Nobody's Business (Nobody Romances) (9 page)

"Mr. Sawyer." Kerri-Sue faced him, her posture ramrod stiff.
"Let me apologize for Ms. Hill's repeated attempts to accost
you. I have no idea why she's here again today, but we won't
allow a repeat of yesterday."

"Actually"-Mr. Sawyer looked over the wall of outrage, then
winked at Lyn. Winked at her!-"Ms. Hill was doing a fairly
decent job of apologizing on her own before you interrupted us."

Kerri-Sue visibly started. "She was?"

"Yes, I was." Amazing how she managed to strike the right
tone between nonchalant and amused. Inside, Lyn simmered.

If Kerri-Sue weren't one of the best instructors in Ski-Hab
history, she'd be unemployed right now. Only her stellar results and Lyn's own reticence to announce her link to the program in front of a stranger saved Kerri-Sue from a speedy
termination announcement. By the end of the day, though, she
and Richie would be having a loooooong talk about KerriSue's future with the organization. Right now, however, Lyn
intended to communicate her displeasure in another manner.
Give the pretty instructor fair warning of what was to come,
in her own subtle way.

"As a matter of fact," Lyn stated flatly, "I was so impressed
with his improvement since yesterday, I was about to ask him
to join me on a bigger slope for the final run of the day."

Hard to tell who was more flabbergasted by that announcement: Mr. Sawyer, Kerri-Sue, or Lyn herself. Even Richie looked
slack jawed and bug-eyed all of a sudden.

Okay. So originally, she'd only intended to invite him for a
cup of coffee after today's lesson. Too bad Kerri-Sue's snide
insinuations had pushed her into challenge territory.

Lyn Hill wouldn't be suckered in by a dare from anyone.
She was a mature woman, a widow. But rile the old Brooklyn
Raine, and she'd never back down. As different from Lyn Hill
as a ski parka was from a bikini.

In the past, she'd never had trouble separating those two
individuals and their unique personalities. Until today. Or maybe yesterday. Brooklyn, after all, would definitely push a
struggling man to the ground in a fit of impatience, while Lyn
wouldn't dream of placing her hands on another person. Certainly not in exasperation or violence or pique or whatever had
been going through her mind at the time.

Still ...

The final run of the day had always belonged to her and
Marc. Together. Alone. From the day they first arrived at
Mount Elsie, each late afternoon, immediately after they hit
the chairs, operators would close down the lift to all other
riders.

Following Marc's death, Lyn had continued the tradition.
Alone. Always alone. Friends, family, Mount Elsie's staff-they
all knew how she valued that last opportunity for peace at the
end of every ski day. She used the time to commune with nature, with Marc's spirit, and with her bittersweet memories.

Why on earth had she just invited this stranger along? To
join her for the one part of her day she'd always reserved for
herself alone? Worse, why did she crave his agreement to her
invitation?

"Lyn?" Kerri-Sue's question drifted into her musings. "Are
you sure?"

Well, well. There was one good thing. Her sudden announcement had converted Kerri-Sue from antagonist to gal-pal. Didn't
that just warm the cockles of her heart?

Good thing too. Lyn hated firing people.

"I'm sure," she said with a firm nod.

The wind whistled the high-pitched song of a pending snow
squall. Ace looked like she'd just announced she was really a
three-footed alien. Richie simply shook his head, perhaps wondering if he should have his hearing checked. Maybe she should
go with him. Have her head examined.

Didn't matter. With or without her inner Brooklyn in control, no way Lyn would back down now. Not with all these
eyes staring at her.

To her surprise, though, Ace's glare swerved toward Mr.
Sawyer. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

"Sure it is," Mr. Sawyer exclaimed. A broad smile lit up his
face.

Once again, a pang of loneliness struck Lyn's heart. When
was the last time a man-a good-looking man, at that-seemed
so eager to spend time with her?

"I'm more than ready to ski with Ms. Hill," Mr. Sawyer
added.

