Wendy and Seth looked around. A man had come up alongside the little group. He held out his hand as Clint started up the stairs. “Arnold Worshinsky. The pair of towheaded hellions you held enthralled for the past half hour belong to me.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Worshinsky.”
“Are you a pro?”
“Excuse me?”
“A professional storyteller?”
“I didn’t even know there was such a thing.”
“Oh, there is. I’ve heard several, and believe me, you’re as good as any of them. Maybe better.”
“Well, that’s very kind, but—”
“Kind, heck.” Seth slid his arm around Wendy’s shoulders. “The man’s right, sweetheart. You’re wonderful.”
She smiled up at him. Sweetheart. That was what he’d called her, just like in the old days.
“...any writing, Ms. Monroe?”
Wendy drew her gaze from Seth. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked if you’d ever done any writing.”
“Writing? No.”
“Sure she has.” Seth pointedly ignored the surprised look she gave him. “Wendy took a creative writing course her senior year in high school.” He smiled. “And she aced it.”
“You remember that?”
“Of course. You showed me that poem you wrote, remember? It was great.” His voice lowered. “I remember everything about that year.”
Arnold Worshinsky cleared his throat. “Ms. Monroe,” he said, handing her a business card, “if you have more stories, I’d be happy to see them.”
Wendy looked at the card. “Paper Doll Press?”
“Uh-huh. We publish children’s books.”
“Oh, but I’m not—”
“Won the Caldecott Medal the last two years.”
“I’m sure that’s an honor, but—”
She tried to put the card back in Worshinsky’s hand, but he shook his head. “Keep it, please. There are thousands of children out there who’d love to be fortunate enough to enjoy your stories.”
“But I’m not a writer, I’m a...” She hesitated. What was she? She didn’t really know. Slowly, she tucked the card into her pocket. “Well, thank you.”
“My pleasure. Ms. Monroe. Mr....?”
“Castleman. Seth Castleman.”
“Mr. Castleman. Nice meeting you both.”
Wendy waited until the publisher strolled away. Then she turned toward Seth and gave a little laugh. “Do you believe that?”
“That the guy wants to buy your stories? Sweetheart, I’m telling you, you’re terrific. Did you see those kids, hanging on every word?”
“It’s just because they don’t have anything else to do.”
“Oh, right.” Seth clasped Wendy’s hand. They walked slowly toward the empty office. “Maureen’s kids practically have their own FAO Schwarz store upstairs, and the guests’ children bring along enough toys to stock a summer camp. Electronic games. Board games. Crayons. Puzzles. Barbie dolls, and whatever you call those weird plastic jobs that look like monsters on steroids.”
Wendy laughed. “Yes, but still—”
“But still, they’d rather listen to you tell stories.” He smiled. “Who knows? This could be the start of a whole new life.”
A new life. A new start. Wendy saw the flicker of hope in Seth’s eyes, felt the answering flicker in her heart. And then she thought of the past years, the grueling regimen, the hours of painful therapy...
And the secret that had almost destroyed her.
“I’m not a storyteller,” she said quietly. “I’m not anything right now. I don’t know why I didn’t tell that to the man.”
“Okay.” Seth’s smile was forced. “Let’s not get into this.”
“I’m not ‘getting into’ anything, I’m just stating a fact.”
“Sweetheart.” He rubbed his hands lightly up and down her arms. “You want to ski again? Hey, you can be skiing tomorrow.”
“I can’t. Not with this leg.”
“You don’t have to wear a number on your back and beat somebody else’s time down the hill to ski.”
“Yes, I do! That’s who I am, Seth. Don’t you understand?”
The stridency in her voice angered Seth. The last few days, he’d let himself start to hope things were changing. Had he been kidding himself?
He shut the office door. “What I understand,” he said, “is that you want to turn back the clock. Well, you can’t do it. Nobody can.”
“I will. I have to.”
She spoke with defiance, but there was a suspicious glint in her eyes. It softened his anger, and he linked his fingers through hers.
“Why can’t you see yourself as I do?” he said gently. “You’re strong. Determined. Brave. You’re Wendy Monroe.”
“But I’m not. I’m not Wendy Monroe, not the same one you loved.”
“Sweetheart, you are.”
“I know who I am, Seth. And I don’t need you to practice armchair psychiatry.”
“Damn it, can’t you see I care?” Stop it, he told himself. Stop it while you can. But it killed him to see how she viewed herself. “We’re talking about the surgery again, aren’t we? How you’d risk everything so you can walk without a limp.”
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
“You can’t honestly believe people judge you by that.”
Wendy jerked her hands free of his and jammed her finger against her chest. “I judge me. This is my life, Seth, and I need to be whole again. To ski. To compete. To win.”
“Do you?” He could feel his control slipping. There had to be a way to reach her. “Is that the life you want, Wendy? Or is it the life you think you should want?”
She stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t answer. What was the point? They both knew what he meant, and he’d said too much already. The last thing he wanted to do was destroy the truce they’d managed to establish.
