Under His Spell (Holiday Hearts #4)

by Kristin Hardy

“It’s the perfect time to get up to train.”

  J.J. let his head fall back against the pillow. “There was a reason I stopped rooming with you on the circuit.”

  “Yeah. I got married. Otherwise, you’d still be relying on me to get your sorry ass out of bed.”

  “You’re enjoying this.”

  “If I enjoy it, who do I hurt?” Madsen asked, his voice ripe with laughter.

  “Me.”

  “And that’s bad, why?”

  There was a moment of silence before J.J. sat up in resignation. “Okay, I’m getting out of bed. You satisfied?”

  “Hey, you were the one who called me.”

  “At daytime in your time zone. Any reason you couldn’t do the same?”

  “Because this is more fun.”

  “Sicko,” J.J. muttered.

  “So what’s this all about, anyway? Your message wasn’t very clear.”

  J.J. flipped on the light, his brain slowly coming up to speed. “The Salem Boys’ and Girls’ Center burned down last spring. I’m trying to help them build a new one. I’m organizing a benefit to raise money.”

  “Salem where? Is there a Salem in Vermont?”

  “You’re a regular laugh riot, Madsen.”

  “So my wife tells me.”

  J.J. gave a jaw-creaking yawn. “No, Salem, Massachusetts. I’m living there right now. Their center burned down and the kids don’t have any place to play.”

  There was a silence.

  “Madsen, you there?”

  “Yeah. I’m just getting all choked up by how adult you’ve gotten all of a sudden,” Madsen said sorrowfully. “The man who used to party all night in Val d’Isère has gone to organizing bake sales?”

  “Benefits,” J.J. corrected.

  “What’s next, quilting?”

  J.J. scowled. “Look, I’m serious. It’s a good cause and I could use some star power. In your case, low-wattage star power, but still… Can you do it?”

  Madsen chuckled. “Of course I’ll do it. If nothing else, I get to come laugh at you. When is it?”

  “It’s next Saturday.”

  “Next Saturday? Hell, J.J., that’s the week before Sölden. What are you doing worrying about charity stuff? That’s an off-season gig. We’ve got a race.”

  “Because they don’t need the center off season, they need it now,” he replied, an edge in his voice. “These kids don’t have anywhere to go, they’re missing out, big-time. It’s important, Kurt. I want to get the money together so we can build the place by spring.”

  “What do you mean, ‘we’? You’re going to fly home between races and hammer nails?”

  “If that’s what it takes. First, we’ve got to buy the nails, and that means pulling off this fund-raiser. Look, we’ve got a Port-a-Slope coming in, my sponsor’s put up some equipment to be raffled, but we need names to really draw people. Will you do it?”

  Madsen sighed. “I’ll catch hell from Doug and the rest of the coaches for coming over when I ought to be practicing,” he predicted. “So will you.”

  “What else is new? You’ve got enough brownie points built up to pull it off. But if you can’t be there, can you at least give me something to auction off?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, like your gold medal.”

  “No problem, I’ll get right on that. Anyway, who said I wasn’t coming? I’ll be there. Of course, you do realize you’ll get maybe a dozen people showing up for this if you’re lucky, right? Outside of the Olympics, people could give a hang about ski racing.”

  “This is New England. I think we’ll get more than a dozen, especially if we advertise it right. We’ve already got the word out in fliers and in the papers, and I’ve got my ski rep working on the ski stores and resort areas.”

  There was a short silence. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

  “It gives me something to do,” J.J. said uncomfortably, rising to walk to the window.

  “What you’re supposed to be doing is training and getting slope time out in Aspen.”

  “Where the hell do you think I am? I’m just making some calls in between training runs.”

  “It’s not enough, J.J.” Madsen paused a moment. “Look, the coaching staff is already ticked that you hurt yourself playing around. Guys like us have to watch it, my friend, because the bright young things are breathing down our necks.”

  “So, what…I’m not allowed to do anything but ski?”

  “If the U.S. Ski Team has anything to say about it, yeah. And if you do do something outside of that, you’d better make sure you kick ass on the piste.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it. So you’re going to be there?”

