A Matter of Trust(72)

The weave shortened as she descended, as the gully narrowed, until she finally opened it up and glided down the last forty yards, through the five-foot slit out into the open.

He followed, taking his time, his heartbeat slowing, his thighs burning as he skidded down the hill. He broke free near the bottom and sailed through the crack at a speed that might still break his neck but didn’t tear his heart from his chest. He emerged into the bright white, carving hard on her trail, pulling up behind her.

She had stopped and was breathing hard. “My legs are on fire.”

His too, but his heartbeat had settled into something reasonable. Or slightly so, because as he looked at her, he just wanted to pull her to himself, kiss her.

Tell her that they didn’t have to take it too slow.

“Never thought I’d have Gage Watson following my line,” she said.

Baby, I’ll follow you anywhere. The words were almost on his lips when he saw her smile dim. She bent down and unclipped her bindings, then took off, up the snowfield, back toward the base of the chute.

He followed her, a few steps behind. “What do you see?”

But he answered his own question as he came up beside her.

A puddle, where someone, after racing down that chute, might drop to their knees and lose it. Yellow bile and a pool of dark red blood stained the whitened snow.

“Oh no,” Ella said.

Gage grabbed her hand and pulled her up. “It might be internal bleeding. Let’s get going.”



Ella simply didn’t care if she got impaled by a pine tree. She should have taken Angel’s Wings faster, maybe.

Her fears, holding her back.

In fact, she probably should have gotten on that chopper. She still couldn’t believe that Gage had agreed to let her keep going.

But she planned on keeping up. Gage had located Ollie’s trail and now led them into the clutter of the thick piney forest, moving carefully but steadily.

She tried to keep his words in her head.

“Don’t focus on the trees, or you’ll hug wood. Watch for the white spaces.”

“Stay low, crouched, and your knees loose.”

“Point your board downhill, and remember, speed is your friend. You need momentum to turn.”

“Keep your weight on your back leg, nose pointed up, like a surfer.”

“And stay close to me. Very close.”

No problem. She kept his jacket in sight. However, the falling sun made the trees cast lethal shadows, hiding gullies and rock, turning the maze of forest treacherous.

And exhausting. Twice, she’d gotten stuck, slamming into a tree, hugging it for a long second before shouting.

Gage had stopped, waited for her.

Once, he’d bent down to unsnap his bindings, but she wiggled free and dialed back into the line.

The danger of skiing in the trees was the tree wells, the deep powder that fell around the tree but not to the trunk, leaving a deep cavern around it. She’d heard of skiers falling headfirst into these traps and, unable to get out, freezing to death.

Not unlike being caught in a slide. Both left the skier entombed in snow.

Gage stopped in a clearing and kneeled in the snow, breathing hard. She pulled up beside him.

“How could he go through this with internal injuries?”

Gage said nothing, his mouth a dark line. But he pulled off his backpack, dug through it, and pulled out his head lamp.

“We’re not stopping, okay? So I’m going to slow down and you’re going to stay right behind me. Like, ten feet, okay?”

She nodded, and he affixed the light to his helmet and flicked it on. The daylight was still enough to diffuse the wan light. But she imagined the shadows would thicken when they reentered the forest.

“I have to admit, your brother has stamina and not a little raw courage to make it this far.”

She nodded. “He grew up on stories of Jovan. He would help Father smuggle Christians out of the country.”

“And you’re not exactly a couch potato.”

Heat pressed through her at his words. “I grew up remembering Jovan too. And, of course, my parents.”

He was putting his pack back on. “My parents always wanted me to follow in their footsteps into the medical field. They couldn’t quite understand how much I hated school. I admit, I preferred adrenaline to grades.” He adjusted his head lamp. “But when I started landing on magazine covers, they got on board. Sadly, after the accident, they didn’t know what to do with me. Dad kept trying to get me to go to school. My mom . . . she built a little shrine in my room. Won’t take it down.” He rolled his shoulders. “Ready?”

She nodded, and he moved away. She watched him go, arms out, perfectly balanced, so comfortable, so capable, so in his element.