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The explanation struck Hagan as incomplete. Why would a world-class athlete retreat to a somewhat remote Colorado resort when she might have scored a lucrative gig as a rep for an equipment manufacturer, an outdoor clothing model or even the resident pro on a resort’s marketing payroll? Why put up with the hard work, injured tourists and low pay of ski patrol?
“She was a ski racer,” he said. “World Cup. Headed for the Olympics.” Apparently she had left the team after a bad accident, but he did not know the details.
Ben leaned forward, definitely more interested now. “What’s your last name?”
She sent Hagan a pained look. Hey, why was she ticked at him? It wasn’t as if her past was a big secret. “Alexander. Maddie Alexander.”
“Awesome Alexander!” Ben grinned. “I remember reading about you in Sports Illustrated.”
“Yeah.” Her gloomy expression was more worthy of a write-up in Mortician’s Monthly.
“You were written up in some of the medical journals, too,” Ben said. “The titanium repair on your tibia? And the artificial joint in your hip?”
She nodded, her face pale. Hagan stood and pushed a chair toward her. She looked as if she might faint. “Sit down,” he ordered, and she did so. He glared at Ben.
Ben had the grace to flush. “Sorry. I forget not everyone’s as interested in catastrophic medicine as I am. Heather has to remind me not to discuss surgery at dinner.”
“She is a wise woman,” Hagan said. Mostly because Heather had finally gotten over the silly crush she had had on him last summer and had focused on a man who really cared for her—the way Hagan never could have.
There was a knock and the nurse stuck her head in the door. “Your patient is ready to go,” she said.
“We had better get back to work, too,” Hagan said as Maddie popped to her feet.
“It was nice meeting you, Maddie.” Ben offered his hand. “Welcome to Crested Butte.”
“Thanks.” She shook his hand and flashed a warm smile. Hagan felt a pinch of jealousy that such a look had not been directed at him.
Which only proved his ego was as big as the next guy’s. He was not interested in dating Maddie, but there was no reason they could not be friends.
They followed Ben into the clinic’s reception room, and found Julie balancing on a pair of crutches. “Oh, Hagan? Could you help me out to my friend’s car?” She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled at him.
“Of course.” He took one crutch and let her lean on him instead as they made their way to an SUV idling out front. He deposited her in the passenger seat and she pressed a slip of paper into his hand. “Call me,” she whispered, then kissed his cheek.
He pocketed the paper and stepped back, making no commitment as the SUV pulled away.
“I’ll go fill out the report,” Maddie said, pushing past him. “You can add your part later.”
She grabbed her skis from the rack and headed around the side of the building. Ben came to stand alongside Hagan. “What did you do to her?” he asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
Ben looked as if he did not believe this. “You didn’t hit on her, did you?” he asked.
Hagan scowled at him. “No, you know I stay away from the locals.”
“Yeah.” Ben looked again in the direction Maddie had vanished. “Maybe she’s jealous of you and Julie baby.”
“Not likely.” He would know if she were interested in him—she showed none of the usual signs.
“Maybe you should consider breaking your own rule,” Ben said. “She’s good-looking and you two have skiing and patrol in common.”
“Not my type.” Yes, Maddie was good-looking and independent and she had an interesting background, but she was too prickly for his tastes. Not to mention that being around her made him feel too edgy and uncomfortable. “I will stick with the tourists.” His policy of avoiding emotional entanglements with women had served him well for the past ten years. He saw no need to abandon it now.
Ben shook his head. “If you think that’s going to keep you from getting caught one day, you’ve got another think coming. Just ask Max.”
Hagan’s best friend Max Overbridge and newcomer Casey Jernigan were engaged to be married in the summer, as soon as the snow melted enough off the Mountain Garden to hold the wedding there. Hagan was slated to serve as best man. “The difference between me and Max,” Hagan said, “is that Max wanted to be caught, no matter what he says different. Me, I know better.”
