Love on the Lifts (3 page)

P
ile It On Pizza was where we all ended up. Like every other restaurant and shop in Snow Angel Valley, it was quaint with its own unique atmosphere. Very rustic, it looked like the inside of a log cabin. We picked the size crust that we wanted, then we walked down the long length of the counter pointing to the ingredients we wanted piled on.

We ended up ordering two pizzas because the guys made a big production of groaning when Allie pointed to the green olives. My brother had always been a meat-and-potatoes-only kind of guy. I guess the others were as well.

They went with pepperoni, sausage, hamburger, and Canadian bacon. Aunt Sue, Allie, Leah, and I chose mushrooms, green olives,
black olives, and more mushrooms. Pile It On honored its name. The guy at the counter piled it on until we told him to stop. Then into the oven they went.

We took two pitchers of root beer to a long wooden table. Allie, Leah, and even Aunt Sue, jockeyed for chairs at the table until miraculously, somehow, Brad ended up sitting beside me. Aunt Sue was at the head of the table, with Joe beside her, then Leah and Sam. Allie sat across from Sam, Brad was between Allie and me, and I was beside Aunt Sue. It couldn't have worked out better, except of course, for poor Allie who was stuck at the far end of the table across from my brother. I was afraid if she spent too much time with him she might re-evaluate her friendship with me. Was it worth putting up with Sam?

I glanced down there and saw that Sam was actually being polite, smiling, and talking with her. That was something that I didn't see very often—Sam being pleasant. Of course, I also didn't see him with my friends too often. He tended to avoid us like the plague.

“It's supposed to snow again tonight,” Aunt
Sue said. “Fresh powder will make your ski experience so much better.”

“Do you ski?” Joe asked.

Aunt Sue smiled. “Not as much as I used to. I fancy ski boarding these days and snowmobiling.”

“A lot of people think snowmobiles are bad for the environment,” I said. “The exhaust pollutes the wilderness and the noise disturbs the wildlife.”

“That's true,” Aunt Sue said. “But how else can one appreciate the undisturbed wilderness except by disturbing it a little bit? And once you get deep into the woods, away from town, turn off the engines…it is so humbling.”

“Humbling?” Brad asked.

I loved the deep rumble of his voice. It just sorta went through me and I couldn't help but think about how heavenly it would be to have him whispering in my ear.

“It's incredibly quiet,” Aunt Sue said. “A snow-hushed world. You can almost hear the snowflakes fall.”

Brad drew his heavy dark brows together. “Snowflakes make noise?”

“She's being poetic,” Joe said. “Not literal.”

Brad shrugged, reached for the pitcher, and poured himself some more root beer. He nudged his shoulder against mine. “Want some?”

“Yeah.” I held out my mug, smiled when he smiled at me. We were, like, so totally bonding.

When he finished pouring, he set the pitcher down, took a sip of his root beer, and focused his intense gaze on me. “What do you do for fun?” he asked.

And suddenly we weren't at a table with a large group of people anymore. It was just Brad and me. We'd moved from a wink to a nudge to a discussion, but his interest was going to disappear if I didn't think of something exciting to share.

“I like to read mysteries.”

“Read.”

He repeated the word like I'd just told him that I enjoyed stepping in dog poop.

I nodded, trying not to reveal that I was rattled that we didn't share an interest in reading and that he might be ranking me pretty high on the boring-ometer scale.

“I also meditate,” I offered.

“What? Like yoga?”

“Yeah. Focusing on my breathing, the center of my being. I can teach you how.”

He gave me this really wicked grin that set my heart to racing. “I know how to breathe.” He leaned closer and I could smell whatever cologne he used. It was sharp and tangy. “And I know the center of my being.”

“Of course you do.” Think, Kate, think. Now is the time to be witty and clever.

Our number was called. Aunt Sue pointed to the guys. “You guys go grab the pizzas and two more pitchers of root beer.”

As soon as they were far enough away not to notice, I tapped the heel of my hands against my forehead. “I am so lame!”

Reaching out, Aunt Sue rubbed my shoulder. “Katie, sweetie, relax.”

“I can't think of anything interesting to say—after y'all went to so much trouble to make sure I was sitting beside him.”

“It wasn't any trouble, Kate,” Leah said. “Besides, Sam's entertaining us.”

Great. My brother was an entertainer and I was a sleeping pill.

“Just be yourself, Kate,” Aunt Sue said.

“Right. Right.” I could do that.

