Good With Children. Margot Early
utterly fearless.”
The man was remote, Rory decided. Why? Possibly, Seamus Lee was simply unfriendly and uninterested in his children. But hadn’t Lauren said that he used to be different before his wife had died?
“I apologize for bringing up a painful subject,” she said at last.
“It’s better you know,” he replied shortly. “You’re spending time with my kids, after all.”
They spoke little after that. Rory directed him to a turnout near the trailhead, and they climbed out of his SUV and snugged up their boots and put on their skis. “You’ve telemarked before,” Rory clarified.
“Not as much as I’d like. My work is time-consuming.”
“Can you make a tele turn?” she asked.
“Barely.”
She grinned. “Just so we know where we’re starting.” It occurred to her that rather than putting Beau in a group telemark class, she could teach him and his father together. That would let Beau spend some time with his dad—and probably relax many of his fears about group classes.
They put skins on their skis—adhesive cloth trimmed to the dimensions of each ski. Skins allowed the skis to glide forward but kept them from sliding backward, making it possible for the skier to climb slopes.
Seamus followed Rory as she started up the route she’d chosen, onto a steeply climbing trail. She moved confidently, as he painfully remembered skiing with Janine. As soon as the memory surfaced, the anger came, too. He saw in his mind her pugnacious jaw, heard her voice and her conversation, scattered with surfing and snowboarding slang. Her tough act. He’d been attracted to her in part because of the vulnerability he’d been certain lay beneath that tough exterior. He’d seen a wounded woman with a wounded child trapped inside, and he’d never stopped wanting to reach the vulnerable person beneath.
And he had reached her. But seldom. And by then, too, he’d known better than to let her know what he’d seen.
Lauren seems fearless.
He’d known that what Rory had said was not what she believed. Rory had seen Lauren repeating her mother’s tough act. And she’d seen something amiss, as he did. Did Rory have any idea what to do with a teenager who had chosen self-destructive toughness as her guide in life?
Because the real Lauren was not that tough. She was the loving older sister who gave up her own room to make sure Belle felt safe at night. After he’d said good night to Lauren and Belle the night before, when he was lying alone in the double bed in the master suite, he’d realized he should have praised Lauren for her kindness to Belle.
They climbed the trail for a mile, and Seamus began to wonder when Rory would stop and if he’d have to ask her to take a break. But suddenly she slowed, turned her skis slightly and looked at him. “Still breathing?” she asked with a grin.
It was not Janine’s type of challenging grin, the kind of grin that noted her own athletic superiority. Rory’s grin seemed more like an invitation to have fun; a way of saying, It’s downhill all the way now and you’re going to love it, and so will I.
“Breathing hard,” he admitted.
“Let’s put our skins away and have some water,” Rory suggested. “Then, we can make some turns.”
Seamus studied the slope she’d chosen, leading off the trail and ending in a gentle bowl.
“Are we agreed,” Rory said, “that it’s better to be safe than speedy?”
“We’re agreed.”
“Are you comfortable with this slope?”
“It looks perfect for my level.”
She nodded with satisfaction. The sun had come out and they peeled the skins off their skis, stowed them and stood in the afternoon sun, drinking water. Then, Rory suggested, “I’d like you to go first, if you’re comfortable with that.”
She gave him a few pointers, advising him to let his skis choose the most natural course and to slow himself before he found that he was going too fast.
Impressed with her guidance, Seamus pushed off, following the instructions, letting his skis pick the fall line and remembering advice he’d received in previous telemark classes. He made two not-very-pretty turns and pulled up on the edge of the slope in the shade of the trees to watch Rory descend.
She skied gracefully, seeming part of the snow, one with her skis, her motion fitted exactly to the terrain.
When she stopped, he said, “You’re good. Did your dad teach you?”
She wore sunglasses, but he felt the intensity of the gaze behind them as she looked at him. “No,” she replied. For a moment, he thought she was going to add something, but instead she spoke to him about keeping his weight forward and also about letting the distribution of weight on his skis make each turn for him.
They skied together, and there was an immense and peaceful quiet in the snow and trees, with the mountains above them. Though he was more tired physically than he could remember being for months, Seamus also felt rested. What was more, he was looking forward to returning to the Empire Street house and seeing his children.
At the bottom of one run, Rory realized he was gazing at her intently. “What?”
“I want to put you into Ki-Rin’s world,” he said.
Rory blinked, remembering his vocation.
“Each of my children has a character,” he said. “In Ki-Rin’s world.”
“That’s beautiful,” she exclaimed, trying to downplay the implications of his making a character for her. The thought made her feel warm, set her off-balance. This can’t happen, she thought. The job, Rory. Keep your job.
When they returned to the car, Seamus put their skis on the overhead rack. Rory, he noticed, didn’t object to the courtesy. He turned to find her watching him and she immediately blushed and turned away.
Seamus felt a small smile forming on his lips. “We’re making pizza tonight. Would you like to join us? If you’ve had enough of the Lee family, I understand, but it would be great to have you.”
Rory checked her watch without glancing at him again. “I teach a class at six. Belly dance and fire dance. By the way, your daughter has asked to learn fire dance, and I could teach her to spin poi and twirl staffs without anything on fire. You’d have to come with her to the Sultan Recreation Center and sign a release.”
Seamus pondered Lauren’s sometimes tough act, which reminded him of Janine at her worst. Would the activities Rory was referring to increase his daughter’s need to prove that she was fearless? “Without fire,” he repeated.
“Yes. I never teach with fire this time of year, anyhow. We don’t have a facility in town that is insured for it. But, in any case, Lauren would need lots of practice before that stage.”
“She’s not reckless,” he admitted, almost as though arguing a point—though with whom he couldn’t have said. “Sure. I’ll come and sign the waiver, and you can bring her back afterward and join us for pizza. How long does the class last?”
“Till seven-thirty. Half of it is belly dance. The other half is poi spinning and staff twirling.”
INCLUDING LAUREN, Rory had four students. It seemed a small class, but Sultan was a small, remote town. Though tourism was reviving the local economy, Seamus could tell from its sleepy winter streets that Sultan still struggled. He signed Lauren’s waiver and then headed back home, where Beau was watching Caleb and Belle during his brief absence.
The Sultan Mountain School provided day care for Belle when Seamus couldn’t be with her and when she wasn’t in ski school. At four years of age, she couldn’t be expected to be outside or in classes all day. Tomorrow, he knew, Rory would supervise Lauren teaching his youngest