Marriage was a velvet-lined pit, a lure that made a man believe he could find eternal happiness. But there were sharpened sticks waiting at the bottom of the pit. He had been there before and never intended to experience that pain again. Better to indulge in the occasional casual fling with a woman who would soon leave town than to get involved with a woman like Maddie who could truly turn his world upside down.
Chapter Two
Maddie finished up the accident report then left it in Hagan’s box for him to sign off on. If he had any questions, he could radio her, but she wouldn’t wait around for him. She didn’t need him thinking she was an adoring fan begging for his attention. Everyone said he was an excellent patroller—and from what she’d seen so far, she’d have to agree—but his Don Juan act was simply too much. When her life was more in order and she was ready to settle into a relationship again, it would be with a man she could respect and count on—not a player like Hagan.
For now, she’d try to keep her distance from him and not risk saying something that might jeopardize her job.
She was on her way out of the patrol shack when her roommate, fellow patroller Andrea Dawson, hailed her. Andrea was the only woman on patrol who was almost as short as Maddie’s own five feet. Her straight black hair and almond eyes revealed her Asian heritage. Originally from China, she’d been adopted as an infant by a local couple and had practically grown up on skis. “You busy?” she asked Maddie.
Maddie shook her head. “No. What’s up?”
“We just got a report of a couple of snowboarders ducking ropes over by Spellbound and Phoenix. The area’s still closed for avalanche control. I need to go check it out. I could use some backup.”
“Sure.” Yellow ropes were used to mark the ski area boundaries and to close off areas considered too unstable or dangerous for skiing or riding. But there were always people who thought the rules didn’t apply to them, who risked ducking under the ropes.
“I hate this part of the job,” Andrea said as she and Maddie rode the Silver Queen lift up the mountain. “These guys always want to give me lip and it’s such a hassle. If it weren’t for the fact they could trigger an avalanche or get hurt I’d tell them to go ahead and kill themselves.”
Maddie laughed. “Nobody likes ragging on other people, but if anybody gets mouthy with me, I let them have it. It’s a great way to vent my frustrations—if they deserve it.”
“Guess I’ll watch and learn from an expert then.”
“Maybe we’ll be lucky and they’ll listen to reason.”
“Yeah, like how often does that happen?”
From the top of Silver Queen, they headed into Paradise Bowl and up the North Face lift. They found the two snowboarders in a deep gully a few hundred yards beyond the ropes closing off the popular Spellbound Glades, an area of double-black runs that usually didn’t open until the snowpack had built up later in the season.
One of the boarders, wearing a bright green stocking cap, was hung up on a snag, trying to wrench his board free, while his friend, in a camouflage snowboarding suit, stood downslope, shouting at him to hurry.
“Having trouble?” Maddie asked as she and Andrea stopped above the two.
Green cap scowled up at her. “I’m okay,” he muttered, and went back to working his board loose.
“You guys are in a closed area,” Andrea said.
“We are?” Red Jacket’s innocent look might have been practiced in a mirror for just such an occasion. “We thought we might have gotten off the trail, but we weren’t sure.” He grinned. “Sorry.”
“Dude, we saw your tracks where you slid under the ropes,” Maddie said. “Right next to a sign that said closed.”
“What’s the big deal?” Green Hat asked, his board free at last. “We’re not hurting anybody.”
“Not yet,” Andrea said. “But this area is closed for a reason. You could trigger an avalanche.”
“Yeah, and then we have to go to all the trouble of digging out your bodies,” Maddie said. “We hate that.”
“We hate that,” Red Jacket mimicked.
Maddie looked at Andrea. “I think these two just lost their passes,” she said.
“There’s also the fine,” Andrea added. “Up to one thousand dollars.”
“You have to catch us first,” Green Hat said, and took off down the slope.
“Yep, they’re getting the fine, too,” Maddie said. But as she stared down the rocky, vertical slope, she felt a little queasy.
