Suite Embrace

Chapter 5

Deena Simpson walked out onto the balcony of her five-room apartment on the fourth floor of the main lodge at Scenic Ridge, her cell phone pressed to her ear. Shading her eyes with one hand, she focused on the narrow winding road that led up from Woody Creek, watching for Skylar’s Jeep. The only drivers who would be on the road that curved and twisted as it rose into the mountains were those bound for Scenic Ridge, as it dead-ended at the two stone posts that flanked the front gates of the resort.

“Where are you now?” she spoke into the phone, getting a bit anxious. Skylar had called her from the airport when she arrived in Aspen to tell Deena that she was going to stop in town to pick up a few things, but would be right along. That had been three hours ago. Deena guessed that her suddenly rich sister had decided to do some major retail damage in town. And she deserves to, Deena thought, elated that the Dorchester settlement had been so generous, freeing Skylar from any financial worries for the rest of her life—if she managed her money well.

It was amazing to think that Skylar was a rich woman now, and could buy whatever she wanted. When she and Deena were children, their hard-working parents had earned just enough money to cover life’s necessities, with little left over to indulge their children. They had been ultraconservative in their spending and cautious about everything they did, refusing to take risks or try anything new that might upset their carefully balanced lives. Deena often thought that her parents’ approach to life was what had made her run off to Colorado and marry Jerome. His plan to build a ski school in Aspen country was bold, risky and exciting. Now, her life in the mountains was very far removed from her childhood upbringing, and Deena never regretted setting off on this grand adventure with her husband.

“Have you passed the covered bridge yet?” she asked. “You have? Good, then you’re on the right road. Just stay on it and keep driving uphill, even when it narrows down to a single lane and you think you’re going to drive off the edge. Trust me, you won’t. See you in a bit.”

Deena snapped off the phone and leaned against the rough pine railing that surrounded the spacious wraparound balcony.

As she waited for Skylar, she surveyed the spectacular wintry landscape spread out across the two hundred acres that she and Jerome had turned into a working ski school and vacation resort over the past twenty years. As newlyweds and avid skiers, they had purchased the remote parcel of land at the upper end of the Roaring Fork Valley from Jerome’s father for a fraction of its market value. The land, part of a land grant settlement originally deeded to Jerome’s great-great-grandfather, had remained wild and undeveloped for over fifty years.

Jerome and Deena threw themselves into the project with a great deal of enthusiasm, risking everything they owned to create the small, intimate teaching resort. It had been a struggle to turn a profit, but now it was beginning to draw ski enthusiasts and students from across the country as well as from some of the more popular resorts in the Aspen area.

The main lodge of Scenic Ridge was a four-story replica of a classic Swiss mountain chalet, but with all the conveniences of a modern hotel. Years ago, when she and Jerome were designing the main lodge they decided to turn the east-facing end of the fourth floor into their private five-room apartment, decorated in a sleek modern style, while the guest suite at the other end of the hall had a definite Western flair.

Each of the other fifty-two guest rooms was exquisitely decorated in an Old World European manner with touches of the silver mining days of the Victorian West tossed in.

In addition to the main lodge, five private cabins that represented the ultimate in modern convenience and rustic charm were strategically placed around the property, booked by those who were willing to pay a premium price for the privacy and independence such accommodations provided.

As African-Americans living in an area of the country where less than two percent of the population was nonwhite, Deena and Jerome had quickly realized that the only way to attract more folks like themselves to the slopes was to build a resort that was affordable, comfortable and focused on teaching people how to ski. Deena and Jerome decided to take on the task of teaching beginners what they needed to know to take up skiing as a recreational sport and send a message to everyone of any class or race that all were welcome and would feel at home while learning how to safely hit the powder and have a good time.

By optimizing the available terrain on their property, Deena and Jerome served the needs of beginning skiers, ice-skaters and snowboarders, creating a niche resort that differed from the larger ski areas.

It did not take long for news about Scenic Ridge to spread as visitors told others about the program and returned year after year. For African-American skiers, it soon became known as one of the most unique novice programs in the country. Jerome had further enhanced the resort’s reputation and expanded its customer base among minorities by hiring Mark Jorgen as their ski instructor. Mark was a great draw and he guaranteed that he could teach students to ski confidently on green circle trails within three days or they would get their money back. So far, no refunds had been made.

Today, there was absolutely no breeze stirring the cool January air, and the warmth of the sunlight on Deena’s pecan-brown face felt calming and most reassuring. She pushed back a few strands of black hair that had sprung from the loosely gathered ponytail she had managed to pull together this morning and sighed. She had hit the ground running as soon as the buzz of her alarm clock sounded at 5:00 a.m., and though it was just a little past noon, she felt as if she had already put in a full day’s work.

