A Matter of Trust(22)

Weird, the way she said that. As if, oddly, they were expected.

It was then he felt something shift in Gage. A flushing of the anger, just for a moment, a capture of breath, a quick glance at Ty.

It had Ty frowning. What . . . ?

And then the door opened wide and a second woman appeared. Ella, he supposed.

He wouldn’t necessarily call her breathtaking, but she had a unique beauty about her. Pale blue eyes, copper red hair. She wore a pair of pink pajama bottoms printed with penguins and an oversized sweatshirt and was carrying a half pint of ice cream, the spoon just sliding out of her mouth.

Her gaze fixed on Gage, and her spoon stilled mid-escape.

“You,” Gage said quietly, his voice almost strained.

Ty looked at him, the way Gage’s chest rose and fell, the way his hands curled tight at his sides. Okay, this was weird.

“I should have guessed that the idiot in the bar was the brother of Ella Blair. And now I know how he got my number. You just can’t stop wrecking my life, can you?”

Huh? As Ty watched, the spoon slid out of her mouth, and for a long moment, she stared at him, her jaw tight.

While Gage could be abrupt, even a jerk, Ty had never seen him quite so rude.

Especially to a woman.

Quietly, Ella spoke. “Nice to see you too, Gage.”

Her words, her soft tone, didn’t seem to dent his ire. “Is your brother here? Because he’s about to do something stupid, and I’m going to have to stop him.”





5


OH, ELLA TURNED INTO SUCH A MESS when Gage Watson entered her airspace. What was it about him that even three years later, and with the advance warning of seeing him earlier in the day, the sight of the amazing “Watts” Watson standing on her doorstep still turned her nearly mute.

Nice to see you too, Gage? What was she thinking? That he might, after three years, have forgotten the way they parted?

Clearly not, given the grim slash of his mouth, the pulsing of muscle in his jaw.

It didn’t help that she could still so easily remember the sweet Gage Watson, the one who’d spent three glorious days snowboarding with her. He’d been a gentleman, too, not even trying to make a pass at her until she began to wonder if he liked her at all or if she’d simply wished it into her vivid imagination.

Then, on day three, it all changed. Dinner, candlelight . . . the most romantic evening she’d ever experienced.

And the darkest heartbreak.

Now, Mr. Heartbreak stood on her doorstep. Up close and personal, he looked every inch the sizzling hot snowboarder she remembered. Maybe more, because age had filled out his shoulders, broadened them. He hadn’t lost any of his stun power either, with that long curly hair now held back with a stocking cap, enough grizzle on his chin to turn his whiskers dark and tempting, his eyes just as deep, dark chocolate brown.

He wore his black snowboard pants, the suspenders hanging down to his knees, and a silver fleece that clung to his lean torso and his muscled arms.

How she remembered those arms.

She’d sort of dreamed of this moment, really, for three years. That second—or rather third—chance to talk to him, preferably privately, and apologize.

Tell him that things had simply spiraled out of control. Or, perhaps, dig deeper and admit the truth.

He’d broken her heart when he took Dylan up to Terminator Wall. And that feeling had darkened all her decisions right up to nearly the end. When it became too late to pull back, change the outcome.

“My brother isn’t here.”

“Are you sure?” Gage snapped.

Another man stood beside him. Taller than Gage, he had shorter dark hair and was attempting a sort of crooked smile, as if to ease the tension stringing out between them. He wore ski pants also, as well as a pullover and open-zipped jacket. She recognized him as the other ski patrol who’d joined Gage in the Saloon.

“Hey, back off, dude.” This from Brette, who’d suddenly come alive after Gage’s retort. “He’s not here, okay?”

“What stupid thing?” Ella asked, referring to his statement. She settled her spoon back into her ice cream. The carton froze her fingers, and she set it down and wiped her hand on her pajama pants. Oh, so sexy, Ella. Worse, she remembered the pattern of her pajamas featured tiny penguins in stocking caps.

“He called me and sounded drunk,” Gage was saying.

Or maybe high. Ella tightened her lips against the addition.

“And told me he was going to ski down Heaven’s Peak tomorrow, following my route.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. She knew exactly what he meant.

He’d only traced the route from her fingers down to her open palm, telling her in exquisite, perfect detail every moment of the run, how he’d chosen his line, the perilous moments when he thought he’d skim over the edge, the burn in his legs right before he did a flip off the Weeping Wall.