Nobody's Business (Nobody Romances) (8 page)

Lyn's delicate snickers were drowned out by Jeff's more thunderous laughter. Her older sister's self-deprecating humor apparently appealed to a wide audience.

"Let's face it," April added when the room quieted again,
"Summer's much more organized than I am. And since the
whole world is gonna be watching, I need as close to perfection as I can get. Without Summer to run her usual drill sergeant interference, I'll just make a muck of it."

Jeff picked up his fiancee's hand, clasped within his, and
brushed a light kiss across her knuckles. "You can do this just
fine on your own. I don't care what the rest of the world thinks.
A nice, small intimate gathering is perfect enough for us. We're
not exactly shooting for the cover of People magazine."

Understanding lit fireworks inside Lyn's brain. "Wait a
minute. You're looking for perfection on your wedding day so
you won't disappoint the press?"

"Yes." April rolled her eyes with all the subtle meaning of
an angsty teenager. "I know. You think it's stupid-"

"No," Lyn interjected. "I understand. Honestly. I do. I've been
there. Remember? From our first date in Oslo to the wedding at
St. Patrick's Cathedral and the reception at the Waldorf?"

And the honeymoon in St. Moritz, the years on the circuit
as "the ski world's love bunnies." Followed a few short years
later with the multiple trips to Memorial Sloan-Kettering's
oncology center, all while cameras watched and recorded every
single, agonizing moment. Right up to the funeral home and
that vile photo of Marc's cancer-ravaged face lying on a white
satin pillow in a gleaming cherrywood casket.

Pop! Inside the fireplace, a particularly dry piece of wood
crackled and snapped beneath the roaring flames.

On a shiver, she pushed the ugly memories away.

Never again. Never again would she allow anyone to entertain the world with her pain. Or her joy. Or even her favorite
color.

"Lyn?" Once again, April's voice brought her back from
her solemn thoughts. "Are you okay?"

She forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just tired."

April immediately became contrite. "I'm sorry. We're keeping you awake, aren't we? I forgot how early you get up in the
morning."

"It's all right," she said with a sigh. "Listen, April, Jeff? Can
I give you one piece of advice?"

The couple exchanged a wary glance, then April nodded.
"Sure."

"I know this may sound silly, but indulge me anyway. Try
to think of the media as a giant monster with an unlimited appetite. You keep feeding it with photo ops and interviews and
the monster keeps growing bigger and bigger. The bigger it
grows, the hungrier it becomes. Until soon, you don't have
enough to feed the media monster. And that's when it rips your
heart out of your chest."

By secretly crashing a wake to take photos of your dead
husband lying in his casket, which wind up splashed on the
front page of every rag in the country.

"Don't do it, guys," she murmured. "Don't feed the monster. Please."

Ace would have probably been disappointed to know his departure came as a blessing to Doug. With the familiar adrenaline
pumping through his blood, Doug called his editor in New York
to talk about Ski-Hab, Brooklyn Raine, and his recent run-in
with the former ski champ.

Jake practically salivated at the idea of a full-length feature
article regarding the program and, more importantly, its heretofore unknown sponsor.

"You're sure it's her?" Jake's rapid speech communicated
his eagerness to believe what Doug told him. "Brooklyn Raine.
The Brooklyn Raine."

"The one and only," Doug said. "Ace confirmed it for me a
few minutes ago. I'm guessing that's how he got to use the program for his community service. Apparently, he and Brooklyn
know each other fairly well."

"You think they're an item?"

An image popped, unbidden, into Doug's head. Ace scanning the girls in the lodge with his biggest yes-I'm-who-youthink -l-am grin lighting up his beach boy features. Then the
Coyote, eyes glittering with feral challenge. Brooklyn Raine
and Ace Riordan? An item?

"No." No way the Coyote on the hill would come second to
anyone in life. Not even Ace Riordan, snowboarding's Aerial
Snowball. "Not a chance," he added for emphasis.

"Too bad."

"Excuse me?" Jake, looking for gossip? Since when?

