“Oh. Sounds hard.” Emma withdrew a notepad and began writing out directions to the high school. She held the paper toward him. “Here you go. Good luck.”
He sauntered toward her and, when he withdrew the page, their fingers touched. A gentle touch, yet her body felt as if something had shoved her—hard. The look on Wyatt’s face said he’d done it purposely. For some reason, he seemed determined to keep her off-balance. Did he recognize her? Was this a game for him? Should she confess?
“Thanks, Emma. See you later.”
When he left the kitchen, she exhaled and leaned against the island for support. Two hours down, seven hundred eighteen to go.
Chapter Three
Wyatt looked over the railing toward the dimly lit parlor before descending the stairs. Apparently Emma had awakened even earlier than the ass crack of dawn and turned on some lights for him and his yoga instructor. Outside, faint stars and a see-through moon lit the last traces of night.
The sun would rise soon enough to usher in a new day. A day that—if his guess was accurate—had gifted at least ten inches of fresh powder.
His stomach fluttered in anticipation of his first official backcountry training run. Although he’d grown up on Vermont’s groomed terrain parks under the watchful eye of many trainers, when making the switch to freeriding, he’d decided to follow the footsteps of other freeriders and forego a coach.
He couldn’t risk his new peers dubbing him the pampered former star. The guy who couldn’t hack it on his own. To be accepted—and more importantly, to win—he needed to project the same physical and mental strength as the other guys.
When he rounded the corner, he noticed that Ryder hadn’t come out of his room yet. He then watched Emma heft a large glass pitcher of fruit-infused water onto a side table. She and his teacher, a hot blonde in suitably skimpy attire, had already pushed aside a few chairs and a coffee table to make room for the session.
Calm, controlled, efficient Emma. A few years ago he might’ve been put off by that. Now he found her maturity rather anchoring, considering everything else in his life was in flux.
Unlike the blonde, Emma had hidden herself beneath another loose-fitting outfit. The woman didn’t advertise her wares, but when she laughed with the yoga chick about something or other, her freshly scrubbed face and green eyes became animated and appealing as hell.
“’Morning,” he said, startling them. “You’re awfully bright-eyed for five forty-five.”
Emma immediately schooled her features to that damn polite librarian face she wore around him. “Good morning, Wyatt. This is Amanda, from YogAmbrosia. She’s a great instructor, so you’re a lucky guy.”
Amanda pressed her palms together and bowed. “Namaste.”
Oh, brother. Wyatt liked yoga fine. It suited a specific set of purposes: it enhanced his flexibility and balance, and helped him relax. That said, he had no interest in the goofy culture surrounding the practice. Colorado wasn’t Nepal, for crying out loud.
“Hey, Amanda. Thanks for waking up so early.”
“I’m excited to work with you, Wyatt. Em says you’ve got a strict schedule, so are we waiting for the cameras, or do we just begin?” Amanda asked.
“No cameras this morning. They’ll film us some other day.” Wyatt noticed Emma’s brow quirk upward even as she turned her face away. “But let’s give my brother another minute or two to show up. He moves a little slowly.”
Wyatt shot Ryder a quick text and then filled a glass with the grapefruit mint water Emma had made. Slightly tart, but refreshing. He smiled at her. “This is good.”
“I’m glad you approve.” She quickly looked away again, toward her friend. Neither rude nor friendly. Definitely not fawning over him like most women he’d known. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
“Oh? I thought you’d join us,” Amanda said. “In fact, I’m surprised you just didn’t do the instruction yourself.”
Beneath that sack of clothing lived a limber body? Sudden images of her legs stretched in various positions—preferably on top of or beneath him—set him back a step.
“I haven’t taught in years. Besides, I’ve got to get breakfast started.”
Before Emma could escape—and honestly, that’s the vibe he got from her every time he came near—Ryder arrived, looking wooden and miserable. “I’m not s-stretching.”
“Come on, Ryder. It’s good for you,” Wyatt said quietly.
“I don’t want to,” Ryder insisted.
“Just do what you can, like we talked about in Vermont. This will help support your other therapy, and I like your company.” He settled a hand on Ryder’s shoulder only to have it shrugged off.