Warm Winter Love (2 page)

Besides, there was something in the set of Jason’s mouth—she could see it even now as light filtered into the car from passing streetlights—a certain something that projected a strong and reliable personality that told her that no matter what was going to happen, Jason would always be there for her. It was something she didn’t even have to think about, let alone discuss. She just knew that Jason would always be faithful, that there would be no other women in his life . . . ever. She would see him at the breakfast table every morning and he would always be home in the evenings with her, unlike her father, who had always been somewhere up or down the East Coast throughout the week, selling machinery to the shipyards, sometimes not making it home for even part of the weekend. No, that was another plus for Jason—he would always be there, and she would always be able to count on him. On birthdays, holidays, and summer vacations, Jason would always be with her.

“Why so quiet?” He turned up the heater.

“Oh, I don’t know . . . just thinking.”

“About us?” He smiled and she nodded.

“Yes, just thinking about how nice it is being with you.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “How nice it is with you now and how it will be later when . . .” She shrugged. “I just feel very comfortable with you, Jason,” she added, and he softly squeezed her hand.

Later, after their coffee and after Jason had left, while she was reading the last of the papers, she remembered Irene’s words: “Haven’t you changed too?” She put down the blue marking pencil and rubbed her nose.

“Have I?” she wondered. She leaned back against the cushions of the couch and looked around the living room and at her collection of music boxes on the end table. She leaned over and picked one up, listening to the faint, tinny sound of an almost unrecognizable tune. “Maybe I have,” she said, replacing it on the table. “Maybe I have.”

Chapter Two

She looked out her window at the mountains dotted with skiers in brightly colored jackets and hats and she smiled. This was what she had waited for, what she dreamt about for the past few months and especially what she needed. Jason was right; both the teachers and students were all a bit tired of the school routine; vacation time would work wonders for them and then they’d all be ready to return to the classroom.

She saw the deep piles of snow and heard, through the glass panes, children shouting and laughing as they took some of their first runs on the beginners’ slopes. Yes, this was what was missing in her life; this was her kind of weather, her kind of vacation. No matter what Jason and Irene said, nothing could compare to this vista. Forget about the sun and the water and the beach. Why would anyone prefer sand when you could have this?

She opened the window and took a deep breath of the cold air. Ever since she earned her first paycheck and took her first solo holiday this had been her one vice—a week’s vacation in the mountains in the winter. A week of quiet and solitude and clear thinking. Her friends had always teased her about her heading north when they were all travelling south. Think of the beach and the water and the sun, they would say and she would just shake her head. Forget about the sand, she told them—she would take the wind and the cold and the snow over their tanning lotions and hot suns. Not even Jason understood her fantasy of skiing but he always encouraged her to get away on her own. That was one of the first things they had agreed on early in their relationship—that each was to do what pleased them most and there would be no forcing the other one to do anything that didn’t appeal to them. “Fair is fair,” Jason said so she didn’t go sailing or camping (his choices) and he didn’t go skiing or to yoga (her choices). Sometimes, though, she wished that they were more in agreement about things. Maybe after they were married…

She unpacked his picture from her suitcase—the candid shot Irene took of the two of them in front of the school, he with his arm around her shoulders, and she laughing at something he had said. She blew on the glass and rubbed at a smudge and then looked closely at the photo. Dear Jason, good old Jason, she thought, and then set the frame on the bed table. If he chose not to come with her—well, at least he could be here in spirit.

She glanced again at the dazzling white scene outside and smiled at the bright sunshine that was reflected in the endless blanket of snow that covered the entire skiing area. It was real snow—not man-made—and more was predicted to fall through this evening and tomorrow.

“Yes! Go for it, Katie,” she said aloud as she put on her hood, slung her skis over her shoulder and headed for the slopes. It was finally time for fun. Finally time for her!

~

There weren’t more than ten people waiting in line for the lift to the medium slope and while she tightened her ski straps, she looked up to the top of the mountain, letting her eyes become accustomed to the blur of the stark whiteness. She adjusted her sunglasses and reached for the T-bar, thinking as it whisked her up the slopes that she had already forgotten about assignments and book reports and everything else about her life back home. Magic Mountain had already lived up to its name—the winter sport had pushed out all the other mundane daily thoughts in her mind.

She took her first run slowly, wanting to savor the experience, wanting to take in the full satisfaction of the downhill slide and by the time she had gone up and skied to the base for a third time, she was back to her old form.

“Nice run.” She heard the deep voice behind her and turned and saw a tall, slim man in a black nylon jacket. “Nice,” he said, motioning toward the downward trail.

“It sure is and I’ve been waiting for two months for this day.” She took hold of the T-bar again and saw that the young man was in back of her, next in line. “Fantastic day, isn’t it?” There, that was a nice, innocent statement.
“You have to be careful,”
she remembered Jason’s cautioning her,
“sometimes you’re too friendly, Katie.”
Jason was right—too many times her friendliness could have been misinterpreted.

The skier rubbed his gloved hands together. “Everything’s perfect,” he said as he reached for his own bar. “Just perfect.”

She made two more passes before noon, and then, exhausted, returned to her room. No sense overdoing it the first day; she had six more glorious days of skiing ahead of her and if the weather held tonight, she’d take a few more runs this evening when they lit the slopes. This afternoon, though, she’d take a break and go to the souvenir shop down the road to buy Jason and Irene small gifts.