"Women love a good romance, Doug. Particularly between
a younger man and older woman. Cougars, they're calling 'em
nowadays. By adding the female point of view, we could double our readership with a story like that. Remember Brooklyn's husband? Handsome guy struck down in his prime?"

"Marc Cheviot," he rattled off automatically.

"That's him. You remember when he died?"

"Vaguely." He'd been an intern at a small newspaper in Iowa
at the time, in charge of digging up the research on Cheviot's accomplishments on the slopes for the obituary. Hadn't really
thought about Marc Cheviot since. Until now.

"Every reporter worth his ink had a piece of that press pie,"
Jake was saying. "The world wept. It was beautiful. One of
those perfect news stories that touched everyone. Men, women,
kids, Americans, Canadians, Europeans, sports fans, romance
fans, gossip fans. For a full week, the global spotlight shone on
Cheviot and his widow. Then, after it was all over, the widow
disappeared." Jake paused to take a breath, but before Doug
could say anything, he pressed on. "You're sure it's her? Ace
confirmed it? How? When? Give me particulars, Sawyer."

Doug offered a quick rundown, skipping over his many conversations with Ace regarding his adolescent crush.

"So Ace never let on until now," Jake replied. "That alone
tells me there's a story in this somewhere. Something sweet
and juicy. My eye's twitching like a jackhammer."

Jake considered his facial tic akin to a personal Magic 8 Ball.
The more his eyelid fluttered, the hotter the story promised to
be. Like Doug, Jake sensed a bombshell in Ski-Hab. Unlike
Doug, Jake wouldn't be interested in the heartwarming aspect,
but in the secrecy.

"You've got a former ski champion dumping money into a
program to help disabled vets. And she isn't looking for publicity? Why? What's she got to hide?"

"Probably nothing-"

"Cow pods. All women have something to hide, Sawyer.
Remember that. You'll save yourself a lot of heartache."

"Right," Doug replied, biting back most of the sarcasm that
tingled on his tongue. "What was I thinking?"

According to legend, Jake's chauvinistic attitude had first
flared when women reporters were finally allowed in men's
locker rooms a few decades ago. His animosity had only increased in volatility with the appearance of the WNBA, Danica Patrick in the Indy, and Muhammad Ali's daughter in the
boxing ring.

Of course, his four marriages and consecutive divorces only
added to his suspicions regarding ulterior motives in the fairer
sex.

"What do you need from me?" Jake asked.

This time, Doug didn't hesitate. "A laptop with voiceactivated typing software and a steady source of Internet service. Wi-Fi is spotty up in the mountains.'-'

"I'll have it expressed to you first thing tomorrow. And
Doug?"

"Yeah?"

"Welcome back."

For the first time in months, sheer joy warmed Doug from
the inside out. "Thanks."

At precisely 3:45 the next afternoon, Lyn stood on the same
crest between Snow Blind and Snow Wonder. A paper-white sky
surrounded her, and the air held that sharp clean scent of coming
snow.

Once again, she studied the group of students, this time,
though, paying special attention to the man working under
Kerri-Sue's tutelage. He seemed more confident today, more
in tune with his skis and his balance. The uncertainty she'd
sensed yesterday had evaporated like mist over the mountains.

Now, Kerri-Sue stood at the bottom of the hill, looking up at
her protege, much as Lyn stared down from above-twin guardian angels. Meanwhile, Mr. Sawyer carved perfect S-shaped
lines, working the pole in his left hand with precision to propel
him downhill at a steady, even pace. His skis dug deep grooves
into the packed powder, his knees clearly pushing with all their
might. How quickly he'd become acclimated to the balance
needed with one arm! Almost as if some inner demon drove him
to succeed.

As Lyn watched, an idea glimmered in her brain. She knew
exactly what she had to do. Before logic or fear could take hold
and dissuade her, she barreled down from the top of the hill
until she skied beside him.

