by Gina Ardito
"No one's making you stay here," she retorted. "So go away and leave me alone. Then we'll both be happy."
"Sorry. No can do. I'm not leaving until you agree to come with me."
Frustration escaped in a long hiss of expelled breath. "Where?"
"Just follow me."
"Fine," she exclaimed. "Make it fast."
He took her hand and squeezed when she tried to pull away again. "Be a good girl and play along, Becs. Can I call you Becs?"
"No." Because when he called her Becs in that husky way, butterflies flitted in her stomach and her toes curled in her boots.
"Too bad."
Never releasing her hand, he pulled her downstairs, past the rest rooms, the locker rooms, and straight for the ski shop. As they neared the entrance, she hung back. Now what?
Maybe he really did have a bunch of fans waiting to attack her for what she'd said to him the other day.
"Come on!" Ace pulled harder, and she stumbled, landing clumsily against his chest.
Their awkward entrance drew the attention of two people behind the counter. "Hey, Ace," a tall, gawky young man with a tremendous overbite exclaimed. "What's up?"
"Dennis," Ace replied, "meet Becs. Becs, this is Dennis. And he's going to outfit you with all brand-new equipment. At my expense. Pick whatever you like. Then you and I will hit the summit and tear this place up."
In mid-pedicure, Summer Raine Jackson whipped her ringing cell phone from her Coach bag. She glanced at the caller ID and smiled at her friend Laurel in the chair beside her.
"It's Lyn," she said as she hit the connect button. Without a hello, she spoke into the mouthpiece. "Don't tell me April's driving you crazy already!"
"Hey, thanks, Sum." April's sarcastic edge could have sliced Summer's ear in half.
Whoops.
Embarrassment lowered her voice to a hush. "April?"
At Summer's question, Laurel winced and sucked in a breath.
Ignoring her friend's reaction, Summer moved straight into crow-eating mode. "I'm sorry. I just ..." What? What could she possibly say that wouldn't sound petty or mean? She just knew how Lyn valued her peace, and April, complete with entourage, left a trail of chaos wherever she went? Yeah, that'd go over well.
"Relax," April said with a giggle. "I'm busting your chops. No offense taken. In fact, you're probably right, to some small degree."
Summer did a double take for Laurel's benefit. Cupping the speaker, she whispered, "Forgot. This is the new and improved April."
"Ah, yes," Laurel replied in the same low tone. "April in lurrrrrve, living in her pretty pink world of hearts and flowers."
Summer still had trouble believing her older sister now had poise, self-confidence, and a man who adored her. All the wonderful things Summer, herself, used to have.
She hastily shut the door on those thoughts, as she had every day for over a year. "So how goes the vacation?"
"Great. Lyn's got a boyfriend."
"What?" Lyn? Now even the eternal grieving widow had a more exciting love life than she did? "Are you serious?"
In the background, Lyn squawked, but April spoke over whatever argument Lyn wanted to make. "He's a Ski-Hab student. Big guy. Great eyes. And those eyes get all googly over our baby sister."
"Pay no attention to her, Sum!" Lyn's voice carried from the background. "She's delusional."
"Saw it with my own eyes and so did Jeff," April rejoined. "Came back to the inn last night to find them cozied up together with dinner for two and a fire in the hearth. Very traditional first date kinda stuff."
Sort of like what Summer planned often these days. Except she usually wound up dining alone. Brad's late nights at the office occurred frequently. Too frequently for her to ignore the warnings that screamed in her head.
No. Don't go there.
Her gaze dropped to her bare feet where Helen, the nail technician, rinsed off a gritty lemon-scented paste and revealed silky smooth skin beneath. Summer forced another smile in Laurel's direction and held up two fingers as if to say, Give me a couple of minutes. "So did Lyn reciprocate those googly eyes?"
"She tried to play it cool, but couldn't quite pull it off. Especially when he asked to see her again on Friday. I think it's safe to say our Lyn is finally out of mourning."
Muffled fumbling resonated through Summer's phone and then Lyn's shout, "Never mind all that. Ask April why she's calling, Sum."
