done, Dawson. Hammond’s Chute beckons.” He motioned toward their skis, which were secured to one of the few metal storage racks that remained after the end-of-season cleanup. Fixing his helmet under his chin, Zach zipped up his ski patrol windbreaker, jammed on his gloves and waited.
Andrew jerked his head in agreement. He waved for Zach to lead the way to their equipment. “Let’s head out.”
If there was one thing that helped Zach forget, it was cutting into spring snow with freshly sharpened and waxed skis. The afternoon couldn’t have been more perfect. Swathes of white sliced into thickets of evergreens that arrowed down to the village of Sutter Creek, Montana. The sun still shone but it had dipped behind the mountain, leaving a welcome chill. He started toward the narrow entrance of Hammond’s Chute. Pausing briefly to gauge a good line, he took a breath and pushed himself over the lip. The regular pattern of the moguls took him back a decade to when he’d competed for the Canadian Olympic freestyle ski team in his early twenties. The rush of perfect vertical spiked his adrenaline. But the challenge was good—he needed to be in top form for when he headed home to heli-ski one of the remote ranges near Whistler.
He eyed a ridge on the edge of the run that looked decent enough to launch off. Following up a stretch of moguls with a good flip was an ingrained habit. The faint swoosh of Andrew behind him anchored him as he took the jump.
Weightless, like his stomach was free from gravity. Bend knees... Annnnd down—
An eerie snap, the unmistakable crack of failing plastic and fiberglass, filled his ears.
He pitched to the left. The world tilted. No, no, no. He focused on the mogul ahead as he tried to balance on his lone unbroken ski. He hit the center of the mound of snow and launched.
Uncontrolled. Too fast.
The green of the trees blurred with white and blue as he vaulted sideways and somersaulted. Sickening vertigo twisted his insides, singed his throat. He’d spent half his skiing career upside down. This was not that.
He hit the snow like a bent, human slingshot. Fire ripped from his knee to hip and tore a scream from his throat. He flipped forward and yelled again as he began to slide down the hill. The cold burn of snow scraping against his face kept him from completely blacking out from the inferno engulfing his left side.
Get on your back.
Roll.
Floundering, fighting the knives slicing into his body, he obeyed his instinct and flailed onto his back. Head pointed downhill, he squeezed his eyes shut against the bluebird sky. Holy mother. The mounds of snow jerked his body. His leg seared as if he were bouncing down a coal bed instead of a steeply pitched hill.
“Zach! Hang on!” Andrew’s shout broke through the buzzing in his ears.
Trying to stop himself, Zach banged his right arm on something hard and the inferno spread to his biceps. He struggled to get air into his lungs. He had to stop. Had to be okay. His parents and sisters would kill him if he was seriously injured. And Cadie... Her sweet face filled his mind and he forced his limbs to relax as he rocketed down the slope. He wouldn’t get hurt as badly if he could just stay loose. But the jolts to his body, rattling his joints and lashing fire along his leg and arm, made it damned hard not to go rigid.
Was this what his friend felt when the avalanche swallowed him?
With pain closing in on all sides, Zach refused to give in to the encroaching black.
I can’t leave Cadie alone. Sam already did that.
July
“Who stuck you with construction detail? You’ll be lucky if you’re done by opening day.”
Kneeling next to eight zillion pieces that theoretically made up a free-weight rack, Cadence Grigg ignored her sister Lauren’s abrupt announcement. She glared at the sheet of illustrated instructions next to her on the floor. Driving rock music, chosen by the receptionist who’d arrived a little while ago and was happily setting up the front desk, pumped from the built-in speakers and muffled Cadie’s curses.
Easy assembly. As if.
Lauren shifted on her feet and cleared her throat. With her blonde hair plaited into two sweaty French braids and body clad in workout clothes, she must have just finished up at the membership-only gym that adjoined the physical therapy facility of Sutter Creek’s new wellness center. “Bit of a mess in here.”
“Thanks, tips.”
“I’m just saying...”
You’re just saying you think I’m taking too much on.
Nerves danced in Cadie’s chest. Irritation, too. Maybe once this place was up and running, her family would finally stop thinking of her as the grieving, pregnant woman she’d been when her husband died eighteen months ago. They would see her as the competent single mom and professional she was. But getting upset wouldn’t help her cause. She inhaled, taking a hit of latex-and-rubber construction smells. New paint, new floors, new possibilities. For her family’s venture, and for Cadie.
“It’s progressing nicely,” she said.
“Uh...” Lauren’s gaze flitted from the stacks of boxes of exercise and therapy equipment to the half-assembled massage table crowded against a mirrored wall. “I’m sure you have a vision.”
“I meant the rack is progressing nicely,” Cadie ground out. She waved a hand at the chaos that she’d somehow turn into a functioning PT clinic before Evolve Wellness opened in ten days. “But I’ll deal with all this, too.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She jabbed a finger at the opaque glass wall that separated the exercise space from the reception area. “Treadmills are going there. Pulley systems and exercise benches adjacent. And all those boxes are going to fill the treatment rooms. You should see the stuff I’ve ordered, Laur. My old boss wouldn’t even know what it is, it’s so up-to-date.”
“Sounds great,” Lauren said warily.
“No, it sounds like you’re accusing me of overextending.” She took a centering breath and started screwing one of the rack’s support pieces onto what looked like part of a shelf.
Lauren knelt on the opposite side of the pile of metal pieces. “It is a lot...”
“And I’ve got it under control.” She’d finish setting everything up, even if she had to bring her eleven-month-old son Ben’s playpen and put him to bed here for the next ten days.
“It’s not that you can do it, it’s when. I don’t want you to burn out before Evolve even opens.”
“I’m not delicate, Lauren.” Her jaw tensed, making her molars creak. “Ben’s in daycare three days this week. And my staff is pitching in.”
“But—”
“Evolve