It wasn’t any steeper than anything she’d skied as a racer, but merely looking at it made her palms sweat and her heart race. It was strange how only certain runs and situations—such as this one—brought back the horror of her accident. She’d hoped being on patrol, skiing every day and confronting terrain like this would help her get over her fear, but so far this cure wasn’t working.
“We don’t have to chase them,” Andrea said.
“We don’t?” Maddie thought she did a good job of hiding her relief.
Andrea shook her head. “Nah. This funnels down to the top of the East River lift. We’ll radio for someone to meet them there.” She unclipped her radio from her pack and gave the description of the two boarders, requesting someone hold them at the top of East River. Then she and Maddie shouldered their skis and hiked up out of the closed area.
Maddie wished she had a camera when, twenty minutes later, Red Jacket and Green Hat looked up from their conversation with patrollers Eric and Marcie to see Andrea and Maddie coming toward them.
“Hello, guys.” Andrea smiled. “Looks like we caught up with you after all.” Before the men could say anything, each patroller had pulled out a pair of scissors and snipped off the boarders’ passes. “You can either come with us quietly and fill out the paperwork,” Andrea said. “Or we’ll call the police and have you arrested.”
“Arrested for what?” Green Hat asked.
“Trespassing on private property and violating the Colorado Ski Safety Act, for a start.” Maddie glanced at Andrea. “I’m sure we can come up with a few other things if you don’t think that’s enough.”
The two boarders exchanged looks, shoulders slumped, then admitted defeat. They waited quietly while Eric started up a snowmobile to take them off the mountain.
Once the two boarders were taken care of, it was after three-thirty and the lifts were beginning to shut down. Andrea and Maddie joined the other patrollers in sweeping the mountain—skiing each trail to make sure there were no stranded skiers or riders. It was Maddie’s favorite time of day, when she skied the mostly deserted runs, alone with her thoughts and the feeling of freedom soaring over the snow always gave her. For that brief period she wasn’t a poorly paid, overworked ski patroller, but an elite athlete who still had the potential for greatness.
By the time Maddie dragged into the locker room, it was after five. She was pleasantly tired, and feeling better about the start of her second week as a patroller. It wasn’t her dream job, but it was skiing, and that made it worth something. She sat to take off her ski boots and Andrea slid down the bench to rest beside her.
“There’s a party at the Eldo tonight,” she said. “You going?”
“What is the Eldo?” Maddie asked.
“It’s a place downtown, on Elk Avenue. Everybody hangs out there.”
Maddie shook her head. “I’m not really in the partying mood.”
“Come on,” Andrea pleaded. “Are you just going to hang out at the condo by yourself and brood?”
“I’m not going to brood.” But if Maddie were completely honest, that was probably exactly what she’d do.
“You need to get out and meet people,” Andrea said. “And there are a lot of good-looking guys in this town. Some of them are even worth knowing.”
Guys like Hagan Ansdar? Maddie dismissed the thought. She already knew all she needed to know about Hagan. He was a playboy who took his good looks and athleticism as his due—as if he were somehow immune from mere human frailties that plagued those around him.
“Come on,” Andrea said again. “If you don’t like it, you can always take the bus back up to the mountain.”
Maddie couldn’t argue with that reasoning, so ended up seated next to Andrea on the free shuttle bus headed down to the town of Crested Butte, which sat in a little valley a few miles below the ski resort. The main street, Elk Avenue, was lined with restored Victorian buildings and newer buildings made to look old, most painted in bright colors. Light from streetlamps and storefronts spilled across the mounds of snow that lined the sidewalks. Noisy groups of tourists and locals alike navigated the slippery walks and crowded into the restaurants, shops and bars.
The Eldo occupied the second story of a building near the end of the street. The outdoor balcony was already crowded with revelers who greeted newcomers with shouts and whistles. Maddie followed Andrea up the stairs and through the glass-front doors, into the throbbing pulse of music on the jukebox, the crack of pool balls and the low roar of conversation. How many such bars had she been in, all over the globe, with her fellow skiers? This one felt no different, right down to the woman on crutches in the corner, the guy in the knee brace by the bar and the assortment of outlandish knit hats worn by the patrons. This was her world, what she knew. And this feeling of belonging, of recognizing the social landscape, was part of the reason she’d settled for such a menial job as patrolling.
