Jesse was so used to thinking of Dan by his nickname that it hadn’t clicked for him until he’d seen the SOAR patch and had thought for a moment about Ellie’s last name. Crash had been one of the best damned Black Hawk pilots Jesse had ever known. There’d been a good half dozen times when he and his crew had appeared from the sky like avenging angels, raining hellfire down on the enemy and getting Jesse and his element to safety.
Jesse parked in the staff parking lot of Scarlet Mountain Resort and trudged uphill through the dark in almost three feet of fresh powder to the chalet-style building that served both as Ski Patrol HQ and the First Aid Center. Plow crews were busy clearing snow from the sidewalks around the lodge and the massive guest parking lots, sunrise still a good hour and a half away.
Jesse stomped the snow from his boots and stepped through the door. “Mornin’.”
“Hey, Moretti.” Matt Mayes, ski patrol supervisor, sat at the dispatch desk, his avalanche rescue dog Boomer dozing near his feet. A former champion alpine skier, Matt still ripped up the slopes at age fifty-nine. “Coffee’s fresh if you want some.”
Jesse walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup, calling to Matt over his shoulder. “What’s the forecast?”
“At the moment, it’s minus ten on top with a wind chill of minus twenty-five. They’re calling for clearing skies with a high of about thirty.”
That would mean busy slopes. There was nothing like blue skies after a big snowfall to drive the state’s hardcore powder hounds into the mountains. It didn’t matter how cold it was. Of course, the weather in the Rockies could change without warning. That’s why the dispatch desk watched the forecast throughout the day.
Jesse took a sip of his coffee. It was thick and black and bitter—exactly the way he liked it. If this shit didn’t wake you up, you were probably dead. “Hey, do you know anyone who rides horses?”
Matt looked confused. “You want to go riding?”
Jesse shook his head. “SnowFest is coming up in a month or so, and I want to sign up for the skijoring race.”
Forget paragliding, BASE jumping, and slacklining. Skijoring was the most insane sport Jesse had seen in his time in Colorado. Skiers made their way down a snowy street in the middle of town, skiing over big ramps and collecting rings along the way—all while being towed behind a galloping horse.
Yeah. You couldn’t make this shit up.
Most people would have told Jesse he was insane, but Matt just nodded. “I have a few ideas. I’ll ask around.”
“Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”
Other patrollers began to arrive—Travis, Ben, Christa, Kevin, Amanda, Doug, Steve. They shuffled in, poured themselves coffee, and gathered at the dispatch desk.
Matt glanced down at his clipboard, where he’d written the day’s schedule in chicken scratch, assigning each patroller to one or more trails. “We got almost thirty-six inches of new snowfall. We’ve had the snowcats running on the greens and blues. Christa and Travis, I’d like the two of you to hit Little Bear Mountain and mark any hazards.”
“Little Bear again?” Travis muttered.
Little Bear was home to most of the greens and blues—beginner and intermediate trails. Travis had a thing for the expert-only stuff, the black diamond and double-black diamond runs.
Matt ignored Travis. “Doug, you’ve got the blues on Bella Vista. Amanda, work with the grooming crew on the terrain park.”
The freestyle terrain park was the newest addition to the resort and featured jumps, rails, and a 20-foot-long half-pipe. It was a hit with snowboarders.
“Jesse, Ben, and Kevin, head up to Eagle Ridge, throw some bombs, and check out the double-blacks and the glades. We’ve got dry powder on top of hardpack, so the risk of avalanche is sky high. Roger is already up on the mountain, making sure all the patrol huts are shoveled and toasty warm for you. We’ve got miles of terrain to open and not a lot of time. Let’s get to it.”
Matt had trusted Jesse with explosives from the moment he’d joined ski patrol because of his military experience. Jesse had to admit that he much preferred blowing up snow to blowing up people.
Kevin walked over to him. “Get geared up and pack the fuses and charges. Try to steal a thermos of coffee if there’s any left. I’m going to get the sled.”
Ben stepped out of the kitchen, his gaze met Jesse’s. “What a dick. He always drives, and we always ride.”
“It’s called seniority.” Jesse couldn’t help but grin. “But, hey, we get to blow shit up and ski glades on a fresh powder day. I’m not complaining.”
Skiing through glades—stands of trees—was one of the most dangerous things a skier could do and Jesse’s new favorite winter pastime.
Ben acknowledged the truth of what Jesse had said with a nod and a greedy grin. “The stoke meter is on high today.”
Jesse grabbed a radio and hand mic out of the charger, then went to the locker room for his gear. He traded his blue parka for his red ski patrol parka with its yellow cross, then grabbed his skis, boots, and his helmet. Five minutes later, he and Ben were skiing to the locked facility where they kept the explosives. Kevin was already there, sitting pretty on the blue Sherpa, his skis in the rack. The snowmobile had been custom-built so that it could carry a team of four patrollers, together with gear, skis, and a patient on a litter.