people who chip in along the way to make sure the words get written. And the fact I still can’t figure out nouns and verbs and participles and stuff.
Thank you, BFF Kate, for your listening ear and for always being (or at least seeming) interested. I so love the way you say, “Yeah, nah that doesn’t work” without making me feel like a complete idiot. Ash, I hereby name you Head of my American Brain Trust; you’d think by now these things would be less of a mystery. Thanks, Other Kate, for your pep talks—some sterner than others—your ideas, and for answering all my random questions about American things. Rebecca, you’re a fab sounding board, pal.
My editor, Cath…I can’t even think of what to say. Except that you make it fun (even when throwing equations at me) and I will be forever grateful for that.
To the team at Bella—I so love being part of this publishing family. Thank you for having me.
Last of all, I have to thank my wife, Phoebe. Pheebs, I told you that one day I’d put your name in a book. I never promised I’d make it an adult character. Thank you for letting us get married while on a ski holiday, for listening every time I talk about alpine ski racing, allowing me to hog the TV whenever ski racing is on, and for only doing very small eye rolls when I suggest that every holiday we take should be skiing. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather stack it in the snow with. Look, I just really like skiing, okay?
About the Author
E. J. Noyes lives in Australia with her wife, a needy cat, aloof chickens, and too many horses. When not indulging in her love of reading and writing, E. J. argues with her hair and pretends to be good at clay target shooting.
Chapter One
On a scale of one to ten, the ache in my legs sat at a stubborn five. A five was fairly typical after teaching back-to-back lessons all morning, and certainly nowhere near as bad as it could get. Snow had fallen steadily all week, and the temperature remained consistently below freezing which was prime for skiing. Not so great for my chronic pain.
Though it was only mid-July, barely a month after the mountain opened, Thredbo Resort was busier than I’d seen it in my three Australian seasons and the list of clients showed no sign of easing up. Which meant the ache wouldn’t ease up either. By the time I’d hurried into the staff room to scoff down a granola bar and take care of my legs it was almost twelve forty-five, and I was in real danger of being late for my next lesson.
I pulled off my ski boots and thick socks to apply a generous dose of heat gel to my left shin and both ankles. My eyes drifted closed and an unconscious groan slipped out as I massaged. A couple of the other coaches laughed and made crude comments. Seven years ago, a headline of Aspen Archer Pleasures Herself in Public would have been guaranteed. Now it wouldn’t even rate a mention, especially not eighty-five hundred miles from home.
Without opening my eyes, I told my coworkers good-naturedly to, “Shaddup.” I pushed a hand under the waistband of my ski pants and thermals to rub some gel into my left hip.
The banter and chatter eased, and by the time I’d finished rebuckling my boots the room was empty. Way to go, Archer. Last one across the line again. It was a relatively new, and unpleasant feeling. As quickly as I could, which wasn’t very, I negotiated the stairs up from the staff room. Every now and then I’d almost forget about my compromised gait. Until I had to run or climb stairs or do anything that wasn’t walking or skiing, and then I’d remember how it used to be. Whenever I felt self-conscious or annoyed, I reminded myself to be grateful that I could still walk and still ski.
After Vancouver I hadn’t been sure about either.
Once I’d assured myself that my left leg wouldn’t be amputated, and after a ton of physical therapy, I was back in ski boots. I’d had to lear
n to walk again but I hadn’t needed to relearn how to ski. It’d been in my cells from the day I was born, the thing that kept me alive even when it seemed like it wanted to kill me. I had to ski. Now, skiing was the closest my body ever came to feeling like it was mine again.
At the top of the stairs, Friday’s Bistro and Bar was packed with its usual lunch crowd. With some tricky maneuvering and more than a little elbow I pushed my way through the mass of bodies. The smell never changed—sweat and snow-wet gear mixed with fried food and spilled beer. Clients waved and smiled and I returned their greetings, commenting on the weather and the like.