As she and Andrea squeezed past the crowded bar, Maddie waved to a few familiar faces. After only ten days in town she was getting to know people, though more of them recognized her thanks to her brief flirtation with fame. Not for the first time she wished that photographer from Sports Illustrated had never snapped the shot of her and two of her teammates posed with their skis and a collection of medals. America’s skiing sweethearts, the caption had read, and the article inside had described them as the United States’s top medal hopes for the 2006 Olympics.
But instead of standing on an Olympic podium, Maddie had watched the games from a hospital bed, alternately weeping and cursing her fate.
She shook off the memory and followed Andrea to a long line of tables pushed together and crowded with Eric, Scott and other patrollers. Hagan was seated a few chairs down from her, with a couple of snowboarders Andrea introduced as Max and Zephyr.
Scott filled plastic cups with beer from a pitcher and passed them to her and Andrea. Maddie didn’t really like beer that much, but it was nice to be so readily included in their party. When she’d still been on the circuit, she’d been part of an insular group who’d descend upon a resort en masse. They’d be the ones shoving the tables together and mostly hanging with each other before heading to the next race venue. It had been many years since she’d stayed in one place long enough to really get to know people, and she still wasn’t sure how to respond to the friendliness almost everyone in town had shown her. She wanted to return their warmth, of course, but she didn’t want to come across as overeager and needy.
After years as a skiing nomad, she was out of practice making new friends. It didn’t help that she had no idea how long she’d stay in Crested Butte. Unable to imagine a winter away from skiing, she’d taken the patroller’s job as a stopgap—something to do until she figured out where to go next. Ever since her injury her life had been plagued by uncertainty and the feeling that everything she did was temporary. She was on edge, waiting for something, but she had no idea what that something would be.
Maybe the next thing to do was to go with the flow. Get to know these people. It couldn’t hurt, and it might help her to feel less alone. Less isolated by her private misery.
She studied the dreadlocked blonde next to Hagan. “Zephyr?” she repeated, not sure she’d heard the name correctly.
“Yeah. I’m a rock guitarist.” He pantomimed playing a guitar.
“Cool.” Maybe he was famous and she didn’t know it. She’d slept, breathed, thought and lived nothing but skiing for the previous ten years, so she was a little behind on pop culture.
“Right now I’m taking a break from music to pursue fame as a snowboarder,” Zephyr continued. “I’m entering the Free Skiing competition next month.”
The Free Skiing competition was the biggest event in the country, with the serious daredevils of skiing and snowboarding competing. All the big names in alternative winter sports would be there. “Have you ever competed before?” she asked.
“No. I’m not really the competitive kind.” Zephyr grinned. “But I’m good.”
“He is.” The man next to him, a muscular guy named Max, said. “He’s also crazy.”
“It helps to be crazy to compete.” She took a long drink, not really tasting the beer. What else but insanity drove a person to do things like race at top speed down steep, icy mountains or jump off cliffs into canyons of snow? There was no greater adrenaline rush. She wondered if she’d ever stop missing that feeling.
“I think you ought to be committed.” A woman who could have been Jennifer Anniston’s double frowned at Zephyr, who sat across from her at the table. “Aren’t you afraid, doing all those crazy stunts?”
“No. I know I can do it.”
“You should be afraid,” Maddie said. “In racing we had a saying—it’s not if you get hurt, it’s when.”
He shrugged. “I refuse to think about it,” he said. “It’s a Zen thing.”
“Zen is drinking a nice cup of tea at my coffee shop and listening to Indian flute music,” the woman said. “Zen is not hucking your body off of cliffs on a snowboard.”
Zephyr grinned again. “Aww, Trish. It’s nice to know you care.”
Trish flushed. “I care about stray dogs and lost tourists, too. Don’t assume it means anything.”
