Nobody's Business (Nobody Romances) (11 page)

"Are you deliberately changing the subject?"

From the corner of her eye, she gauged the distance to the
incline and the gear house. "My question needs an answer
right away. Yours can wait."

"That's a matter of opinion."

Her attention swerved back to him pronto. "What is? Whether
or not you need help getting off the lift? You may not believe
this, but I'm pretty familiar with the Ski-Hab program, so you
needn't feel embarr-"

"Will you have dinner with me?"

The ramp loomed closer. "Would you forget about that right
now? Do you need help getting off the lift? Yes or no?"

"Answer my question first. Will you have dinner with me
tonight? Yes or no?"

God, no. But she couldn't turn him down flat. Not after yesterday's fiasco. The last thing she wanted was to hurt the man's
feelings. Again. Her skis hit the front of the ramp with a thumpswish. "Can we talk about this later? Please?"

He shrugged, leaning back, totally at odds with her readyto-spring-from-the-lift stance. "I can continue to sit here and
make the kid in the booth take me back down on the chair if
you don't say yes," he threatened.

Well, wouldn't that tick off Ryan, the kid in the booth? And
Kevin, in the other booth, who was probably waiting at the
bottom end of the lift with one foot out the door? Kevin hadn't
exactly been thrilled that she'd chosen his particular lift to ride
after closing time. Apparently, the kid had some major video game competition at a friend's house tonight, and her request
was going to make him sit out the first round. Now, if he had to
wait for Mr. Sawyer to come back down to the base area? Annoyance pricked her nape. A ticked-off Kevin would complain
to everyone, and she'd become the mountain's resident pariah.

The chair hovered near the end of the unloading zone. Her
skis flattened against the crest. They had breaths of time now
before the chair would swing around, and Ryan would either
have to stop the lift for them to jump off or take them back
down the other side, their last run of the day nothing more than
a missed opportunity and a thorn in Kevin's side.

"Yes or no, Ms. Hill?" Mr. Sawyer pressed.

Three...

Ridiculous. Aside from guests at her bed-and-breakfast, she
didn't dine with strangers. And certainly not dinner, which denoted a certain romantic connotation.

Two...

Besides, she had to go home. Had things to do. April, Jeff,
and the kids might already be back from their day trip to Lake
Champlain-particularly if they left, oh, say, fifteen minutes
after they arrived there.

One...

Her arguments crumbled. "All right, all right! Yes. I'll go to
dinner with you. Now get off!" She lifted her bottom off the
seat, felt the chair push her down the opposite side of the ramp.

As she made the turn around the massive steel tower of the
lift, the swish of his skis beside her broke the silence. Five seconds later, the hum of the chairlift ground to a halt. At least
Kevin would only miss the first round. And maybe he wouldn't
hold it against her forever.

Mr. Sawyer zipped closer and flashed a smug grin. "There
now. Was that so hard?"

"No." She clenched her teeth to bite back the rest of her
retort.

"But ... ?" he prompted.

So much for keeping her thoughts to herself. The man was
perceptive, she'd grant him that much. Somehow, he'd become
fully aware she had more to say. Okay, fine. He wanted to know? She'd let him have it with both barrels. "Look, Mr.
Sawyer-"

"Doug," he corrected.

"Doug," she said with a sigh. "The only reason you got me
to agree was because you used blackmail."

"Blackmail?" His eyes rounded in mock innocence, sooty
lashes batting surprise clearer than Morse code's SOS. "I never
resort to blackmail. It was a dare."

A shiver rippled her spine. A dare. Why did he have to dare
her?

She stopped at the crest of the first hill and inhaled the
crisp, clean air for fortitude. When he halted beside her, she
studied him cryptically. Something about Doug Sawyer put
her on edge. Not in a bad way. More like the adrenaline rush
she used to experience immediately before the buzzer sounded
at the start of a competition. An addictive high she'd kicked
years ago. Or at least, she'd thought she kicked it.