Okay. "I have to admit, my curiosity is piqued. What's up, April? I'm guessing you didn't just call to tattle on Lyn."
"Umm ... no." Uncertainty crept into April's tone. "How are you, Sum?"
Uh-oh. Summer heaved a disgruntled sigh.
Helen looked up with startled eyes and held up the nail polish applicator. "Not right?"
Summer waved a hand and flashed a thumbs-up at the dark-haired woman. "No," she whispered. "The color's fine. Perfect. Really."
Unlike the rest of her life.
But if April opened a conversation with idle chitchat hesitation, whatever she intended to say probably wouldn't sit well. Which explained why she had Lyn there for backup.
Summer stiffened in the black leather massage chair, despite the "magic fingers" attempting to knead tension from her shoulder blades and lower back. "I'm fine, I think," she replied with caution. "At least, so far."
Laurel must have caught Summer's sudden change in mood because she leaned forward, brows arched questioningly.
Summer waved her off. "What am I missing here, April?"
"Well, I ... umm, I wanted to ask you-no pressure, mind you-but I was just sort of wondering . . ."
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Summer had no idea what reaction her outburst had on April, but Helen snapped up so quickly, she smeared strawberry margarita nail polish across two of Summer's toes. "Spit it out."
"Iwaswonderingifyoumightwanttohelpmeplanmywedding." The statement came out in one breath, one long word. Unintelligible gobbledygook where all Summer heard for sure was "I" and "wedding."
"Could you say that again, please?"
"Wouldyouhelpmeplanmywedding?"
A tiny thrill rippled through Summer, but she forced herself to remain calm. "Once more, April. And this time, take a breath or two in between words."
Instead, April laughed. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. You really want me to squirm before you give me an answer."
"No. I just want to make sure I'm hearing you correctly." Because inside her, a little girl was screaming, Yippee! A wedding! But the cynical, more adult Summer needed confirmation before she allowed the little girl free rein of her emotions.
"Yes, you are," April replied, her smile evident in the return to her natural cadence. "Look, you and I both know if I run this show on my own, it's gonna turn into a fiasco. Ordinarily I wouldn't care. What I mean is, if it were up to me, I'd do a quickie ceremony, little house party afterward, nothing fancy. But, since Jeff and I met through Taking Sides, the show wants to broadcast highlights. Everything from the planning to the ceremony and the reception. I managed to draw the line on letting the talk show's audience choose my wedding gown. Still, this wedding has to be bigger than I can manage. And perfect. And I'm soooo far from perfect. As you often remind me."
"April .. " Lyn's cautionary chastisement came through loud and clear, meaning they must have switched to speaker phone for the big moment.
"Relax, Lyn. Summer knows what I mean. Anyway, Sum, if I'm Princess Chaos, you're the Czarina of Control. You know exactly what to do and when to do it. Nothing would dare to go wrong on your watch. If I place the details in your hands, I know you'll make sure that everything runs smoothly. Just like your wedding. No doves, mind you." Panic laced that last directive. "No birds at all, in fact. I mean, I'm not entirely certain what exactly I want yet, and of course Jeff will have some say as well. .."
While April droned on and on incessantly, Summer pulled the phone away from her ear.
"What's up?" Laurel asked in a whisper.
"My sister just asked me to plan h
er wedding."
"April? The one you said doesn't like you?"
"I never said she didn't like me."
Laurel arched a cryptic brow.
Okay, well, maybe she had. But that was then. Before April had tossed her this very precious lifeline. "We just don't see eye to eye that often."
"And you think you'll see eye to eye on wedding plans? How do you know she won't become Bridezilla?"
"April?" Summer whispered back. "Puh-leez. There's nothing `Zilla' about April." That had been her problem for years: lots of drive, no backbone.
"I don't know," Laurel replied airily. "All that fame, the reporters following her everywhere? You don't think she considers herself better than everyone else?"
"April?" Summer snorted. "No way."
After Taking Sides and Jeff had entered her life, April had become a different woman. The new and improved April. But, thank God, her ego-or lack thereof-had remained the same.
"Summer?" April's faraway voice drifted out of the phone. "Are you there? Did we lose you?"
