The Right Mr. Wrong
Cindi Myers

MILLS & BOON

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For the people of Crested Butte Mountain Resort.

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Love and skiing don’t mix. Maddie Alexander recalled this advice, given to her once by an older, cynical colleague, as she stood outside a ski patroller’s shack at Crested Butte Mountain Resort and watched an accident in the making. A blonde in a pink jacket was trying to get the attention of a dark-haired guy on twin-tip skis. The sunny day and mild-for-January temperatures had brought out the crowds, including lots of students from nearby Western State College who were still on their winter break. They congregated at the tops of the lifts, checking each other out, enjoying the bright Colorado sun and plentiful snow.

The blonde was so busy eyeing the hunky guy across the slope she neglected to pay attention to where she was skiing. She veered into the mogul field off balance, flailed wildly, caught air as she sailed over a steep bump, and came down in an ungainly heap, while the object of her affections skied on ahead, oblivious.

Memories of other accidents she’d witnessed running through her head, Maddie felt her heart race. The worst situations could start so simply; one minute everything was fine, the next the whole world was full of pain and regret. She clicked into her skis and sped down to the woman, who was lying on her back, moaning. “Are you okay?” Maddie asked.

“My knee.” The blonde tried to sit up, then flopped back, anguish contorting her pretty features. “I think I tore up my knee.” She uttered a few choice curses, then reverted to moaning.

The blonde’s leg was twisted beneath her. Maddie clicked out of her skis and planted them in an X shape on the slope slightly above them. She keyed the mike of her radio and said, “I’m going to need a toboggan over here on Resurrection,” identifying the black diamond run where they were located. “I’ve got a female with a knee injury.”

“Hagan’s on his way,” the voice of Scott Adamson, a fellow patroller, replied.

Maddie frowned. Of course she would draw the one fellow patroller who most rubbed her the wrong way. Not that Hagan Ansdar wasn’t an experienced patroller with excellent skills. But he was also one of those men who was just a little too sure of himself—especially when it came to the opposite sex. The kind of man she’d learned the hard way to avoid.

She knelt beside the blonde. “Can you move your right leg at all?”

The woman shook her head, refusing to even attempt a move.

“How about the left leg?” Maddie asked. That leg appeared uninjured, but it was difficult to tell with the camouflage of bulky ski pants.

The blonde shook her head. “I don’t want to move anything in case it hurts,” she said. Her face crumpled and tears began to flow. “I can’t believe this. This is going to ruin my vacation.”

The woman was working herself up to real hysterics. Maddie stifled a groan. When she’d once promised God she’d do anything as long as she could ski again, this wasn’t what she’d had in mind. She couldn’t believe that she, one of the top ski racers in the world, was now reduced to coddling tourists like this one. She debated the merits of gentle distraction against the expediency of trying to slap some sense into the silly woman. But before she could decide, the woman’s crying ceased. She opened her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed pink. “Oh, my,” she breathed.

Maddie turned to see a tall figure towing an orange plastic rescue sled skiing toward them. Despite her determination to remain immune to his charms, her essential female nature betrayed her with an inner flutter at the sight of Hagan Ansdar—six feet four, broad shouldered, narrow hipped and blond haired. He might have been a Viking charging to the rescue.

He skidded to a stop a little above them in a spray of snow. Maddie stood and walked up to meet him. “What is the trouble here?” he asked, his Norwegian accent more pronounced than usual.

“I’m guessing a torn meniscus or ACL,” Maddie said.

Hagan raised one eyebrow. “They didn’t tell me you have a medical degree.”

She flushed. This was exactly the kind of ribbing other patrollers routinely dished out, but coming from Hagan, it rankled. “I don’t. But I’ve seen enough of these injuries to recognize a classic.” She might be the newest member of Crested Butte ski patrol, but ten years on the World Cup circuit had given her a front-row seat to some truly spectacular crashes. Not to mention she’d suffered an ACL tear herself five years ago. Her knee throbbed now at the memory. “And I saw her fall.”

Hagan frowned and clicked out of his skis. “What is her name?”

“I—I don’t know. I haven’t asked her yet.” She’d been about to when he’d arrived and interrupted her.

He knelt beside the blonde and took her hand. “Hello,” he said in a voice that would have melted butter. “I am Hagan. What is your name?”

The blonde’s eyes widened at the sight of the Norse god looming over her. “Hi.” She flashed a smile of her own. “I’m Julie.”

“Well, Julie, is it your knee that hurts?”

“Yeah. My right knee.” She raised her head and stared down at her bent leg.

“Does anything else hurt?” Hagan was feeling his way down her leg, his gloved hands moving slowly, making a thorough examination.

He wasn’t really feeling her up, Maddie reminded herself, though to a casual observer it might seem that he was being a little too thorough.

Julie obviously had no objections, though. She fluttered her lashes at him and spoke breathily. “Just the knee, I think. Though I’m feeling a little light-headed.”

“You took quite a fall.” Hagan cradled the back of Julie’s head and took her hand once more to check her pulse. “You knocked the breath out of yourself.”

Julie nodded, her attention fixed on him. Maddie might as well have not existed. She shook her head and began readying the toboggan for transport.

“What happened?” Hagan asked. “How did you fall?”

“I don’t know. I was skiing along and all of a sudden, I fell.”

Maddie suppressed a snort, but she didn’t quite succeed. Hagan gave her a sharp look. “Radio the clinic we are bringing in a young woman with a possible injury to her right knee,” he said.

Maddie did as he asked, while he finished examining Julie. Then she maneuvered the sled into position and together they transferred their patient into it. Hagan secured her inside, tucking the blankets around her. “There, you are all comfy now,” he said.

Julie beamed up at him. “Yes. Thank you.”

Gag me, Maddie thought.

Just then, Scott and another patroller, Eric, arrived with the snowmobile to tow the sled across the mountain to the clinic in the main village. “I’ll take her down and get her checked in,” Eric volunteered. “I have to be down at the base in a few minutes anyway.”

Maddie helped stow Julie’s skis in the back, then Eric and Scott set out, Eric pulling the sled while Scott towed him with the snowmobile. Maddie and Hagan would follow on skis to handle the paperwork.

“She will be all right,” Hagan said as he watched the snowmobile pull away.

“I’m sure she will.” And she’d no doubt be telling all her friends about the “amazing” ski patroller who had “rescued” her. And she wouldn’t be talking about Maddie. She glanced at Hagan. “Is it my imagination, or does your accent get thicker whenever you talk to a pretty woman?”

He turned and swept her with a slow, head-to-toe gaze. The look wasn’t exactly insulting—more as if he was assessing her. She stiffened, prepared for some comment about her own appearance. She knew she wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t a glamour girl like Julie, either. Her years as a pro had stressed practicality over prettiness. Today she wore no makeup and her brown hair was pulled back in a single braid that trailed down between her shoulder blades.

But no insult came her way. Instead, the corners of his mouth turned up in what might have been a smile, which only made him more handsome. “Must be your imagination,” he said.

The comment threw her off balance emotionally, the way everything about the man seemed to do. Her first day on patrol no less than three other women on the team had made reference to Hagan as the local Don Juan. They’d said this with the affection one might use to refer to a bratty younger brother, as if it was merely part of his charm. They’d further explained he exclusively pursued tourists and other temporary visitors to the area, therefore she had nothing to worry about from him—the implication being she had no chance of winning him for herself.