Yesterday, she had stood in the same spot where she was now waiting for Skylar and watched Jerome drive away, her heart filled with dread. By now he was in Oregon and probably at the hospital waiting for his father to go into surgery. Deena missed him terribly and was worried about how she was going to manage the place in his absence, especially since Jean-Paul was no longer on staff.

Losing Jean-Paul to a Hyatt Regency had been disappointing. She and Jerome had always depended on their long-time concierge to handle the messy, unexpected situations that came with running a ski resort. Now, they’d only have Skylar.

Today was starting off rocky. The grocery delivery had come up short—missing twenty-five pounds of baby back ribs and the case of a hard-to-locate Norwegian liquor Deena had counted on having tonight. And with all of that to deal with, she’d had to pacify Goldie Lamar’s very demanding party, and she was sick to death of all of them.

The road suddenly narrowed down to less than a full lane, making Skylar very nervous. Though the road’s surface was covered with a mixture of gravel and hard-packed snow, it provided good traction. Still she worried that the Jeep was going to spin out of control and crash down the mountainside at any moment. The sun was directly overhead, bathing the snow-covered hills with blinding light that made it nearly impossible to see.

“Dammit!” Skylar cursed aloud, ripping off her sunglasses, which she tossed out the window. The guy in the store had been right! The bronze aviators were useless. They didn’t block the glare and even made things worse by casting an amber sheen over everything. Squinting bare-eyed into the windshield and praying that Deena’s instructions were right, Skylar pressed on, clutching the steering wheel as she inched her way up the mountainside.

When Deena’s cell phone rang again, she answered quickly, certain it was Skylar asking for more directions. However, it wasn’t her sister. It was Burt from the liquor store in town.

“What do you mean, you can’t find it?” she groaned.

“There’s not a case of Linie Aquavit in the entire valley. At least not that I can get my hands on right away. The St. Regis has four cases, but they’re not willing to part with them.”

“But you said getting Linie Aquavit wouldn’t be a problem,” Deena reminded her beverage vendor.

“Yes, I know,” Burt admitted. “Guess I was a bit overconfident. However, I do have Vikingfjord Vodka in stock and I can send up a case right away.”

“No. That won’t do,” Deena shot back. “This is a very special client and he specifically requested Linie Aquavit. So, please keep trying to locate it, okay? Even if you can only find one bottle.”

“Will do,” Burt agreed. “I’ll get back to you later today.”

Clicking off, Deena sagged against the railing, feeling deflated, while praying that Burt would be able to come through with the specialty drink as he’d promised. However, in case he couldn’t, she had better let her client know that his request might not be fulfilled today.

Just as she was about to place the call, she saw Skylar’s red Jeep turn into the entry and start up the road leading to the main lodge. Shoving her phone into the pocket of her jeans, Deena hurried to the outside staircase and headed down to greet her new concierge. “Let Skylar deal with the missing Norwegian liquor,” she muttered to herself, sending up a prayer of thanks that help had finally arrived.

After Skylar dropped her bags in the efficient studio apartment where she would live during her stay at the lodge, she and Deena set off on a tour of the resort, during which she met all of the staff. Everyone greeted her with an enthusiastic welcome, making Skylar feel less nervous about her decision to set off on this spontaneous adventure. However, when Deena suggested that they ride out in a snowmobile to explore the rest of the property, Skylar had to decline.

“All of a sudden, I feel so tired, Deena. Lightheaded and dizzy,” Skylar complained, drawing in a deep breath as she and Deena crossed the attractive lounge area. A fire blazed in the massive stone fireplace where some of the guests had gathered to chat and sip drinks, while others sat on high bar stools facing windows that showcased the picture perfect peaks surrounding the resort.

“Think I’ll go lie down for a while,” Skylar said.

“Good idea. It’s the altitude,” Deena offered, pausing at the foot of the winding staircase that led to the mezzanine on the second floor where someone was playing the piano. She placed one hand on the banister and scrutinized Skylar with concern. “It might take a few days for you to get fully acclimated to the thin air up here, but it’ll pass.”

Skylar shook her head and blew air through her lips. “Whew! This is not good. My head aches, my stomach is doing flips and I feel as if my skull is stuffed with cotton balls.”

Deena nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, mountain sickness. Strikes quite a few of our guests. It’s caused by a sudden lack of oxygen after moving too quickly into a higher elevation. Your body hasn’t adjusted to having less oxygen.”

“Right…and my body’s sure tellin’ me I’m not in Tampa anymore! What’s it gonna take to pull out of this?”

“Drink lots of water and stay away from alcohol. Go ahead and lie down for a while. I’ll give you a buzz at dinnertime.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Skylar replied, moving swiftly toward the elevator, desperate to lie down.

