Man Fast: Bergen Brothers: Book One

by Krista Sandor

  “I don’t know. I haven’t gone up yet. But Miss Quinn just got on the lift!”

  “This lift?” Brennen asked, pointing to the high-speed, four-person lift that whisked skiers and snowboarders to some of Bergen Mountain’s most extreme terrain.

  “Yeah! You can still see her. She’s got on that pink coat, and she’s riding up with Caroline and Kia.”

  Holy flip!

  There she was in a pink jacket two lift chairs up, nestled between the little girls.

  Thank Christ, she was wearing a helmet.

  He dropped his bag onto the ground. He didn’t have time to change out of his jeans and into his ski pants. He threw on his helmet, pulled on his coat, kicked off his shoes, and secured his ski boots, then grabbed his gloves.

  Abby may not want to have anything to do with him, but this was no joke. A novice skier belonged nowhere near the runs Abby was about to encounter.

  “What’s wrong, Mr. Bergen?” Porter asked.

  “Miss Quinn doesn’t know how to ski.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “She doesn’t?”

  “No, and I need to catch up to her to help her get down the run, so she doesn’t get hurt.”

  He glanced up. Another chair filled with skiers glided up the mountain. Now she was three chairs ahead of him.

  Brennen grabbed his poles and pushed off toward the lift. The lift line curved around, but he didn’t have time to wait. He skied past the cue and up to the next chair.

  The lift operator shook his head. “Hey, dude, you’re going to have to get in line with everybody else. You don’t own the mountain.”

  An empty lift sailed past. He didn’t have time to waste.

  “Actually, I do own the mountain.”

  The young man cocked his head to the side.

  Brennen pulled his ski pass out of his breast pocket and held it up.

  The laid back lifty’s jaw dropped.

  “Mr. Bergen, I’m sorry. I’m new here. I didn’t know,” the kid stammered.

  “Listen, I don’t usually pull rank like this, but I need to get to the woman a few chairs up. She’s never skied before.”

  “Shit, dude! Harriet’s Descent is no joke.”

  Named after his grandmother, this double black diamond beast of a run challenged even the expert skier.

  Another empty chair rounded the bend. Brennen glanced up. “I need to go!”

  “Take me with you!” Porter called.

  “You can ski double black diamonds?”

  He lowered his ski goggles like a Navy Seal readying himself for combat. “Since I was in preschool.”

  Another chair swung by.

  Brennen waved him up. “Let’s go, little dude.”

  Another chair came around, and he and Porter slid on. He pulled down the safety bar and glanced ahead of them. They didn’t have much time. This was a high-speed quad lift designed to move people up the mountain quickly. He went over the run in his head: killer moguls, steep drops, and so many flipping trees.

  “You’re sure you’ve got this, Porter?”

  “Yes, Mr. Bergen, I skied down it backwards last weekend.”

  Enough said.

  “Okay, we’re going to tag team this. I’ll get out in front of Miss Quinn, and you’re on yard sale duty. Anything she drops—skis, poles, gloves, goggles—you pick them up and leave them at the ski stand at the bottom.”

  “Got it,” the kid said.

  They had less than a minute. Brennen looked down. Due to the extreme terrain, these blacks didn’t get groomed. Luckily, a couple of inches of snow had fallen last night. If Abby took a tumble, at least there’d be a layer of fresh powder to cushion the blow.

  “Look, Mr. Bergen!” Porter said, pointing ahead. “Kia’s waving.”

  “Hi, Mr. Bergen!” Kia called, head craned back.

  He lifted his hand to wave when Abby turned and stared.

  “Eyes forward! Tips up!” he called. Abby’s chair was nearly at the top and getting off the lift could be difficult for new skiers.

  Her jaw dropped. She wasn’t thrilled to see him, but thankfully, she turned around.

  The operator slowed the lift, and Kia and Caroline popped off like little pros. Abby nearly ate it, barely managing to glide down the gentle incline.