“Wendy.” He clasped her shoulders. “Come with me tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“To Jiminy Peak. Let me get you up on skis— No. Don’t turn your face away.” Seth cupped her chin and made her look at him. “You remember that long, curved run?”
“The Left Bank?”
She spoke with distaste. He decided to ignore it. “Right. It’s a nice run.”
“It’s a run for people who don’t know a lot about skiing.”
“How about it’s a run for people who haven’t skied in years?”
“How about it’s a run for cripples?”
She jerked free of his hands, yanked the door open and walked away.
* * *
SETH THOUGHT ABOUT going home.
Actually, he thought about saying to hell with it all. What good was a dream about love when only one person was dreaming?
He got as far as putting on his jacket and heading for the door. Then he stopped, mumbled some words that fit the occasion and turned back to the reception desk, where Clint was sorting some papers.
Wendy was nowhere in sight, but her parka was still hanging where she’d left it. She was still around, somewhere.
“You have anything needs doing around here?”
Clint, clever man that he was, looked at Seth’s face but asked no questions. “Well, actually,” he said, “we had a couple of deliveries and I haven’t had time to organize the boxes. You could move them. You know, office supplies with office supplies, publicity stuff with—”
“Yeah,” Seth said, “I get the idea.”
He dumped his jacket on a chair in the storeroom. Then, like Sisyphus endlessly rolling that dumb rock up that even dumber hill, he shifted boxes from one end of the room to the other.
There was nothing like mindless physical labor for working out frustration. For thinking and coming to some sort of a decision.
He was finished letting Wendy push him away. He’d let it happen last time because he was a kid, and what did a kid know about women? Okay. He didn’t know much more about them now—what man did? But at least he wasn’t nineteen anymore. And maybe, just maybe, the reason she’d been able to do it so easily was because, in his heart, he’d never really felt worthy of her.
Seth paused, wiped the back of his hand across his forehead.
No. That was the wrong word. What he’d felt was amazed that a guy like him could have touched the heart of a girl like Wendy.
She’d grown up in a picture-postcard town. She had people who loved her, friends who cared about her. And by the time they met, she’d been surrounded by guys who thought skiing was life.
Well, skiing was fun, but Seth skied for sport. For the rush that came of knowing he could control what was actually a dangerous skid down a mountain, making it into an exhilarating ride. Though he’d never say it out loud because it sounded so corny, he skied for the communion he felt with the snow and the mountains.
Wendy skied for those things, too. The trouble was, she also skied for a medal.
There was nothing wrong with that, if a medal was what she really wanted. But after he’d known her a few months, he’d become convinced it was her old man who wanted the medal a lot more than she did.
Seth grunted as he lifted another box. It was marked Fax Paper, but it felt more like bowling balls. He carried it across the storeroom and eased it down on the floor.
Maybe there was nothing wrong with that, either. Her father had turned her on to Alpine racing because he loved it. So what? Lots of parents introduced their kids to sports for the same reason.
The trouble was, somewhere along the way, winning had become all that mattered. Seth would never forget Wendy’s exhaustion those last weeks before Lillehammer. Her pallor, her nerves—nerves so bad she’d lost her appetite and even thrown up a couple of times.
“Don’t go to Norway,” he’d said. “Stay here. Marry me.” He’d spoken on impulse. He had no real way to support a wife. He was living in a furnished room, working at the ski run, taking a handful of college classes he didn’t much enjoy. But if she’d said yes, he’d have taken a second job, done anything just to make it possible.
But she didn’t say yes.
“I have to go to Norway,” she’d told him, and he’d convinced himself to let her go and get this out of her system.
Except she’d gone to Norway and damn near gotten herself killed. And somehow the fact that she’d lived, that she’d gotten out of a wheelchair when nobody thought she would—somehow none of that mattered once she’d heard there was an operation that might let her get back to chasing that damn medal.
That they’d found each other again didn’t seem to matter, either. Nothing did but that medal.
Seth sat down on a box, reached for a can of Diet Coke that somebody had left in the storeroom, and popped the tab. He tilted the can to his lips and took a long, thirsty swallow.
Wendy had come out with one great truth earlier this evening. It was her life. If she wanted another shot at that medal, he had to introduce her to Rod Pommier. He had no choice.
If the operation was a failure, she’d want no part of him because of the way she felt about her disability. If it was a success, she’d have no room in her life for anything but competitive skiing. She was lost to Seth no matter what he did. He had to accept that, and forget about the foolish dreams he’d thought they’d once shared.
The hell he did.
He had one day before Pommier came back, one day to convince her that she was perfect just the way she was, that he loved her....
That she loved him.
Seth tossed the empty can aside, grabbed his jacket and hurried into the gathering room. The lights were dimmed and the room was empty except for Beth and Clint, seated on the piano bench.
Wendy was just heading toward the main door. Seth ran after her, caught her by the arm as she reached the porch, and turned her toward him.
