Читать книгу The Right Mr. Wrong - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 6

Maddie finished up the accident report then left it in Hagan’s box for him to sign off on. If he had any questions, he could radio her, but she wouldn’t wait around for him. She didn’t need him thinking she was an adoring fan begging for his attention. Everyone said he was an excellent patroller—and from what she’d seen so far, she’d have to agree—but his Don Juan act was simply too much. When her life was more in order and she was ready to settle into a relationship again, it would be with a man she could respect and count on—not a player like Hagan.

For now, she’d try to keep her distance from him and not risk saying something that might jeopardize her job.

She was on her way out of the patrol shack when her roommate, fellow patroller Andrea Dawson, hailed her. Andrea was the only woman on patrol who was almost as short as Maddie’s own five feet. Her straight black hair and almond eyes revealed her Asian heritage. Originally from China, she’d been adopted as an infant by a local couple and had practically grown up on skis. “You busy?” she asked Maddie.

Maddie shook her head. “No. What’s up?”

“We just got a report of a couple of snowboarders ducking ropes over by Spellbound and Phoenix. The area’s still closed for avalanche control. I need to go check it out. I could use some backup.”

“Sure.” Yellow ropes were used to mark the ski area boundaries and to close off areas considered too unstable or dangerous for skiing or riding. But there were always people who thought the rules didn’t apply to them, who risked ducking under the ropes.

“I hate this part of the job,” Andrea said as she and Maddie rode the Silver Queen lift up the mountain. “These guys always want to give me lip and it’s such a hassle. If it weren’t for the fact they could trigger an avalanche or get hurt I’d tell them to go ahead and kill themselves.”

Maddie laughed. “Nobody likes ragging on other people, but if anybody gets mouthy with me, I let them have it. It’s a great way to vent my frustrations—if they deserve it.”

“Guess I’ll watch and learn from an expert then.”

“Maybe we’ll be lucky and they’ll listen to reason.”

“Yeah, like how often does that happen?”

From the top of Silver Queen, they headed into Paradise Bowl and up the North Face lift. They found the two snowboarders in a deep gully a few hundred yards beyond the ropes closing off the popular Spellbound Glades, an area of double-black runs that usually didn’t open until the snowpack had built up later in the season.

One of the boarders, wearing a bright green stocking cap, was hung up on a snag, trying to wrench his board free, while his friend, in a camouflage snowboarding suit, stood downslope, shouting at him to hurry.

“Having trouble?” Maddie asked as she and Andrea stopped above the two.

Green cap scowled up at her. “I’m okay,” he muttered, and went back to working his board loose.

“You guys are in a closed area,” Andrea said.

“We are?” Red Jacket’s innocent look might have been practiced in a mirror for just such an occasion. “We thought we might have gotten off the trail, but we weren’t sure.” He grinned. “Sorry.”

“Dude, we saw your tracks where you slid under the ropes,” Maddie said. “Right next to a sign that said closed.”

“What’s the big deal?” Green Hat asked, his board free at last. “We’re not hurting anybody.”

“Not yet,” Andrea said. “But this area is closed for a reason. You could trigger an avalanche.”

“Yeah, and then we have to go to all the trouble of digging out your bodies,” Maddie said. “We hate that.”

“We hate that,” Red Jacket mimicked.

Maddie looked at Andrea. “I think these two just lost their passes,” she said.

“There’s also the fine,” Andrea added. “Up to one thousand dollars.”

“You have to catch us first,” Green Hat said, and took off down the slope.

“Yep, they’re getting the fine, too,” Maddie said. But as she stared down the rocky, vertical slope, she felt a little queasy.

It wasn’t any steeper than anything she’d skied as a racer, but merely looking at it made her palms sweat and her heart race. It was strange how only certain runs and situations—such as this one—brought back the horror of her accident. She’d hoped being on patrol, skiing every day and confronting terrain like this would help her get over her fear, but so far this cure wasn’t working.

“We don’t have to chase them,” Andrea said.

“We don’t?” Maddie thought she did a good job of hiding her relief.

