Four kids who looked all of six whizzed down the slope beside her. Kids were supposed to be the ones falling, not thirty-two-year-old women. That’s why they were so much closer to the ground. Pushing herself up, she missed the packed snow and sank armpit-deep in powder.
A black-gloved hand appeared in front of her face. “Let me help you.” Her victim, a man a few years older than her with thick mahogany-colored hair and a neatly trimmed mustache and beard, was already standing.
She extended her unburied hand and let him pull her to her feet, managing to avoid stabbing him with her poles. “Like I said, I’m really sorry.” She shook as much snow as possible from her snow-caked glove and arm. A clump of hair escaped her ponytail and flopped over her face. She shoved it behind her ear.
“I shouldn’t have stopped that close to the lift. Are you ready to go?” The man looked toward the second chairlift required to reach the run their instructor had specified.
“I guess.” Naturally she wouldn’t embarrass herself in front of someone she could avoid, but one of her classmates. Naturally he’d be the most attractive man she’d seen in ages.
Not that she’d had any better luck with men lately than with skiing.
Jillian shuffled to the lift line on legs as shaky as a post-op patient’s, her focus on a target that, to accommodate today’s crowds, was cruising at top speed. She stepped up to the mark, then carefully sat back onto the double chair, staring straight ahead and gripping the metal pole so tightly her hand cramped.
When her skis were safely floating in the air, she relaxed. It was an SPF 40 kind of day, temperature in the high twenties, maximum sun with minimum wind. The sky was that shade of blue it only got halfway to heaven, a stunning backdrop to the mountains with their perfect harmony of greens, purplish-grays, and sparkling white.
All this beauty made her more optimistic. Technically she’d only promised that she’d go to a lesson, not stick it out for the entire three hours. She just had to make it down the hill. Then she’d head back to the lodge, get her book, treat herself to something outrageously fattening, and—
“The mountains are incredible, aren’t they?”
Jillian looked at her chair mate and shook her head. “Why aren’t you keeping far away from me after how I plowed into you? Are you some kind of masochist?”
“Actually, I figured if I rode up with you, I’d have a better chance of staying out of your way.” The man’s smile softened his strong features. “I’m kidding. Getting off the lift can be tricky. I’ve been so busy admiring the view that I’ve run into people myself.”
“I doubt it, but thanks for being so nice.” Below, the sun glistened off snow so smooth it looked like a bakery cake ready for frosting rosettes. “You’re right about the mountains.”
“Being in the Rockies makes me wonder why I live in New York City.”
“It’s not as bad as living in Denver when you’re terrified of skiing.”
His eyebrows rose above his polarized lenses. “Was that a hypothetical comment, or are you a terrified Denver resident?”
“Unfortunately, it’s not hypothetical.”
“So you’re only in Keystone for the day?”
“For the week,” Jillian said. “I was desperate for a vacation, and my friend Kristen’s parents have a townhouse here. I plan on spending my time reading and relaxing. But Kristen made me promise that in return for free lodging, I’d give skiing one last chance and take a lesson today.”
“I’ll be here all week, too. I’m Mark Jefferson.”
“Jillian Rodgers.” They’d reached the Prepare to Dismount sign. She raised her ski tips, held her breath. Thankfully, this time she made it without incident to where her dozen classmates had gathered.
The instructor was young, tanned, and so insufferably enthusiastic he must think he was teaching a bunch of gung-ho nine-year-olds rather than cynical adults. “I’ll ski to that ridge. Then I want each of you to ski down to me. One at a time, so I can watch you.” He pointed at an incline way too steep to be a green run, no matter what the signs said.
Jillian clutched her poles. She was not skiing to that ridge, and the instructor couldn’t make her. She was paying him, after all.
Except everyone else in the class would do it. They always did, and she should know with the dozens of skiing classes she’d flunked since moving to Denver six years ago. Just like she would, she acknowledged as she launched herself down the hill when it was her turn. You never outgrew peer pressure.
Jillian was cold and stiff, her heart hammering double-time. Things went downhill from there, despite the suggestions her instructor yelled to her. By the time she snowplowed to a grateful stop, she felt like an ice sculpture on speed.
Mark slid to a hockey stop beside her, a move she’d never dare attempt.
She gave him a suspicious look. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re far too good for this class. Why are you taking it?”
He brushed snow off the sleeve of his black ski jacket. “I broke my leg a few years ago and haven’t been skiing since. I thought a lesson might help me ease back into it. We’d better get over there.” He glided toward their classmates.
Jillian arrived during introductions, a tactic instructors always used to promote camaraderie. She’d missed most of the names, hometowns, and jobs, although she did learn that Mark was an accountant. Since she was leaving after this run, camaraderie wasn’t a priority.
The remainder of the hill looked even steeper than the first part, but Jillian made it down, primarily because Mark skied right above her the entire way, encouraging her and distracting her. So much so that he’d steered her into the lift line before she realized he’d thwarted her escape plan.
Mark rode up the lift with her again and grabbed her arm when they dismounted to stop her wobble from becoming a full-fledged wipeout. As they waited for the rest of their class, Jillian pulled her headband from her sweaty hair.
Mark surveyed the snowcapped peaks and pine-edge slopes with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old on his first trip to Disneyland.
“You still haven’t gotten your fill of the mountains,” she said.
He shifted his gaze to her and smiled ruefully. “I guess it’s obvious I’m a geeky tourist. Why are you scared of skiing?”
“I could claim it’s because I’m an ER doctor and know how dangerous skiing is, but the Colorado Tourism Bureau would probably get me fired.” Jillian smiled faintly. “It’s also a lie, although I did break a finger the last time I skied. I think it’s one of those irrational fear things, since I’m usually not a wimp.” She pulled off her gloves and stuck them in her pockets, then reached back and tried to stuff several loose hairs back under her ponytail binder. “Kristen’s big on self-help books, and she’s convinced it’s because I’m a control freak. When I ski, I’m out of control, and I can’t handle it.”
“Are you?”
“Maybe a little bit of a control freak,” she admitted. “Definitely out of control when I ski. Even when things seem to be going okay, I know my skis are waiting for the first opportunity to dump me into the snow or ram me into a person or tree.”
“If you go slower and make wider turns, they won’t be able to.”
“Except then someone who’s out of control will have a better shot at me.” She gave up on her hair and shoved her chilly hands back into marginally warmer gloves. “We’d better go.” She turned toward their instructor. “I’m planning on ditching the class and heading for the lodge at the end of this run, so it’s been nice talking to you.”