Maybe This Christmas

by Sarah Morgan

  “Skiing downhill is always a risk.”

  “But there is a fine line between breaking speed records and breaking your neck!”

  “She’s good.”

  “But she was brought up in Chicago by a mother who hated skiing!”

  “All the more reason to catch up now. She’s an O’Neil. Not just her hair and her blue eyes, but the way she feels the snow. Or haven’t you noticed?”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed.” Brenna gave up. Instead she focused on Jess, willing her to do well and not fall.

  “She wants to ski. I don’t push her to do anything she isn’t already desperate to do. I tried holding her back last winter, and look where that got us.”

  Brenna thought back to the night when Jess had disappeared, determined to impress her father by skiing the most difficult run in the resort. “That was a horrible night.”

  “She’s next.” Tyler watched as Jess pushed through the start wand, gaining speed immediately.

  “Her style is good.”

  “Her hand is going back. She’s rotating her body and losing seconds at every gate.”

  “She’s doing well.” Brenna winced as one of the gates, the poles that marked the course, swung back and hit Jess in the face. “It’s her first real winter season here, Tyler, and the season only started a few weeks ago.”

  “Which means we have a lot of time to make up. She’s concentrating on the gates and not her turns.”

  “Tyler.” A woman stepped up to him, her glossy red mouth curving into a smile. “I’m Anna. Patty Clarke’s mother.”

  She couldn’t have picked a worse time to try and catch his attention.

  Tyler didn’t spare her a glance. His eyes were on Jess. “She’s sliding into her turns. She’s putting too much weight on the inside ski early in the turn, and she needs a tighter line as she approaches the gate.”

  “We can work on that. She’s a junior, Tyler, she doesn’t have the physical strength of a World Cup skier!”

  “She’s losing time.”

  Seeing that he wasn’t going to respond to Anna Clarke, Brenna intervened. “Patty is showing real promise, Anna.”

  Patty’s mother ignored her and moved closer to Tyler.

  Brenna’s face burned and for a moment she was fifteen again, on her own in school corridors that echoed with the laughter of other kids. Whenever she thought of school, the dominant memory was of being alone while all the other kids traveled in packs. Some days she’d been invisible, others she’d felt like a lone gazelle surrounded by a pack of hyenas. She’d preferred the invisible days, days when her tormentors left her alone, even though that loneliness had been a miserable state. Skipping school to meet Tyler had been the only bright spot in an otherwise gray period of her life.

  She glanced briefly at Anna, wondering what it must be like to be that socially confident. To be so sure of a positive response to your overtures. Brenna had been knocked back so many times it had left her wary of putting herself out there.

  She’d left school with her self-esteem shredded and even though she’d gradually woven it back together, she was aware of its intrinsic fragility. On the ski slope she was confident. With the people she knew and loved, she was confident. But when it came to people like Patty’s mother, she reverted to being an awkward teenager.

  Anna showed no signs of awkwardness. If she’d experienced rejection in her life then it had left no scars. “I wondered if you’d be prepared to give her private lessons. I’d be there, too.”

  Tyler watched as Jess finished the course and then turned his head, his handsome face blank of expression. If he noticed the smile Anna Clarke gave him, he didn’t respond. “If she’s on the school team, she’ll be at training sessions on Fridays. I’ll be coaching some of those.”

  “I saw the new brochure online, and it said that you were available for one-to-ones.” The husky tone of her voice implied she was interested in more than Tyler’s expertise on the snow.

  “Expert skiers only, and then only on a case-by-case basis.”

  “Who decides who you take?”

  Tyler stared down into those eyes, apparently unaffected by the liberal application of mascara. “Brenna.” His voice was silk over layers of steel. “If she thinks a skier shows exceptional talent, then I’ll coach them. You’ll have to talk to her.”

  Anna Clarke said nothing, but her color rose, and she said something to him in a low voice before skiing away.

  Brenna’s heart was pounding. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You’re right. You should have done it.” There was an edge to his tone. “She was rude, and you let her get away with it.”

  Her heart was bumping. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters, Brenna. You need to speak up. If you let a person step on you, they’ll do it again and again.”

  “We’re surrounded by kids and parents. I didn’t want to get into a fight. It’s unprofessional.”

  “We both know you wouldn’t fight even if your back was against the wall.”

  Did he think she was pathetic? “You think I have no backbone.”

  His gaze locked on hers. “Honey, I’ve seen you ski. You have more backbone than anyone I’ve met. You’ll ski a vertical slope without hesitation, but when it comes to people, especially people like Anna, when there’s a social situation that makes you uncomfortable, you shut down.”

  “You’re saying I’m a coward.”

  “No.” He frowned. “You’re not good at handling those sorts of people. But we’re going to change that.”

  He’d never said anything like that before, and Brenna gave a breathless laugh. “You want me to get into a girl fight with Anna?”

  “No. I’m going to teach you to be assertive.” He adjusted his glove. “Next time, instead of letting her snub you, you will say a few quiet words that demand she treat you with respect.”