  If getting off the lift was tricky, she was in for one heck of a surprise on this treacherous run.

  “Abby, wait!” he called.

  She glanced at him then pushed off toward the start of the ski run.

  “Flip, flip, flippity-flip,” he said under his breath.

  “I don’t think Miss Quinn is going to wait, Mr. Bergen,” Porter said, edging forward, preparing to get off the lift.

  “No, she doesn’t seem to be waiting, does she?” he replied, watching her almost cross her skis as she followed Caroline and Kia down the slope.

  He pushed off the lift and set off toward her.

  “Abby, please! Try and stop!” he called out.

  “I’m fine. It’s not that bad!” she yelled back.

  He caught up with her. “It’s a deceptive run. It starts out pretty level, but the drops are coming.”

  She swayed but caught herself. “I’ll be fine on my own, and I can’t believe you’d yell about my breasts on a ski lift filled with children!”

  “Your breasts?” What was she talking about?

  “Tits up?” she said, again, nearly losing her balance, swinging her pole and almost taking him out.

  God help him!

  “Tips, Abby! Tips with a P! That’s how you’re supposed to get off the lift.”

  She wobbled.

  He skied ahead of her and flipped around and skied backward.

  She gasped. “What are you doing? Turn around! You’re going to get hurt!”

  If this weren’t so serious, he would have laughed. He’d been skiing backward since kindergarten.

  He pressed on. “This is just the beginning. Pretty soon, there’s going to be a huge drop, lots of trees, and moguls that could bust a knee cap if you’re not careful.”

  “Moguls?” she asked.

  “Bumps, Abby. Big bumps.”

  She looked ahead. “Oh my gosh! We’re going off the edge!”

  He didn’t have to turn around. They were at the first of several steep inclines.

  “Pizza, Abby! Pizza!” he yelled.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He shook his head. Of course, she didn’t know what he was talking about. “Angle your ski tips in! Tips with a P! Make a triangle! Like a piece of pizza triangle! It’ll slow you down!”

  She’d picked up speed and overcorrected, the skis crossing and sending her tumbling.

  “Yard sale!” Porter called as Abby’s poles flew out of her hands and her skis popped free from her boots and scattered across the run.

  Brennen flipped forward, sliced through the snow, and skied to where Abby was sprawled out, face down.

  “Abby, are you okay?”

  She pushed herself up, feathery-white snow covering the side of her face. He unclipped his skis and sank down next to her.

  “Does anything hurt?”

  With a stunned look, she blinked then gasped and rubbed her knee.

  He ran his hands over her leg. “Let me see?”

  “You’re a doctor now?” she grimaced.

  “No, but I was a pro skier, and I have a pretty good idea of what kind of pain you’d be in if you snapped a tendon or broke a bone. Let’s see if you can stand.”

  He helped her to her feet. Gingerly, she transferred her weight onto the injured leg.

  She released a pained breath. “It hurts, but it’s not terrible.”

  “You probably just hyperextended it.”

  “And that means?”

  He brushed the snow from her face. “Ice and ibuprofen.”

  Porter skied up with Abby’s gear. “Are you okay, Miss Quinn?”

  She gave Porter the sweet teacher smile he’d missed for the last fourteen days
. “This may be a little more mountain than I can handle.”

  “Do you want your skis back?” he asked.

  Abby glanced down at the first huge drop and swayed. “I don’t think I can do it.”

  Brennen held her elbow and steadied her. “Porter, why don’t you ski to the end of the run and leave Miss Quinn’s gear at the bottom. I’ll get her down.”

  “How?” Abby and Porter asked at the same time.

  He clipped his boots back into his skis. “Like this,” he said and swept Abby off her feet and into his arms.

  “What are you doing?” she exclaimed.

  “I’m getting you down the mountain in one piece.”

  “By carrying me?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  She glanced at the steep incline. “What if you drop me?”