The guys returned with the pizzas and root beer. As soon as Brad sat down, I said, “I love pizza.”

Laughing loudly, he reached for a piece loaded with so much meat that I couldn't see the cheese. “Me, too.”

I cheered up considerably. I'd made him laugh, and he was still looking at me as he munched his pizza.

“What do you like to do for fun?” I asked.

He chewed, swallowed. “Drive fast, kiss babes, ski.”

Okay, I so didn't want to get into a discussion about him kissing babes, even though I hoped before winter break was over that I would end up being one that he'd kissed. So I went for something safe.

“You know how to ski?”

“Yeah, don't you?”

“Oh, yeah. I just thought maybe you were like Allie and Leah. They've never even seen snow. That's why we were building—well, actually
they
were building, I was just watching—the
snowman.” I really didn't want him to see me as a kid, the way Sam did.

“I've done some skiing,” he reassured me. “I'm not planning to spend much time on the bunny slope.”

The bunny slope was for beginners. Pretty much a simple short incline where you learned to keep your balance and bring yourself to a stop.

“I haven't hung out at the bunny slope in ages,” I said.

“Cool. Maybe we can—”

“Excuse me. Sue? I thought that was you.”

The woman interrupted our conversation, not so much because of her loud voice, but because Brad was suddenly staring past me like he'd just seen a Dallas Cowboys' cheerleader waving her pom-poms in his face. I desperately wanted to know what he was going to suggest that he and I do together. But other than clapping my hands in front of his nose, I didn't know how to get his attention, so I turned toward the voice, and realized my assessment of the person that went with it was right on.

The woman was tall, wearing stretch leggings
and a big red bulky sweater. Even though it was thick, it left no doubt that she filled it out a lot better than I filled out mine. Dolly Parton to my…well, let's just say that the greatly endowed wagon had passed me by. Her blonde hair was cascading in glorious waves around her shoulders instead of hanging in tight curls like mine. She no doubt knew her way around a curling iron.

She was resting a hand on Aunt Sue's shoulder like they were the very best of friends. I couldn't explain it, but I took an immediate dislike to her. Probably because Brad couldn't take his eyes off her and was starting to drool.

“Hey, everyone, this is Cynthia,” Aunt Sue announced, like we all should care when I definitely did not. “She's staying at the condo next to yours. This is my niece, Kate, my nephew, Sam, and their friends.”

“It's great to meet you all,” Cynthia said a little too breathlessly, her voice having a little squeal to it, like she was trying really hard to sound sexy but she just came across sounding like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

She leaned down closer to Aunt Sue. “I'm
sorry to bother you, Sue, but when I saw you sitting over here I thought I might as well take advantage of the opportunity to speak to you. I'm having trouble getting my garbage disposal to work. I was hoping you could send a maintenance guy over first thing tomorrow.”

Before Aunt Sue could even open her mouth, Brad piped in with, “I can look at it tonight. I'm good with my hands.”

Cynthia smiled. “I'll just bet you are. Are you sure you wouldn't mind?”

“Hell, no.”

“I hate to disturb your evening.”

“No problem.”

He came out of his chair with so much force that I was surprised he didn't start an avalanche. Cynthia wound her arm around his and snuggled up against him.

“Lead the way, Cynthia,” Brad said, this really goofy, stupid smile on his face.

As they were walking away, I heard Cynthia say, “My friends call me Cyn. I have a feeling you're about to become one of my friends.”

“I wonder if she spells that S-I-N,” I muttered.

I wanted to stick my finger down my throat and gag. Disappointment, hard and heavy, slammed into me as I watched them disappear out the door. Brad had been talking to me, had been on the verge of asking me to do something with him. It wasn't fair that someone else had come along and lured him away so effortlessly.

I think that's what hurt the most. All she'd had to do was show up at our table.

I turned my attention back to the pizza, my appetite gone. To make the situation more unbearable, I discovered Joe watching me. He had a funny look on his face. Sympathy maybe, like he knew I had a serious crush on Brad. And worse, he recognized that the guy had just stomped on my heart.

I
couldn't sleep. My mind kept replaying my stupid banter—or lack thereof—during dinner and the quickness with which Brad had forgotten that I existed. The reality hurt.

And what made it even worse was that he hadn't come home by the time everyone had trudged off to bed at eleven, after watching another football game. It was now midnight. And I was starting to worry about him. I'd be able to get a good clear view of Cynthia's house from the deck. If the lights were still on, that meant they were still up. I really, really wanted them to be awake. I didn't want to contemplate that he was sleeping over there, sleeping with her. He'd just met her. I couldn't lose him completely, that quickly. There had to
be other reasons that he hadn't come home.