Warmth tingled through Lyn's veins.

"No, you're not," Ace replied, with way too much force to
Lyn's mind.

"I won't take a diamond run," she assured Ace. "We'll hit
Snow Business."

A mid-mountain run with a blue square trail for intermediate
skiers. Lyn always considered green dot trails, meant for beginners, too flat for anyone to have fun. Terrain without a lot of
hills translated to a skier expending tons of energy just to keep
forward and downhill momentum. All that struggle often led
to frustration and, sometimes, injuries. Not the best way to get
a newbie to fall in love with a sport.

"No." Ace practically bit the word over his teeth. "Besides,
Doug and I have plans."

"We do?" Mr. Sawyer sounded genuinely surprised.

Welcome to the club, pal. There's a lot of that going around.

She stole a quick glance in his direction, caught doubt
clouding his features.

Ace laughed. "Dude, those painkillers are seriously messing with your brain."

An undercurrent of tension flickered between Ace and Mr.
Sawyer. Subtle, but Lyn felt it. Could practically taste the unease
in the frosty air. Something was definitely going on between
these two. Something bizarre and not quite as jovial as they both
tried to play.

Meanwhile, Richie and Kerri-Sue directed their own radioactive charges at Lyn. Small wonder the tree line didn't spontaneously combust with all the heat in their circle of friends.

"Shouldn't you be spending this time with your niece and
nephew, Lyn?" Richie asked pointedly.

Lyn guessed what he really meant was, Have you lost your
mind?

The expected answer? Of course not. The inevitable answer? Maybe.

Rather than allow Richie into her private turmoil, she tossed
her head. "Becky and Michael are with their mother and soonto-be stepfather. Doing a little family bonding in Lake Champlain today. Really, Richie, it's not that big a deal. One run with
Mr. Sawyer. I promise I'll take good care of him. It's not like
I don't know how."

Now, see? Here was the problem with Brooklyn Raine. Let
her out of her cage for a minute, and she commandeered the
spotlight. Worse, now that she had an audience waiting for her
to admit she'd made a mistake, Brooklyn would never budge.
Throw in the fact that this was the first guy to raise her awareness quotient in aeons, and they'd have better luck stopping an
avalanche.

"What do you say, Mr. Sawyer?" she pressed. "Would you
like to join me?"

Doug could barely contain his delight. Talk about the mountain coming to Mohammed! He'd spent half the night trying to
concoct a reasonable scenario that would allow him to casually
bump into Lyn Hill, aka Brooklyn Raine, again. The best he'd
been able to dream up was to get off the bunny hill as quickly
as possible and hope for a chance encounter.

With a plan in mind, however lame, he buried his self-pity
and faced today's lessons with Kerri-Sue the way a condemned
man might view a last-minute reprieve from the governor. One
last chance to fix his life and move on. Or give up for good.

To his surprise, the old skills from all those lessons in West
Virginia had come back. Of course, the equipment had vastly
improved over the last two decades. Today, Doug had seized
his moment. And look how quickly fate had rewarded him.
"I'd love to join you."

Careful, he warned himself. Don't look too eager.

"If," he added, "you think I'm ready."

"I've already told you, Doug." Ace managed to eke through
his disapproving frown. "You're not."

"Come on, Ace," Lyn interjected. "It's Snow Business-a
dozen hills, and a nice, even incline. No moguls or steep drops.
Only difference between this slope and that one is that Snow
Business is longer."

"It has nothing to do with the difficulty of the slope," Ace
replied.

"Oh?" Her hands shot to her hips-a confrontational pose
Doug would bet his left arm Ace had never before seen from a
woman. "So what's the problem?"

Ace leveled a cool stare at Doug. "Ask him."

Lyn's focus veered to him, and she frowned. "Mr. Sawyer?
What am I missing here?"