"Wanna race to the bottom?"

His question must have become mangled in her gray matter. He couldn't possibly have asked ...

She blinked. Didn't he have any idea who he challenged?

No, of course not. Why would he?

Despite the electricity tingling in her veins at the thought of
a race, she shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Afraid I'll beat you, huh? Well, that's understandable. I'm
a big threat. A one-armed recent graduate of the bunny slope
who's got at least eighty pounds and about fourteen inches on
you. Yes, sir. Which anyone who took basic physics courses
can tell ya translates into a real speed demon on a downhill."

"That's precisely why I won't race you," she replied. "When
I win, you'll be crushed."

"When you win?" He mimed an arrow piercing his chest,
complete with the slight stagger backward and the exaggerated
expression of pain. "Aw, now you've gone and wounded my
male pride. Again."

"Again?"

He tilted his head toward hers. Dear God, his eyes would peer
into her soul if she let them. To prevent such an occurrence, she veered her gaze to the trail below them. Not quite as smooth
as she would have liked. Some icy patches, one or two sparse
areas where brown grass peeked up through the veneer.

"You do recall when you planted me in the snow yesterday,
right?" he said dryly.

Her focus snapped back to him, face filling with heat. "I
told you I was sorry about that-" His laughter stopped her in
mid-excuse. "You're teasing me?"

"No, I'm challenging you." He shoved the point of his pole
into the snow. "For fun. And to challenge myself. I was a fairly
decent skier before my accident. You've given me my first opportunity to really find out what I can do with this." He flapped
his empty sleeve again. "Let's open 'er up and see what happens.
What do you think?"

What did she think? A challenge. The air crackled, as if
she'd pulled a woolen cap from her hair. She smiled. "What if
I win?"

"If you win, I slink back to the bunny hill, honorably defeated. What's more, I release you from our dinner date."

Date? The smile evaporated, and she gulped the anxiety
rising in her throat. A ... date? He really was asking her on a
date?

"And you can go back to"-he paused-"whatever it is you
planned to do tonight."

Yeah, right. What she'd planned was basically what she always did on Tuesday nights. Dinner alone, followed by watching Mrs. Bascomb's stellar imitation of Madame Defarge for
an hour or two. In bed by ten with the evening news and lights
out before the weatherman predicted the next snowfall. Oh,
sure. Rip-roarin' times at Snowed Inn Bed-and-Breakfast.

"But if I win," he continued, "we keep our date."

"Not a date. An engagement," she corrected, then practically
bit her tongue in half. Good God, that sounded even worse
than date.

And of course, his grin let her know he had no intention of
allowing her to wriggle out of her own trap.

"Engagement?" He batted his eyes, cupped his left hand
near his chin like a schoolgirl. "Gee, this is so sudden. Is it okay if I take some time to think about it? I mean, I like you
and all, but-"

"Okay! Okay! You're on!" Anything to stop his inanity. Besides, the rush of icy wind from a good downhill sprint just
might cool the burn in her cheeks before she spontaneously
combusted. "Winner is the one who reaches the base lodge
first."

He wagged a gloved index finger near her nose. "I want you
to give it your all," he said. "No letting me win because you feel
sorry for me."

"Sorry for you?" She laughed, completely at ease with this
easygoing, wacky man. "Trust me, Mr. Sawyer, the last thing
I feel for you is sympathy."

"It's Doug," he replied with a wink. "You think you can remember that? It'll make our dinner together much more comfortable if we're on a first-name basis."

"Since we won't be having dinner, I see no reason to get
comfortable."

"You're awfully sure of yourself."

She practically shimmied in her boots. "Believe me, I have
reason to be."

"Okay, then." He yanked his ski pole out of the ground.
"Game on."

Laughter threatened to bubble from Lyn's lips, but she
clamped her mouth shut around her mirth. Poor Mr. SawyerDoug-was about to find himself playing catch-up through her
snowy wake.

"Shall I count off?"