She fumbled with the cell, putting it back to her ear. "I'm here. I'm just ... stunned, I guess."
"Stunned in a good way?"
"Yes, I think so." In fact, the more Summer considered the prospect, the more she liked it. She needed the distraction, and maybe in spending more time with two people so wildly in love, she might find the formula to put her own marriage back on the till-death-do-us-part path. Otherwise ...
No. She wouldn't consider the alternative.
"I love the idea," she said with forced enthusiasm. "I'll give you and Jeff the perfect wedding day to send you off into your happily-ever-after."
And hopefully, she could find a new happily-ever-after for herself at the same time.
For the next two days, after therapy sessions and ski lessons, Doug would race back to his makeshift office setup. He'd commandeered the breakfast nook as his temporary desk with his laptop plugged in and the high-backed bench as his chair. Once as comfortably ensconced as possible in such an environment, he'd power on and delve into his research regarding Brooklyn Raine.
On Wednesday, he easily ignored any guilt that pricked his conscience for digging into her private background. He'd always believed in the media's right to information. Celebrities, in exchange for wealth and fame, had to sacrifice their desires for anonymity.
But on Thursday, the voice inside his head shouted too loudly to be dismissed. Lyn Hill/Brooklyn Raine shook his beliefs regarding fame to the core. A lot of her wealth, and most likely her late husband's as well, had been poured into the Ski-Hab program. Lyn Hill lived quietly and simply. She didn't do public appearances, didn't court the press in any way. Her ski gear didn't scream advertisements for any brand names. No patches on her jacket pushed the newest energy drink or the latest innovation in thermal underwear. She didn't own a string of slopeside condos or any major real estate holdings, except for her bed-and-breakfast, which had a resale value far below that of his apartment in Manhattan.
What he'd dug up should have thrilled him. Both his reputation and his promise to Ace hinged on an article that shed a positive light on Lyn and Ski-Hab.
Unfortunately, one question eluded him. A question crucial to any good story: Why? Why give up the sports spotlight and dump all your money-your future-into a program for injured war veterans?
He dismissed most of the usual reasons. Obviously she wasn't looking for positive publicity, or publicity of any kind for that matter. He found no evidence of court-ordered community service or a need to clean up her image. She didn't seem to be involved for political reasons. So ...
Why?
Among the links he'd bookmarked he found a copy of the interview that Ace had brought to his apartment months ago. Now he watched it again, this time without a pharmaceutical cocktail muddling his brain and skewing his perception.
As he studied the news item this time, with his personal SkiHab experience fresh in his mind, shivers trickled down his spine. The Marine who talked about "ending it all" struck a deep chord. Doug squirmed on his bench while he listened to the wounded man's plan to steal pills or slice his wrists or just hope that death might come for him in the middle of the night.
How close had Doug come to that ledge? Too close. If not for the interference of his mother, Ace, and in an odd way, Lyn, where would he be right now? The shivers increased to an ice bath, leaving him chilled from head to toe.
Focus, Sawyer.
He paused the video, took several deep breaths, and pushed away the dismal thoughts of his former misery. Fate had given him the opportunity to make a new start. A start even the great Giles Markham hadn't received. How dare he consider, for one second, throwing that gift away?
His left hand gripped the fingers of his prosthesis. A heartbeat later, the fake fingers on his fake right hand not only curled. They actually felt the touch, sensed the chill that had taken over his extremities. Amazement jolted him. Whether he wanted to accept this miracle or not, the nerve endings in his shoulder were doing exactly what the prosthetic experts had predicted. With renewed purpose, he hit the play arrow on his laptop screen, sending the news item bursting to life once again.
"... The program was begun several years ago by a group of local skiers when one of their own arrived home without a limb during the first Gulf War..."
Stop.
Bingo. One of their own. One of Lyn's own? Like a brother or a cousin? Someone who needed the special skills of a sports rehabilitation program? He toyed with the idea, mentally flipped it and folded it and curled it into a dozen different shapes. The end result remained the same. A woman like Brooklyn Raine, who'd been coached by her father and devoted to her husband, would definitely give up every dime she had for a family member.