  Madsen let out a breath. “Yeah.”

  “What’ll you tell the coaches?”

  “That I need to go donate a kidney to my cousin.”

  “They’re gonna love that.”

  “I thought you wanted me there.”

  “I do, I just don’t want you getting crap from Doug over it.”

  “Hey, I’m still turning in A-team times, and in between they’ve got me mentoring the new guys. Like you said, I have brownie points. It’s you I’m worried about. You don’t sound right.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. You sound different, like you sound in the summertime. Like the World Cup is really far away. It’s not, dude, it starts in three weeks and you need to be ready. You’ve got to get dialed in.”

  J.J. flipped aside the curtain to stare outside at the light reflecting off the snow-covered hillside behind the condo. He’d spent six hours on the slopes the day before. “You finished with the lecture, Mom?”

  Madsen blew out a breath of frustration. “I don’t know why I bother. You don’t listen anyway.”

  “Yeah, but I appreciate the thought. And the wakeup call.”

  “Hey, I’ve got to get my entertainment somehow.”

  “I guess.” J.J. let the curtain fall closed. “Thanks for agreeing to do this, Kurt. I owe you one.”

  “Actually, you owe me more. Remember that twenty euros that you borrowed from me in Val Triest?”

  “So? When I hit Sölden, I’m buying.”

  “Last one down the mountain always does.”

  “Then I guess that means you’re buying.” J.J. yawned again. “Hey, take it easy. And, Madsen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I am going to kick ass on the piste.”

  J.J. ended the call and walked into the bathroom to pull on his sweats. He and Madsen had come up through the ranks together, a couple of raw-boned teenagers straight out of high school ski academies. They’d grown up fast in the crucible of the World Cup circuit, going from fighting just to finish in the top twenty to becoming standard fixtures on the winners’ podium.

  And now, however much they might be at the tops of their games, the warning light was beginning to blink for them both. Madsen was right about the hot young guys, J.J. thought as he headed down to the workout room. And the coaches always gave the benefit of the doubt to those hot young guys because they were the future of the team; J.J. and Madsen were its present and past.

  Of course, Madsen had a future—the coaches weren’t just hooking him up with the young skiers to make him feel good. Kurt Madsen had a gift for helping guys get faster, and J.J. could see him sliding right into the U.S. Ski Team coaching staff. As for J.J., well, given his tendency to break every rule, he suspected that to most of the coaches, the idea of him joining their staff would come under the heading of signs of the apocalypse.

  So what came next? He had the director of ski position at Gabe’s resort, but that was hardly a full-time job. The prospect of going home to join his father’s construction business didn’t appeal at all. Whatever it was, it had to matter.

  He’d seen what happened to guys when it didn’t.

  Sitting down on the mat in the workout room, he began to stretch. That was the thing about life on the World Cup circuit—every
thing was focused toward one goal. The idea of living a life where nothing really mattered, well, it might be a nice break for the short term, but after six or eight months of just flopping around, it would make him crazy.

  Life wasn’t supposed to be meaningless. He wasn’t built for that; he was built to accomplish things, whether they were World Cup wins or whatever came next.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t at all sure what that might be. He didn’t know where things went next, but one thing he did know—he sure as hell had better get started figuring it out.

  Of course, he ought to be used to not knowing where things went next, because he sure as hell didn’t have a clue when it came to Lainie. They hadn’t talked much since Gabe’s wedding. It had never seemed the right time and if he were truly honest with himself, he didn’t know what he wanted to say anyway.

  This is serious, he’d told Gabe, and he’d meant it. But he’d also meant it when he’d said he hadn’t a clue what happened next. Always before, it had made him feel choked when a woman had expectations of him. With Lainie, it pissed him off that she didn’t.

  He was different and she was part of why. The problem was getting her to see it.

  The only thing he really knew, he realized as he rose, was what to do when he strapped on his skis and hit the piste.

  And maybe that was where he needed to go right now.