As if she wanted him. She knew all about handsome playboys. She’d once dated a slalom racer known as the Italian Stallion, and her first season as a pro skier she’d had her heart broken by an Austrian who later bragged to Sports Illustrated that he’d slept with every female racer on the U.S. Olympic Team.

It was bad enough she was working as a ski patroller; she didn’t need to put up with any hassle from a player like Hagan.

They hiked up the slope to where their skis were planted in the snow. “What were you snickering about when I asked her how the accident happened?” Hagan asked as they clicked boots into bindings once more.

“She told you she didn’t know how the accident happened, but the truth is, she was ogling some guy and not paying attention to where she was going.”

“I thought men were the only ones who ogled.” He sounded amused by the idea.

“Ha!” As if he wasn’t perfectly aware of the women who stared after him wherever he went.

They skied to the bottom of the East River lift. They’d ride back up and from there head to the front side of the mountain and the main village clinic. Hagan pulled out in front of her and Maddie took this as a challenge. He might have longer legs, but she was willing to bet no one on the patrol team was faster than her.

Sure enough, she soon overtook him. There was nothing like the feeling of flying over the snow, the white noise of rushing wind in her ears and the sensation of being suspended in time. She wove effortlessly around slower skiers and arrived well ahead of Hagan at the lift line.

She grinned at his approach, ready to tease him for his slowness, but he silenced her with a stern look and sterner words. “You think you are still racing?” he asked, as he slid beside her in line.

She couldn’t think of an answer that wouldn’t be an admission that she’d been trying to stay ahead of him, so she remained silent and looked over her shoulder for the approaching chair.

He waited until they were on the chair and headed up the slope before he spoke. “We pull people’s passes for skiing that fast,” he said. “You are no longer a ski racer.”

The reprimand galled. As if she needed a refresher course in ski safety from this two-bit Don Juan. “I don’t need you to remind me I’m no longer a racer,” she snapped. “It’s not something I’m likely to forget.” Every morning when she awoke the reality hit her anew; the one thing she had wanted most in life was out of her reach forever, stolen by one miscalculated move on an icy slope in Switzerland.

“I am only reminding you to slow down. That is all.” His voice was surprisingly gentle.

She ducked her head. His calmness was even more annoying than the reprimand. But she was woman enough to admit she was wrong. She wasn’t on a race course and she probably should slow down. Much as she hated to. “I’ll be more careful in the future,” she said stiffly.

Not for the first time, she’d let her impulsiveness make her lose her focus and forget her purpose. She would have thought by now she’d be over that, but maybe there were some lessons a person never learned.

HAGAN STUDIED the woman next to him as she stared straight ahead. He considered himself an expert on the ever-changing nature of women, but Maddie Alexander was more mercurial than most. In the space of a few minutes she’d gone from teasing to defiant to contrite. As the newest member of the patrol, she had endured the good-natured harassment of her fellow team members with grace, but something he had said—or maybe the very fact of his presence—had set her off.

“What is it about me—exactly—that you do not like?” he asked when they reached the top of the lift.

She whirled to face him, almost falling as she did so. She managed to recover her balance and ski away from the top of the lift before she stopped and turned to him again with what passed for composure. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t know you well enough to dislike you.”

“Then maybe you should get to know me better.”

It was a glib line, one he had used before, but as soon as it rolled off his tongue he knew it was the wrong approach to take with her. She glared at him, then planted her pole and skied away.

He watched her go, admiring the curve of her hips and her expert form as she skied down a small hill and across an open flat. He would bet she was beautiful on a race course, gliding gracefully around turns, clipping gates with efficient speed.

He shook his head to dispel the image. Maddie was beautiful all right, but she was also a coworker, and a local. Someone he was likely to see every day, therefore off his list as a potential date. He had learned long ago to stick with tourists—they allowed for an enjoyable short-term affair and a quick, neat exit. No complications.

He skied down and joined her as she propped her skis in the rack outside the clinic. He stepped forward and held the door open for her. She glanced up at him and mumbled her thanks, then slipped by, careful not to brush against him.

So much for worrying he might have to watch his step around her to keep her from getting too interested in him. For whatever reason, she wanted nothing to do with him. Not the usual reaction he got from women—and why?

And why was he letting her rejection bother him so much?

They found their patient, Julie, sitting up on an exam table, her injured knee wrapped in towels and ice. Hagan’s friend, Dr. Ben Romney, examined her X-rays. “Your turn on the mountain today?” Hagan asked.

“That’s right,” Ben said. He turned to Julie. “You’ve got a little tear in your meniscus, but you’re going to be fine. I don’t even think you’ll need surgery.”

“Thanks to Hagan.” Julie beamed at him. “I’m sure I’d be much worse off if he hadn’t arrived so quickly to take care of me.”

He smiled automatically. Julie was pretty, with expensive ski clothes and a flirtatious manner. But with her knee banged up she wouldn’t be doing much partying for a few weeks. And while he was not opposed to taking advantage of his job to meet women, he shied away from involvement with those who were physically injured on his watch.

Some—Maddie perhaps—would say this was skewed ethics on his part, but he made up his own rules for his life and that was one of them.

Ben left Julie to the care of his nurse and motioned for Hagan and Maddie to follow him into his office. “Looks like you’ve made another conquest,” he said to Hagan after he had shut the office door.

Hagan shook his head. “She will be cutting her vacation short to take care of her injury,” he said. He dropped into one of two chairs in front of Ben’s desk. “Have you met Maddie? She is our newest patroller.”

“Pleased to meet you, Maddie.” Ben offered his hand. “Ben Romney.”

“It’s good to meet you, Dr. Romney.”

“Ben, please. What brings you to ski patrol?”

“I thought it was time to try something different,” she said. “Ski patrol sounded interesting.”

The explanation struck Hagan as incomplete. Why would a world-class athlete retreat to a somewhat remote Colorado resort when she might have scored a lucrative gig as a rep for an equipment manufacturer, an outdoor clothing model or even the resident pro on a resort’s marketing payroll? Why put up with the hard work, injured tourists and low pay of ski patrol?

“She was a ski racer,” he said. “World Cup. Headed for the Olympics.” Apparently she had left the team after a bad accident, but he did not know the details.

Ben leaned forward, definitely more interested now. “What’s your last name?”

She sent Hagan a pained look. Hey, why was she ticked at him? It wasn’t as if her past was a big secret. “Alexander. Maddie Alexander.”

“Awesome Alexander!” Ben grinned. “I remember reading about you in Sports Illustrated.”

“Yeah.” Her gloomy expression was more worthy of a write-up in Mortician’s Monthly.

“You were written up in some of the medical journals, too,” Ben said. “The titanium repair on your tibia? And the artificial joint in your hip?”

She nodded, her face pale. Hagan stood and pushed a chair toward her. She looked as if she might faint. “Sit down,” he ordered, and she did so. He glared at Ben.

Ben had the grace to flush. “Sorry. I forget not everyone’s as interested in catastrophic medicine as I am. Heather has to remind me not to discuss surgery at dinner.”

“She is a wise woman,” Hagan said. Mostly because Heather had finally gotten over the silly crush she had had on him last summer and had focused on a man who really cared for her—the way Hagan never could have.

