Nah, man, that was crazy. No way. He’d only known her for two weeks.
In that time, you’ve gone from never having spoken with her to having the key to her house. What does that tell you?
So he liked her. He liked her a lot. But falling in love? No.
He shoved the pager into his pocket and pointed the tips of his skis downhill, determined to put her out of his mind for a while.
But what if he was falling for her? Shouldn’t he do something to stop himself?
Yeah? Like what?
He could end it. He could return Ellie’s key. He could tell her it was just sex.
But it wasn’t just sex. It had never been just sex—not with Ellie. And why would he want to end it when being with her made him feel … happy?
And he was happy when he was with her. Here he was skiing by himself through some of the most beautiful terrain on the planet, and all he could think about was Ellie. And the worst part was that he was okay with this. He was smiling about it, grinning ear to ear. Because that is what she did to him.
You’re hopeless, Moretti.
He spotted a couple of snowboarders about to drop into an out-of-bounds shoot on the other side of the orange plastic security fence. “Idiots.”
Did they want to die in an avalanche?
He skied through a gap someone had cut in the fence. The two were smoking a joint, so they didn’t see him coming up behind them until he slid to a stop. “Don’t even think about it.”
He confiscated their pot and their season passes and asked whether they had cut the fence—a crime.
“No, man, it was already like that,” said the taller of the two. “That’s why we crossed. We figured maybe it was okay.”
“You figured wrong.” He skied with them down the slope, ignoring their whining and yammering and all the names they called him.
“Bastard fuck.”
“Loser.”
“Pencil prick.”
When they reached the lodge, he held up their passes. “You can pick these up at the main office in two weeks—unless we catch you breaking in or skiing out of bounds in the meantime. If that happens, you’re out for the season. And leave the weed at home. It’s legal, but not here. Got it?”
“Way to be an asshole, man,” one of them muttered as they walked away, carrying their snowboards. “Weed thief.”
Jesse skied to the ski patrol chalet, stepped out of his skis, and carried them inside together with the joint and the bag of weed.
The moment he stepped through the door, the chalet exploded into cheers and applause.
Hell.
It was an ambush. All the patrollers were there. Even the resort’s general manager, a former patroller named Brent Arthur, had come.
Arthur shook his hand, then saw the weed. “Looks like you came ready to party.”
Jesse was about to say that it wasn’t his weed, that he’d taken it from a pair of snowboarders when Arthur pointed at him and laughed.
“Look at his face. He thought I meant it.”
Everyone seemed to find this hilarious.
“I just wanted to thank you for saving lives yesterday, including your own. You did one hell of a job. I’ve never lost a patroller, and I aim to keep it that way.”
More cheers and applause.
Jesus.
“On behalf of Scarlet Mountain Resort, I want to give you this.” Arthur held out a piece of paper that turned out to be a gift certificate for an overnight stay in one of the lodge’s luxury suites. “Kick back and relax a bit. That’s an order.”
“Thanks.” Jesse’s gaze fixed on the words hot tub.
And, damn, if that didn’t give him some ideas.
*
Ellie walked toward the back door that opened onto the loading dock with the six-page supply list and a pen in hand. She’d told her mother not to expect her until after nine. Even if Megs turned up with a few people, it was going to take a long time to sort through all this stuff.
She pushed open the back door—and stared. “Wow.”
A dozen Team members, all wearing bright yellow Rocky Mountain Search & Rescue Team T-shirts, stood in groups of twos and threes, talking and joking with one another. They stopped when she stepped out, heads turning. She knew some of them—Megs, of course, and Austin and Eric. The others she recognized from the benefit at Knockers. Sasha Dillon. Harrison Conrad. Creed Herrera. Mitch Ahearn. Nicole Turner. Malachi O’Brien. Kenzie Morgan. Chaska Belcourt.
“I think she’s happy to see us,” Megs said.
“You have no idea.”
Jesse came around the corner, yellow T-shirt stretched over a black turtleneck, his hair windblown from a day on the slopes. “Sorry, I’m late.”
“Yeah, what’s with that, Moretti?” Creed joked.
Ellie led them to the storage room, flicked on the lights, and explained the situation to Megs. “The supplies for the first-aid tent are on these three pallets. Once they’re inventoried, they have to be put back on the pallets and wrapped up again, because that’s how they’re going to be transported.”