as Mark asked, but then suddenly stopped and whirled around. “My goggles!” she shouted, pointing to the broken glasses at the base of the pine tree in the distance. “I can’t see a thing without them. I won’t do this without my wrap goggles. I’ll ruin my eyes.”
Mark shot Goldie a dagger of exasperation, fully aware that her designer goggles had cost at least three hundred dollars and he knew she would not settle for a generic pair that he could pull from his equipment bag. “You’re right,” he acquiesced, scanning the bright, white blanket of snow spread across the gentle slopes and glazing the tall mountainsides. “You need to protect your eyes. Let’s quit for today. We’ll start again tomorrow. Ten o’clock.”
“Thank God,” Goldie agreed. “But what will I do about goggles? Mine cost…”
“I know,” Mark interrupted. He certainly didn’t need her to tell him what high end ski accessories cost. He’d bought and worn only the best goggles, jackets, boots and sports clothing—purchased from the most fashion conscious retailers in the world—throughout his entire career. If there was one thing Mark Jorgen knew, besides how to ski, it was how to dress to impress on the slopes. “I’m going into Aspen in the morning to pick up a package at the post office,” he went on. “I’ll be happy to get you another pair while I’m in town. I know Gorsuch carries them and they’ll be compliments of Scenic Ridge. How’s that? We’ll try again tomorrow afternoon.”
“Fine with me,” Goldie decided, her annoyance quickly fading. “And if you’re going into town anyway, I’d love to tag along. There’s this gorgeous set of hand-carved….”
Mark tuned Goldie Lamar out as she rattled on and on about some trinket she had seen in a quaint shop on Cooper Avenue, knowing he would probably have to take her with him tomorrow. Anything to satisfy a big-spending guest.
After escorting Goldie back to the lift, Mark waved her off and finished his classes for the day. As pale shadows began to form on the snow-covered slopes, he shouldered his skis and hopped a lift to head back to his private lodgings at the foot of the mountain, jumping off as soon as the car swung close to the ground. The crunch of hard-packed snow crackled under his fur-lined boots.
Mark lived in the Snow King Suite, the largest of four cabins, situated far from the main lodge, among the tall Aspen trees. Though referred to as suites, the cabins were especially designed for special guests who required privacy, luxury and who were willing to pay a handsome sum for it. Each cabin/suite featured handcrafted furnishings, carefully selected accessories, peaked pine ceilings, wood-burning fireplaces, full kitchen facilities and an outdoor hot tub.
As the head of the ski school at Scenic Ridge, he knew he was being treated more like a guest than an employee, and understood why: his competitive days might be over, but his name still had drawing power among serious ski aficionados. Why shouldn’t Scenic Ridge benefit from their association with him if it could bring in more money for the resort and keep him on the slopes?
Drawing in a deep breath, Mark slowed his pace and filled his lungs with crisp mountain air, in no real hurry to get home. He loved to walk home when he had finished working for the day, when the silence of winter calmed him down and muted the lingering echoes of all the shouting, complaining and chatter that he had to endure on the mountaintop.
Coming to work at Scenic Ridge was one of the best decisions he had ever made and he was very appreciative of Deena’s efforts to make him feel at home. She had insisted he move into private quarters at the lodge, which she could have rented for a thousand dollars a week. All of his meals were covered in his contract, and though his finances were not nearly as flush as they used to be, he was able to live in comfort while maintaining the illusion of success that befitted an Olympian.
Mark looked around. In the fading light, Scenic Ridge resembled a perfect luminous pearl nestled in the most beautiful section of the Roaring Fork River Valley. It was quaint, yet luxurious. Far enough away from the glitz and shine of Aspen to maintain its rustic ambiance, yet near enough to get to Buttermilk, Snowmass and the fancy shops and restaurants within an hour’s drive. The resort was small, but not cramped. Isolated, yet accessible. Exactly where he wanted to be.
He shrugged, a cynical smile touching his lips as he realized how content he actually was. It had not always been like this. Only a few years ago, he would have balked at living so far from the celebrity-filled world he had moved in. Then, he would have been staying in the most lavish suite in the most expensive hotel in Aspen, eating personally prepared meals in the most posh of restaurants and being entertained by the most beautiful girls within a five mile radius.
For most of Mark’s adult life he had lived the high-life as a celebrated Olympian, as the most famous black skier in the world—a title that had both plagued him and made him proud. As a world class competitive skier throughout Europe and the U.S., he had spent much of life either training under the keen eye of his manager-mother, Virina, or partying with a nouveau riche crowd. Oh, the times he had had while traveling the world and making love to any woman who turned his head: black, brown or white. European, African, Asian or Hispanic. Tall or short. At the height of his career it had not mattered to him what country a woman came from as long as she was gorgeous, belonged to the exclusive world of money and social standing that he moved in, enjoyed partying and loved lots of good sex.
But now, things were very different. He moved more slowly, was less concerned with money and social status, and was aware of how little it took to make him happy. He viewed the future as a clear sheet of ice on which he hoped to carve a beautiful future with the right woman, and until he found her, he was going to steer clear of women like Goldie Lamar, who in his opinion were shallow, self-absorbed snobs.
He was thirty-eight years old and knew he wanted children, stability, a wife and a home—preferably a rustic pine-log cabin high on a hill with a ski slope at his back door. Yes, it was time to find the right woman to settle down with, one with values, charm, a real work ethic and one who would not flaunt money in his face. He’d had enough of those bored, rich types to last him a lifetime. He might have to put up with them on the slopes, but he didn’t have to share his private time with them. In his opinion, having too much money could do more harm than good.
Chapter 4
Gorsuch, Ltd. was crowded and buzzing with conversation as men, women and a scattering of children oohed and aahed over the glamorous items on display in the upscale resort shop. Nestled beneath the towering Aspen Mountains, the store was an explosion of exquisite leather, fur and suede outerwear; fashion forward clothing in a fantasy of designs by world famous designers; unique home décor items for the ultrabeautiful homes of discriminating shoppers; and of course, skiwear of the highest order.
Skylar felt overwhelmed by the choices and the prices of the items surrounding her. Cautiously, she checked out the price tag on a pair of alligator boots—$4,250, and the matching handbag was only a few hundred dollars less.
“Ouch,” she murmured, setting aside the unusual footwear. Even though she could have afforded them, she had no intention of spending that kind of money on a pair of boots. She had always been a conservative shopper, and her approach to shopping wasn’t about to catch up with her bank account. Going crazy now would certainly undermine her desire to keep her wealth a secret while she was in Aspen.
Moving on, she picked out two fluffy blue sweatshirts off a clearance rack, and even though they were on sale, they still cost four times what she would have paid for similar items in Tampa. Next, she selected matching sweatpants, a red sweater and two fleece vests from another rack, and with a flip of her wrist, added two pairs of thick socks and a flannel nightgown to the pile. Unsure about what else she might need, she glanced around, spotted a salesclerk and signaled for help.
“Shoes,”