Given I was wearing a resort ski instructor uniform, chitchat was sort of a requirement but I really didn’t mind having to talk to people about mundane things. It was a hell of a lot better than talking to them about my old life. When I’d started coaching, my sister said I should change my very recognizable name, and I considered it for about five minutes until I decided I’d already lost so much of myself already.
Most of my clients had no idea who I was and my fellow instructors rarely mentioned my former pro career. Hiding at ski resorts around the world in an endless winter, I liked the odds of not having to explain why I’d missed Sochi 2014 and why I wasn’t training for PyeongChang 2018. Telling people that the thing I loved sometimes made me feel like I was choking would have made it seriously awkward.
I tucked my scarf into my jacket, tugged my goggles down over my eyes and headed toward my coworkers being assigned their next clients. Edward, the guy with whom I shared a house in Jindabyne, waved me over. “I won’t be home tonight, and we’re almost out of milk,” he informed me in his posh British accent.
Before I could answer, Tess our lesson coordinator, materialized with her ever-present clipboard. “Aspen, you’ve got a private three-hour.” She pointed out a purple helmet standing near the clock tower where clients waited for us. “Gemma. Thirteen years old.”
“Thanks.” When Tess moved out of earshot, I leaned down to Edward. “I’ll pick up some milk on my way home. Who’s the lucky winner?”
He tilted his head, subtly indicating a leggy brunette on a snowboard ten feet away. Pretending I was adjusting my jacket, I took a good look. “Very nice,” I said over my shoulder as I walked away to collect my skis. Very nice indeed.
I might have been envious if it weren’t for Rachel, who lingered by the racks that held assorted skis and boards. At my approach, she smiled up at me cheekily. “Get together tonight after Après?” Her voice held more than a hint of suggestiveness.
I shifted a snowboard resting carelessly against my skis. “Sounds good.” Rach and I had a thing. A casual, no-strings, non-exclusive thing. She was allergic to long-term commitments, and I hadn’t found anyone I wanted to be in a relationship with since the great almost-fiancée disaster of 2010. It worked for both of us.
We’d met here at Thredbo at the beginning of last season in the bar at the top of the Merrits lift and fell into bed—technically the backseat of her car—soon after. One of the many Australian instructors working her native ski fields, Rachel was easy to get along with both in and out of bed and had no expectations of me beyond orgasms. She didn’t push me to talk about the mess of surgical scars on my legs. I didn’t ask her about the very faint and faded non-surgical ones on her left wrist.
Rach flashed me another coy smile, the one I knew heralded a very pleasant end to my day, then sauntered off. I grabbed my skis and poles, and made my way as quickly as I could to the girl with unruly blond hair poking out from under her helmet. “Gemma?”
“Hi, yeah that’s me,” she answered in an accent I’d only heard from my mouth and fellow international instructors in the past few months.
Grinning, I offered her my fist. “All right, USA!” She bumped it tentatively as I introduced myself. “I’m Aspen.”
“Nice to meet you.”
The irony was so delicious I couldn’t help laughing. “So, you came to a whole other country to take a vacation and some ski lessons and get stuck with someone from the States.”
Gemma’s smile was shy. “Kinda weird, huh.”
“Seriously weird.” I pulled my goggles up to rest on my helmet so she could see my eyes as we talked. “Tell me about your skiing experience. What sort of stuff are you wanting to do?”
She gave me a quick rundown—skied at home every few weekends, was okay on the blues but always got scared on the steeper stuff, wanted to not be scared, and to learn to go off-piste like her mom.
I nodded and clipped into my everyday on-piste Rossignols. “Sure, we can totally get started on that. How long are you in Australia?”
“Um. Three weeks? We only flew in a couple of days ago.”
“That’s awesome.”
I herded her over toward the quad-lift and directed her into the dedicated private lesson lane. Gemma shuffled her feet, then glanced up at me. Her mouth fell open. “Is that Rey from The Force Awakens?”
“Mhmmm.” My hand went to my helmet, lightly brushing over the monogram of Rey behind my right ear. “Pretty cool, hey?”
“So cool,” she breathed.
