Happily Ever After: A Day in the Life of the HEA (Rook and Ronin #3.5) (5 page)

“Bunny hill?” Rook laughs. “Are you kidding me? When’s the last time you went out there to see her ski?”

I sigh. I’m totally losing this battle. Because everything she said was true.

Rook opens her door and starts to get out, but then turns back. “I want you to enjoy them, Ronin. I want you to enjoy the skiing, the catalog shoot, the show tonight. The jumping she may or may not do next year. Because these kids are all growing up way too fast, and you’re going to miss out on memories if you don’t stop and enjoy it.”

Rook gets out and closes the door, walking to the backstage door where Sparrow is waiting. I wave at them. Only Sparrow waves back.

Hmmm. Am I working too much? Is that what’s she saying? And what kind of skiing is Starling doing? I really don’t go out on the slopes much. I’m busy running the Fort Collins theatre and we have film festivals twice a year. The prep work is never-ending. As soon as one festival ends, it’s time to get ready for the next one. Six months is barely enough time to make it come off without a hitch. To make it perfection.

But I’m home every night for dinner. I do go see Sparrow ride because she takes lessons out at Spencer’s farm with Kate and Rory and Belle. And I catch all her shows and recitals.

But Starling… she might get the short end of the deal from me. She’s only six, so I guess I just figured she was too young to miss me at all her little kiddie activities. Soccer, and T-ball, and tennis.

Hmmm.

A car honks behind me and I wave to the eager stage parent who needs to drop off a daughter for rehearsal and ease the car forward.

I’m going to see what Starling is really up to out on those slopes.

Chapter Seven

“Here, Dad,” Kate says. “Let me put this on you.”

“What’s that?” I ask, not taking my eyes off Starling as she navigates the freestyle area of the terrain park.

“Just a colored armband so the kids can find you easily.”

“What?” I ask, looking down at the swath of red fabric. “Why do I need this? We only have Belle, Ariel, Jasmine, and Starling out here today.”

“It’s crowded, Dad,” Kate says, looking down at a clipboard.

“Why do you have a clipboard?”

“Hey,” a guy says next to me. “That’s your kid right there?” He’s pointing to Starling.

“Nah, my buddy’s kid.”

“How old is she?”

“Ummm…” I have to look at Kate for this.

“Six.” Kate laughs.

“She’s good.”

“Yeah,” I say, leaning back on my heels a little. “I’ve been coaching her since she was three. She’s a natural.” I look over at the guy. “My kids ski too.” I nod at Kate, who is busy talking to a group of other kiddie skiers. “But it’s not their love, you know? Starling loves it.” God, I love that about her.

“Does she compete?”

“Oh, hell yes. I make her mother put her in every competition they have out here.” Rook loves that Starling is a skier and she told me to spare no expense making her happy on the slopes. I secretly think she’s doing it for me as much as for Starling. Ash and I have skied a lot since the kids were born. Nothing serious. But ever since Rook decided Starling needed ski lessons, I’ve gotten my passion back. I can see myself in this little girl. So much.

“What do you think about my kid?” the guys asks. “He’s the one in the black and red.”

“Ah,” I say. “I’ve been watching him since he got here. He’s good. How old is he?”

“Thirteen.”

“Perfect age,” I say.

“For?”

“Oh, you know. This is the perfect time to let him loose. Just let him do his thing. When I was his age I was up here every weekend in the winter. You guys local?”

“Denver.”

“Yeah, that was us too. But my parents had a house up here, so we came as much as we could.”

“He’s totally into it.” We watch the boy do some aerials. A three-sixty, then a switch and grab. “I just fired his coach. That guy was so unreliable. Never even showed up at the last competition down in Loveland.”

“Really?” I ask, looking back to Starling. I told her I’d take her on the terrain park after she warms up and we’re just about ready.

“Yeah, so I’m glad I ran into you guys.”

“What?”

“Um…” Kate is suddenly next to me with her clipboard. “Dad, this is Mr. Shalons. His son is Randy. And he’s signed up for…” She clears her throat. “Two hours today.”

“Right, two hours,” the boy’s father says wistfully. “I know your daughter said it was a one-time thing. But if you guys are local, then I’m interested, Mr. Aston.”

“Interested in what?” I give the guy a classic sidelong Ford glance.

“Regular lessons. I’ll pay, man. I know you’re a busy guy, you have no time for my kid’s dream and all that. But I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Like what?” I ask, my mood going sour fast. I have a long history of criminal activity. It’s well behind me now, but it only takes one reminder to wipe away all the amnesia people have around here.

“Oh, you know, your shows. Spencer Shrike. You’re a benefactor for that film festival up in Fort Collins.”

“You’ve done some research.”

“Hey, Mr. Aston,” another kid calls, skiing up to me. He’s about fifteen, same age as Five. “I’m ready to go, man. So stoked about this opportunity.”

“What?”

