But in the end it was she who found him, rushing up so fast she nearly crashed into him at the base of the lift as he was about to get back on.
“I can’t keep up with you,” she panted.
Austin lifted his goggles to see her better. Her eyes were bright, cheeks red from the wind.
“I mean, hi,” she said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Austin laughed. “You were following me?”
Sam gestured up the slope. “I tried to catch you on the last two runs.”
“You should’ve called! I was looking for you, too.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” He cocked his head. “Why didn’t you call if you wanted to find me?”
“I didn’t think you’d actually have your phone on you.”
He pulled off a glove and unzipped his jacket pocket. “Ta-da.” He pulled out his old flip phone, cracked across the top.
“I haven’t seen one of those in—”
“Six years?” he offered. “Seven? Eight?”
“More like a century.”
“Well, I brought it.”
“Just for me?”
“What if you needed a ride to your car?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be working now?” She nodded toward his jacket, red with a white cross on the breast. “You couldn’t leave even if I was desperate to make my escape.”
“It’s a quiet morning. No one’s managed to crack their coconut yet. And you don’t look very desperate.”
“I just bombed down a double black diamond at the speed of light,” she said. “Do with that what you will.”
“Oh, shit, I came down Double Trouble, didn’t I?”
“At the speed of light,” she reminded him.
“Had I known I had a tail—”
“You might have made more than two turns on the entire run?”
“Are you telling me you can’t keep up?”
He was rewarded by a flash of determination in her eyes, the same look Amelia got when he issued a challenge on a trail.
“I caught you, didn’t I?” she said triumphantly.
He had to admit that yes, she hadn’t let him stay ahead for long. It impressed him, actually. He’d been skiing fast, trying to outrun the feeling that had been building up inside him ever since he’d watched her walk out of the lodge with her hot cocoa and kicked himself for letting the moment go. It was even worse after he’d felt her lips and the press of her body against his, and then sat there as she slammed the door to his truck and went into the hotel alone.
It was a feeling like he couldn’t stand to be inside his own skin, knowing there was something he wanted but couldn’t seem to have. He longed to grab her and pull her close, something animal inside him that needed to hold her, kiss her, know her body against his. For a moment he could be whole.
The feeling was dangerous. It made him go too fast, push too long, lose himself on the trail. There was always a backlash, a price to pay. He could fall in too deep, get too close to the flame, and then there’d be no option but to save himself and run.
Sam cocked her head at him, eyeing him intently. “What’s going through that head of yours?” she asked.
“I’m thinking that I don’t usually get to ask a beautiful woman if she’d like to ride in a chairlift with me. It’s a whole new kind of nervous.” He realized as he said it that, in a way, that was exactly what he’d been thinking. How to be next to her without getting too close.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” she said. “Don’t tell me I risked life and limb on Double Death—”
“Double Trouble,” he laughed.
“Just to walk away empty-handed.”
Austin transferred his poles to one hand and extended the other, elbow bent, as though he were a gentleman in a topcoat inviting her in to a ball. “Shall we?” he asked.
Sam slipped her arm through his. They half skated, half hobbled to the lift, laughing at how impossible it was to ski that way, their strides mismatched, checking each other in the hip any time they tried to move. The lift operator stared at them, but that just made them laugh harder, joking about taking their show on the road. It was hard to believe he could feel this comfortable, even as a voice inside warned him not to get caught up.
And if he needed to remind himself why, here was the evidence. They’d barely gotten airborne before Sam looked over and commented, “That’s some pair of gloves. Are those holes under that duct tape, or is that a style thing?”
“These?” He turned the palms over so the worst parts were hidden. “I’ve had them forever. Why throw them out?”
“I’m going to take that to mean holes,” Sam said.
He shrugged. “They’re comfortable, keep my hands warm, I don’t have to worry about losing them—”
“And you definitely don’t have to worry about them being stolen.”
“All part of my signature look.” He laughed, making it into a joke. How could he explain to someone he barely knew how much a ratty pair of ski gloves meant to him? The attachment was silly, he knew. And yet he couldn’t let it go.
His uncle had given Austin the gloves when he was accepted onto the U.S. Ski Team. After everything that happened with his father, the hammer, and his busted knee, those gloves reminded him somebody cared. It was pretty pathetic, and he knew Sam would think he was sentimental and crazy if he told her. Hell, it was what he thought of himself sometimes.
But his effort to get her laughing worked. She pressed her leg close to his, their skis overlapping. “You have a signature look?”
“Isn’t that how you found me on the mountain? You said, ‘There goes that handsome devil with the duct tape on his gloves—I’d recognize him anywhere!’”
“Actually, I couldn’t see your gloves from up top. I was pretty far away when I first started chasing you down.”
He swiveled as best he could to face her. “How’d you know it was me?”
He thought he saw her blush, but maybe it was the flush from being outside. “It’s the way you ski. I could spot you from a mile away.”
“You haven’t even seen me ski,” he said, confused.
Now she was definitely blushing. “I saw you ski yesterday.”
