Holiday Homecoming. Mary Wilson Anne
He shrugged as he swiped at the snow that clung to his face and hair and grinned at her. “Too long ago to remember.”
She sank back on her heels. “It’s not funny. You could have killed yourself.”
He swiped his glasses off, then slipped them back on. “I’m not dead. Just ended up with hurt pride,” he murmured. “But it does hurt.” He glanced past her up the hill. “What happened—rocks messed up or a sinkhole?”
“Rocks,” she said. “They had a slide in the summer and it left a good-sized pocket.”
“Well, live and learn,” he said, pushing himself up to his feet. He turned to her and held out a gloved hand.
She ignored it and got to her feet herself. She brushed at her pants, then managed to make herself look up at him. She motioned to the east. “Go down that way and you’re at the fence for the resort.”
He reached for his errant ski and put it back on. Then he scanned the area. “My poles,” he said, going past her. She watched him digging into the snow, then coming up with both poles. “Lucky they stuck together,” he said.
“It doesn’t bother you that you could have broken your neck?” She motioned to the huge pine that would have been his stopping place if the soft snow hadn’t slowed him.
He came back to where she stood, meshing his skis with hers the way he had at the top. “Oh, I’m not worried about my neck,” he said. “And what’s life without taking chances.” He grinned. “It’s a rush.”
“A face-plant is a rush?” she muttered.
He laughed. “I guess so.”
“Just stay off my land,” she said, and made her way to the run again. She paused, glanced over her shoulder and was taken aback to find him right behind her. “Go on to the fancy resort and use their runs.”
“Sensible,” he said. “But then again, I’ve never been accused of being sensible.” He moved past her, shot her a quick look, then pushed off, heading farther down the run.
She watched him go, and knew she wasn’t skiing anymore today. The time she’d wanted to spend alone, to sort out things, was gone. She undid her skis, put them and her poles over her shoulder and started back up. No lifts here, just good old-fashioned climbing. She heard a shout from below, but didn’t turn. If he face-planted again, he was on his own.
That thought made her smile and she caught herself. It wasn’t funny if he got hurt, yet she couldn’t help but hope he was in the soft snow again, face first, and this time he wouldn’t be able to find his poles.
CAIN MADE IT BACK to his cottage the long way around, skiing parallel to the resort until he got to the south end of the property and went in a service gate. By the time he’d walked to his cabin, he was ready for a hot shower and dry, clean clothes. But all the time he showered and cleaned up, his thoughts were on standing on the ridge at the top of the run.
The teacher who’d looked at him as though he were an insect was Holly, and Holly was the kid. The red-haired kid. The screamer. The little hellion who’d threatened him and his friends. He laughed as he soaped up in the shower. She’d grown up to be just as much a hellion. Teacher or not. She had a temper and she owned the land. Added to that, she was starting to bring out more than a bit of lust in him. He never thought he went for redheads or for tiny women. Certainly never a teacher. Everything Holly was. He laughed again softly as he stepped out of the shower.
He dried off and got dressed in black slacks, a black turtleneck and boots. He put on his leather jacket and went out again, choosing to walk to the main building. It was snowing lightly, and before he’d gone more than twenty feet, one of the electric carts used at the resort drove up to him. A bundled-up attendant was driving it.
“Sir? Where may I take you?”
Cain climbed in and said, “The lodge, to see Mr. Prescott.”
“Yes, sir,” the attendant said, and he took off quickly. He stopped at the side entrance, and smiled at Cain. “Dial star 9 and ask for James when you need a ride back.”
“You bet, James,” he said, then stepped out and headed to the door. Once inside, he went to the private elevator, punched in the code, and the doors opened. But this time the car was empty. No Holly. He hit the up button, and moments later he was stepping out of the elevator into Jack’s outer room. He started for the inner door, but hesitated when he heard Jack speaking to someone.
“I’ve tried to understand this, but I can’t. All I can come up with is you’re going after more money, and if that’s the case…” His words trailed off, and Cain waited by the door for someone to respond. When no one did, he assumed Jack was on the phone, and pushed the door back to step into Jack’s suite.
He’d barely taken two steps, when he halted in his tracks. Jack wasn’t on the phone at all. He was talking to Holly. She was sitting on one of the two sofas by the fireplace, and Jack was standing over her. His whole attitude was subtly intimidating, and in that moment, Cain didn’t like it. He spoke up, getting their attention. “Well, look who’s here,” he drawled as he went closer to the two of them.
Both turned at the sound of his voice. Jack looked taken aback, but pleased. The man was in all black—another intimidation thing. Holly glanced at Cain, and he could see color dotting her cheeks; her mouth was set in a straight line. But this time the expression in her eyes wasn’t for Cain. She was furious, and he realized it had to be with Jack. “You made it down?” he asked her.
She stood quickly, forcing Jack to back up or make contact. He chose to back up. She was on her feet, appearing very vulnerable, skin pale next to her flaming hair, and wearing old jeans and a loose sweatshirt with the UNLV logo on it. “I went up, but you made it, obviously,” she said with a glance at him, before she looked back at Jack. “That’s about all I have to say,” she said, and moved away from Jack, toward Cain where she stopped and tilted her head to look up at him.
There was no anger in those amber eyes this time, just a subtle sense of—what? Desperation? Frustration? God, he wished he could read her expressions. She seemed so tiny in regular clothes, and he could see the rapid, shallow breaths lifting her high breasts under the old fleece of the sweatshirt.
For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what this woman was thinking at any given time. She wasn’t playing games; he was sure of that. There was no subtle baiting and flirting. Too bad, actually, that his lust, for lack of a better word, was so one-sided. “Can you move?” she asked in a low voice.
“I could,” he murmured, and saw the color come back into her cheeks. Her eyes were getting brighter. Tears? That shocked him. He glanced at Jack, who was watching both of them, and he heard himself saying something he hadn’t known he was going to say. “She’s the kid. The one who chased us off Old Man Jennings’ run years ago.” He looked back at Holly, but kept speaking to Jack. “Remember her yelling at us to get off her mountain?”
Jack laughed softly at that. “Yeah, I remember.”
Holly turned to Jack. “It still holds. Stay off my mountain,” she said, then spun to face Cain. “And that includes you.”
Cain held up one hand. “Whoa. I don’t have a clue what’s going on but all I did was ski one run.”
He could see her gather herself, and when she spoke, her voice was level, though tight. “All he wants to take is the whole mountain.”
“Get back to me later,” Jack said. “Think on it. Consider the offer.”
She slipped past Cain, and when she got to the door, she had her hand on the handle. “I don’t have to think on it or consider the offer. There’s no deal. It’s not for sale.” With that she left, closing the door quietly behind her.
“What in the hell was that all about?” he asked Jack.
“I want her property, and she’s playing hard to get,” he said as he crossed