I grinned down at her, and made a mental note that talking about Star Wars could help draw her out if she was a shy kid. The chair came quickly to scoop us up and the familiar rush started in my stomach when we began to rock forward on our climb up the slope. I checked the other occupants were seated, then pulled the bar down and double-checked it. Lifting my thigh, I carefully threaded my ski poles under it, wedging them between leg and seat, and turned away from the young snowboarders to my right who were chatting about conditions in the terrain parks. “So this is your first day of lessons this season?”
Gemma leaned on the bar, her posture teenage-casual. “Mhmm.”
“Ever been to Australia?”
“Nope.”
“Are you enjoying it so far?”
“Yeah, it’s cool. We’re here with my mom’s friends, and their kids.”
I hid my smile at her use of “kid.” Apparently thirteen was adult now. “Dual family vacation?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Are you guys staying in the village?” Thredbo Village was mostly just chalets and apartments built into the slope that sat opposite the actual ski field. At regular intervals, restaurants and bars were dotted along the narrow winding road that curved around the mountain. It reminded me of European ski chalets where people packed in during winter and then melted away along with the snow.
“Nope. We’re all in a big house on a lake at uh, it’s about half an hour away? In…Janda-something?”
“Jindabyne?” I was pretty sure I knew the area she was talking about. Her parents must have some money—to stay in one of those houses for three weeks would be a five-figure sum. My first season, I’d considered renting one of the properties myself. Then I realized I’d be living the same way as I did back home, before I’d run away from my life. Alone in a too-big house.
Gemma exhaled a visible puff of air. “That’s it.”
“Aussies have some weird names for places, hey.”
“Oh my gosh, I know! I can’t figure out how to say most of them. It’s so embarrassing. I can say deoxyribonucleic acid but I can’t pronounce a place?”
Smart kid. Grinning, I swung my legs, the tips of my skis popping into view then disappearing over and over. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re making our final approach to Easy Does It. Please ensure your luggage is stowed safely, hands inside the aircraft and I hope you’ve enjoyed flying with Aspen Air today.”
The smile I got from her started as you’re crazy but morphed into you’re weird. Both were true.
* * *
As well as being a smart kid, Gemma was a good kid—polite and friendly, interested in learning and with noticeable gains in confidence on each run. But she was shy and still a little reserved with me. Halfway through our three-hour lesson, up on The Village Trail, I settled away from people ripping down the mountain so we could take a br
eather. “Quick break to have a drink and a snack if you’ve got one. Clip out and sit down if you need to rest your legs, but no butt slides down the hill. That’s cheating.”
That got a small smile out of her. I pulled my boot heater remote from my pocket and thumbed the heat up.
“What’s that?” Gemma fumbled a small water bottle from inside her jacket.
I winked. “My remote controller. Just setting myself to relax mode. Can you remind me to turn myself back into instructor mode before we start up again?”
She grinned and leaned over to study the unit. “Thermic.” She mouthed the word a few times then asked, “Is that a heater?”
I nodded and unscrewed the cap from my water. “I don’t like having cold feet.” Without the heat radiating up to my ankles I wouldn’t even be able to walk at the end of the day unless I doped myself up. Taking daily painkillers wasn’t a habit I wanted to get into and most of the time my ankle pain was tolerable, background static really, so I just dealt with it.
After resting for a few minutes, I stood and offered her my hand. Some parents didn’t like the fact that instructors would take a five-minute break in the middle of a lesson they were paying for, and I didn’t know what sort of parents Gemma had. A short break seemed safer, and she was doing so well that I’d had an idea. “What do you say to something just a little trickier?”
“Do you think I can?”
“I know you can. When we get to the bottom, we’ll take a different path to get to another chairlift, okay? So don’t go zooming off without me.”
Once we’d made it down to the terminal and boarded the lift for her final run of the day, Gemma went quiet. Trying to distract her, I pointed out the alpine stream running under the chairlift, and a few of the animal tracks I’d learned to recognize. The scenery was unique—evergreen alpine eucalypts, all bending under the weight of the snow.