  “I’m not so great with words. I usually think of the right thing to say a week after the chance to say it has passed.”

  “So we’ll think of it in advance. I have the perfect string of words to say to a woman like that.” He leaned closer, whispered in her ear and she gasped and glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one could have overheard.

  “No way would I ever say that.”

  “I guarantee she’d never do it to you again if you did.”

  Half laughing, half shocked, Brenna shook her head. “I don’t think she’s ever going to talk to me again anyway. You were pretty rude to her.”

  “She was mean to you.” He said it simply. Then he tugged off his glove and curved his hand behind her head, forcing her to look at him. He was big. Protective. The strength in those fingers a direct contrast to the gentleness in his eyes.

  No one had ever pushed this man into a ditch or made him feel less than he was.

  Her heart was pumping so hard it felt as if it might burst out of her chest. “I can look after myself. I always have. I always will.”

  “You walked away from it, which is one way of handling it. Now we’re trying my way.” He let his hand drop, but not before he’d stroked those fingers over her cheek.

  The gesture was as unexpected as it was intimate, and it turned her stomach inside out.

  For a fleeting moment she thought she saw something in his eyes and then it was gone, and he was tugging his glove back on and focusing on the racing.

  “I’ve learned to be brutally direct with some people or the next time I open my bedroom door, one of them could be lying there naked.”

  “Naked?” She felt as if she’d stepped off a cliff into a bottomless void. Not for the first time she felt out of step with the life he’d led. Never in her life would she have lain on a bed naked, waiting for a man she didn’t know. “That happened?”

  “More
often than you’d imagine. Apparently, there are a bunch of women out there who think that lying down in a man’s bed guarantees them personal attention.”

  Misery mingled with fascination. “How did you handle it?” And then she caught his wicked grin and blushed. “Sorry. Forget I asked.”

  “I told them to get in line behind the others.” He was teasing her, and she didn’t know how to respond because over the years of their long friendship, they’d talked about everything but this. She knew there had been women, of course. The media had had a field day with his passion for speed and women. At one point in his career, it had been difficult to work out which was his priority.

  That was the point when Brenna had stopped reading the news.

  “I can’t imagine what sort of woman would climb into the bed of a man she doesn’t know.” She spoke without thinking and then realized how unworldly she sounded. How unsophisticated. And he was used to women who were neither of those things.

  “Want me to describe her?” He was laughing, turning tension to humor as he always did. “The first time it happened was after my first world championship win. I walked out and demanded a different room. The hotel was so terrified I was going to sue them for a breach of security, they gave me the President’s Suite. The second time Jackson was there. He dealt with it.”

  She could imagine Jackson, calm and tactful, extracting naked women from Tyler’s bed. “He used to deal with all the women sobbing over Sean, too.”

  “He was a busy guy. And that’s enough talk of my past because we have company.” He smiled over her shoulder as Jess skied down to them. “You’re leaning toward the gate to clear it and because of that, you’re over rotating your body and losing balance. Your line of descent needs to be tighter. Ow! What?” Rubbing his arm, he turned to look at Brenna. “Why are you digging your elbow into me?”

  Brenna didn’t know whether to laugh or hit him over the head with her ski pole. “Because she did loads of things right, and all you’re doing is pointing out the stuff she did wrong. It was a great first run, Jess. Well done.”

  Tyler looked bewildered. “She doesn’t need me to tell her what she did right. She already knows what she did right. My job as a coach is to tell her what she did wrong so she can fix it next time.”

  Brenna took a deep breath. “She’s young, Tyler. She’s not a professional athlete. Your job is to encourage as well as coach. Otherwise, people will lose heart and give up.”

  “You’re saying that if I don’t tell people what they’re doing right, they’ll give up? That’s fine with me. If they’re that wimpy then they should go right ahead and give up.”

  Cheeks flushed, Jess laughed. “I’m not that wimpy.”

  “Of course you’re not.” Disgusted, Tyler leaned forward and unclipped her helmet.

  “Sorry I didn’t win, Dad.” The words were said casually, and Tyler opened his mouth and then caught Brenna’s eye.

  “You’re doing great. And we’re going to work on the bits that aren’t so great. You’ll be beating them all by the end of the season. Now let’s go home and Brenna can make you one of her hot chocolates. If I get lucky she might make me one, too.”

  * * *

  TYLER TILTED HIS CHAIR back and put his feet on the table, watching as Brenna fried bacon. Since she’d moved in, he hadn’t been able to relax in his own home. He was used to feeling comfortable around her. That feeling was long gone, replaced by tension, sexual awareness and an overwhelming desire to flatten her to the table and discover the parts of her he didn’t know.

  “We’re eating breakfast for dinner?”

  She flipped the bacon expertly and threw him a look. “Add tomatoes and chili and breakfast becomes a perfect pasta sauce.” Her sweater was a bright shade of blue and clung to her curves.

  Curves he didn’t want to notice.