For all I knew Brad was out there somewhere, freezing to death, stretched out in the snow between the condos. Unnoticed.

Unlikely, but it could happen. What if he'd been knocking and no one heard him? Joe could be a sound sleeper or a loud snorer. I should have let Joe have the bed tonight, and I should have taken the couch so I could keep a vigil for Brad.

After all, how long could it take to fix a garbage disposal? He could have built her a freaking new one by now. With his teeth.

I got out of bed, grabbed my thick blue fleece robe that I always brought with me to Snow Angel Valley, drew it tightly around me, tied the sash, and slipped into my fuzzy slippers. Gingerly, as quietly as possible, I opened my door and peered out.

All the lights were off, but the TV was on and a fire was blazing in the gas fireplace. Gas wasn't as romantic as the real log fireplace that Aunt Sue had in her store, but it wasn't as much work either. Flip a switch, and we had a fire. No messing with kindling and setting
logs up just right.

I walked out of my bedroom and down the four steps into the sunken part of the living room.

Wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt, his arms folded across his chest, Joe was sitting on the couch, his bare feet resting on the coffee table. My first thought was that they had to be cold. My next thought was that he had large feet. But then most guys did.

He must have heard me approach because he looked over his shoulder. “Sorry. Is the TV too loud?”

“No, I just…” I pulled hard on my sash and looked toward the front door, hoping Brad would walk through it at any second. I was at a loss for words, wondering what excuse I could give Joe to explain why I wanted to step out onto the deck at midnight.

“He's not back yet,” Joe said.

Maybe no excuse was needed. I turned my attention back to Joe, who was watching me with that same intensity that he had at Pile It On Pizza.

“I don't know how he'll get in. He doesn't
have a key, but I guess you'll hear him when he knocks,” I said quietly, so my panic and worry about Brad wouldn't echo between us.

“Yeah, I'll hear him if he knocks. Maybe I'll let him in.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Maybe?”

He shrugged. “Thought he was rude, almost knocking his chair over in his hurry to be with the snow bunny.”

I stared at him. “You didn't like her?”

He jerked his head back in revulsion at the thought and scrunched up his brow. “
Please
.”

I don't know why I took his response as an invitation, but I did. Maybe because it so reflected my opinion of “Cyn.” It made us
compadres
, in sync, buddies. I lowered myself to the couch. “Why didn't you like her?”

“‘I'm so sorry to bother you…'” He did a perfect imitation of her breathless delivery that made me want to laugh. “Give me a break,” he said. “If she was really sorry, she wouldn't have walked over to begin with. A broken disposal isn't exactly an emergency.”

I found it comforting that I wasn't the only one who was less than impressed with our
neighbor, and I didn't think he was really expecting me to answer. I moved back into the corner of the couch and brought my feet up to the cushion. My legs weren't nearly as long as Joe's, so I couldn't stretch them out far enough to rest my feet on the coffee table.

“What are you watching?” I asked, deciding I could keep a lookout for Brad here as easily as I could from the deck.

“
Law and Order
rerun. I think they're on twenty-four–seven these days.”

I snuggled down more deeply into the cushions. “I love
Law and Order
, except for the fact that there aren't nearly enough cute guys on the show.”

“What are you talking about? Lennie was cute.”

I could tell from his grin that he was teasing, but still I felt obligated to defend my position. “Too old. Still, it was sad when Jerry Orbach died.”

“Yeah, I was sorry to hear that. I really liked the way he ended each intro with some wisecrack.” He shook his head. “That Lennie.”

“I was hoping when he left the show that
they'd replace him with some really young, sexy detective. I mean, it's not fair. Jack's assistants are young, sexy women.”

“The show isn't about eye candy. It's got good writing. That's the real star of the show.”

“So you'd be okay if the next time they replaced Jack's assistant, she wore orthopedic shoes, and her gray hair in a bun?”

“Hey, let's not get too carried away here. Don't need to eliminate the sweets completely…and maybe you have a point about not enough young guys.”

I drew my legs closer to my body, wrapped my arms around them, and placed my chin on my knees. I liked the way that Joe never tried to bully me into anything, the way he'd helped keep things calm earlier when I'd presented my list of rules.

“Is that the reason Sam called you Mr. Law and Order? Because you like this show?”

“Nah, he calls me that because I'm majoring in criminal law.”

