of the handheld camera in front of her. The temperature had dipped below ten on this January evening. Though she’d lived in central Oregon all her life, she couldn’t remember it being this cold. Her smile felt frozen in place, like her toes. She should have worn thicker socks. Or boots made for the cold, not fashion. The station stylist had insisted the pink boots matching the pink ski suit completed the outfit. She felt like a big, pink lollipop. The price she paid to be on camera. She refrained from stomping her feet and settled for wiggling her freezing toes. It didn’t help.
“As you can see around me, quite a crowd has turned out for the festivities.”
She paused as Bob, her cameraman, panned the area, giving their viewers at home a glimpse of what they were missing. The Festival of Snow was held across the Deschutes River from the Old Mill shopping center. The mill with its three towering smoke stacks had been converted into a popular sporting-goods store and provided the anchor to the center. On this side of the footbridge, along the river path, white tents and canopies gave local vendors and artisans warm, dry places to show off their wares while local eateries tempted festivalgoers with tasty treats. A live band played in the amphitheater opposite the wooden structure erected for the skiing competition.
Every year more and more tourists traveled to the mountain oasis to attend the annual festival celebrating the best of winter in Oregon.
When the lens focused back on her, she smiled and raised her voice. She hoped the viewing audience was able to hear her over the cheers of spectators waiting for the aerial freestyle skiers to take to the ramp.
“Tonight’s competition is a precursor to the upcoming winter games. Athletes will compete for points as well as a cash purse of twenty thousand dollars. Points for each jump will be added to the skiers’ total season score. Names of the team members representing the U.S.A. at the winter Olympic games will be announced in one week. That will give the athletes two weeks to prepare before traveling to this year’s games host city, where they will represent the U.S.A. and compete for gold, silver and bronze.”
Julie’s gaze slipped to Bob. He nodded encouragingly and made a rolling motion with one hand, letting her know to keep stalling as they waited for the first skier to take his jump.
“Behind me is a specially constructed snow ramp known as a ‘kicker.’ The skiers will perform two jumps consisting of single or multiple somersaults with or without twists. Each jump must vary by one somersault or one twist. Points are awarded for takeoff, form in the air, difficulty and landing.”
Bob motioned with his hand, indicating the competition was starting.
Bubbles of excitement knocked against her ribs. Though she wasn’t daring enough to ever try aerial freestyle skiing, she certainly enjoyed watching. It took a risk-taking, adrenaline-junkie personality to pursue a sport where you launched yourself off a fourteen-foot-tall ramp, performed flips and twists fifty feet above the ground, and then landed upright on a steep incline.
Unfortunately, Julie was drawn to that exact type of man. Drawn to and burned by them. She’d had her fill of men who lived life on the edge. Her ex-fiancé had been that sort of man. Only trouble was John Mateo hadn’t limited his risky behavior to sports. Thankfully, she’d found out before she’d married him.
Never again would she allow herself to get swept into a relationship with an adrenaline junkie. Next time around—if there was a next time—she wanted stable and steady. Until then she would focus on her career.
Her first step had been convincing her boss at the television station to give her a shot at moving up from production assistant to on-camera personality. The second step had been successfully pitching the idea of a feature story on one of Bend’s local heroes, aerial freestyler Nick Walsh, to her boss. He’d said yes. Then she’d contacted Nick’s biggest sponsor, Thunderbird Ski Equipment and Apparel, figuring the best way to gain access to Nick would be through his sponsor. The head of the locally based sports company had enthusiastically embraced the idea and looked forward to the promotional aspects of the story. Now all she had to do was put together an excellent story and she’d be given the promotion she craved.
To the camera she said, “Hometown favorite Nick Walsh is taking his position.”
When the camera swung away to zoom in on the tall, broad-shouldered skier readying himself at the top of the ramp, a flare of feminine awareness made a joke of her being career-focused. And worse yet, there was so much more to Nick than his good looks.
With a shake of her head, she reminded herself what the story was as the camera came back to focus on her. “Early last year calamity struck the Walsh family when Cody Walsh, Nick’s younger brother, had a horrible accident during a practice and died.”
Her heart ached for the family. She remembered Cody as a sweet kid who worshipped his older brother.
“The Walsh brothers were taking the aerial freestyle world by storm and were poised to vie for gold against each other as well as the world’s top aerialists. Many people speculated Nick wouldn’t continue to compete when he dropped out of sight for several weeks after the tragedy.” One of the topics she planned to cover later when she interviewed him.
“However, Nick did return to compete and is leading in men’s aerials.” Recalling the phone conversation she’d had with Nick’s manager a few hours ago, she said, “According to Nick’s manager, Gordon Lewis, Nick will be performing a new trick for us tonight. One he hopes will take him all the way to gold in the biggest competition of his life!”
A roar for the hometown favorite went up from the crowd. Even as a kid, Nick’s one and only passion had been skiing. He’d had his eyes set on winning gold one day. This could be his year.
Bob pointed toward the ramp.
Julie turned to watch, stomping her feet to stay warm, her gaze riveted to the skier waiting to take off. Walsh wore the U.S. team’s bright blue-and-red ski suit. Though she couldn’t see his face, she had no trouble remembering his vivid blue eyes, thick dark hair and strong jawline.
They’d grown up together, attended the same school and church all the way through to graduation. While she’d been the geeky girl who sat in the front of class, he’d been the one everybody gravitated to at the back. The guys tried to emulate him and failed; the girls vied for his attention and failed. Including her.
She doubted he’d remember her at all.
* * *
Nick Walsh flexed his legs, readying his muscles. He took deep calming breaths. The crowd’s roar of expectation lifted on the chilly evening air. Floodlights illuminated the smooth ramp and pooled in a bright circle highlighting the landing track and outrun twenty feet below. A wiser man would resist the urge to scan the crowd for a glint of steel, the small black hole that would put him out of his misery once and for all.
But he wasn’t wise.
However, he was definitely unnerved.
This morning he’d received a menacing note—letters cut from a magazine to form three words—TIME TO DIE.
After the failed attempt on his life a few months ago, it was little wonder he was edgy.
A flash of color snagged his gaze. A woman stood slightly apart from the rest of the onlookers. Dressed from head to toe in neon pink, she looked like a highlighter except for a long blond braid draped over one shoulder. He blinked and forced himself to focus, which took all his mental prowess considering the death threat looming in the shadows like a
