of fresh powder. And you fall backwards—like this, so that when you land...” Leaning her body back to demonstrate, she caught a glimpse of his disapproving expression. Suddenly she felt like a teenager defending herself to a stodgy grown-up.
He shook his head, a look of incredulity stamped on his face. “I don’t understand why you would knowingly take such a risk. I mean, what are you...?”
She kind of wanted to tell him to lighten up, but knew it would behoove her to make a good impression on him. The more he liked her and Snowy Sky, the less change he would recommend and the sooner she could get back to normal.
Untying her hood, she pushed it back from her face, turned on a bright smile and stuck out a snow-covered glove. “Mr. Addison, it’s nice to meet you—even in this rather, um, unconventional manner. But how’s this for some great snow?”
What looked like a mix of skepticism and disbelief furrowed his brow. “What? Who...are you?”
“I’m Hannah James, project manager here at Snowy Sky.”
* * *
TATE STARED INTO the pretty golden-brown eyes of the woman in front of him and felt a stir of something—no, a mix of so many things.
She was project manager? He knew the project manager was a woman named Hannah James and that she was a former professional skier. But he didn’t know her. He’d thought the name sounded vaguely familiar, but he’d been expecting someone older. And much less...attractive.
She tucked a thick brown braid into the back of her jacket. Smooth, honey-toned skin made it impossible to tell her age.
He found himself blurting, “How old are you?” And immediately wished he could take the question back.
“Excuse me?”
Why had he asked that? Back in his early snowboarding days he’d hated when people had asked him that very question, which they’d done a lot because he had been young and talented and often competing against guys much older and twice or three times his size. He had never thought his age was relevant and now here he was asking the question of someone else.
“Sorry. So, uh, you’re the project manager? Hannah James?”
“Yes. I am. Hannah James.”
He noticed the tightness in her jaw and thought, uh-oh. He hadn’t meant to offend her, and he knew very well this process would go a lot smoother if he could make friends with her, convince her the resort would benefit from his recommendations.
Attempting to reduce the tense moment with honesty and a touch of remorse, he winced. “Oh, man... Ms. James, I’m so sorry. I may not have had the most traditional upbringing, but I do know better than to ask a woman her age.”
He added his own sheepish grin. “You, however, look very young and I was surprised. I am taken aback and embarrassed by my behavior. Can we start over?”
* * *
SURELY HE WASN’T implying she was too young for this job? And why in the world would he think that, Hannah? After he just witnessed you jumping off the chairlift like some kind of reckless teenager?
But she couldn’t help it.
Since the accident she found herself constantly looking for ways to remind herself she was alive, that there were still thrills to be had even if she could no longer race. Dr. Voss said it was harmless, therapeutic even, as long as her forays didn’t get too dangerous. Thus, she was only into “safe” danger. Although that might be difficult to convince Tate Addison of given the current circumstances.
Flashing her best carefree grin, she said, “Of course, Mr. Addison, you’re forgiven. Call me Hannah. And please, forgive me, too. This probably looks really strange, but we all need a little fun sometimes, right? And I can assure you I am both old enough for this job and qualified for the position.”
He looked relieved to be let off the hook.
“Great. Okay, I’m Tate.” He placed a hand on his chest. “And clearly you are both of those things.”
She brushed off his words with a wave of her hand. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Let’s get your tour started, shall we?”
She pulled off her gloves and removed her hat from inside of her jacket where she’d stashed it before she jumped from the lift. She arranged the hat on her head, tucking some stray strands beneath its softness. Finally she replaced her gloves and glanced up in time to catch his assessing stare; she didn’t even want to imagine what he was thinking.
She needed to put this little setback behind her and do some damage control.
“After you.” She gestured toward the groomed portion of the hill.
They hiked back to where he had left his snow machine. There was plenty of room for two, so when he suggested she climb on, she did. He took off slowly and putted along until she directed him to stop a few hundred feet up the hill where she began to give him the status report she’d practiced.
“We’re almost directly in the middle of the ski terrain right here...”
Hannah went on to explain how the runs taking off from each of the four lifts would be arranged to accommodate every type of alpine skier—beginner, intermediate and advanced.
“Chair four—the last chair—will be a nice mix of beginner and intermediate runs along the front here, and has a dual purpose of allowing Nordic skiers access to the eastern terrain. It’s full of trails where they can cross-country ski for miles. We have plans for a small lodge in that area eventually. Alaska has a substantial amount of cross-country skiers and I believe we should really capitalize on this...”
Feeling confident and cruising through her practiced spiel, she believed their awkward meeting was well behind them when he interrupted.
“What about snowboarding?”
“What about it?”
“Does the resort offer anything for snowboarders?”
She thought for a second. The man had been a professional snowboarder for many years; of course snowboarding would be the first thing on his mind.
“Yes, of course. They will be allowed to transport their boards up on the lifts for an extra fifty dollars a day. And we’re only charging them ten percent more on rentals, food and lodging.”
His dark brows dipped down, midnight-blue eyes full of consternation. The man really was serious. Much more so than she had expected. And definitely more than seemed called for. Every snowboarder she’d ever known was pretty much the opposite of serious.
“I’m kidding,” she finally said.
“Oh... That’s funny.” He let out a laugh. The sound was deep and rich, and it surprised her. He should laugh more often, she thought, because it made him seem much less uptight.
Inexplicably proud of herself for the grin still on his face she went on. “Seriously, though, we will offer snowboarders the same things we offer skiers—top-of-the-line equipment rentals, meticulously groomed slopes and plenty of beautiful dry powder. As you can see,