Andrea shook her head. “Nah. This funnels down to the top of the East River lift. We’ll radio for someone to meet them there.” She unclipped her radio from her pack and gave the description of the two boarders, requesting someone hold them at the top of East River. Then she and Maddie shouldered their skis and hiked up out of the closed area.

Maddie wished she had a camera when, twenty minutes later, Red Jacket and Green Hat looked up from their conversation with patrollers Eric and Marcie to see Andrea and Maddie coming toward them.

“Hello, guys.” Andrea smiled. “Looks like we caught up with you after all.” Before the men could say anything, each patroller had pulled out a pair of scissors and snipped off the boarders’ passes. “You can either come with us quietly and fill out the paperwork,” Andrea said. “Or we’ll call the police and have you arrested.”

“Arrested for what?” Green Hat asked.

“Trespassing on private property and violating the Colorado Ski Safety Act, for a start.” Maddie glanced at Andrea. “I’m sure we can come up with a few other things if you don’t think that’s enough.”

The two boarders exchanged looks, shoulders slumped, then admitted defeat. They waited quietly while Eric started up a snowmobile to take them off the mountain.

Once the two boarders were taken care of, it was after three-thirty and the lifts were beginning to shut down. Andrea and Maddie joined the other patrollers in sweeping the mountain—skiing each trail to make sure there were no stranded skiers or riders. It was Maddie’s favorite time of day, when she skied the mostly deserted runs, alone with her thoughts and the feeling of freedom soaring over the snow always gave her. For that brief period she wasn’t a poorly paid, overworked ski patroller, but an elite athlete who still had the potential for greatness.

By the time Maddie dragged into the locker room, it was after five. She was pleasantly tired, and feeling better about the start of her second week as a patroller. It wasn’t her dream job, but it was skiing, and that made it worth something. She sat to take off her ski boots and Andrea slid down the bench to rest beside her.

“There’s a party at the Eldo tonight,” she said. “You going?”

“What is the Eldo?” Maddie asked.

“It’s a place downtown, on Elk Avenue. Everybody hangs out there.”

Maddie shook her head. “I’m not really in the partying mood.”

“Come on,” Andrea pleaded. “Are you just going to hang out at the condo by yourself and brood?”

“I’m not going to brood.” But if Maddie were completely honest, that was probably exactly what she’d do.

“You need to get out and meet people,” Andrea said. “And there are a lot of good-looking guys in this town. Some of them are even worth knowing.”

Guys like Hagan Ansdar? Maddie dismissed the thought. She already knew all she needed to know about Hagan. He was a playboy who took his good looks and athleticism as his due—as if he were somehow immune from mere human frailties that plagued those around him.

“Come on,” Andrea said again. “If you don’t like it, you can always take the bus back up to the mountain.”

Maddie couldn’t argue with that reasoning, so ended up seated next to Andrea on the free shuttle bus headed down to the town of Crested Butte, which sat in a little valley a few miles below the ski resort. The main street, Elk Avenue, was lined with restored Victorian buildings and newer buildings made to look old, most painted in bright colors. Light from streetlamps and storefronts spilled across the mounds of snow that lined the sidewalks. Noisy groups of tourists and locals alike navigated the slippery walks and crowded into the restaurants, shops and bars.

The Eldo occupied the second story of a building near the end of the street. The outdoor balcony was already crowded with revelers who greeted newcomers with shouts and whistles. Maddie followed Andrea up the stairs and through the glass-front doors, into the throbbing pulse of music on the jukebox, the crack of pool balls and the low roar of conversation. How many such bars had she been in, all over the globe, with her fellow skiers? This one felt no different, right down to the woman on crutches in the corner, the guy in the knee brace by the bar and the assortment of outlandish knit hats worn by the patrons. This was her world, what she knew. And this feeling of belonging, of recognizing the social landscape, was part of the reason she’d settled for such a menial job as patrolling.

As she and Andrea squeezed past the crowded bar, Maddie waved to a few familiar faces. After only ten days in town she was getting to know people, though more of them recognized her thanks to her brief flirtation with fame. Not for the first time she wished that photographer from Sports Illustrated had never snapped the shot of her and two of her teammates posed with their skis and a collection of medals. America’s skiing sweethearts, the caption had read, and the article inside had described them as the United States’s top medal hopes for the 2006 Olympics.