There was a knock and the nurse stuck her head in the door. “Your patient is ready to go,” she said.

“We had better get back to work, too,” Hagan said as Maddie popped to her feet.

“It was nice meeting you, Maddie.” Ben offered his hand. “Welcome to Crested Butte.”

“Thanks.” She shook his hand and flashed a warm smile. Hagan felt a pinch of jealousy that such a look had not been directed at him.

Which only proved his ego was as big as the next guy’s. He was not interested in dating Maddie, but there was no reason they could not be friends.

They followed Ben into the clinic’s reception room, and found Julie balancing on a pair of crutches. “Oh, Hagan? Could you help me out to my friend’s car?” She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled at him.

“Of course.” He took one crutch and let her lean on him instead as they made their way to an SUV idling out front. He deposited her in the passenger seat and she pressed a slip of paper into his hand. “Call me,” she whispered, then kissed his cheek.

He pocketed the paper and stepped back, making no commitment as the SUV pulled away.

“I’ll go fill out the report,” Maddie said, pushing past him. “You can add your part later.”

She grabbed her skis from the rack and headed around the side of the building. Ben came to stand alongside Hagan. “What did you do to her?” he asked.

“Nothing,” he said.

Ben looked as if he did not believe this. “You didn’t hit on her, did you?” he asked.

Hagan scowled at him. “No, you know I stay away from the locals.”

“Yeah.” Ben looked again in the direction Maddie had vanished. “Maybe she’s jealous of you and Julie baby.”

“Not likely.” He would know if she were interested in him—she showed none of the usual signs.

“Maybe you should consider breaking your own rule,” Ben said. “She’s good-looking and you two have skiing and patrol in common.”

“Not my type.” Yes, Maddie was good-looking and independent and she had an interesting background, but she was too prickly for his tastes. Not to mention that being around her made him feel too edgy and uncomfortable. “I will stick with the tourists.” His policy of avoiding emotional entanglements with women had served him well for the past ten years. He saw no need to abandon it now.

Ben shook his head. “If you think that’s going to keep you from getting caught one day, you’ve got another think coming. Just ask Max.”

Hagan’s best friend Max Overbridge and newcomer Casey Jernigan were engaged to be married in the summer, as soon as the snow melted enough off the Mountain Garden to hold the wedding there. Hagan was slated to serve as best man. “The difference between me and Max,” Hagan said, “is that Max wanted to be caught, no matter what he says different. Me, I know better.”

Marriage was a velvet-lined pit, a lure that made a man believe he could find eternal happiness. But there were sharpened sticks waiting at the bottom of the pit. He had been there before and never intended to experience that pain again. Better to indulge in the occasional casual fling with a woman who would soon leave town than to get involved with a woman like Maddie who could truly turn his world upside down.

Chapter Two

Maddie finished up the accident report then left it in Hagan’s box for him to sign off on. If he had any questions, he could radio her, but she wouldn’t wait around for him. She didn’t need him thinking she was an adoring fan begging for his attention. Everyone said he was an excellent patroller—and from what she’d seen so far, she’d have to agree—but his Don Juan act was simply too much. When her life was more in order and she was ready to settle into a relationship again, it would be with a man she could respect and count on—not a player like Hagan.

For now, she’d try to keep her distance from him and not risk saying something that might jeopardize her job.

She was on her way out of the patrol shack when her roommate, fellow patroller Andrea Dawson, hailed her. Andrea was the only woman on patrol who was almost as short as Maddie’s own five feet. Her straight black hair and almond eyes revealed her Asian heritage. Originally from China, she’d been adopted as an infant by a local couple and had practically grown up on skis. “You busy?” she asked Maddie.

Maddie shook her head. “No. What’s up?”

“We just got a report of a couple of snowboarders ducking ropes over by Spellbound and Phoenix. The area’s still closed for avalanche control. I need to go check it out. I could use some backup.”

“Sure.” Yellow ropes were used to mark the ski area boundaries and to close off areas considered too unstable or dangerous for skiing or riding. But there were always people who thought the rules didn’t apply to them, who risked ducking under the ropes.

“I hate this part of the job,” Andrea said as she and Maddie rode the Silver Queen lift up the mountain. “These guys always want to give me lip and it’s such a hassle. If it weren’t for the fact they could trigger an avalanche or get hurt I’d tell them to go ahead and kill themselves.”

Maddie laughed. “Nobody likes ragging on other people, but if anybody gets mouthy with me, I let them have it. It’s a great way to vent my frustrations—if they deserve it.”

“Guess I’ll watch and learn from an expert then.”

“Maybe we’ll be lucky and they’ll listen to reason.”

“Yeah, like how often does that happen?”

From the top of Silver Queen, they headed into Paradise Bowl and up the North Face lift. They found the two snowboarders in a deep gully a few hundred yards beyond the ropes closing off the popular Spellbound Glades, an area of double-black runs that usually didn’t open until the snowpack had built up later in the season.

One of the boarders, wearing a bright green stocking cap, was hung up on a snag, trying to wrench his board free, while his friend, in a camouflage snowboarding suit, stood downslope, shouting at him to hurry.

“Having trouble?” Maddie asked as she and Andrea stopped above the two.

Green cap scowled up at her. “I’m okay,” he muttered, and went back to working his board loose.

“You guys are in a closed area,” Andrea said.

“We are?” Red Jacket’s innocent look might have been practiced in a mirror for just such an occasion. “We thought we might have gotten off the trail, but we weren’t sure.” He grinned. “Sorry.”

“Dude, we saw your tracks where you slid under the ropes,” Maddie said. “Right next to a sign that said closed.”

“What’s the big deal?” Green Hat asked, his board free at last. “We’re not hurting anybody.”

“Not yet,” Andrea said. “But this area is closed for a reason. You could trigger an avalanche.”

“Yeah, and then we have to go to all the trouble of digging out your bodies,” Maddie said. “We hate that.”

“We hate that,” Red Jacket mimicked.

Maddie looked at Andrea. “I think these two just lost their passes,” she said.

“There’s also the fine,” Andrea added. “Up to one thousand dollars.”

“You have to catch us first,” Green Hat said, and took off down the slope.

“Yep, they’re getting the fine, too,” Maddie said. But as she stared down the rocky, vertical slope, she felt a little queasy.

It wasn’t any steeper than anything she’d skied as a racer, but merely looking at it made her palms sweat and her heart race. It was strange how only certain runs and situations—such as this one—brought back the horror of her accident. She’d hoped being on patrol, skiing every day and confronting terrain like this would help her get over her fear, but so far this cure wasn’t working.

“We don’t have to chase them,” Andrea said.

“We don’t?” Maddie thought she did a good job of hiding her relief.

Andrea shook her head. “Nah. This funnels down to the top of the East River lift. We’ll radio for someone to meet them there.” She unclipped her radio from her pack and gave the description of the two boarders, requesting someone hold them at the top of East River. Then she and Maddie shouldered their skis and hiked up out of the closed area.

Maddie wished she had a camera when, twenty minutes later, Red Jacket and Green Hat looked up from their conversation with patrollers Eric and Marcie to see Andrea and Maddie coming toward them.

“Hello, guys.” Andrea smiled. “Looks like we caught up with you after all.” Before the men could say anything, each patroller had pulled out a pair of scissors and snipped off the boarders’ passes. “You can either come with us quietly and fill out the paperwork,” Andrea said. “Or we’ll call the police and have you arrested.”