  He tightened his grip. “I won’t.”

  “Hey, you guys look just like the picture in the lodge!” Porter chimed.

  Abby shifted in his arms. “What picture?”

  Brennen sighed. He might as well be the one to tell her.

  “My parents got married at the top of this mountain. There’s a blown up shot in the lodge of my father carrying my mother down the run.”

  “Those are your parents?”

  “Yeah, Hannah and Griffin.”

  Abby chewed her lip then glanced at the steep expanse of snow. “Can you do this? Can you get me down?”

  He held her gaze. “Trust me. I won’t drop you, Abby. It may get bumpy, but I won’t let you fall.”

  Her eyes welled with tears, but she blinked them back. “Okay, I trust you.”

  “We’re going to take it nice and easy.”

  She nodded. “Do you mind if I don’t look?”

  “No, not as long as you don’t mind if I do,” he said, trying to make her smile.

  She released a nervous laugh and nestled into him. “Yes, you should keep your eyes open.”

  “I’ve got you,” he said again—because he did. He had her, and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.

  She gazed up at him. “What about your poles?”

  “You mean my sticks?” he said with a teasing grin.

  She gave him the hint of a smile. “Don’t you need them?”

  “Nope. When people are first learning, most don’t even use them. You don’t need poles to ski.”

  She nodded and trembled in his arms.

  “We’re going to be okay,” he said, then before he could stop himself, he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

  He expected her to become angry—at least she wasn’t armed with a glue stick—but instead, she smiled.

  His smile.

  “All right, Brennen. I’m ready,” she said, closing her eyes.

  Relief flooded his system. God, he’d missed her.

  He pushed off and carefully navigated the run. He dialed back his usual screaming eagle speed to a gentle ski-with-your-grandma pace.

  Well, not his grandmother. She was still a speed demon on the slopes.

  He’d skirted by the moguls, sticking close to the edge of the run and kept his pace smooth and steady. As for carrying Abby, it barely slowed him down. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the rush of being close to her, but he could have skied with her in his arms all day.

  He made his way past the lift and stopped just in front of his car where Porter—now his favorite pyro ski dude—had left Abby’s skis and his gear bag.

  “We made it,” he said softly.

  She opened her eyes. “We did?”

  “How’s your knee?”

  “Sore, but not too bad.” She looked around. “Could you bring me to the lodge? I should probably go lay down. I feel like I—”

  “Like you tumbled down a mountain.”

  Her cheeks went pink. “Something like that.”

  But he wasn’t about to just drop her off at the lodge.

  “I don’t think the lodge is a good idea. I’ve got everything you need for that knee back at the cottage.”

  She started to protest, but he stopped her.

  “You need someone to take care of you—at least for tonight.”

  She pursed her lips.

  He changed tack. “There are eleven bedrooms. You can have the one farthest from mine, and I’ll bring you back to the lodge tomorrow.”

  She held his gaze, unease swimming in her eyes. “Fine, but only because I’d hate the children to see me injured, and I don’t want to cause a fuss.”

  His pulse kicked up. All he’d wanted for the last two weeks was to get a chance to talk to her—a real chance to explain.

  He schooled his features. “Good, let’s go home.”

  11

  Brennen

  Brennen glanced over at Abby in the passenger seat, sitting with her arms crossed, gaze trained on the road. It was a short drive through the resort to West Village, and she’d remained quiet until the house came into view.

  “It’s just as lovely in the daylight,” she said, breaking the bubble of silence.

  That’s right! Last time she was here, it was dark out. That felt like a lifetime ago.

  He pulled the car into the garage as memories of that night flooded his mind. Her kiss. Her scent. The feel of her fingers entwined in his hair. Then a rush of shame washed over him remembering her expression in the hallway.

  “Yeah, my grandparents put a lot of love and attention to detail into the place,” he answered, trying to shake off the memory.