But instead of standing on an Olympic podium, Maddie had watched the games from a hospital bed, alternately weeping and cursing her fate.

She shook off the memory and followed Andrea to a long line of tables pushed together and crowded with Eric, Scott and other patrollers. Hagan was seated a few chairs down from her, with a couple of snowboarders Andrea introduced as Max and Zephyr.

Scott filled plastic cups with beer from a pitcher and passed them to her and Andrea. Maddie didn’t really like beer that much, but it was nice to be so readily included in their party. When she’d still been on the circuit, she’d been part of an insular group who’d descend upon a resort en masse. They’d be the ones shoving the tables together and mostly hanging with each other before heading to the next race venue. It had been many years since she’d stayed in one place long enough to really get to know people, and she still wasn’t sure how to respond to the friendliness almost everyone in town had shown her. She wanted to return their warmth, of course, but she didn’t want to come across as overeager and needy.

After years as a skiing nomad, she was out of practice making new friends. It didn’t help that she had no idea how long she’d stay in Crested Butte. Unable to imagine a winter away from skiing, she’d taken the patroller’s job as a stopgap—something to do until she figured out where to go next. Ever since her injury her life had been plagued by uncertainty and the feeling that everything she did was temporary. She was on edge, waiting for something, but she had no idea what that something would be.

Maybe the next thing to do was to go with the flow. Get to know these people. It couldn’t hurt, and it might help her to feel less alone. Less isolated by her private misery.

She studied the dreadlocked blonde next to Hagan. “Zephyr?” she repeated, not sure she’d heard the name correctly.

“Yeah. I’m a rock guitarist.” He pantomimed playing a guitar.

“Cool.” Maybe he was famous and she didn’t know it. She’d slept, breathed, thought and lived nothing but skiing for the previous ten years, so she was a little behind on pop culture.

“Right now I’m taking a break from music to pursue fame as a snowboarder,” Zephyr continued. “I’m entering the Free Skiing competition next month.”

The Free Skiing competition was the biggest event in the country, with the serious daredevils of skiing and snowboarding competing. All the big names in alternative winter sports would be there. “Have you ever competed before?” she asked.

“No. I’m not really the competitive kind.” Zephyr grinned. “But I’m good.”

“He is.” The man next to him, a muscular guy named Max, said. “He’s also crazy.”

“It helps to be crazy to compete.” She took a long drink, not really tasting the beer. What else but insanity drove a person to do things like race at top speed down steep, icy mountains or jump off cliffs into canyons of snow? There was no greater adrenaline rush. She wondered if she’d ever stop missing that feeling.

“I think you ought to be committed.” A woman who could have been Jennifer Anniston’s double frowned at Zephyr, who sat across from her at the table. “Aren’t you afraid, doing all those crazy stunts?”

“No. I know I can do it.”

“You should be afraid,” Maddie said. “In racing we had a saying—it’s not if you get hurt, it’s when.”

He shrugged. “I refuse to think about it,” he said. “It’s a Zen thing.”

“Zen is drinking a nice cup of tea at my coffee shop and listening to Indian flute music,” the woman said. “Zen is not hucking your body off of cliffs on a snowboard.”

Zephyr grinned again. “Aww, Trish. It’s nice to know you care.”

Trish flushed. “I care about stray dogs and lost tourists, too. Don’t assume it means anything.”

“Some people believe confronting fear makes them stronger.” Hagan’s softly accented voice cut through the barroom chatter. Maddie looked over to find his gaze on her, intense but unreadable.

“Some people say a lot of things that don’t make sense,” she said. She leaned toward him, refusing to look away or let him think he could intimidate her. “What about you? What fears do you confront?”

The creases fanning out from the corners of his eyes sharpened, then he looked away. “I did not say facing fears was always a good idea. Sometimes it is better to avoid the situation altogether.”

She had expected him to say he wasn’t afraid of anything. His answer intrigued her—what did a man like Hagan have to fear? Then she was annoyed with herself. What did she care what Mr. Handsome Hagan thought or did?