“Arrested for what?” Green Hat asked.

“Trespassing on private property and violating the Colorado Ski Safety Act, for a start.” Maddie glanced at Andrea. “I’m sure we can come up with a few other things if you don’t think that’s enough.”

The two boarders exchanged looks, shoulders slumped, then admitted defeat. They waited quietly while Eric started up a snowmobile to take them off the mountain.

Once the two boarders were taken care of, it was after three-thirty and the lifts were beginning to shut down. Andrea and Maddie joined the other patrollers in sweeping the mountain—skiing each trail to make sure there were no stranded skiers or riders. It was Maddie’s favorite time of day, when she skied the mostly deserted runs, alone with her thoughts and the feeling of freedom soaring over the snow always gave her. For that brief period she wasn’t a poorly paid, overworked ski patroller, but an elite athlete who still had the potential for greatness.

By the time Maddie dragged into the locker room, it was after five. She was pleasantly tired, and feeling better about the start of her second week as a patroller. It wasn’t her dream job, but it was skiing, and that made it worth something. She sat to take off her ski boots and Andrea slid down the bench to rest beside her.

“There’s a party at the Eldo tonight,” she said. “You going?”

“What is the Eldo?” Maddie asked.

“It’s a place downtown, on Elk Avenue. Everybody hangs out there.”

Maddie shook her head. “I’m not really in the partying mood.”

“Come on,” Andrea pleaded. “Are you just going to hang out at the condo by yourself and brood?”

“I’m not going to brood.” But if Maddie were completely honest, that was probably exactly what she’d do.

“You need to get out and meet people,” Andrea said. “And there are a lot of good-looking guys in this town. Some of them are even worth knowing.”

Guys like Hagan Ansdar? Maddie dismissed the thought. She already knew all she needed to know about Hagan. He was a playboy who took his good looks and athleticism as his due—as if he were somehow immune from mere human frailties that plagued those around him.

“Come on,” Andrea said again. “If you don’t like it, you can always take the bus back up to the mountain.”

Maddie couldn’t argue with that reasoning, so ended up seated next to Andrea on the free shuttle bus headed down to the town of Crested Butte, which sat in a little valley a few miles below the ski resort. The main street, Elk Avenue, was lined with restored Victorian buildings and newer buildings made to look old, most painted in bright colors. Light from streetlamps and storefronts spilled across the mounds of snow that lined the sidewalks. Noisy groups of tourists and locals alike navigated the slippery walks and crowded into the restaurants, shops and bars.

The Eldo occupied the second story of a building near the end of the street. The outdoor balcony was already crowded with revelers who greeted newcomers with shouts and whistles. Maddie followed Andrea up the stairs and through the glass-front doors, into the throbbing pulse of music on the jukebox, the crack of pool balls and the low roar of conversation. How many such bars had she been in, all over the globe, with her fellow skiers? This one felt no different, right down to the woman on crutches in the corner, the guy in the knee brace by the bar and the assortment of outlandish knit hats worn by the patrons. This was her world, what she knew. And this feeling of belonging, of recognizing the social landscape, was part of the reason she’d settled for such a menial job as patrolling.

As she and Andrea squeezed past the crowded bar, Maddie waved to a few familiar faces. After only ten days in town she was getting to know people, though more of them recognized her thanks to her brief flirtation with fame. Not for the first time she wished that photographer from Sports Illustrated had never snapped the shot of her and two of her teammates posed with their skis and a collection of medals. America’s skiing sweethearts, the caption had read, and the article inside had described them as the United States’s top medal hopes for the 2006 Olympics.

But instead of standing on an Olympic podium, Maddie had watched the games from a hospital bed, alternately weeping and cursing her fate.

She shook off the memory and followed Andrea to a long line of tables pushed together and crowded with Eric, Scott and other patrollers. Hagan was seated a few chairs down from her, with a couple of snowboarders Andrea introduced as Max and Zephyr.

Scott filled plastic cups with beer from a pitcher and passed them to her and Andrea. Maddie didn’t really like beer that much, but it was nice to be so readily included in their party. When she’d still been on the circuit, she’d been part of an insular group who’d descend upon a resort en masse. They’d be the ones shoving the tables together and mostly hanging with each other before heading to the next race venue. It had been many years since she’d stayed in one place long enough to really get to know people, and she still wasn’t sure how to respond to the friendliness almost everyone in town had shown her. She wanted to return their warmth, of course, but she didn’t want to come across as overeager and needy.

After years as a skiing nomad, she was out of practice making new friends. It didn’t help that she had no idea how long she’d stay in Crested Butte. Unable to imagine a winter away from skiing, she’d taken the patroller’s job as a stopgap—something to do until she figured out where to go next. Ever since her injury her life had been plagued by uncertainty and the feeling that everything she did was temporary. She was on edge, waiting for something, but she had no idea what that something would be.

Maybe the next thing to do was to go with the flow. Get to know these people. It couldn’t hurt, and it might help her to feel less alone. Less isolated by her private misery.

She studied the dreadlocked blonde next to Hagan. “Zephyr?” she repeated, not sure she’d heard the name correctly.

“Yeah. I’m a rock guitarist.” He pantomimed playing a guitar.

“Cool.” Maybe he was famous and she didn’t know it. She’d slept, breathed, thought and lived nothing but skiing for the previous ten years, so she was a little behind on pop culture.

“Right now I’m taking a break from music to pursue fame as a snowboarder,” Zephyr continued. “I’m entering the Free Skiing competition next month.”

The Free Skiing competition was the biggest event in the country, with the serious daredevils of skiing and snowboarding competing. All the big names in alternative winter sports would be there. “Have you ever competed before?” she asked.

“No. I’m not really the competitive kind.” Zephyr grinned. “But I’m good.”

“He is.” The man next to him, a muscular guy named Max, said. “He’s also crazy.”

“It helps to be crazy to compete.” She took a long drink, not really tasting the beer. What else but insanity drove a person to do things like race at top speed down steep, icy mountains or jump off cliffs into canyons of snow? There was no greater adrenaline rush. She wondered if she’d ever stop missing that feeling.

“I think you ought to be committed.” A woman who could have been Jennifer Anniston’s double frowned at Zephyr, who sat across from her at the table. “Aren’t you afraid, doing all those crazy stunts?”

“No. I know I can do it.”

“You should be afraid,” Maddie said. “In racing we had a saying—it’s not if you get hurt, it’s when.”

He shrugged. “I refuse to think about it,” he said. “It’s a Zen thing.”

“Zen is drinking a nice cup of tea at my coffee shop and listening to Indian flute music,” the woman said. “Zen is not hucking your body off of cliffs on a snowboard.”

Zephyr grinned again. “Aww, Trish. It’s nice to know you care.”

Trish flushed. “I care about stray dogs and lost tourists, too. Don’t assume it means anything.”

“Some people believe confronting fear makes them stronger.” Hagan’s softly accented voice cut through the barroom chatter. Maddie looked over to find his gaze on her, intense but unreadable.

“Some people say a lot of things that don’t make sense,” she said. She leaned toward him, refusing to look away or let him think he could intimidate her. “What about you? What fears do you confront?”