“That was like two seconds, when we were coming down after Amelia’s run.”
Sam shook her head. “I watched you ski before that. Didn’t you think it was weird that I happened to be there right when Amelia fell?”
Austin thought it over. He hadn’t noticed her until she stopped to help Amelia, and even then, he didn’t give her any thought until she lifted her goggles and suddenly she was there, present, a force in his life in ways he still couldn’t understand.
“I just thought you were skiing down and happened to come over and help,” he said carefully.
“I did. But there’s a reason I was right behind you guys. I was watching your lesson.” She paused. “Actually I was afraid you were going to think I was annoying, hanging around and listening in.”
“I’m sorry, I get kind of focused during these things. I don’t really notice anyone else,” he admitted.
“I’m glad I wasn’t creepy stalker lady, then.”
“I hate to break it to you, but your creepiness needs some work, if that’s what you’re going for.”
She laughed. “That’s a relief. I saw you guys do a few runs, and the thing where you had them ski without poles?” She looked at him so intently that he wanted to turn away, except he couldn’t, because the brown in her eyes was flecked with gold just like her hair when it caught the sun. He wondered if it was possible to kiss someone when you were both wearing helmets, goggles up over your head, or whether you’d wind up mashing your faces together and wish you hadn’t tried.
“You were beautiful,” Sam was saying, and it shocked Austin out of his reverie. “When you skied, the way you turned, how you moved your arms—you looked like you were flying over the snow.”
“That’s what I wanted them to feel. When they’re raci
ng, sometimes they forget the basic turns, the simple things to do with their weight. And they forget, too, what it feels like when they’re in it, when everything is exactly right and you just go.”
“I saw that. I still see it when you ski. When you were coming down Double Death—”
“Trouble.” Austin laughed.
“Death,” Sam insisted again. “You still looked like that. There’s something so distinctive about the way you move, I knew it was you right away. Too bad I started chasing after you before I saw the double black sign.”
“You must have done okay on it.”
“Sure, but I’m a little rusty. That whole over-three-years-since-I’ve-last-been-on-skis thing isn’t helping my game.”
“It’s just like riding a bike,” Austin offered.
“That’s what I told myself. Except it isn’t.” She paused. “It’s like walking. Like breathing. The kind of thing you instinctively know how to do.”
The top of the lift was coming up, but Austin wished it weren’t. He would have been perfectly happy to ride the lift all the way back down if it meant he got to keep talking to Sam, looking out at the trees covered in snow, the clouds lifting overhead to reveal the white peaks all around.
She might not have jumped to defend him against the Kanes, but she got it. She understood what mattered about being here. If he’d woken up that morning wondering what to do if and when Steven Park called again, being here with Sam only strengthened his resolve.
“So are you supposed to be doing patrol-type things?” she asked after they glided off the lift.
“I mostly just have to ski. Keep an eye on everything unless I get word I have to be somewhere.”
“Are you allowed to have someone following you, if she can keep up?”
“I was afraid you’d be too smart to ask.”
Sam leaned forward on her skis. “Am I about to regret this?”
“Come on.” He grinned. “Let’s fly.”
He took her down a single black first, a warm-up to get them used to each other. He skied first, then let her get ahead so he could watch. He knew she’d be decent—she carried herself with comfort even when they were standing around, and he’d seen her ski briefly with Amelia. But he couldn’t help smiling as they hit their stride, turning side by side, weaving together down the trail. It was a kind of dance, not simply to ski on the same slope as someone but to ski with them, aware of their body, their turns. She was good—really good. At the bottom she flashed a grin and said, “That’s all you’ve got?” so he opted for a steeper run, one that made a narrow chute through the trees that he always liked after it snowed, when the trees were heavy with snow and hanging low over the trail.
“Have you skied the Diamond Bowl?” he asked when they got to the bottom, breathless and windblown, Sam spraying snow over his skis as she pulled into a stop beside him.
She shook her head. “Too terrifying.”
“I don’t believe anything scares you.”
She pressed her shoulders into her poles, leaning her weight forward to stretch out her calves in her boots. “Trust me,” she said. “There’s plenty you don’t see.”
“Come on, let’s try it.”
“I’m not good at moguls.”
“You’re good at everything. I’ll teach you.”
“It’s going to be embarrassing.”
“For who? You?” Austin shook his head. “I’ve taught five-year-olds. Fifty-year-olds. I can teach anyone to ski.”
“I’m afraid I’m not nearly as bendy as a ski-wee. Or as close to the ground.”
“But you’re not fifty,” he pointed out.
“Not quite.”
“Something tells me that if I make it a challenge, you’ll be the first one bombing down.”
Sam stabbed the snow with a pole. “You’re not supposed to have me pegged this easily.”
“So we’re on?”
“Shit,” Sam said, shaking her head. “We’re on.”
Chapter Eight
The bowl was exactly what it sounded like, a scoop hollowed out of the side of the mountain. It dropped down from a craggy ridge that ran in a jagged line up to the highest point. A few trees dotted the trail, but for the most part it was open, less a set trail than a windswept, treeless expanse.