  “You could write a book. A Thousand and One Things to Do with Bacon.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “As long as I’m not the one cooking, I never complain.” It had been over a year since anyone had stayed here apart from him and Jess, and even before Jess had arrived to live with him, he hadn’t encouraged overnight guests. In his experience they were too difficult to eject.

  He wished Jess would join them, but he could hear sounds of the TV coming from his den and knew he was on his own with this.

  “If it carries on snowing like this it would be worth getting up early tomorrow to ski.”

  “I can’t tomorrow.” She stirred the pot. “I’m having breakfast with my parents.”

  “Why? They drive you crazy. Whenever you see them, you come back upset. Why put yourself through that?”

  “Because they’re still my parents.” She poked at the sauce with the spoon. “And because I feel guilty.”

  “Why would you feel guilty?”

  “I disappointed them. This isn’t what they wanted me to do with my life.”

  “But it’s what you wanted to do with your life, so that has to mean something, surely?”

  “Maybe. Doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t been home for a month, and I’m living down the road.”

  “You have a full-time job.” He locked his hands behind his head and grinned. “And now you’re cooking for me, too.”

  “I’m not planning on revealing that part.” She turned the heat down under the pan and let it simmer. “And I’m going for breakfast because that way I have an excuse to leave for my ten o’clock class.”

  “Just make sure you don’t let them walk all over you. Want me to run you over there?”

  “You’re offering to stand between me and my mother?” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I always thought you were brave, Tyler O’Neil, now I know it for sure.”

  “I’m not scared of your mother.”

  “You should be. You’re not her favorite person.”

  “She thinks I’m bad news.” She was probably right. “How’s she going to react to the fact you’re living with me?”

  “I’m not living with you. I’m staying in your house. It’s not the same thing.” Her gaze slid to his and away again. “I’m still living at Snow Crystal. She doesn’t need to know more than that.”

  He thought about her walking barefoot around the house and sleeping next door to him. “Probably a good decision.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS STILL DARK when Brenna slid into her car the following morning.

  The drive to her parents’ house took around twenty minutes, and there wasn’t a single second of that time when she didn’t feel like turning around and driving back to Snow Crystal. It had been snowing steadily for days, but not enough to make the journey treacherous, and the road had been cleared so she had no reason to postpone her visit.

  Her mood plummeted along with the temperature.

  Visiting her parents was a duty, not a pleasure, and it was a duty that always left her feeling flat, depressed and more than a little guilty.

  Compared to Kayla and Élise she was lucky, wasn’t she? She had two parents still married and living together.

  She pulled up outside the vintage brick colonial that was her mother’s pride and joy. To Brenna, a house was somewhere to be indoors when you couldn’t be outdoors. She’d as soon live in a tent. Occasionally in the summer, she’d done just that, erecting her little tent in the backyard until her mother had forced her back inside, worried about what the neighbors would say.

  To Maura Daniels, the opinion of the neighbors came second only to God’s.

  Brenna sat for a moment, bracing herself for what lay ahead, promising herself that she wasn’t going to get upset.

  She had a key in her pocket, but she rang the bell and then waited, tense as a deer scenting the wind. She would have walked straight in to any one of the O’Neil propert
ies and been sure of a warm welcome. Here, in the house where she’d grown up, she hesitated to cross the threshold without permission. Nothing annoyed her order-obsessed mother more than people dropping in without warning or invitation.

  To Brenna, it had been like growing up in a straitjacket.

  She heard the rhythmic tap of her mother’s low heels on the cherrywood floor and then the door opened.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “You’re wet!”

  “It’s snowing.”

  “Leave your boots outside.”

  She would have done it without being told, but her mother left nothing to chance when it came to her home.

  Brenna had learned at an early age that snow was to be kept outside the house. Her mother couldn’t control the weather, but she worked every hour of every day to control its less welcome effects, from shining the windows to removing imaginary marks from her lovingly polished floor.

  “How are you, Mom?” She stepped inside, careful not to slip. The last thing she needed at the start of the season was a broken ankle, especially as a result of her mother’s overzealous cleaning habit.

  “Good. Things have been busy at work.” Her mother eyed her black ski pants, and Brenna intercepted that look as she pulled off her boots and left them on the step.

  “I’m teaching at ten o’clock. I thought I’d have more time if I didn’t have to go back and change first.”

  “If you visited more often, you wouldn’t have to cram so much into each visit.”

  Brenna knew better than to respond to that one. Conversations with her mother were like a game of tennis. Whenever she returned the ball, it came back at her harder, but even she had to admit that her mother seemed more tense than usual.

  She wondered what had happened.

  She stepped into the house and immediately felt as if the walls were closing around her, trapping her inside. She wanted to push back at them, wanted to free herself. It didn’t help that they were painted a dark shade of red and hung with paintings and photographs. Her mother was a collector of things. Paintings, ornaments, vases, figurines—the house was crammed with them and no doubt Christmas would bring another flurry of objects to add clutter to the already cluttered walls and surfaces. Brenna couldn’t see the point of filling a house with objects, but her mother enjoyed adding things to the home.