But nope, just her.
She’d grown up in a tiny mountain town just south of Denver, about two hours from here and though just about everyone she knew was a big skier, she was not. She’d been concentrating on other things. Today, the wind hitting her face, the sun warming her cheeks, and the feeling of being in control—for once—had all given her a small taste of what she’d wanted for herself. And after her business meeting, she hoped for a bigger taste.
Beaming, she straightened on her skis and glanced over at the base lodge. She could see the entire north-facing wall. Unlike the rest of the building, which was sided with wood and glass, gorgeous and rustic looking, the north wall was smooth stucco. Easier to maintain than wood, but plain looking and, frankly, boring.
She’d been hired by the resort’s publicist to paint a mural there.
Painting was important to her, very important. She earned a living as a graphic designer, but painting reminded her of her grandma, whom she still missed so very much. One of her earliest memories was of sitting on a stool in her grandma’s studio with the sketch her grandma had given her to paint. Sort of a paint-by-numbers but personalized.
Don’t worry about staying inside the lines, Bailey darling… Just go for it.
That’s what Bailey intended to do.
Excited, she skied—okay, plowed—her way to the lodge. Luckily it was only a hundred yards or so and relatively flat, but that meant she had to use her poles. By the time she made it to the stairs of the lodge, she was sweating and shaky. When she finally managed to release her boots from her skis, she dropped to her knees to gasp in air. Probably she should add an exercise regime to her list.
Stat.
Hand to her pounding heart, she panted for air and changed her mind. Maybe she was grateful no one could see her right now. That’s when she lifted her head and… came face-to-face with Mountain Hottie. Of course, because heaven forbid she run into him two minutes ago when she’d been on her skis and looking good.
How he’d beaten her down the mountain, on his own power no less, she hadn’t the foggiest. “Hey,” she said, trying to act like she wasn’t breathing like a locomotive on its last legs. Or dripping sweat. Staggering to her feet, she casually leaned over her poles, surreptitiously trying to catch her breath.
“Hey,” he said. Not breathing like a locomotive. Not sweating. In fact, not out of breath or exerted at all, the bastard. “The binding held.”
“You wouldn’t have let me go if you’d thought it wouldn’t,” she managed.
“True.” He paused. “You going to yell at me again if I want to know if you’re okay?”
She managed a snort. “I didn’t yell at you.”
His mouth quirked a little as he stood there all wind-tousled perfection, clearly yanking her chain in his own oddly stoic way.
And in her own not stoic way, she kind of liked it. She straightened. “For the future, I’m always okay,” she said. “So you don’t have to ask me that question again.”
“It’s my job.”
Oh. Right. Ski patrol.
“Want to tell me why you’re so touchy about being asked if you’re okay?”
Nope. She really didn’t. It was a trigger for her, not surprising given how many times over the past ten years those three simple words—are you okay—had been asked of her. Now when someone brought it up, what she really heard was all the pity the words usually conveyed.
And she hated pity with the same level of loathing she saved for all creepy-crawlies, kale, and men in open-toed shoes of any kind. “Let’s just say it annoys the crap out of me.”
“Duly noted,” he said. “Next time I’ll query you about the weather. Or if you’ve had a real ski lesson yet.”
Look at that, Man of Few Words did have a sense of humor. And she liked that. A lot. She liked him for some odd reason, not that that was going anywhere. “You have a name?”
“Hudson Kincaid. You?”
“Bailey Moore,” she said as his radio went off. Without taking his eyes from her, he cocked his head and listened, then turned down the volume. “I’ve got to go.”
Good. Maybe when he was gone she could stop making a fool of herself.
He started to turn away but then stopped and gave her one more long look. “Stay off the top.”
“Sir, yes sir,” she said, and saluted him.
Another smile threatened the corners of his mouth. “If only I thought you meant that,” he said, and then he was gone.
Bailey let out a slow, shaky breath. What had just happened? It’d been so long since she’d had any sort of interaction she wasn’t exactly sure.
Liar. That was flirtation and you started it.
And she’d liked it.
But man, she was rusty. Sir, yes sir? Seriously, she needed some practice being normal.