And what was Callie part of, exactly?
"So, you never told me," Willow said, stomping the snow off her boots. "Did you have drinks with the cute radiologist?"
"I think he's seeing someone," Callie answered without meeting Willow's eyes.
"Well, did you ask him?" Willow pressed.
"I'm pretty sure."
Willow shook her head, and let out an exaggerated sigh. "You know what I don't get about you?"
"Nope. But you're going to tell me whether I want to know or not, right?"
"I don't understand," Willow continued undeterred, "how you have the guts to literally restart someone's heart with a thousand volts of electricity. But you can't risk yours even to ask a guy out for drinks."
"Actually, we don't need a thousand volts anymore. The new defibrillators come in around three hundred."
"You're hopeless."
That was probably true.
"Hey, I see Hazardous!" Willow said, raising a hand to wave at someone.
Callie followed her friend's gaze over to the roped-off area at the base of the half-pipe. A very attractive man stood there, suited up for the snow, his helmet under one arm. The pose reminded Callie of old Apollo astronaut photos. When the guy spotted Willow, a lazy smile broke across his broad mouth, and he raised a hand in greeting.
"Let's go say hello," Willow prompted, angling through the crowd in his direction.
"After you," Dane said to Callie. And so she followed her friend toward the low fence.
"You've got to meet Hank Lazarus," Willow said over her shoulder. "He parties a lot harder than we can keep up with these days, but the guy is seriously fun."
The closer they got, the more Callie stared. Willow's friend might be seriously fun, but he was also seriously hot. His shaved head was a military style that usually did nothing for Callie. But it was offset by big brown eyes and full, sensual lips. He was broad in a way that said "linebacker" more than "snowboarder," and his cut jaw and cleft chin were speckled with two or three days' worth of dark whiskers.
As they drew up to him, his chocolaty gaze took them all in. He lifted an eyebrow, and Callie saw that a barbell-shaped piercing bisected it. "Hey there," he said in a voice that was low and smoky. "What are you kids doing in Vermont?"
Sweet baby Jesus. Even his voice was hot.
Willow gave him a quick hug. "We're here to put my old farmhouse on the market. And Hank, this is my best friend, Callie. She's local."
Hank stuck out a hand, and Callie took it. As his hand engulfed hers, she felt her cheeks heat. His face was like the sun-too bright to look at directly. Hank gave her a quick head-to-toe, not even bothering to be subtle about it. And when he seemed to dismiss her out of hand, she wasn't even surprised. He was the sort of guy who existed in an alternate universe, far from beeping medical equipment and green hospital scrubs.
She was almost relieved when he let go of her hand and looked back up at Dane. "Where are we drinking later?"
But Dane hesitated, glancing toward Willow. "I'm not sure what our plans are."
First, the snowboarder's grin grew tight. "Holy fuck, Danger," he growled. "Seriously? You are so whipped that you can't agree to a beer tonight? Let me ask again. Where are we drinking later?"
Dane chuckled, and shook his head. "Chill, asshole. We need to make sure that the house we haven't seen in six months is still standing. Barring total destruction, I think a stop at Rupert's could work out."
As if she wanted a vote on the matter, baby Finley let out a squawk then. Dane bent his knees to bounce her gently, running one of his big hands soothingly under the bulge in his jacket.
Hank Lazarus watched his friend do this with a bemused expression on his face. "All right. Unless you get downvoted by the little family, Rupert's it is."
"Sounds good," Willow said. "Baby's first trip to the bar."
The snowboarder glanced uphill, toward the top of the pipe. "I'd better get a move on. Dane. Ladies." He gave them a sexy lift of his chin. "I'll see you later."
The very idea gave Callie a thrill. But of course she probably wouldn't be there. She was on call today, and that usually didn't end well. Even if she wasn't summoned to the hospital, she couldn't even have a drink like a grown-up.
Her life was pure glamour.
Not.
At least her pager hadn't gone off yet. The headliner event-the elite exhibition-was about to start. The music kicked up a decibel or two, and the champion snowboarders began to line up at the top of the pipe. Pictures of the elite athletes began to slide across the big screen overhead, shifting every few seconds in time with the music. The shots showed each man in street clothes, complete with stats and nicknames. Compared to the clean-cut skiers that Callie had met through Dane, these were the bad boys of winter sports. There were more goatees, ponytails, tattoos and piercings than a biker bar would boast. Not that Callie had spent much time around bikers, except when they landed in the hospital.
When Hank "Hazardous" Lazarus's picture popped up, Callie could only stare. In the photo, he was shirtless, and entirely droolworthy. He was all muscle, covered with ink. "Olympic Silver Medalist," the screen read.
"They say he's going to bring home the gold this time," Willow mused beside her.
But Callie wasn't interested in his stats. She was still admiring the man. He was sex on a snowboard, and so far out of her league it wasn't even funny. Even if she did show up for drinks tonight, if he tried to talk to her she'd probably swallow her tongue.
The screen flipped back to show the first man in the lineup, and then the crowd roared. Callie watched one of Hank's teammates take the pipe. And … wow. The aerial feats were on a completely different level than the competitors she'd seen before. The rotations were faster, and the tricks more complicated. And as soon as he finished, another boarder dropped into the pipe. Since there was no need to pause the action for judging, the exhibition was continuous. Callie's gaze became trancelike as the colorful bodies soared and twisted before her eyes.
And then Hank Lazarus's photo reappeared, and Hank came into view on the lip of the pipe, wearing his silver helmet and goggles. Callie stood up a little straighter as he dropped into position, his body in a loose, confident stance. At the opposite peak, he popped higher off the lip than seemed possible. With that big body tucked tight, he flipped backward with such casual finesse that Callie gasped. He landed the trick neatly, his shoulders bobbing with a cocky shrug.
"So that's what it's supposed to look like," Dane muttered. And it was true. The comparison between Hazardous and the others was stark.
He shot through the pipe again, and his next trick went so high, and with such whirling ease, that time seemed to stop as he hovered in the air. The rules of physics appeared not to apply to him. The crowd whooped when he landed, gliding at top speed through the gully.
Callie held her breath, wondering what miracle he'd pull off next. He launched again, grabbing the board in one hand and rotating through the air-once, twice and then a third time. The scenery seemed to change then, and it took Callie a split second to realize that the sun had gone behind a cloud. And just as she registered the phenomenon, something else happened. The snowboard smacked the lip of the pipe, instead of the snow on the slope below it. Since he'd achieved so much lift, the force of impact flexed the board, ricocheting the rider back into the air. Callie watched, helpless, as momentum yanked the man's body through space, propelling him headfirst and at high speed toward the curving ice below.
And then his helmet hit the surface first. Hard.
Callie heard herself gasp. After a sickening bounce, his body slid down the ice into the center of the gully.
"Jesus Christ," Dane whispered.
People rushed onto the snow, a dozen of them quickly surrounding him.
Dane took a step forward, as if he wanted to run through the crowd to help. But Willow put a hand on his arm. "There are a lot of people down there," she said gently.
He just shook his head. "Get up, man."
But Hazardous lay crumpled and still.
Callie couldn't look away. In her head she heard the drumbeat of emergency procedure. Checking the vital signs, supporting his neck and back. But this time, it wasn't her job. At least three of the people down at the scene wore medical jackets. And even now she could hear the approach of ambulance sirens. On busy winter weekends, there was always a bus parked at the bottom of the ski-mountain access road.