  He pulled into the home’s spacious garage, and she opened the car door.

  He jumped out. “Wait! Let me help you.”

  She waved him off. “I want to try to walk on my own. I don’t think my knee is that badly injured.”

  “I could carry you, Abby.”

  She looked over her shoulder, limping slowly ahead of him. “That’s kind of you, but I want to see if I can do it on my own.” She stopped. “All my things! They’re at the lodge.”

  “I can have them sent over. It’s not a problem,” he said, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to say. Where was he supposed to start?

  They entered the cottage, and Abby gasped.

  “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  Floor to ceiling windows and rustic furnishings gave the vast space a cozy, mountain vibe. Abby ran her hand along a carved wooden table and looked out the window as the sun set, the golden rays glittering on the snow.

  “Why don’t you sit down and relax. I’ll go get you some ibuprofen,” he said.

  She turned from the window. “Do you mind if I just went to my room. I’d like to take a bath and warm up.”

  Was that it? Was she going to lock herself away in her bedroom all night?

  He sighed. “Sure, let me show you the way.”

  They’d just started down the hallway, decked with family photographs and memorabilia, when Abby stopped and stared at one of the pictures.

  “That’s you,” she said, pointing to a picture of him on the winners podium at his first Winter X Games Superpipe win.

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  “You’re so young.”

  “I was seventeen.”

  She glanced up at him. “What’s it like?”

  “What?”

  “To be so good at something.”

  He closed his eyes. But all he saw when he thought of that part of his life was pain, regret, and emptiness.

  “It was a long time ago,” he answered and continued down the hall.

  Abby followed, gazing at picture after picture. He’d tried to persuade his grandparents to take down the photos. But they wouldn’t even consider it.

  He paused and rested his hand on the guest room’s doorknob. “This is you,” he said, opening the door. “There are towels in the closet. There should be a robe, too. I’ll let you know when your stuff gets here.”

  She entered the room, took off her coat, and opened the closet. “Why is this in here and not on the wall?”

  He didn’t k
now what she was talking about. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been in this room. He followed her in, and his eyes went wide. Tucked inside the closet was a framed pair of skis.

  His skis from the day he’d won his last competition.

  The same day his parents died.

  He couldn’t look away. “I didn’t even know this was in the house.”

  “Those are yours?”

  He nodded and swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Those are my skis and medals from my last Winter X Games. My grandmother must have had them framed as a keepsake. She did that for all my big wins.”

  “Why is this one in here? Why isn’t it on the wall with the others?”

  He stared at the skis. He could remember that day, one of the best of his life until it became the worst.

  He sank to his knees. “They’d hate who I’ve become, Abby.”

  “Who?”

  “My parents.”

  She eased herself down onto the floor next to him. “Tell me about them.”

  He shook his head. “I should get you that ibuprofen.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “I’m all right, Brennen. Just a little sore.” She softened her gaze. “Tell me about your parents.”

  A rush of warmth filled his chest. In over a decade, no one had asked him to describe what his mom and dad were like when they were alive. Most people just offered condolences, reminding him of their deaths. He thought back to his mother’s laughing eyes and his father’s playful disposition.

  “They met here at Bergen Mountain. My dad was born in Denver, but my mom was originally from Stowe, Vermont. She moved out here after she graduated from college. She was going to be a teacher.”

  Abby smiled. “You never told me your mom was a teacher.”

  He grinned. “She never made it into the classroom. Well, not a traditional classroom.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My mom wanted to take a year off before she settled down. She’d never left New England and always wanted to see the Rocky Mountains, so she applied to work at Bergen Mountain and got hired onto the ski patrol. She’d grown up skiing in Stowe. She was an amazing skier. She was the one who taught me and my brothers how to ski.”

  “And that’s how they met?”

  “Sort of. My dad was a bit of a hot shot on the slopes. You know that run we were on today? Harriet’s Descent?”