“He’s in love with the girl.”
Maybe, once upon a time. But that was before she’d walked into his life and then proceeded to dismantle it. But despite their one date, as he’d put it, she still knew how to lay his heart open with her words, make him see something in himself he didn’t know he possessed.
“That guy could save my brother’s life, if he wanted to.”
He wished she hadn’t said that because looking at her, so much confidence in her beautiful blue-gray eyes, well, for a second, he did want to. Wanted to be the hero he’d been, the one who’d pulled her from the pool, held her in his arms, who’d watched her eyes light up when he suggested he find her in Vermont.
That guy had risen from the dead and volunteered, like a love-sick teen, to risk his sorry neck on some nearly unskiable mountain in Glacier National Park.
But he wasn’t doing this for her. He was doing it because, for all his mistakes, he still couldn’t get past the fact that it was the right thing to do.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
The sky still shone blue and bright, just the finest hint of gray cumulus to the west as he stepped out onto the patrol shack porch. He pulled on his pack, put on his helmet, and grabbed his board. His gloves dangled from the clip on his jacket, and he’d shoved a headband into his pocket for the high-altitude winds.
Then he tucked his board under his arm and headed out toward the chopper.
Kacey met him as he approached the gated area. She wore a down jacket over her jumpsuit and her helmet.
“She won’t leave.”
Huh?
Kacey turned, walking with him as he headed toward the chopper. “That girl, Ella Blair. She’s sitting in the chopper. She was there when I came out, wearing a backpack, dressed for Siberia, and holding her board. It looks like she’s going with you.”
He stared at her, the words sliding through him, latching on. Then, “Oh, no, she’s not.”
Ella was sitting in the second row of seats, already strapped in, as if that meant something. She was wearing an orange ski jacket and had her helmet on, her pack stowed between her feet.
He opened the door.
She glanced at him, then looked straight ahead. “I’m going.”
“No,” he said, climbing aboard. He shoved his board into the back of the chopper. “You’re leaving. Right now.”
“I’m going. You know I can keep up with you, and it’s my brother.”
Gage drew in a breath. “I know you can keep up with me—on tamed powder. This isn’t that—this is backcountry skiing down a steep face—”
“I’ve been backcountry skiing. With you.” She turned, her mouth in a tight bud of defiance. “Redemption Ridge?”
“That was different. It was practically a highway—”
“I went off a cliff. I followed your line perfectly. I’ll do it again—I’ll stay right in your line, do everything you—”
“Ella, you’re not going!” He reached over then, frustrated, and grabbed her buckle.
She shot him an elbow in his chest. “Get off me!”
He fell back in his seat, his chest burning. “Please. You’re just making this harder. Don’t be so stubborn.”
She rounded on him. “Do you even remember anything about me? The reason we met in the first place? I came a thousand miles for a guy who was a friend of the family. This is my brother we’re talking about.”
He stared at her, the flash in those devastating blue-gray eyes, the pout of her lips, the way she met his gaze, unflinching. “Oh yeah, I remember,” he said quietly.
She sucked in a breath, and he wondered which part she thought he might be referring to. Then she nodded. “Good.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you go. This is dangerous enough for me. I’m not going to let you get hurt.”
“I won’t get hurt. You’ll keep me safe.”
Oh. And what was he supposed to do with that?
“No.”
She sighed. “Fine. Then I’ll just hire this Curry guy and ask him to—”
“Stop it, Ella! I’m not playing this game with you. If you want to risk your neck, alone, then fine—but I’m not giving in to threats. Not again.”
That took the fire out of her. She looked at him, then away. “Sorry. You’re right. That was . . . a desperate attempt.”
“Or a low blow.”
She closed her eyes then. Nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Her soft answer knocked some of the edge off his anger. “No—I get it. I know you want to go. And yeah, you’re a good skier, Ella. Probably one of the best amateurs I’ve ever met. But it’s . . . dangerous. And there’s a storm coming in, so I have to ski fast. Find them, lead them off the mountain.”