  “Your bouncy jack-o’-lantern split a seam?” Lainie frowned into the phone. “You can fix it, right?”

  “Well, here’s the thing,” the contractor said. “The split’s too big to fix so we got to get a new one. But there’s a month waiting time from the manufacturer, see?”

  “I see,” Lainie said with a sinking heart. “What you’re telling me is I need to go somewhere else.” A mere three weeks before the festival, and with Caro down in Manhattan for her job interview. Perfect.

  “I guess it depends on how much you’re set on a jack-o’-lantern. It’s a specialty item, you know. Now, we got a bouncy rocket ship we could send instead. Red and blue, doors on both sides. Nice fins. I even got a blow-up Buzz Lightyear I’ll throw in free.”

  “It’s a Halloween festival,” she enunciated.

  “So? No reason you can’t use a rocket ship. Kids, now, they don’t care so much. They got imagination. The bouncing’s the thing.”

  “A bouncy rocket ship.”

  “Maybe you get some kids dressed up like astronauts. Look, I know it’s not what you asked for but it’s what I got.”

  Lainie drummed her fingers on the desktop. She could call around for a replacement vendor, but this close to the festival, she had a pretty good idea that her chances of finding a good replacement would be about nil. She sighed. “Okay, give me the bouncy rocket ship.”

  “Smart move,” he approved. “You’re gonna love it.”

  Her phone flashed. “I’ve got another call, I’ve got to go.”

  “I’ll send over the paperwork.”

  She switched lines. “This is Lainie.”

  “And I am forever grateful,” J.J.’s voice said.

  “Hey, you.” The grin spread over her face before she could prevent it.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  “So how’s Colorado?”

  “Snowy, mostly.”

  “What a shock,” she said dryly.

  “It was for me. So how are things going?”

  “Let’s see, I just had to trade out my bouncy jack-o’-lantern for a bouncy rocket ship.” She pursed her lips, waiting for his response.

  “A bouncy rocket ship?”

  “For the festival. You know, those big inflatable things that kids jump around in?”

  He cleared his throat. “A rocket ship for a Halloween festival?”

  “I was hoping it wasn’t quite as bad as it sounded.”

  “Well, ultimately, who cares? They’re kids, they’ll jump around and have fun.”

  “That’s what the vendor told me.”

  “I’ll jump around with you and have fun, if it helps.”

  Her lips quirked. “I’ll bet you will. So just when are you going to show up again, anyway?”

  “I’ve been gone too long, haven’t I?”

  “Well, a week and a half is a while, but I’ve taken up with the mailman.” She grinned.

  “The mailman, huh?” He paused. “Hey, wait a minute. I’ve seen the mail carrier on our street and she’s a woman.”

  “Oh, then I guess you’re missing out,” she said, her tone innocent.

  “No fair doing it if I can’t watch. First thing tomorrow, I’m flying out to hide in your closet.”

  “I’d rather see you hide in my bed.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice. “That can be arranged. I get in Friday night for the benefit. Want to come pick me up?”

  “I’ll be there with bells on.”

  “Don’t forget the mail lady,” he added.

  Lainie looked across the packed ballroom at the Seven Gables Inn, frankly amazed at the turnout. A scritching noise had her glancing to her right to see a wildly grinning Latrice ski down the Port-a-Slope. To the left, a series of glossy booths displayed the latest snowboards and ski equipment. On a table in the center, a large glass urn watched by security was steadily filling up with cash. Straight ahead, an auctioneer stood on a podium, auctioning off memorabilia.

  J.J. had gotten it right, she thought. Somehow, he’d known what to offer and how to market it. For a small admission fee, people had been able to meet the two Olympic stars, buy raffle tickets for ski goods and lift tickets, try the latest equipment, and, like Latrice, try skiing down an artificial slope.

  How he’d managed to pull it off in the short time he’d had, she’d never know. His cell phone bill had to be terrifying. But it wasn’t just the planning effort. He and his colleague, Kurt Madsen, had made the event work. They’d laughed and joked, signed autographs, posed for pictures.