“Wendy!”
What he felt must have been in his eyes, because she gasped when she saw him. “Wait,” she said, “Seth—”
“The hell I will,” he muttered as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She made a little sound as his mouth came down on hers, and he felt her raise her hands between them. He was beyond thought, beyond anything but fearing he might have lost her for whatever time they’d have together. He clasped her wrists, figuring she was going to try and shove him away, but she didn’t.
God, she didn’t.
She burned in his arms, instead.
“Seth,” she whispered. “Oh, Seth. I thought you’d left.”
“No. Never. I’ll never leave you again.” He burrowed his fingers into her hair, tilted her head back, traced the elegant arcs of her cheekbones with his thumbs and kissed her again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“Me, too. Please,” she said between kisses, “let’s not quarrel. Let’s not talk about skiing or my leg or what might happen tomorrow. Nobody can read the future. I know that better than anyone.”
She was wrong. He could read the future. Part of it, anyway. He knew he’d been wrong to keep his friendship with Rod Pommier from her. The only thing worse than not having told Wendy about Pommier would be if Pommier refused to see her.
Seth wouldn’t let that happen.
He’d set things up with Pommier, then tell Wendy. After that, whatever she decided, he’d accept. But the doctor wasn’t coming back until tomorrow night. Seth had that much time to make the woman he loved see reason.
For now, all that mattered was holding her in his arms, feeling her heart race against his, hearing the whisper of piano music drifting on the soft, silent winter night. Beth was playing an old standard meant for lovers and it took Seth back in time, to a night he’d never forgotten.
His arms tightened around Wendy.
“Remember that night we parked in our place up on the mountain?”
She gave a soft laugh and slipped her arms around his neck. “I remember a lot of nights on the mountain.”
“So do I.” Slowly, he began swaying to the music. “But I’m thinking about one night in particular.” Gently, he turned them in a little circle; Wendy sighed and laid her head against his shoulder. “It was summer. We drove up the mountain and parked. We had the radio playing and you said we’d never danced together. And I said—”
“And you said that we could.” She drew back just a little and tilted her face to his, the memory shining in her eyes. “So we got out of your truck and took off our shoes....”
“And danced in that little clearing, with the moon looking down and the stars lighting your face.”
“You kissed me,” Wendy murmured, “and we made love for the very first time.”
Their mouths met in a kiss as tender as the one they’d shared that night, and just for the moment, instead of dancing on the porch at Twin Oaks, with a slice of winter moon chilling the stars, they were dancing barefoot in the grass on top of Sawtooth Mountain, the night lit by a fat sum-mer moon.
They danced into the darkness, swaying slowly in each other’s arms, Seth framing her face with his hands, Wendy clutching his jacket in her fists, and their kisses changed from the sweetness of remembered love to the passion of love long denied.
Wendy began to tremble as Seth’s body hardened against hers.
“Seth,” she breathed when he swept his hands under her parka, down her spine, cupped her bottom and lifted her into him.
There was only one way for this night to end.
“Wendy.” He kissed her, groaned when her mouth opened to his and she drew his tongue between her
lips. He pulled back, knowing that he was close to the edge, knowing, too, that he could take her now but that he didn’t want to, that he needed to make this perfect. “Wendy. Sweetheart. Come with me.”
“Yes. Oh, yes. But where?”
“There’s only one place that’s right for us, darling.”
She looked up into his eyes. “Sawtooth Mountain?” He nodded and she smiled. “It’s the middle of winter.”
“Uh-huh.”
She laughed, and he thought he’d never heard a more wonderful sound.
“We’ll freeze.”
“I promise,” he said huskily, “we won’t.” He bent his head to hers, kissed her throat, felt the pulse leap beneath his mouth. “I love you, Wendy.”
“Oh, Seth.” She thrust her hands into his hair and tugged his face up to hers. “How can you? I’ve been so—”
“I’ve always loved you, sweetheart. I never stopped.”
There were times when lies were simpler and, in the long run, less painful, but this was a night for truth. Wendy drew a deep breath and said the words so long locked within her mind and heart.
“I love you, too, Seth. I always did.”
“Will you come with me?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
Seth kissed her again, then lifted her in his arms. She buried her face in his throat as he carried her from the porch to his truck, and they drove off into the night.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SETH FELL IN BEHIND a snowplow, its red taillights winking against the darkness. The plow made swift work of the heavy drifts ahead of them, leaving the road to snake like a black ribbon toward the mountain. Behind them, the asphalt quickly disappeared under its new covering of snow.
So did Wendy’s euphoria. Were they leaving the past behind and moving toward the future, or were they traveling through a landscape that was more dream than reality? She hoped it wasn’t a dream, because dreams never lasted.
Was she making a terrible mistake? Surely there’d be a price to pay for abandoning all these years of steely resolve. She shuddered, and Seth reached across the console and clasped her hand.
“Sweetheart? Are you cold?”
She looked at him and managed a little smile. “I guess I am.”
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