assumed that you’re some sort of security, policing this area.”
She shook her head. “It’s private land.”
“Oh, and you own it?”
She stared right at him. “Damn straight I do.”
She couldn’t tell if she’d shocked him or not. His expression didn’t change—at least, she didn’t think it did. And she couldn’t see his eyes. “How?” was all he said.
“How what?”
“How could you own it?”
“All you need to know is I own it. And this isn’t a public run. It’s posted, and—”
“The kid,” he exclaimed. “You’re the kid, aren’t you?”
“What kid?”
“The hair. I remember the hair. Jennings coming after us, and you running up behind him, a tiny little thing, but with a booming voice.” He smiled suddenly, an expression that shook her. “You’d yell, ‘Get off my mountain,’while Jennings threatened to shoot us on the spot.”
Her dad had been furious at their intrusion. “I’ll skin them alive,” he’d say. “Maybe shoot them, too.” But he never caught up with them. As she and her father had come out of the trees, one by one the boys had turned and taken off. By the time she got to the edge, the boys were shooting down the run, their voices echoing into the mountains as they yelled, “Yahoo!” Then she’d go back to the cabin with her dad, and while she’d wait for her mother to pick her up, she’d keep the fire going and watch her father get drunker and drunker, all the while muttering about “those blasted teenagers.”
“You were trespassing back then, too,” she murmured, not wanting to remember that time of her life clearly.
“You’re…” He thought for a second. “Molly?”
“It’s Holly, and you’re still trespassing.”
He didn’t move. “Tell me one thing, Holly.”
“What?”
“Did he really have a gun?”
She was so shocked that she almost smiled. She didn’t intend to smile with this man, or have this conversation. “No, he didn’t, but he didn’t want you on his land, and neither do I.”
The next question rocked her. “Is that why you hate me? Because I used the run when Jennings didn’t want me to?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
He actually came closer, his skis spreading right and left to go on the outside of hers. He got within two feet of her, and he towered over her. She forced herself not to retreat. If she moved, she’d fall into him, tangle with his skis, and this whole situation would be even more embarrassing.
He leaned toward her, erasing even more space between them. “You know, that look, as if I’m two rungs below the lowest rung on the ladder of humanity.”
“You’re crazy,” she said quickly, but didn’t sound very convincing even to her ears.
“Am I?” he asked, and she was certain she felt the suggestion of heat from his breath touch her face.
She shook her head. “Yes, you are.”
“And you don’t hate me?”
She couldn’t tell a lie of that magnitude. “What difference would it make if I did?”
He was very still for a long moment. Then, without warning, he leaned even closer, cupped her chin with his gloved hand. “A hell of a lot of difference,” he whispered roughly. Then he let her go before she could think of how to react, and expertly turned without hitting her skis. With a glance back at her, he moved to the edge of the run, dug in, and in the next instant he pushed off and was away. His voice echoed to her, “Yahoo!” over and over again.
She hurried to the edge, saw the path he cut in the snow and saw him take the jump at the outcropping with ease. She’d been ready to ski the run herself, and she wasn’t going to let him change her plans. She flipped up her goggles, then pushed off herself. Never glancing away from the bright red vest, she made the jump cleanly, and landed with knees bent at almost the exact spot he’d landed.
She kept going, her eyes on him ahead of her, and she saw his mistake an instant before he made it. She screamed, “Left, left,” but there was no time for him to adjust. He didn’t go left, kept going straight ahead, no doubt figuring that the even snow beyond was safe. But it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. There’d been a rock slide in the summer, and there was now a crater in the mountain where it hadn’t been before. The snow that hid it was soft, and the instant he hit the softness, he sank. His skis caught, and he went flying forward, skis over head. She slowed, swept left and back, then she skied sideways to a stop near where he was sprawled awkwardly in the snow. One ski had been released from its bindings, coming to rest near his head, and the other ski was on its side, twisted with his foot. She couldn’t see his poles anywhere.
She pushed with her poles, skied sideways, approaching the hole of snow, and carefully picked her way over to where he’d ended up, no more than three feet from a huge pine. He wasn’t moving, just lying facedown in the snow. She didn’t like him. She didn’t like his kind, but that didn’t stop her heart from rising in her throat. “Are you okay?” she yelled.
She bent down, unsnapped her bindings, then trudged over to him. She stooped by him, her knees sinking in the powdery snow. She reached for him, grabbing his vest, but was afraid to move him in case she did more harm to him than good. “Cain,” she breathed. “Can you hear me?”
He stirred then, and she pulled back. He pushed one hand into the snow, then slowly turned until he was on his back. His goggles were still in place and they reflected her image and caught the sunlight behind her. She couldn’t see any blood on him, but he moved very cautiously as he lifted a hand to take off his glasses. She was looking into eyes filled with the same laughter that was twitching at his lips. “Face-plant,” he muttered as he shoved himself up and realigned his single ski. “I haven’t done that since…” He shrugged as he swiped at the snow that clung to his face and hair and grinned at her. “Too long ago to remember.”
She sank back on her heels. “It’s not funny. You could have killed yourself.”
He swiped his glasses off, then slipped them back on. “I’m not dead. Just ended up with hurt pride,” he murmured. “But it does hurt.” He glanced past her up the hill. “What happened—rocks messed up or a sinkhole?”
“Rocks,” she said. “They had a slide in the summer and it left a good-sized pocket.”
“Well, live and learn,” he said, pushing himself up to his feet. He turned to her and held out a gloved hand.
She ignored it and got to her feet herself. She brushed at her pants, then managed to make herself look up at him. She motioned to the east. “Go down that way and you’re at the fence for the resort.”
He reached for his errant ski and put it back on. Then he scanned the area. “My poles,” he said, going past