“Dad,” Kate says, checking off another name on her clipboard. “This is Josh Pittan. He won the Fancy Freestyle last weekend up in Breckenridge.”

“Congrats,” I say. “But—”

“He’s here for four hours.”

“Four? Hours?” What the hell is happening?

Two more kids ski up. “We’re here!” they say, looking like brother and sister. “Sorry we’re late, Mr. Aston. My mom couldn’t get the car started this morning.”

“She had to call us a cab,” the sister says. “This is the best Christmas present ever!”

I shoot Kate a look. “Can you excuse us for a moment?” I tell the crowd. “I need a word with my assistant. Starling,” I yell, just as she’s about to pass me and give the moguls a try. “Hold up for a second.”

“Safety first,” the parent of the first boy says. “I like that.”

“Kate, what the hell is going on?” I ask, after we ski off a little way. “Why do all these people think I’m running a class here today?”

She laughs. “You are, Dad. I set it all up.”

I rub my face. “Why would you do that?”

“I heard you telling Mom that story about your Bronco last month when you guys were talking about the old days. You said you ran tours at the science museum to save up for a car. And I want a Bronco too. So I started a ski class.”

“You can’t start a ski class.”

“Yeah, I can.” She smiles sweetly at me. “It’s entrepreneurial. You love that. Plus, you let Five start that app stuff. It’s only fair.”

“But you’re not teaching the class.”

“Duh.” She snorts. “I’m not that good. But you are. And you love skiing. And,” she stresses the word, “you love teaching Starling. All these kids are good. Like really good,” she says, lowering her chin. “I screened them all so you didn’t get any lazy ones from tourists looking for a babysitter. They’re all freestyle skiers and they’ve all won competitions.”

I take a deep breath. “You can’t make enough to buy a car with one day of classes.”

“How do you know?” She smirks.

“How much did you charge?”

“Three-fifty an hour.”

“What?” I look back at the parents and the kids. They all smile at me. “How much for today?”

“Three thousand, five hundred dollars.”

“
What
?”

“How much do Broncos go for? Not the really tricked-out ones. One like yours?”

I scrub my hand down my face again.

“Daddy?” Kate asks sweetly.

“Katie,” I say back. And then a laugh leaks out. “You’re sneaky.”

“I take after you.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Did you know that Grandma called and asked if we were going to meet her at church tonight and I said we can’t because we’ll all be too tired after we watch Sparrow dance
The Nutcracker?
”

I forget about the kids for a moment and picture myself being forced to sit still in church tonight with my mother. She’s up here with Gary, staying at the Four Seasons until we all drive home tomorrow for Christmas dinner. “What’d she say?”

“She said she totally understands. And she’ll put in a good word for us when she and Gary go.”

Whew. Dodged a bullet there. “OK, look. I’ll do the class. I don’t have much choice. But I’m not doing lessons. I’m not a ski coach, for fuc—Christ’s sake.”

“Got it, Daddy,” Kate says, leaning up to give me a kiss on the cheek. She’s about to ski back to the waiting class, but she stops and give me a long once-over. “But you could be, Daddy. You
could
be.”

Chapter Eight

Cindy and I end up in the library. It’s a lonely room at the very western edge of the house and it’s nothing but floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books. It even has one of those library ladders and a set of antique leather couches that are situated in front of a fireplace that is almost as massive as the one out in the main living room.

Cindy squirms in my arms until I place her the right way against my chest. She likes to rest her head on my shoulder, and she likes her little butt to be held up by my forearm.

When Ford, Ronin, and I decided we’d like to get a family house up here so we could vacation together with plenty of room as our families grew larger, we lucked out when this monstrosity came on the market. It’s the oldest mansion in Vail, built by one of the town’s founding developers. It has never been owned by anyone outside of that family since it was built in the early Sixties when the Vail resort was founded.

I never knew any of this shit about Vail. But Ford is like some sort of ski resort savant, and when he saw that the owners were selling everything in the library as part of the house—they added on seventy-two thousand dollars to the price tag, saying it was a treasure trove of historical documents they wanted to be preserved with the structure, so don’t go thinking they were being generous—he bought the place without even asking Ronin and me.

But hell, it’s a nice fucking house. Eight thousand square feet of luxury mountain home. Seven stone fireplaces, indoor and outdoor pools, almost two acres of land. That alone is worth the price. Gated, stable for the ponies we bring in the summer, and ski-in ski-out.

I can’t complain about the house.

Hell, I can’t complain about anything. I live a charmed life.

But my Bombshell might be sad. It might be the leftover hormones from the last pregnancy. But it might also be that I don’t give her enough attention.

Do I work too much? Does she miss me? Do I not help out enough at home? Do we need more vacation time?

I look down at Cindy, who is momentarily content with the smooth rocking motion I’m doing as I look around the library. “What do you think, Baby Bomb?” I chuckle at that, until I realize the original Baby Bomb is turning into a full-blown Bombshell.

God. I’m not ready for my kids to grow up.