Chapter 6

A soft tapping sound at her door awakened Skylar from a restless, semiconscious half-sleep. Tossing off the soft, wool throw she had wrapped around her body when she fell across her rustic, four-poster bed, she struggled to sit up. The room was light, so she knew it was still daytime. Unable to sleep, she had gotten enough rest to feel a lot better. Her head no longer ached, but her stomach lurched with each step she took, and after pausing to run a hand over her tangled hair, she pulled open the door.

It was not Deena standing there holding the tray with a tea caddy on it, as she had hoped, but a woman dressed in black pants and a crisp white shirt.

“Ah, hello. Miss Webster…hope I didn’t wake you,” she started. “I’m…”

Skylar nodded in recognition, her mind beginning to clear. How could she forget the tall, big-boned girl with light brown skin, frizzy dyed-red hair and a heavy dose of brown freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. “You’re Kathy. Food and Beverage supervisor, right?”

Kathy beamed. “Yes. You remembered! My husband, John, is the assistant director of the ski school and I’m your backup concierge, don’t forget.”

“Right. Kathy, you’ll have to excuse me. I know I look a mess. I had to lie down for a few, my system is really jacked up.”

Kathy nodded sympathetically. “Altitude sickness?”

“Yep.”

“Too bad, honey. But it’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

“I sure hope so,” Skylar commented, rubbing her stomach. “So, Kathy. What can I do for you?”

“I need your help. I wish I didn’t have to bother you, but I have a big party to tend to and there’s no one else to go and…”

“No, no. Come in,” Skylar invited, stepping back to let the nervous girl inside. “And I hope that’s a pot of hot tea you’ve got there.”

“It is. Thought you might need something to help calm your stomach.”

“Thanks. Just needed a little downtime to adjust. What can I do to help?”

“You have a car right?”

“Yes, a rental.”

“Good. I need you to pick up an important delivery in Crested Village. It’s a small town about fifteen miles from here. It’s not a bad drive and if you leave now, you ought to get back before dark. I hate to ask you to do this on your first day here, but the delivery is a custom order for the head of our ski school and he’s been waiting for it for a week.”

“For Mark Jorgen?” Skylar asked.

“Right. We’ve had a heck of a time tracking down this particular kind of liquor. Called Linie Aquavit—a type of schnapps that comes from Norway. According to Mark it’s placed in oak barrels and sent on Norwegian vessels back and forth across the equator to enhance the flavor,” she finished with a grimace. “Terribly expensive stuff.”

“Sounds like it must be very special stuff, too, huh?” Skylar remarked, surprised that Deena would go to so much trouble for the resort’s ski instructor. After all, it wasn’t as if Mark Jorgen was a major player on the sports scene anymore or even a movie star! He was an employee, just like she was. “Is he that particular about everything?” she wanted to know, thinking ahead about her involvement with him.

Tilting her head to the side, Kathy considered Skylar’s question, obviously not about to answer too quickly. “Let’s just say that he, and his mother, are accustomed to having the best of everything.”

“His mother works here, too?”

“Oh no, but she’s arriving later this month for an extended visit. Deena has already filled me in on her tastes, and Linie Aquavit is her favorite drink, so Mark wants to have it on hand.”

“How nice of him,” Skylar murmured, curious to meet this Olympic gold medalist who was so devoted to his mom.

“Anyway,” Kathy went on, “the Lainpour shop in Crested Village will only hold the liquor for us until seven o’clock tonight. So, you’ve got to hurry. And after you pick it up, can you deliver it directly to Mark in the Snow King Suite?”

“And where’s the Snow King Suite?” Skylar wanted to know. Deena had mentioned that there were several private cabins on the grounds for special guests, but Skylar never would have guessed that the ski school director would be living in one.

Kathy went to the window, pulled back the sheer curtains and pointed to what looked like a mini-lodge set high on a knoll in the distance. “Over there. When you return, use the service road that runs behind the main lodge to get to the Snow King Suite. Think you can manage that?”

Blinking away the last vestiges of sleep, Skylar nodded. “Sure. Now all I need are really good directions and a cup of hot tea before I leave.”

“Oh, that’s no problem! I brought you both,” Kathy told Skylar, making a rapid exit.

Within half an hour, Skylar was in her Jeep and driving higher into the mountains, headed east with the late afternoon sunlight at her back. Kathy’s map was easy to read and Skylar had no trouble finding Lainpour, a tiny shop on the main street of Crested Village. However, when she told the shopkeeper that she was there to pick up the case of Linie Aquavit, he told her that she had to go to his warehouse, ten miles down another winding road to get it.

By the time she got there, it had started to snow and the sun was rapidly disappearing. The slow-moving, too-chatty warehouse manager was in no hurry to stow the case of Norwegian liquor in the back of Skylar’s Jeep, and when he finally finished, heavy snow was falling and dark shadows that resembled silhouette cut-outs of the forest were hovering over the snow-crusted road.

