Excited by the unexpected invitation to visit his home on wheels, she couldn’t help but beam. “That would be great. I’ll make sure Bob’s free.”
Nick’s gaze went to the doorway, where Bob waited, and back to her. “Sounds good.”
Was that disappointment in his eyes? Couldn’t be.
Suddenly reluctant to leave and half afraid he’d change his mind about the invitation tomorrow, she dug out one of her cards and wrote her cell number on the back.
“Here.” She thrust the square piece of card stock at him. “Call me with a good time for us to come over.”
He took the card, his fingers brushing over hers, setting off little sparks shooting up her arm. She released her hold and backed away. Time to beat a hasty retreat before her resolve to keep their relationship strictly business weakened.
* * *
With Julie’s departure the room seemed duller and the hospital more oppressive. Nick stared at her business card. It read, “Julie Tipton, production assistant for Northwest Edition” and had the call letters of the local affiliate television station. He turned the card over to where she’d written her number in a neat script.
He still couldn’t believe it. Julie. Shy, sweet Jules had blossomed into a beautiful, ambitious woman. A reporter. Wannabe. Which made her worse. No doubt she’d do whatever it took to make her story. Including dragging Cody back through the muck.
When she’d said she cared, his heart had sped up, but then she’d clarified that it was because “he was a big deal in this town” and his stomach had dropped as if he’d caught a tip. She was no different than anyone else. He was a ticket to ride. A commodity to exploit. And she wanted her piece.
He couldn’t work up the usual animosity he felt when thinking about the press, though. Julie had had his back with the Kitty situation. Even going so far as to prevent a scene by asking Kitty for an interview.
This was one debt that he unexpectedly didn’t mind paying.
* * *
The next morning, Nick stepped out of the motor home onto the snow-covered ground and filled his lungs with crisp mountain air. The scent of pine teased his senses.
After giving an acknowledging nod to Ted, who’d been waiting outside the door for him, Nick lifted his gaze, drawn by an invisible cord to the snow-capped peak of Mt. Bachelor. The playground of his youth.
The Oregon mountain, part of a string of volcanoes making up the Cascade mountain range, was home to some of the Pacific Northwest’s best skiing. It was on these picture-perfect slopes that Nick had learned to ski, learned to love and learned to grieve.
A familiar wave of sorrow and guilt washed over him, bowing his shoulders slightly and making the pressure build in his chest until he thought his ribs would collapse. He forced himself to breathe. His arm throbbed in tempo to the beat of his heart. He sent up a silent thank-you to God that all he’d suffered yesterday was a bruise. He hoped God was listening, because he was going to need His protection.
Whoever wanted him dead had failed this time.
Nick shuddered with certainty that there would be more attempts.
So far the police had had no success finding out who wanted to kill him or why.
Nick had to stay strong and focused. He was so close to realizing the dream he and his younger brother, Cody, had worked their whole lives toward.
Only Cody was gone now. A year ago this coming Thursday. His parents had a one-year anniversary memorial service planned—the reason Nick was staying in town instead of returning to his condo in Lake Placid to await the announcement of who had been chosen to compete in the Winter Games.
Nick hadn’t been home since the funeral, because he couldn’t bear to see the anguish on his mother’s face or the sadness in his dad’s eyes.
He’d worked hard this year once he’d gotten his head back in the game after Cody’s death. Nick had thrown everything he could into each competition, winning or placing high enough that even without scoring at last night’s competition he had earned enough points to qualify for the U.S. team traveling to the games.
He wanted to win gold for Cody.
Nick had a good shot at securing one of the four positions on the U.S. men’s aerial team. But so did the other ten U.S. competitors who’d qualified to make the team, including both of his traveling companions.
And Cody would have been among them, too.
The door to the motor home opened behind him and Lee Thompson stepped down and clapped Nick on the back. “Forget your way?”
“Naw, just taking it in.” The parking lot adjacent to the West Village Lodge was busy with skiers arriving for a day of fun on this beautiful late-January morning. The sun shone like a bright ball in the clear blue sky and fresh powder dumped sometime in the night glistened in the sun’s rays. Perfect conditions for a day on the slopes.
Lee stretched, lifting his arms high and letting out a noisy yawn.
“I’m surprised you’re up,” Nick stated, noting the dark circles under his teammate’s brown eyes.
“Can’t waste a beautiful day sleeping.”
Lee and Frank had returned to the motor home long after Nick was released from the hospital. The two buddies liked to find the nearest hot social spot and unwind after competing. Nick had always preferred some alone time after a competition.
“You know you and Frank can head back to Lake Placid anytime,” Nick said.
Now that last night’s qualifier was done, the two men had no reason to stick around Bend.
Lee shot him a sharp look. “We’re here for Cody’s memorial, too.”
They’d loved his brother, as well.
Nick’s heart spasmed in his chest.
Cody’s death shouldn’t have happened. Nick should have prevented Cody from taking that last run.
Despite the way the press had raked Cody’s reputation across the coals with accusations and insinuations, Cody had not been high or drunk. He’d been tired and trying a trick that got away from him.
The burn of anger smoldered in Nick’s gut any time he thought about the way the news reporters had spun Cody’s accident into something sordid, leaving a taint of speculation blanketing the tragedy.
The image of a blue-eyed blonde marched into his mind. He blew out a breath. He had to trust that Julie would not be made of the same ilk.
“Uh-oh. Sheeee’s baaaack.” Lee’s singsong tone drew Nick’s attention.
“Who?”
Mirth danced in Lee’s eyes. “Your number-one fan.”
She was like a bad penny, showing up unexpected and unwanted.
It