The creases fanning out from the corners of his eyes sharpened, then he looked away. “I did not say facing fears was always a good idea. Sometimes it is better to avoid the situation altogether.”

She had expected him to say he wasn’t afraid of anything. His answer intrigued her—what did a man like Hagan have to fear? Then she was annoyed with herself. What did she care what Mr. Handsome Hagan thought or did?

She turned and grabbed Scott’s arm. “Let’s dance.”

“Uh…okay.” He let her pull him onto the minuscule dance floor and began to move, a little stiffly. “Just so you know, Lisa and I are kind of an item.” He nodded toward a curvy redhead who worked in the resort ticket office.

She hadn’t realized, and felt a little foolish. “It’s only a dance,” she said. All she’d really wanted was to get away from the table for a while.

“Right. Just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

She’d hoped getting up and moving around would help her feel better and keep her mind out of the downward spiral that thoughts of skiing and her fears could bring on. Instead her knee hurt and a different kind of pain had settled in her stomach. Coming here was a mistake—not only coming to the Eldo tonight, but moving to Crested Butte and joining the ski patrol. She’d picked Crested Butte because it was far from a city, off the racing circuit and offered the opportunity to ski. Skiing was what she knew. What she was good at. But she didn’t really belong here, in this town where everyone knew everyone and all got along so well. Traveling, competing and training was the life she knew—nothing else felt right.

As soon as the song ended, she mumbled her thanks to Scott, then grabbed her coat and slipped out the door. The others at the table were focused on Zephyr and his friend Bryan’s arm-wrestling match; the loser would have to wax the winner’s snowboard.

Maddie hurried down the stairs into night air so cold it felt like breathing ice. She stood on the sidewalk in front of the bar and stared up at a sky studded with stars like silver glitter on black glass. Get a grip, she scolded herself. She had a good life. She needed to focus on all the great things ahead instead of what she’d lost.

But what was ahead for her? For the previous decade she’d had a clear goal—to get to the Olympics. To be recognized as one of the top ski racers in the world.

All that was gone now, and she had nothing to replace it. The knowledge made her feel empty and lost.

“If you want to look at stars, there are better places than on the street in front of the Eldo.” Hagan came to stand beside her. He was wearing a red and black parka, but his head was bare, the night breeze ruffling his white-blond hair.

“You’re going to freeze without a hat,” she said.

He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “Where I grew up, it is colder than this.”

She went back to looking at the stars. It was either that or keep staring at him. Whether it was his good looks, or the quiet strength that radiated from him, or the solid confidence she envied, being with Hagan made her hyperaware of every one of her own flaws.

“Are you all right?” he asked after a moment.

“I’m fine.” Freezing, but fine. She hugged her parka closer around her body. “I’m going to catch a bus back up to the mountain and turn in early.”

This was his cue to go back into the bar, but he fell in step beside her as she began walking toward the bus stop. She glared at him. “Why did you follow me out here?”

“You interest me.”

The idea made her catch her breath. She’d heard all about Hagan’s rule about not dating locals. “Why? You have a thing for washed-up athletes?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Do you have something against Norsemen? Or men in general? Why are you so prickly?”

Her shoulders sagged. He was right. She was being a witch with a capital B, taking her bad mood out on him. Yes, he was a player and his confidence—which bordered on arrogance—annoyed her. But so far he hadn’t made any moves on her or done anything to warrant her hostility. And he was her coworker on patrol, someone she’d be seeing a lot of in the coming weeks and months. She needed to learn to get along with him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Why don’t we start over?” At the bus stop in front of the Chamber of Commerce, she stopped and offered him her hand. “Hi, I’m Maddie Alexander. I’m new here.”

A hint of a smile formed on his lips. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Alexander. I am Hagan Ansdar.” He took her hand in his and fixed her with his clear blue eyes. His clasp was firm, his gaze steady, and his soft accent made every word smooth and exotic. No wonder he had women falling at his feet. She pulled her hand away before she melted right there in the snow, shocked by her reaction. So much for thinking her cynicism about men like Hagan made her immune to his charms.

“What brings you to Crested Butte, Ms. Alexander?” he asked, continuing the charade that they had just met.

“It’s beautiful country. And I thought ski patrol would be interesting.”

“I would have thought after your career as a racer ended you would have had your choice of jobs,” he said. “Representing a ski equipment or clothing manufacturer, or skiing as the pro at a high-profile resort.”

“Those jobs go to the medal winners.”

“But ski patrol—” he glanced at her “—it doesn’t pay much.”

No, but she’d made some money in her racing career and managed to save a portion of it. What she’d needed more than money was a place to lay low and figure out what to do with the rest of her life.

“I really appreciated the patrollers who helped me when I was injured,” she said. “The doctors and nurses, too, but I don’t have a medical degree and I wanted a job that would allow me to ski every day. I may not be able to race anymore, but I still love skiing.”

“You are a beautiful skier. You have a natural grace.”

She didn’t know which unnerved her more—the unexpected compliment or the knowledge that he’d been watching her.

She changed the subject. “How did a man from Norway end up in Crested Butte, Colorado?” she asked.

When he didn’t answer right away, she glanced at him again. His mouth was compressed into a thin line, his brow furrowed in thought. “I think for many people Crested Butte is a good place to escape. To hide out, even.”

The words sent a sudden shiver up her spine. Was he accusing her of running away? Or was he answering her question in an oblique way?

The bus arrived, filled with rowdy tourists. She and Hagan were forced to take seats at opposite ends of the vehicle. But from her position at the back of the bus, she studied his profile and wondered if she’d been wrong to dismiss him as merely a player.

HAGAN STARED STRAIGHT ahead as the bus made its way up the mountain road to the resort. He was glad the crowd had separated him from Maddie. He needed the distance. Standing in the cold with her just now, watching the play of emotion on her face, he had been surprised by how much he wanted to kiss her.

He had kissed a lot of women in the past few years, slept with almost as many. The experiences had been pleasurable pastimes, things he had wanted to do. But never had he felt the need to reach out to someone that he felt with Maddie.

The idea disturbed him. He was not a man who needed other people. He enjoyed being with friends, and he liked the women he dated, but he didn’t depend on them to make him happy. Investing too much of oneself in another person was a sure road to disappointment.

He got off the bus at the first stop and walked past rows of condos to the parking lot where he kept his truck. From there it was another five miles up winding roads to his cabin on forest service land. It was a rustic two-room affair originally designed as a summer retreat, but he had added a woodstove and insulation, a king-size bed and new appliances, turning it into comfortable bachelor quarters.

He shoved open the door he seldom bothered to lock and was greeted by a fat gray striped tomcat, who wove around his ankles and demanded supper in a loud voice. “Hush,” Hagan said with no malice in his voice. The cat, dubbed Fafner after a dragon in Norse legend, had showed up two years ago and refused to leave.

Hagan opened a can of the gourmet food the feline preferred, then turned on the computer that sat on a fold-down desk in one corner of the main room. A galley kitchen and a loft bedroom and bath completed the living quarters. He added wood to the stove and shed his coat, then poured a beer, made a plate of cheese, sausage and crackers and carried them to the desk.

Moments later, he was engrossed in the software program he had been tinkering with. Occupying his free time with software design was a holdover from his previous life. But where once it had been his passion, now it was merely a hobby no one knew about. A thing he did only for himself.