“Are you going to be a lawyer?”

“No, I'm thinking more along the lines of
FBI, maybe CIA.”

“Wow, that's pretty ambitious.”

“Well, don't be too impressed. I still have three and a half years to go. A lot can happen between now and then. I gotta get all the basic coursework out of the way first.”

I could see him working for the FBI or the CIA. He didn't have the overpowering presence that Brad did, but there was something about him that made me feel really safe, comfortable. He treated me like an equal, like someone whose opinion he valued, like I was interesting.

“Sam's never talked about you. How did you meet him?”

Not that Sam was in the habit of talking to me about his friends. As a matter of fact, he seldom talked to me about anything.

“We live in the same dorm. My room is across the hall from his.”

“I didn't see you when I was there for family weekend.”

“I know.”

Something about the way he said it…

“Did you see me?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

As though suddenly embarrassed, he looked at the TV, pointed at the screen. “Angie Harmon. My favorite.”

It was strange. Sitting here in the dark with the dancing firelight and the flickering images from the TV washing over him, it occurred to me that he might be better looking than Brad. Not in the same rugged way that Brad was, of course. Brad was…well, Brad looked tough. Strong. Joe looked…well, he looked tough, too, but in a nicer kind of way. I wasn't making sense, couldn't sort out my thoughts.

But I discovered that I enjoyed watching him.

“What color are your eyes?” I asked.

He jerked his head around so fast that I thought I heard his neck pop.

“What?”

“Your eyes. I noticed them earlier, but I couldn't figure out what color they are.”

I could make out his grin in the shadows.

“Depends on what I'm wearing. If it's blue, my eyes look blue. If I'm wearing green, they look green. Brown, brown.” He rocked his
head from side to side. “The official color on my driver's license is hazel.”

I wasn't sure if I'd ever looked that closely at hazel eyes before. They were kind of intriguing. I was tempted to get up and turn on the light so I could get a better look at his, now that I knew what color they were, but it seemed like an odd thing to want to do.

“Your eyes are one clear-cut color,” he said. “Green.”

“You noticed, huh?”

He studied me for a heartbeat before turning his attention back to the show. “Yeah.”

There it was again. Disappointment…or embarrassment.

But that made no sense. We were talking eye color for goodness' sake.

Joe wore his hair short on the sides and back, a little longer in the front. The strands had a mussed look, the way they might look if a girl had run her fingers through it. Brad's hair was cropped really short. I wouldn't be able to tell if the snow bunny next door had touched them. Thank goodness.

Joe had a well-defined jaw that sported a
day's growth of beard. I guess he would use my bathroom in the morning to shave. That sure seemed intimate. There was a bathroom downstairs between the two basement bedrooms, but the bathroom up here had a door that led into the living room and a door that led into my bedroom.

So, yeah, he'd probably be using my bathroom first thing. I needed to make sure I had the door leading into my bedroom closed.

I twisted around and looked at the front door. I heard Joe sigh like he was irritated with me or something.

“What if he tripped coming over here and he's out there freezing to death?” I asked. “I've heard that you don't know that you're dying because you start to get all warm and drowsy. You just think you're going to sleep.”

“Trust me. He's not out there freezing to death. He didn't trip on his way back over here.”

“How do you know?”

He gave me a sideways glance. “I just know.”

Okay, so if he hadn't tripped…maybe there was another reason he hadn't come knocking on our door. But I so didn't want to
think about that.

“He's probably staying over there, because he doesn't have a key and he didn't want to wake anyone up over here,” I guessed.

“Yeah, I'm sure that's the reason.”

But he said it like he was sure that
wasn't
the reason and he thought I was stupid for thinking it was, that I was stupid for not recognizing that Brad hadn't come home because Cynthia had given him a reason to stay over there. He wasn't so different from Sam. I guessed that was why they were friends. I suddenly didn't like him, his attitude, or his big bare feet resting on the coffee table. Why was I even here? I had skiing to do in the morning and I needed to be rested for it.

I popped up off the couch. “Well, I'm going to bed. Goodnight.”

He looked at me, studying me again, like he was searching for something. “Don't let Sam get to you. It's a guy's job to torment his sisters.”

I wasn't sure how we'd switched the topic from Brad to Sam, but I was okay with it. It was so much safer. It didn't involve my heart.

“It doesn't sound like you torment your sisters,” I said.

“I
always
leave the toilet seat up.”

“Then why did you agree to the rule?”

“Maybe I like you more than I like my sisters.”