Time to dig into the family background. See if he could learn the identity of the mystery relative.
But as he clicked on link after link, frustration grew. He'd already scoured most of the information available about Broolyn, with no mention of other family members besides her father.
On a hunch, he typed "April Raine" into his search engine.
And nearly slid off the bench when a page popped up with a list of more than fourteen thousand results.
Who in the world was April Raine? Curiosity burning, he clicked on the first link and began to read.
Once again, Doug paused at the top of the last hill on Snow Can-Do. Slipping his goggles away from his eyes and over his helmet, he feigned the need to catch his breath. Without the amber tint of the lenses, the mere slip of late-afternoon sunlight seemed too bright and transformed figures into shadows. At least a dozen skiers flew past his skewed vision, aimed for the inevitable line to board the lift and squeeze in that final run of the day. The wind, low but evident all afternoon, now bit into any bared skin with icy teeth.
When his vision finally cleared, he scanned the clusters of people loitering outside the base lodge.
On a spit of snow from her skis, Kerri-Sue pulled up beside him. "Nope. She hasn't shown up yet."
Doug offered her a blank stare. "Huh?"
"Lyn. That's who you're looking for, right?" She grinned. "I heard about what happened the other night. Real smooth, bringing her dinner."
His jaw dropped. "How did you ... ?"
"Small mountain." She spread her arms wide, the extension of her ski poles encompassing the entire vista of steel gray sky, white snow, and green pines. "Lots of nosy residents. And Mrs. Bascomb is the biggest gossip in the county. I'd imagine the whole town knew about your date before you even had dessert that night."
"We didn't have dessert," he mumbled.
A movement near the row of Adirondack chairs caught his eye. He stared hard, hoping to discern something familiar in the figure who stood alone among the groups of friends and families. The slightest tilt of her head, a subtle gesture of pushing a curl of hair from her face, a laugh, any of the dozens of unique characteristics that made Lyn ... Lyn.
"You know, Romeo." Kerri-Sue poke
d his shoulder. "You might want to play a little harder to get."
"Am I that obvious?"
"Not to Max" She pointed up the mountain with one of her poles.
Doug turned in that direction and blinked. Not once, but three times. Still, the image remained. The skier might have escaped notice, except for the traffic-cone orange caution bib plastered to his chest. But on a mountain fraught with injured and handicapped skiers of all types, Max wouldn't necessarily stand out. His companion, on the other hand, might cause a stir. A thick, black Labrador retriever trotted alongside the man, barking to direct each turn of the skis.
"A skiing eye dog?" Doug quipped.
Kerri-Sue snorted. "Cute. But I'm betting even Shiloh's noticed your obsession."
"Shiloh?"
"The dog"
"Uh-huh. I got that. I just wondered about the name. Why Shiloh?"
The force of Kerri-Sue's laughter could start an avalanche.
Doug frowned. "What's so funny?"
"Anyone else would have been curious about Max before we discussed the dog. Something like, `Is that guy really blind?' or `Isn't that dangerous?' But not you."
He shrugged. "I've seen blind skiers before. But with human guides. Shiloh's the first dog guide I've seen on a ski slope."
"You've seen blind skiers before." She didn't phrase the statement as a question, but she gave him an X-ray look, as if she could see straight into his insides.
Compressing his lips into a tight line, he remained mute. He'd probably already said too much.
She waited. A beat, maybe more. Finally, she gripped her poles and bent forward. "Come on. Let's finish this run. Then I'll buy you the nonalcoholic hot beverage of your choice while you change your boots. We can hang out in the lodge until Lyn shows up. Just try not to look so pathetic, okay?"
With his goggles replaced over his eyes, he pushed off on his lone pole and began the last series of slaloms to the lodge.
Pathetic? Hardly. Not when he considered where he was six months ago. Or even three weeks ago, when he first arrived here. He'd nearly come to blows with the physical therapy staff, his instructor, and Brooklyn Raine. He cringed when he thought about how much energy he'd expended to prove them wrong when all he'd needed was the right woman to prove them right. No, not the right woman. The right story.