When he was satisfied he could do no more with the program for now, he sat back and sipped the beer and studied the cabin. Over the door was a pair of old-fashioned wooden skis, the kind they had still used when he was a boy, skiing to school in Fredrikstad. On a shelf by the stove was a Norwegian ceramic stein his sister had sent him two Christmases ago.

He liked this place. It was his alone, a sanctuary where his friends seldom visited and he never brought women. It was orderly and comfortable, like his life. He had work he enjoyed, and though he was not prosperous financially, he had savings put away. He had good friends in town and never had to sleep alone unless he wanted to. He was satisfied.

But lately he had been restless. When Maddie had left the Eldo this evening, he had been ready to depart himself. He had decided to call the number on the slip of paper Julie had handed him that afternoon to see how she was doing. Maybe offer to stop by her place and bring a bottle of wine.

Instead he had found himself distracted by this newcomer to town, this graceful, intense young woman who fairly burned with some unnamed anger and passion. He was drawn to her, curious and more than a little wary.

Something about Maddie Alexander affected him in a way no woman had in a long time. He did not necessarily like it, but he wanted to understand it. If he could figure out why she made him feel this way, he would know better how to handle it—and better how to avoid allowing this fascination with her to turn into something more.

Chapter Three

Maddie woke the next morning to temperatures near zero and snow coming down hard. The kind of conditions when races would have been canceled and she would have been able to stay in bed and sleep the day away. But ski patrollers didn’t have that luxury, and she was on duty this morning. As she padded about the kitchen making coffee, she looked with envy at Andrea’s closed door. Her roommate was off today. Too bad the two of them couldn’t trade places.

At least she wasn’t on the avalanche control team. Those guys were on the mountain at dawn, setting off charges to loosen unstable deposits of snow. Of course, they were all adrenaline junkies who relished the opportunity to legally play with explosives. Testosterone in action.

At the patrol shack near the top of the Silver Queen lift, she checked the duty roster. “Shouldn’t be much happening today,” Scott said, coming up behind her. “It’s a weekday, and the weather is keeping in everyone but the hard-core skiers, boarders and vacationers determined to get every last dollar’s worth from their passes. Main thing is to watch for people getting in over their heads.”

“We should have good skiing with all this fresh powder.”

At the sound of the familiar accent, she turned and saw Hagan filling the doorway of the shack. “I am heading over to Peel.” He nodded to Maddie. “Will you come with me?”

Peel was a lift-served run in the extreme terrain on the front side of the resort. She’d toured the area during her orientation, but had avoided it after that. “That’s okay,” she said. “Find someone else.”

“I do not want to go with anyone else,” he said. His blue eyes offered a silent challenge. “Is it the terrain you do not like—or me?”

After their conversation last night, she could no longer claim to dislike the man. He unsettled her, intrigued her and sometimes surprised her, but she also trusted his skill as a patroller. He was one of the senior members of the team, a man others called upon in the toughest situations. If she was going to venture onto extreme runs, he was the person to do it with. And hadn’t he said last night people could overcome their fears by facing them? It was one of the things she’d joined patrol to do. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t skied worse in her years on the racing circuit.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”

“Be careful,” Scott said. “It’s really nasty out there.”

Wind-driven snow hit them like needles when they stepped out of the patrol shack. Maddie ducked her head and zipped her parka to her chin. Any sane person would be sitting in front of a fire with a cup of hot cocoa now instead of outside on a pair of skis.

“It will be better when we get down in the trees,” Hagan called over the howling wind.

She nodded and followed him down a narrow run between the trees. As promised the wind was blocked here. The heavy dump of snow had buried all the rocks and snags visible the day before and transformed the run into a gentle roller coaster. Maddie relaxed. This wasn’t so bad after all. And they had the run all to themselves.

But as soon as they left the shelter of the trees, they hit whiteout conditions again. Sky merged with ground and it was difficult to tell up from down. Maddie slowed, and fought stomach-churning vertigo. She reminded herself of all the techniques for overcoming this phenomena—bend her knees more, ski close to the trees, focus on landmarks—in this case the back of Hagan’s red patrol jacket barely visible ahead in the swirling snow.

They skied over to the high lift and grabbed hold of the T-bar. They were alone up here today, with the exception of the bored attendant in the lift shack. The normally busy runs were deserted; they might have been the only skiers on the mountain. Ordinarily she’d love the solitude and the chance to fly through the powder. But right now her muscles were rigid with the effort to keep her thoughts focused and not spiral to images of every crash she’d ever witnessed…or experienced.

Maddie tightened her hold on the T-bar and ducked her head against the wind-driven blasts of snow. At the top, she slid next to Hagan. “Only a crazy person would ski in this,” she said.

Hagan nodded. “Some people think only a crazy person would race on skis,” he added.

Right. Maybe she had been a little crazy in those days. She stared out at the swirling snow that obscured the view of the resort and town below. Days like this on the racing circuit almost always meant bad news.

“Is Peel all right, or do you want to hike to Peak or Banana Funnel?” He named two other double black diamond runs.

She shook her head. “No hiking. The weather’s too brutal.”

She looked down the slope, trying to scope out the run, but everything about the place looked different from her visit during her orientation two weeks ago. Then, the best path down had been clearly visible, the tracks of other skiers etched between rocks and trees. Now everything was obscured.

“Then let us go,” Hagan said. Without waiting for an answer, he set off down the run. He disappeared in the swirling whiteness and Maddie followed him. But she had barely negotiated her first turn when she froze, and stared down the steep slope, heart pounding.

“You can do this,” she whispered, and gripped her poles with more strength. But there was no conviction in her voice. Inside her gloves, her hands were slick with sweat.

“What are you waiting for?” Hagan’s voice drifted up to her. She could detect his outline against the wall of snow and saw he had stopped partway down the slope.

“I—I’ll be down in a minute,” she said. She hoped he’d mistake the quaver in her voice for an effect of the wind. She planted her pole and told herself this time she would ski down. Straight to him without stopping. Yes, the slope was steep, and there was little room for error in the narrow chute, but she’d skied steeper and narrower before. She had the skills to do this.

She leaned forward, ready to go, and a wave of dizziness made her lurch back. The image of herself falling, bouncing like a rag doll down the slope, filled her head. The sickening sensation of having no control vibrated through every nerve. Nausea gripped her, and she clenched her teeth until her jaw hurt.

“Is something wrong?” Hagan asked.

Yes! she wanted to shout. I can’t do this. She had the skills, but she no longer had the nerve. That’s what her coach had told her when she’d tried to rejoin the team after her recovery. You’ve lost your nerve, Maddie. It happens after a bad injury sometimes.

She’d wanted to race so badly, but all the desire in the world couldn’t overcome the fear that left her shaking and weak.

“Then get down here!” Hagan shouted. “There is no other way off the mountain unless you want me to call Scott and tell him to send a snowmobile for you.” His tone was teasing, as if he was dealing with a reluctant tourist.

She shut her eyes. No! She’d be a laughingstock among the patrollers if she had to ride a snowmobile down the mountain. She was a skier, dammit! And as a patroller, she was supposed to be able to ski all the terrain. If she couldn’t ski, what else could she do with her life? Skiing was all she knew.