This wasn’t an ordinary steep run, the kind where Sam knew to bend her knees and tighten her turns, and she would make it down. As if the bowl wasn’t hard enough on its own, the entire thing was a mogul field dotted with giant, snowy bumps. It was a different kind of skiing and to Sam, infinitely harder.
Sam had spent the better part of that morning staring at her phone, debating what to do. It wasn’t true what she’d told Austin. She’d known he’d pick up for her—or rather, for the person he thought she was. But even with the timeline she’d promised Steven, the threat of an anxious board, and emails from the Hendersons’ lawyers hounding them to finish the sale, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
She’d told herself she was only skiing a few quick runs as long as she was here. But she’d been looking at every ski patrol jacket she saw. Of course she’d been looking for him.
Her father never would have jeopardized a deal like this. He never would have delayed a signing or given the board reason to doubt him.
But now was not the time to turn to Austin and say, By the way, I’m Samantha Kane, and I’m going to bring the full wrath of my billion-dollar company down on you if you don’t sign over half the land you clearly love. Now was the time to make sure she didn’t throw up from sheer terror as she looked at the drop they were about to ski down.
“Nervous?” Austin asked with a grin as the chairlift carried them up.
“You’d better wipe that smile off your face before I knock it off,” Sam grumbled, but that just made him laugh.
“Success,” he boasted.
She raised an eyebrow.
“I found a way to get under your skin,” he explained.
“That’s your goal?” she asked.
“Well, no. Not when you put it like that.” He bit his lip, no longer looking quite so gleeful. “You’re just so put together,” he finally said. “So calm.” He smiled. “I like it.”
“You’re the unflappable one,” Sam countered. “Oh, look, my prized skier is bleeding all over the trail. No biggie, let’s go finish the run.”
“I was trying not to escalate!”
“Which proves my point. Unflappable.”
Austin nudged his leg against hers in the narrow chair. She shoved him back as best as she could, even though it was like pushing a rock. At least his teasing helped take her mind off how much worse the bowl looked the higher they rose.
She swiveled to look behind them at the height they’d climbed. It was a rookie mistake. Her stomach dropped at the sight.
“You can do this, Sam. You’re the boss.” Austin put a hand on her knee, and Sam almost gasped out loud. Now was when he decided to tell her he knew what she was hiding?
But he flashed a grin and she realized it was just an expression, a way to pump her up before the big run.
There was no way he’d be here like this, touching her leg, grinning at her, if he so much as suspected who she was. The thought was reassuring—her secret was safe.
Too bad his trust made her feel even worse.
But he was right, wasn’t he? She was the boss. Whether she wanted it or not, this was her show. “Damn straight,” she murmured, adjusting her gear over her face as they got to the top.
“That’s my girl,” Austin said and pushed off quickly from the lift, making her scramble to catch up, because what the hell did it mean that she was his girl when all they’d done was kiss? She had to stop this, she had to come clean, she couldn’t take another second before she—
But then she was standing over the edge of the bowl, and all the words leaked from her brain.
“Don’t look at the sign,” Austin instructed.
“What sign?” Sam asked, whirling around to see w
hat she’d missed.
“Don’t,” he repeated, using his pole to nudge her away. But it was too late—she’d seen. Maybe not the whole thing, but the words “caution” and “catastrophic” had a way of jumping out.
“Austin,” she pleaded.
“Don’t even think about telling me you can’t.”
“Are you this mean to your students? Because if I’m the boss then I’m firing your ass.”
He slid slowly down along the long spine that ran from the top of the chairlift over the lip of the bowl, but he kept his eyes on her. “I’ll do something to your ass, too.”
Hidden by her face mask, Sam’s jaw dropped. “What did you say?”
He shrugged. “Guess you’d better come and find out.”
“You are one dirty bastard,” she accused, but it worked. It got her to push off from where she’d been standing, paralyzed, and follow him along the ridge.
When Sam stopped beside him, he grabbed her waist and drew her near, their skis overlapping, his hips pressing close enough to make her heart pound from something other than fear. He leaned in, his lips next to her face, whispering as another skier whizzed past, “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea.”
By now Sam’s heart was banging in her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had ripped the words away from her like this. She knew this was a bad idea. She knew the closer she got the more it would come crumbling down.
She just needed a little more time—a night to get him out of her system so she could screw her head back on and get back to work.
Provided she could make it down this trail first. The top of the bowl was the hardest part, nothing but a clear drop away from the line where they stood. She looked for an escape route, some safer trail snaking out to the side. But Austin, seeming to read her mind, said, “There’s no getting away,” and she wondered if he was talking about the trail or something else altogether.
“Your dad didn’t take you up here?” he asked as they gazed down.
Sam shook her head, her mouth too dry to speak.
“It’s a shame. Look how beautiful it is.”
Make Me Stay (Men of Gold Mountain) Page 6