She turned and grabbed Scott’s arm. “Let’s dance.”

“Uh…okay.” He let her pull him onto the minuscule dance floor and began to move, a little stiffly. “Just so you know, Lisa and I are kind of an item.” He nodded toward a curvy redhead who worked in the resort ticket office.

She hadn’t realized, and felt a little foolish. “It’s only a dance,” she said. All she’d really wanted was to get away from the table for a while.

“Right. Just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

She’d hoped getting up and moving around would help her feel better and keep her mind out of the downward spiral that thoughts of skiing and her fears could bring on. Instead her knee hurt and a different kind of pain had settled in her stomach. Coming here was a mistake—not only coming to the Eldo tonight, but moving to Crested Butte and joining the ski patrol. She’d picked Crested Butte because it was far from a city, off the racing circuit and offered the opportunity to ski. Skiing was what she knew. What she was good at. But she didn’t really belong here, in this town where everyone knew everyone and all got along so well. Traveling, competing and training was the life she knew—nothing else felt right.

As soon as the song ended, she mumbled her thanks to Scott, then grabbed her coat and slipped out the door. The others at the table were focused on Zephyr and his friend Bryan’s arm-wrestling match; the loser would have to wax the winner’s snowboard.

Maddie hurried down the stairs into night air so cold it felt like breathing ice. She stood on the sidewalk in front of the bar and stared up at a sky studded with stars like silver glitter on black glass. Get a grip, she scolded herself. She had a good life. She needed to focus on all the great things ahead instead of what she’d lost.

But what was ahead for her? For the previous decade she’d had a clear goal—to get to the Olympics. To be recognized as one of the top ski racers in the world.

All that was gone now, and she had nothing to replace it. The knowledge made her feel empty and lost.

“If you want to look at stars, there are better places than on the street in front of the Eldo.” Hagan came to stand beside her. He was wearing a red and black parka, but his head was bare, the night breeze ruffling his white-blond hair.

“You’re going to freeze without a hat,” she said.

He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “Where I grew up, it is colder than this.”

She went back to looking at the stars. It was either that or keep staring at him. Whether it was his good looks, or the quiet strength that radiated from him, or the solid confidence she envied, being with Hagan made her hyperaware of every one of her own flaws.

“Are you all right?” he asked after a moment.

“I’m fine.” Freezing, but fine. She hugged her parka closer around her body. “I’m going to catch a bus back up to the mountain and turn in early.”

This was his cue to go back into the bar, but he fell in step beside her as she began walking toward the bus stop. She glared at him. “Why did you follow me out here?”

“You interest me.”

The idea made her catch her breath. She’d heard all about Hagan’s rule about not dating locals. “Why? You have a thing for washed-up athletes?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Do you have something against Norsemen? Or men in general? Why are you so prickly?”

Her shoulders sagged. He was right. She was being a witch with a capital B, taking her bad mood out on him. Yes, he was a player and his confidence—which bordered on arrogance—annoyed her. But so far he hadn’t made any moves on her or done anything to warrant her hostility. And he was her coworker on patrol, someone she’d be seeing a lot of in the coming weeks and months. She needed to learn to get along with him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Why don’t we start over?” At the bus stop in front of the Chamber of Commerce, she stopped and offered him her hand. “Hi, I’m Maddie Alexander. I’m new here.”

A hint of a smile formed on his lips. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Alexander. I am Hagan Ansdar.” He took her hand in his and fixed her with his clear blue eyes. His clasp was firm, his gaze steady, and his soft accent made every word smooth and exotic. No wonder he had women falling at his feet. She pulled her hand away before she melted right there in the snow, shocked by her reaction. So much for thinking her cynicism about men like Hagan made her immune to his charms.

“What brings you to Crested Butte, Ms. Alexander?” he asked, continuing the charade that they had just met.

“It’s beautiful country. And I thought ski patrol would be interesting.”

“I would have thought after your career as a racer ended you would have had your choice of jobs,” he said. “Representing a ski equipment or clothing manufacturer, or skiing as the pro at a high-profile resort.”

“Those jobs go to the medal winners.”

“But ski patrol—” he glanced at her “—it doesn’t pay much.”