She took a deep breath, and shoved off, then half-skidded to the next turn. At every turn, she stopped and repeated the process, all the while fighting nausea and the sensation that she absolutely was going to fall, and maybe even die, before she got to the bottom.

“What are you looking at?” she demanded when she stopped beside Hagan. Though she couldn’t see his eyes behind his goggles, his mouth was set in a frown.

“Are you sure you are okay?” he asked.

“Leave me alone and ski!” She wanted to hit him over the head with her ski pole, but that would mean lifting it off the ground and risking losing her balance.

He opened his mouth as if to reply, then turned and raced down the run. She stared after him, envious of the perfect form with which he executed turns and maneuvered in the narrow chute. Guys like him made it look easy. She’d been able to do that once. Until the accident, when all confidence had deserted her. That loss hurt more than all the pain of her physical injuries.

She made it down through sheer determination, fighting panic the whole way, her heart pounding and her limbs shaking. Hagan was waiting for her at the bottom, but she slid past him, not wanting to hear any more of his cutting remarks.

On less steep terrain now, she poured on the speed, anxious to get off the mountain altogether. Let Hagan write her up or fire her or whatever he wanted—there was no one here she might run into and she needed to burn off the adrenaline that left her shaky and sick to her stomach.

To his credit, he kept up with her. “Maddie, wait!” he called, but she ignored him. She had nothing to say to Mr. Hagan Ansdar. She’d fallen apart in front of him and no doubt the news would be all through patrol by tomorrow. She’d be lucky to have a job, much less any chance of salvaging her pride. Just when she’d thought she’d sunk as low as she could go by working as a patroller, she’d proven to herself that she didn’t even have the guts to do that. Her life as a skier was over.

HAGAN WATCHED Maddie race away, confusion warring with anger. She had looked like a different woman up there on Peel. Gone was the graceful skier he had admired, replaced by a shaking, hostile amateur. If that was the true Maddie, she had no business on the mountain let alone on patrol.

She skidded to a halt outside the Gothic Center cafeteria, clicked out of her skis and hustled inside. Zephyr was emerging from the building and stared after her, then turned to Hagan. “What happened to her? She looked a little green.”

“We went up on Peel to check out the powder,” he said. “We got to the top of the run and she freaked.”

“You took her down Peel? No wonder she flaked on you.”

“What do you mean?” He brushed snow from his shoulders and frowned at his friend. “She ought to be able to ski double black. She was supposedly an Olympic-caliber skier.”

“Yeah, but she had that horrific accident.” Zephyr shook his head. “I bet it’s like post-traumatic stress or something. You know, where soldiers flash back to battle and relive horrible stuff? She was probably up there remembering her accident.”

Hagan stared at Zephyr. The man had such a stoner-rocker-boarder image he forgot sometimes that Zephyr was actually pretty smart. “I knew she had an accident. Was it really that bad?”

“Dude, it was sick! The video’s on YouTube somewhere. You should take a look.” He glanced toward the door where Maddie had disappeared. “Truth? I’m surprised she ever got back on a pair of skis again.”

HAGAN DID NOT SEE Maddie the rest of the day. He suspected she was avoiding him. He alternated between feeling guilty about talking her into skiing Peel, and anger that she had not spoken up and told him she was afraid to ski the steeps in these conditions.

Of course, in the same position, he would not have admitted he was afraid. But she was a woman. They were supposed to be better at admitting their true emotions, were they not?

After his shift he turned down Zephyr’s invitation to check out a new band at a local club, and headed to his cabin. After feeding Fafner and heating soup for himself, he logged onto the Internet and searched YouTube for “Skiing accident” and “Maddie Alexander.”

The film was in color, apparently part of the video from television coverage of the event, one of the final World Cup races before the Olympics, in St. Moritz, Switzerland. Maddie, wearing the skintight one-piece red, white and blue racing uniform of the U.S. team and a blue helmet painted with clouds, popped out of the gate and barreled down a steep slope that glinted blue with ice.

Though the sun was shining at the top of the slope, halfway down she momentarily disappeared from view in a cloud of blowing snow. She skidded around a sharp turn and fought for control, miraculously righting herself and tucking tightly to regain speed.

She was a blur as she soared down another straightaway and into the next right turn. The steel-on-ice screech of ski edges scraping the hardpack rasped from the speakers. Hagan gripped the edge of the desk, his whole body tensed, his own muscles tightening, his body bracing as she took yet another curve at breathtaking speed.

Then she hit a jump and soared through the air. Too high, he could tell, and he sucked in his breath along with the spectators on the video as she hit the ice hard, at the wrong angle. Arms and legs flying, she bounced, then rolled like a crumpled wad of paper hurtling down the slope, hitting, rising, hitting again.

Hagan groaned as she came to a stop, arms and legs at unnatural angles. She was still. Absolutely still. The screen went black, yet he continued to stare, fighting nausea.

If he had not known better, he would have thought the woman in the video was now dead. How had she survived such a fall, much less come back to ski again?

He took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. No wonder she had freaked out up there on Peel. The snow swirling around her, the steep pitch and narrow chute were not that different from conditions the day of her career-ending accident.

So why had she not let him call for a snowmobile to take her down? He did not have to search hard for the answer to that question. He knew a little about pride himself.

He thought back to part of the conversation they had had at the Eldo, when he had spouted that nonsense about facing fears. As if he knew much about that. He was much better at taking the other advice he had given her—that sometimes it was better to avoid the fear-inducing situation altogether.

He had built a life for himself based on that one principle, a life that, though lacking in a certain warmth, left him in control of events and emotions. He knew all about maintaining control.

But Maddie might be able to teach him a thing or two about courage.

MADDIE DID HER BEST to avoid Hagan for the next few days. She was mortified that she’d fallen apart in front of him, and had no desire to hear any more comments about her supposed Olympic skiing abilities.

Maybe if she’d freaked in front of another woman, or any other man on the patrol, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But Hagan was so infuriatingly perfect—a great skier and a skilled patroller with a reputation for always being cool in a crisis. The other patrollers looked up to him and of course, almost every woman he met drooled over him. She couldn’t deny she’d done a little drooling herself, though that particular weakness annoyed her greatly. She didn’t need Mr. Perfect reminding her of her own imperfections.

But Crested Butte was a small community, and she knew she’d run into him eventually. She told herself she’d keep things cool and cut him off at the knees if he even tried to bring up that day on the mountain. She succeeded in not seeing him for a week, but Friday night found her at the Eldo with Andrea, Scott and Lisa, Zephyr and Trish. She couldn’t stop watching the door and sure enough, a little after eight o’clock, Hagan and Max walked in.

Maddie turned away and pretended interest in Zephyr’s description of the new outfit he’d put together for his Free Skiing Championship debut. “What you wear says a lot about you,” he said seriously.

“So does your outfit say ‘this man is out of his mind?’” Trish said.

He grinned at her. “Crazy like a fox. I’ll dazzle everyone with my threads, then blow their minds when I show my stuff on the mountain.”

Trish rolled her eyes. “My mind is blown already, just contemplating it.”

“Hey, where’s Casey?” Trish asked as Max pulled out the chair beside her.

“She’s helping Heather with some wedding stuff,” Max said.

“Hers or Heather’s?” Trish asked. Maddie had learned Dr. Ben Romney and Heather Allison, Casey’s boss at the Crested Butte Chamber of Commerce, were due to wed in a few weeks.