~

The little home-spun shop never seemed to change in all the years that she had been coming here. She loved the tinkling sound of the entrance door bell and the smell of cedar incense and perfumed soaps and potpourri that mingled and permeated the small store and at each turn of an aisle, she would pause and inspect the items displayed on the dark wooden shelves. Nothing seemed right for Jason until she discovered the plastic water globe with a small marble-sized baseball floating inside. She picked up the ornament and turned it upside down so that the ball bobbed and weaved within the liquid while silver colored confetti swirled around it. Yes! This was absolutely perfect for him. Now for Irene.

“Hello. So we meet again!” She recognized the voice and turned and saw the skier she had met on the slopes that morning. “I see you’ve given up already, too.”

She shook her head. “Oh no, not completely but I decided to take it easy since this is my first day back.”

“Smart! Best not to push it.” He grinned and she noticed that the little lines etched around his dark brown eyes were extensions of his smile—a smile that seemed open and innocent and maybe, just maybe, a bit mischievous. He pointed to the baseball globe in her hand. “For a son or a nephew?”

“Neither. For… for a friend.”

“Good choice.” He reached for a small, decorated music box. “What do you think of this?”

“Good choice.” She laughed. “But then I love any music box.” She flipped the switch and smiled as the small lace butterfly atop the box flapped its delicate wings in time to the music. “It’s lovely,” she said.

He frowned. “Would a young girl like it?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely.”

“Good. Then I’ll take it. I never know what to buy her when I’m away on trips.”

“Your daughter?”

“No,” he said emphatically, “but definitely the most beautiful 10-year old girl in the world—my niece, my sister’s daughter. I tell her she’s my all-time favorite-in-the-world-female.” He rewound the toy mechanism. “I don’t get to see her too often though I do text her so I try to send her a surprise every-once-in-a-while just to let her know her uncle is alive and well.” He smiled. “And my sister gets to know where I am, which beats sending her constant e-mails.” He pointed to the cell phone in his pocket. “I hate e-mails and texting.” He gave the shopkeeper the music box and his credit card. “But they are convenient.”

She was amazed at how easy it was to learn so much about him in just a few seconds. He had a niece, a sister, he texted but didn’t like it and he had a great smile. She liked his openness and it was obvious he was used to talking to strangers.

He signed the credit slip the clerk put in front of him. “Going back to the Crest?”

“Not yet. I still have to get another present.” She picked up a woolen scarf and shrugged. “For another friend.”

“And now I know you’ve got two friends.” His laugh confirmed to her that he was used to being friendly. “Well, maybe we’ll see each other on the slopes. Thanks again for the help.”

“Anytime.” She watched him walk to the road and then put the scarf back into a stack on a table. She could have gone back to the Crest with him—she could have bought Irene’s gift another time, but best not to encourage too much responsiveness. Best to keep some distance.

She touched a little glass skier ornament, poked at the small black skis on it and then quickly replaced it on the counter. No, not for Irene—remember how many times she told you she hated snow and cold. She reached for a green decorated box—jasmine scented bath salts were really more Irene’s style.

~

The dining room was crowded and all hopes of getting a table by the windows were gone. She had forgotten to reserve one of the prized tables so that she could look out at the surroundings and watch the light snowfall that had begun within the last hour. Instead, she was seated at the far end of the room with a view mostly of the big potted palm near her. “I’m sorry,” the hostess apologized, “they’ve all been reserved. But I’ll try to save a table for you tomorrow, if you’d like.”

She gave the young waiter her order and then leaned back into her chair and listened to the low sounds of people talking and for a moment she was envious of the couples at the other tables and she wished that Jason were there with her.
Oh, Jason
, she thought,
I wish you weren’t so inflexible—I wish you would just try this once
.

She looked across the room, at and through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and in the twilight she was able to see the hulking shape of the mountain—a huge, shadowy entity that seemed to fade into the night itself. She loved that mountain—she felt that she knew it trail by trail, inch by inch, and snowflake to snowflake and she smiled to herself. She had skied its slopes and had felt the exhilaration of speeding down its side take over her whole being. The mountain was her personal symbol of nature and reality. Magic Mountain was her mystical touchstone!

It was the other mountain a few miles away from the Crest that frightened her. Devil’s Mist! She shuddered. Even the name was forbidding. Those twisted trails weren’t for her. They looked too fearsome… too lonely… too impossible. Some of the other skiers had told her that the mountain wasn’t as menacing or as formidable as it appeared but she didn’t believe them. Not even the fact that she was an expert skier could convince her to ski it. No, she wasn’t about to go down that slope.

Not that she hadn’t tried. She had! When she had first arrived at Cedar Crest and conquered Magic Mountain she was ready for more height and speed, and the guides directed her to Devil’s Mist, telling her that it was “
a run for your money
.” She had picked up her gear and gone there, eager to face the challenge, eager to try the next step. But something happened—she never could quite explain it—and when she stood at the base of Devil’s Mist and looked up and saw the low-hung clouds obscuring the top of the run, she panicked. It was such a silly feeling, she had told herself immediately, but nevertheless the feeling remained. It was the beginning of the mental fight whether she, Katie Jarvis, would win and go down the ski run, or whether Devil’s Mist would defeat her. So far, Devil’s Mist had won.

Katie leaned on her elbow and was fascinated as the lights were turned on illuminating the mountainside. It seemed as if the peak was beckoning to the eager night skiers—luring them from their dinners, calling them to come out for one last run. She was bewitched by the sight of the lights blinking through the falling snow and she was watching so intently that she was startled by the deep voice near her.

“So we meet again. This is getting to be a habit, isn’t it?” She looked up at the now familiar stranger and grinned.

“Seems so.”

He pointed to a table beside a window. “Want to join me?” He smiled at her and she saw that his teeth were just a little bit uneven, making his grin seem even more reckless and as though the rest of the face wanted to laugh and was being held back by a sense of good behavior.