No, but she’d made some money in her racing career and managed to save a portion of it. What she’d needed more than money was a place to lay low and figure out what to do with the rest of her life.

“I really appreciated the patrollers who helped me when I was injured,” she said. “The doctors and nurses, too, but I don’t have a medical degree and I wanted a job that would allow me to ski every day. I may not be able to race anymore, but I still love skiing.”

“You are a beautiful skier. You have a natural grace.”

She didn’t know which unnerved her more—the unexpected compliment or the knowledge that he’d been watching her.

She changed the subject. “How did a man from Norway end up in Crested Butte, Colorado?” she asked.

When he didn’t answer right away, she glanced at him again. His mouth was compressed into a thin line, his brow furrowed in thought. “I think for many people Crested Butte is a good place to escape. To hide out, even.”

The words sent a sudden shiver up her spine. Was he accusing her of running away? Or was he answering her question in an oblique way?

The bus arrived, filled with rowdy tourists. She and Hagan were forced to take seats at opposite ends of the vehicle. But from her position at the back of the bus, she studied his profile and wondered if she’d been wrong to dismiss him as merely a player.

HAGAN STARED STRAIGHT ahead as the bus made its way up the mountain road to the resort. He was glad the crowd had separated him from Maddie. He needed the distance. Standing in the cold with her just now, watching the play of emotion on her face, he had been surprised by how much he wanted to kiss her.

He had kissed a lot of women in the past few years, slept with almost as many. The experiences had been pleasurable pastimes, things he had wanted to do. But never had he felt the need to reach out to someone that he felt with Maddie.

The idea disturbed him. He was not a man who needed other people. He enjoyed being with friends, and he liked the women he dated, but he didn’t depend on them to make him happy. Investing too much of oneself in another person was a sure road to disappointment.

He got off the bus at the first stop and walked past rows of condos to the parking lot where he kept his truck. From there it was another five miles up winding roads to his cabin on forest service land. It was a rustic two-room affair originally designed as a summer retreat, but he had added a woodstove and insulation, a king-size bed and new appliances, turning it into comfortable bachelor quarters.

He shoved open the door he seldom bothered to lock and was greeted by a fat gray striped tomcat, who wove around his ankles and demanded supper in a loud voice. “Hush,” Hagan said with no malice in his voice. The cat, dubbed Fafner after a dragon in Norse legend, had showed up two years ago and refused to leave.

Hagan opened a can of the gourmet food the feline preferred, then turned on the computer that sat on a fold-down desk in one corner of the main room. A galley kitchen and a loft bedroom and bath completed the living quarters. He added wood to the stove and shed his coat, then poured a beer, made a plate of cheese, sausage and crackers and carried them to the desk.

Moments later, he was engrossed in the software program he had been tinkering with. Occupying his free time with software design was a holdover from his previous life. But where once it had been his passion, now it was merely a hobby no one knew about. A thing he did only for himself.

When he was satisfied he could do no more with the program for now, he sat back and sipped the beer and studied the cabin. Over the door was a pair of old-fashioned wooden skis, the kind they had still used when he was a boy, skiing to school in Fredrikstad. On a shelf by the stove was a Norwegian ceramic stein his sister had sent him two Christmases ago.

He liked this place. It was his alone, a sanctuary where his friends seldom visited and he never brought women. It was orderly and comfortable, like his life. He had work he enjoyed, and though he was not prosperous financially, he had savings put away. He had good friends in town and never had to sleep alone unless he wanted to. He was satisfied.

But lately he had been restless. When Maddie had left the Eldo this evening, he had been ready to depart himself. He had decided to call the number on the slip of paper Julie had handed him that afternoon to see how she was doing. Maybe offer to stop by her place and bring a bottle of wine.

Instead he had found himself distracted by this newcomer to town, this graceful, intense young woman who fairly burned with some unnamed anger and passion. He was drawn to her, curious and more than a little wary.

Something about Maddie Alexander affected him in a way no woman had in a long time. He did not necessarily like it, but he wanted to understand it. If he could figure out why she made him feel this way, he would know better how to handle it—and better how to avoid allowing this fascination with her to turn into something more.