"I have absolutely no idea." He offered her a shrug and a
quirky smile. "I didn't even know Ace was tracking my progress so closely. Tell you what, though. Why don't we let KerriSue be the judge? She's been working with me out here on the
slopes and inside in the gym. She knows what I can and can't do
by now."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Ace snapped.

"Umm ..." Kerri-Sue held up her gloved hands. "I'm not
sure . . ."

Scanning the group around him, Doug realized he was the
only one enjoying this debacle. Everyone else, including Brooklyn or Lyn or whoever, wore a fierce look of either dread or umbrage. What was going on? This wasn't exactly life and death
stuff. He'd seen happier expressions in foxholes.

Had he ever fretted over the trivial like this? Funny how
perspectives changed when daily living meant dodging incendiary devices, fending off sniper fire, and, of course, dealing
with a missing limb.

He cast a glance at the soldiers on the sideline. They would
understand his confusion. They knew all about living in the
moment. And PTSD, and the loss of friends, and returning to
a home where they weren't always welcome.

"This is ridiculous," Brooklyn said at last. "Look, I'm heading over to the triple chairlift. If Mr. Sawyer decides to join me,
that would be wonderful. If not, I'll take the run alone. End of
story."

In a repeat performance from yesterday, she pushed off
with her poles and shussed away.

Oh no, you don't. You're not getting away easy this time.

With a quick salute to the cluster of frowning individuals,
Doug flashed a grin at Ace. "See ya." He fumbled with his goggles on his helmet but managed to slide them into place, shove
off on his one pole, and propel himself forward. "Hey, Ms. Hill,
wait up."

To his surprise, she stopped. And waited for him to catch up. The smile on her face reminded him of all those toothpaste ads she'd done in the nineties. God, she still had it: that
sparkle he remembered from years ago. Whereas in her youth
she'd packaged her wow factor in a sassy look and confident
manner, this woman drew his attention thanks to her wistful
quality, a hint of sadness that tinged her eyes.

He felt his conscience being zapped, an electric pulse of guilt,
but he mentally shoved away the sensation. Brooklyn Raine's
smile, sad or otherwise, represented his way back. After surviving the stormiest episode of his life and landing broken on the
rocks, she had become his beacon, his rainbow-the promise
of better days to come.

"Thanks for coming along," she said.

"Thanks for inviting me."

Once he neared her, she pointed one ski pole at a small break
in the otherwise heavy tree line. "Go up this way and down the
other side," she directed. "And don't stop or you'll never maintain the speed necessary to make it to the lift from here."

He skied into the pine and birch-framed path, then caught
the downward slope and picked up speed. The narrow route
gave him just enough of an incline to allow his skis to glide onward. Snow-covered needles brushed his jacket in soft whiffs.

Seconds later, he wended his way into the clearing that brought
him to the end of a longer trail, a few feet from the boarding area
for the triple chairlift. A chairlift that had already stopped running for the day.

A lanky teenage boy rearranged the gates to block anyone
from entering. Near the steps leading to the lodge, the diehard snow enthusiasts popped off their skis before trudging
inside to pack up gear or regroup in the upstairs tavern for
some apres-ski fun.

Doug blew out a breath of frustration. Too late. He'd missed
his opportunity by mere seconds.

"Keep going!" Brooklyn shouted from behind him. "Don't
stop now."

He pushed himself forward, but she sped past him in a blur
of black and red. Skis spitting snow, she stopped near the kid
at the gates while Doug inched slowly toward the quiet lift. Whatever she said, Doug couldn't hear, but the boy nodded
and stepped aside to pull the barriers apart.

"Come on." Brooklyn waved Doug closer.

He barely edged inside the black vinyl tape before the teen
closed off the entrance once again.

"Give me two seconds," the kid said as he ran to the booth
beside the boarding area. "I'll let Ryan know you're on your
way up." Once inside the booth, he picked up the phone.

On a squeal and hum of machinery, the chairs began ascending again.

Brooklyn Raine broke into a little hip shimmy reminiscent
of her ski style so many years ago. "Shall we, Mr. Sawyer?"