His double take registered surprise at her approach, and he
came to a hard stop with a scritch of his skis on the hardpacked snow. When she halted alongside him, frown lines
etched the area around his full lips. He lifted his arm, and his
ski pole flew, nearly hitting her shoulder. Luckily, she leaned
back, out of harm's reach.

Without so much as an apology, he gripped the edge of his
goggles and yanked them atop his gleaming black helmet. Coceyed, of course. Some one-handed skills still eluded him.

His eyes, a clear hazel that reflected gray, green, and gold,
glittered feral in his sharp, angular face.

My God. He's the Big Bad Wolf. And I'm about to tangle
with him? After yesterday?

Anxiety skittered like ball bearings over her nerve endings.
She sucked in icy air, felt the old Brooklyn Raine persona rouse
inside her.

Breathe deeply. Maybe he doesn't remember you.

"What'd I do wrong this time, Ms. Hill?"

Dagnabbit. He remembered her.

She gulped a huge ball of emotion, a jumble of exhilaration
and dread she hadn't experienced since her competition days.

He was older than she'd originally thought, probably close to
her own age. A refreshing change from the twentysomethings
normally involved in Ski-Hab. And not bad looking, if only he
wouldn't scowl at her so lethally.

Down, girl. Lyn silently scolded the inner Brooklyn. Unfortunately, once awakened, the old Brooklyn didn't surrender
easily.

Oh, come on, Lyn. Look at him! She studied Mr. Sawyer
with the smoldering awareness of a female alone too long.
Hubba, hubba.

"Well?" he demanded. "Go ahead already. List my errors
and faults. Just be sure to keep your hands to yourself this time.
What would you like to correct for me today?"

She could have taken offense, could have responded with
her own biting retort. Instead, she offered a weak smile. "Nothing. In fact, as far as I know, you did nothing wrong yesterday
either. And yet, you've improved vastly since I was unforgivably rude to you"

"I-" He started to say something, but she cut him off with
a quick upraised hand.

She didn't dare allow him to argue. Given half an opportunity to hesitate, she'd back down for sure.

"No, please. Let me finish." To make sure he heeded her request, she rushed through the rest of what she planned to
say. "I've been watching you a good part of today."

God, that didn't sound right at all. Made her seem like some
crazed stalker. He must have thought so too because one sooty
eyebrow arched in her direction.

Somewhere deep inside her brain, Brooklyn Raine gripped
the helm. Taking advantage of Lyn's hesitancy, she careened
to the front of the personality line.

Oh, for heaven's sake, could you screw this up any worse?

Well, let's find out, shall we?

Watch and learn, honey.

"I'm not a stalker or anything. Honest. I was hoping to
come up with a way to atone for my behavior yesterday. What
I did ... pushing you like that? It was horrible. I mean, I think
back on it, replaying it in my mind, you know? And I can't
believe I did such a vicious, cruel thing."

"Yeah, well, that makes two of us," he said.

Strangely, she detected more humor than malice in his tone.
And the lines around his mouth-his generous, full mouthsmoothed. At least he hadn't hauled off and slugged her. Yet.

On a deep breath, she plowed on. "I'm really very sorry. And
I'd like to make it up to you."

"Lyn?" Kerri-Sue's iron-laced question came from behind
her.

She whirled. And frowned. Apparently, Kerri-Sue had called
in the cavalry. Because there was Richie Armstrong on KerriSue's left and Ace Riordan on her right. They flanked her, a
wall of disapproval with folded arms and tight lips drawn into
stern lines.

Lyn returned Kerri-Sue's frigid glare.

Tattletale.

As if she gained strength from the men behind her, KerriSue snorted. With her eyebrows arched, she added, "Can we
help you with something today?"

Oh, for heaven's sake. She wasn't some ax murderer who'd
targeted Mr. Sawyer as her next victim.

"No." She layered her voice with enough ice to freeze Miami
Beach. "I was simply speaking to Mr. Sawyer."

"Since that went so well yesterday?" Kerri-Sue retorted.

Wow. The hostility radiating around the trio momentarily
left Lyn speechless.