  Working her way through the crowd of people, Lainie walked behind the table where J.J. sat, scrawling his signature on a program.

  “You’re my hero,” she said.

  “Always nice to be someone’s hero. What do I owe that to?”

  She waved at the room. “Everything. All of it. You really pulled it off.”

  His smile held surprised pleasure. “I didn’t do it alone, trust me. George helped, and my ski rep and—” He broke off, eyes narrowed.

  On the podium, the auctioneer held up a square of white. “Come on, folks, let’s get it up above twenty-five. This is the bib that J.J. wore in the clinching race for the World Cup overall, year before last.” He waved the Tyvek bib. “How about thirty? Thirty dollars, anyone?”

  J.J. gave an incredulous look. “What the hell?” he demanded. “Excuse me.” In a few swift steps, he’d reached the podium and hopped up on top. “Thirty bucks?” he repeated in disbelief. “Thirty? That’s a tank of gas, folks. You’re looking at a memento of the first overall World Cup win by a U.S. skier in twenty years. This is history.”

  Around the room, heads turned to watch him. People who were focusing on other activities began paying attention.

  And J.J. thrived on it. “Okay, so maybe you’re not a big ski racing fan and you don’t care, but you know what? Buy it anyway and put it on eBay. Buy it and take the tax write-off. This isn’t about the bib, folks, it’s about building this center. That’s what counts. Come on, what more do you want? What have I got over there, a hundred? Okay, a hundred. That’s more like it.”

  The bidding climbed to a hundred and fifty, then two, then stalled at four.

  But still J.J. wasn’t satisfied. Microphone in hand, he stalked the podium like a restless tiger. “Come on, people. Don’t you want to give these kids somewhere to learn and grow and play? Do you want the country to be run by idiots when you get old? Do you? Well, neither do I. That means we need get out and support this. That means we need to build them a new center. Come on, what are you willing to pay?” he shouted.

  It was like mind control, Laini
e thought. Suddenly energized, people were raising their hands, pushing the bids higher and higher until they topped out at something over $5,100. For a numbered piece of Tyvek.

  But that wasn’t it, she realized. It was $5,100 for J.J., pure and simple.

  It was the last item of the auction, and people began to filter out of the room. He’d done it, she thought jubilantly. He’d convinced people to come, he’d talked the sponsors into donations, coordinated it all and made it happen, right down to the auction.

  Lainie pushed through the crowd of people to find him and pressed an exuberant kiss on him. “I can’t believe you pulled this off.”

  “Hey, I want you to meet Kurt.”

  “Who?” Lainie turned to see a tall, strapping blond with a vaguely familiar face.

  “Lainie Trask, Kurt Madsen. Kurt won a medal at the Olympics last spring.”

  “I think I remember hearing something about it,” she said dryly.

  “Kurt, this is Lainie Trask. My girlfriend.”

  Lainie snapped her head around to stare at J.J. so quickly it about threw her neck out of joint. Girlfriend?

  J.J. just gave her an affable grin and nodded toward Kurt. “Kurt and I go back a ways.”

  “Nice to meet you, Kurt,” she said faintly, shaking his hand.

  “Pleasure’s all mine.”

  “I would have introduced you before but the putz got here late,” J.J. added.

  “Hey, I didn’t spend six hours on a plane to get abused.”

  “Sure you did. Anyway, watch out. Lainie works at the witchcraft museum. Don’t tick her off, she might put a hex on you.”

  Kurt gave an amused look and eyed J.J. “So you’re from Salem, here, are you, Lainie?”

  “Yes, I am. Why?”

  “No reason. Just clears up a few things,” he said genially.

  “J.J.!”

  They looked up to see Kisha and Latrice running across the floor toward them, with Elsie and Tyjah in their wake.

  “Hey, guys.” J.J. hoisted Tyjah up. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on your house?”

  “I got to ski!” Latrice announced, beaming.

  “So did I,” Kisha said. “It was so fun. Can we have one of these at the Boys’ and Girls’ Center? Then we can go ski and stop giving my gran gray hair.” She wound her hand around J.J.’s.