Max shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I leave all that up to her. I told her to just tell me when and where to show up and I’ll be there, ready to say I do.” He reached for a cup and the pitcher of beer in the center of the table. “It would be fine with me if we went to the courthouse in Gunnison and got it over with.”

“A wedding should be more than a business transaction,” Andrea said. “It should be a romantic day to remember.”

“Women think like that,” Scott said. “Men don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“Maybe if it was conducted like a business transaction, people would be more realistic about what to expect from a marriage,” Hagan said.

Scott laughed. “Like you’d know a lot about it, Casanova.”

Hagan’s face remained impassive. Maddie told herself she should quit looking at him, but she couldn’t seem to help it. The man was a puzzle. Just when she thought she’d figured him out, he came up with some comment like that one about marriage and sent her thoughts spinning in a new direction.

As if feeling her gaze on him, he turned and for a split second, their eyes met. She quickly ducked her head, but not before registering the sadness in his expression.

No. She must have imagined it. Hagan was the always-sure-of-himself playboy. Mr. Perfect. What did he have to be sad about?

“Excuse me for a minute.” She shoved back her chair and headed for the ladies’ room. She needed a few minutes to pull herself together. To rehearse all the comebacks she’d thought of if Hagan said anything to her about what had happened up there on Peel.

In the ladies’ room, she used the facilities, then lingered in front of the mirror, brushing her hair and touching up her lip gloss. Anything to delay going back out there. Not that she had anything to be afraid of. She was ready for anything Hagan had to say to her. As she’d discovered during her long period in rehab, anger could get her through all kinds of uncomfortable situations. Focus on the anger so that the hurt and shame didn’t have a chance to creep in.

At last she put away the gloss and brush, slung her purse over one shoulder, and shoved out the door.

Straight into a solid wall of unyielding male muscle. Hagan steadied her with his hands on her elbows. “I was hoping I would have the chance to talk to you,” he said.

She had to crane her neck to glare up at him, which spoiled the effect. It was tough to look fierce when you were scarcely five feet tall, especially when confronting a giant like Hagan. She tried to move out of his grasp, but he had a grip like iron. Short of hitting him with her purse and making a scene, she was stuck. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice firm. “About what happened on Peel.”

Here it came. He was going to tell her she had no business being a patroller if she couldn’t ski the double blacks. He was going to question why she’d been chosen for the Olympics in the first place, maybe even accuse her of trading on her reputation and that infamous Sports Illustrated cover to get her job with the resort.

“I apologize for taking you up there,” he said. “I should have backed off when you told me the first time you did not want to go.”

She blinked, all the angry words she’d been rehearsing stuck in her throat. He was apologizing? Mr. Perfect was admitting he was wrong?

He released one arm, but kept hold of the other and guided her gently toward the door. “Let us go somewhere we can talk. Alone.”

Disarmed by his unexpected humility, she let him lead her out the door, down the stairs and across the street to a new bistro that had opened on Elk Avenue. “The coffee here is almost as good as Trish’s, and they have good desserts,” Hagan said as they sat at a table for two near the front.

Maddie nodded, still dazed. She swallowed and found her voice. “I can ski those runs,” she said. “I’ve done it before. It was just that morning, in those conditions…” Her voice faded and she looked away. She couldn’t explain exactly what had happened there at the top of Peel, except that for a moment she’d been back on the course at St. Moritz, and the memory of her fall had overwhelmed her.

Hagan said nothing else until their order of coffee and crème brûlée was in front of them. He stirred sugar into his cup and regarded her with a sympathetic look. “I watched the video of your accident on YouTube. I had not realized before how horrible it was.”

“YouTube?” She gave a weak laugh. “Figures it would end up there. Me and that guy from The Wide World of Sports who illustrated ‘the agony of defeat.’” She’d watched that show as a kid and winced every time they’d replayed the anonymous skier’s crash. Now she was the one making people wince.

“Zephyr said that day on Peel that maybe you were reliving what happened to you. Something like post-traumatic stress in soldiers.”

“Zephyr knows what happened?” Did everyone know? Were they all discussing her behind her back and she had no idea?

“He is the only one. I did not tell anyone else.” His voice was stern. “It was none of their business.”

She relaxed a little and nodded. “Yes, I guess that’s what happened. I looked down that run, all the swirling snow, and just…froze.” She shuddered, remembering. She had never been so terrified in her life, absolutely paralyzed by fear.

“Why not leave skiing altogether?” Hagan asked. “Or be a tourist? Why take a job that puts you out there every day?”

She’d asked herself that question often enough, and always came up with the same answer. “Skiing is what I do. I was given a talent and I screwed it up.” She swallowed hard. “I hoped being on patrol would help me figure out how to move past the fear—to get over it and go back to doing what I’m good at. And to…I guess I figured if I used my talent to help others, it would make up for that mistake.” She’d spent a lot of time lying in her hospital bed, alternately reliving the accident and bargaining with God, as if the right combination of penance and practice would bring her old life back.

“It is a dangerous sport,” he said. “What happened was not your fault.”

She shook her head. “I was being reckless. Taking too many chances. I knew I had to pull off an exceptional time to win, so I went for it.”

“That is what competitors do, is it not?”

“Yes.” She scooped up a spoonful of the crème brûlée and studied it. “But my coach had warned me to be careful on that curve, to pull back a little. He knew I had a tendency to push and warned me not to press my luck. But I didn’t listen.”

“Your gamble could have paid off. You might have won.”

“It didn’t, and worse, it ended my career.”

“You could have been hurt on Peel. I should not have let you continue when I saw what was happening.”

She looked him in the eye, some of her earlier anger returning. “I’d like to have seen you try to stop me,” she said. “It was my decision to go down that run, even if I didn’t do it with the best form. I don’t want anyone making allowances for me and don’t you dare pity me.”

He nodded, his expression serious. “Pity is not the word I think of when I think of you,” he said.

“Oh? Good.” She ate another bite of the dessert, then curiosity got the better of her. “What word do you think of?”

He paused, as if considering the question. “I think of words like grace. Determination. Courage.”

“I wasn’t very brave up there on Peel.”

His eyes met hers again, so blue and clear and unblinking. Eyes that held no false flattery or flirtation. “There are different kinds of courage,” he said. “And there are ways in which every one of us is a coward.”

She didn’t believe Hagan had ever been a coward; he was only saying that to make her feel better. But the knowledge warmed her more than all the hot coffee or fleece mittens ever could. She smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “You’re not such a bad guy after all. Even if you are a player.”

He acknowledged this little dig with a nod. “Think what you will about my relationships with women,” he said. “You are better off as my friend than you would be as my lover.”

The sudden tightness in her chest at his words caught her off guard. Why would he say something like that, and use such a charged word—lover? Unless, perhaps, he’d been thinking about the possibility.

She tried to dismiss the thought outright, but could not quite let go of it. Hagan was a strikingly handsome man who was rumored to have had many lovers, which implied a certain skill. She, on the other hand, could count her own serious relationships on the fingers of one hand. What would it be like to have a man like Hagan as her lover? She felt flushed and out of breath at the idea.

Of course she didn’t want Hagan as her lover. He was the last man she’d ever consider.

But she couldn’t quite ignore the small voice in the back of her head that whispered, Liar.

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