Questioning her eagerness to take on this crazy mission, Skylar waved a grim good-bye to the man in the warehouse and settled behind the steering wheel, praying she would be able to get back to Scenic Ridge without getting lost.

She could see that more and more snowflakes were dotting the air. Her headache was back with a vengeance, her stomach churned, and she feared she was going to either throw up or pass out at any moment. Reaching into her purse, she grabbed a bottle of aspirin, shook out three pills, popped them into her mouth and washed them down with the bottled water she had wisely brought along. The bitter aftertaste of the medicine stuck in her throat, making her feel even more uncomfortable and nauseous. However, she forced the sensation out of her mind, unfolded her map and studied it, mentally reversing Kathy’s directions as she pulled onto the road.

The drive back was frightening and tense. The snowfall steadily intensified until Skylar found herself staring into a sheet of blurry white, her vision reduced to a strip of light illuminated by the beams of her headlights. Slowing her pace, Skylar crawled along the single lane, praying she would not encounter another vehicle coming from the opposite direction.

“I’ll just take my time,” she murmured, forcing her shoulders back as she tried to relax. She turned on the radio and settled for a John Denver retrospective as she clutched the steering wheel and inched her way down the rocky path.

It took Skylar an hour and a half to get back to Scenic Ridge, where snow was rapidly piling up on the pitch-black service road. But, the moment she turned her Jeep toward the Snow King Suite, a wave of relief swept over her. She had successfully returned with her precious cargo and fulfilled her first assignment as the new concierge. In spite of her pounding headache, she felt pretty proud of herself.

Lights burned in every window of the cabin. Smoke curled from the chimney and drifted off into the snow-filled sky, filling the air with its pungent smell. Several pairs of skis were propped on the front porch alongside a shiny, red, old-fashioned bobsled and three pairs of boots. Skylar reached into the back of the Jeep and pulled out one of the bottles of schnapps to personally deliver to Mr. Jorgen, and then, on wobbly legs, stepped out of the car and gulped down a mouthful of cold air, fighting the urge to get totally sick right where she stood. Clutching the bottle with one hand and her stomach with the other, she cautiously mounted the three steps that led to the front door.

Before she had a chance to knock, the door swung open and Skylar locked eyes with a man standing in the entry.

“Oh. It’s you!” she gasped, stepping back in surprise. It was the intrusive, but handsome, guy from Gorsuch who had so annoyingly butted in on her shopping spree that morning. “You’re Mark Jorgen?”

“Yes, that’s me,” he said, in his accented voice. “And you are?” he prompted.

“I’m…” Skylar stammered, fighting back a violent wave of nausea. All of the blood in her body suddenly rushed to her feet, making her feel as if she were falling from the top of a high mountain peak. Dizzy and off-balance, she stared blankly at Mark, dropped the bottle of Linie Aquavit and sank to the floor with a crash.

Chapter 7

Skylar could feel herself being lifted and carried by strong arms, her head pressed against a muscular chest. Then everything went black again. However, within a few seconds, she recovered and opened her eyes.

Inside the cabin, the cold, crisp air had been replaced with a blanket of warmth that enveloped Skylar and calmed her down. A woodsy scent, like fresh cut pine mixed with earthy soil, filled her head and roused her from her near-faint, awakening her to the realization that Mark Jorgen’s right hand was cupping her buttocks much too tightly and she was not resisting. She thought about protesting this stranger’s brazen hold on her, but instead of mouthing off, decided to hold her tongue for now, thinking she was far too weak to put up much of a fight, anyway, and not all that eager to be released.

“There you go,” Mark said as he gently placed Skylar on a distressed leather sofa facing a hearty fire. He covered her with a plaid wool blanket and then sat down beside her, his hard thigh pressed into the side of her leg. “Are you okay?” he asked, leaning over her, his face very close to hers.

Skylar held her breath and held his eyes with hers, savoring the sudden rush of heat that shot through her chest and settled between her legs. This guy was too fine to be real! And his eyes were dark green, nearly black, and not hazel as she had predicted!

For a moment, she simply stared at him, as if she were still suffering from a dizzy spell when in fact her mind was as clear as the spring water that pooled at the base of the mountains. She recognized the same trace of a foreign accent that she had heard earlier, and her immediate impression was that he resembled an exotically wild and powerful mountain lion. His hair, tawny brown and streaked with gold, was thick and shiny, nearly falling to his shoulders. Of medium height, he had a strong, stocky build, and his skin-tight ski apparel accented the impressive muscles that swept across his chest, down his arms, over his thighs. His skin was tawny golden brown like his hair, and just looking at him caused a tremor of excitement, mixed with a ripple of fear, to shoot through her body and banish her mountain sickness.