The eagerness in his tone, the confidence behind the words,
nearly fractured her composure. Somehow she managed to
keep her enjoyment bottled up inside and give him a nod of
approval.

Until the moment he shouted the word "Go!"

Emitting her usual competition whoop, she shot forward
and hurtled downhill with the determination of an avalanche.
As she gained speed on the first descent, wind slapped her nose
and cheeks. The long-accustomed rhythm of decades on the
slopes returned to her legs and arms, propelling her downward
easily. The scritch of edges on ice sang nostalgic. Joy invigorated her, brought an arrogant grin to her lips. That familiar
adrenaline rush flourished in her brain, and she turned to see
how close Marc was behind her.

No...

Not Marc. Doug.

The visions assailed her before she could force them away.
Marc's smiling face on the slopes. How his eyes crinkled when
he laughed. The way he looked at night. The way he looked in
the morning when he first woke up. The light in his eyes at the
Oslo Awards dinner, their first real date. The dimming of that
light just before she kissed him good-bye for the very last time.

Her knees faltered. The edge of her downhill ski caught a piece of crud. She skidded, one leg up, the other down, and neither in control.

Time slowed, allowing her to experience the fall inch by
inch. The air hushed. Her arms flapped, her back arched, and
the skis continued sliding from beneath her. Meanwhile her
heartbeat rattled her rib cage, and her pulse kicked up a notch.
Or ten.

The icy ground came nearer to her floundering form. After
what seemed an eternity, her left hip slammed the frigid earth
with a bone-crushing jar. Stars dazzled her eyes. The breath
erupted from her mouth in a pitiful mew. A flurry of ice flew
into her face, pricking her cheeks below her goggles. She lay
on her side and waited for the aftershocks to ease enough for
her brain to reboot.

Okay...

Step one: Survey the damage.

Gingerly, she rolled to her other hip. Pain sprayed across her
back. This was so not good. Pretty darn stupid, in fact. A thirtyfive-year-old woman should not behave like a reckless teenager. Suddenly feeling every minute of her real age, Lyn brought
her knees toward her chest and laid her skis one behind the
other. For a moment, she remained still, inhaling one harsh
breath after another.

"Lyn!" Doug's panicked voice broke from the crest of the
hill.

She sighed. Caught. How humiliating.

"Good God." His skis came to a hard stop a few feet from
her nose. "Are you all right?"

"I think so." She hoisted herself up to her haunches, and
lightning forked through her pelvis. Collapsing to the ground
again, she met Doug's worried gaze. For the first time in years,
fear crept into her tone. "The hip hurts a lot. You'd better go get
a sled."

"No." He flipped his goggles above his helmet. "I'm not leaving you alone here. If you can get up, we'll take it slow down the
mountain-"

"And risk more serious injury to both of us?" she interjected, then winced. The pain edged her tone sharper than a frozen razor. Inhale, exhale. Try again. This time with some
feigned bravado. "Trust me. It's not a good idea for me to go
cavorting down the mountain with an injury, no matter how
slight."

He sidestepped closer on his skis. "How bad is it?"

With a wave of her hand, she shooed him away. "Go. I'm
okay. Really. I just don't think I should push my luck right now."

Crouching, he tilted his head closer. Honestly. Did he expect to read her diagnosis based on the slightest twinge in her
expression? Good luck, buddy.

"You're sure?" he asked.

She forced herself to recline on her elbows, as if she currently
relaxed on some tropical beach. The pain resonated through her
teeth, but she managed a quick smile and a nod. "Yup. It's all
good. Just a little stiff."

"Okay, if you say so." He shot up like a bottle rocket, slid
his goggles into place. "I'll fly down there, I promise."

"Don't you dare!" At her outburst, his focus veered back in
her direction. The amber tint in his lenses prevented her from
seeing his eyes, but she sensed his misgivings anyway. "If you
fall and injure yourself trying to get help for me," she explained,
"we'll be in a lot more trouble. Take it slow and safe, please."