Chapter Two
CREW HENDRICKS STOOD at the top of the slope on his snowboard, cold air burning his lungs the way the truth had burned through him every day for the past four years.
The mountain stretched out below him, as unforgiving and impossible to control as the past he couldn’t outrun.
The mountain didn’t care about excuses. It was just there, waiting for him to decide whether he was brave enough to move forward.
Maybe that was why he’d ended up here, staying at his cabin in the woods, standing on the mountain that had tried to kick his ass as a kid but he’d managed to conquer that same year.
He’d been out of prison for a few weeks and still hadn’t found his footing.
He didn’t know how to start trying to make amends for the damage he’d caused when there was no way to give back what he’d taken.
He had no idea what he was going to do for work, much less where he’d live.
His cabin was a remnant from his previous life.
One he no longer felt comfortable in. It was too lux, too far from town, though he knew he was fortunate to have a roof over his head.
He’d met plenty of guys in prison who would literally have nothing when they got out.
Carrying apologies that were too heavy to speak and at the same time felt too damn small and insignificant to matter, he needed somewhere to put that weight.
He needed movement. Forward movement, even if it was just one deliberate plunge toward a future he hadn’t figured out how to deserve, because there was no way he was going back to the life he’d once lived.
Fucking phones. Crew braced a hand in the snow, his chest tight, hoping he hadn’t hurt her. Four years of working out had bulked him up. At six three and two hundred and twenty pounds, he could do some damage.
Pushing up to his knees, he turned, expecting tears or yelling, but the other snowboarder was on her back, rising up onto her elbows, and muttering something under her breath.
He did a quick visual sweep. Her long dark hair was covered in powder, boots still strapped to her board.
No visible broken bones. Thank God. What the hell was she wearing?
Her snowsuit looked like a mishmash of neon pop art.
She was a tiny thing. Worry crawled up his spine.
Please don’t let her be a kid. It would be bad enough if he’d hurt a woman, but a kid?
“Sorry about that. You all right?” he asked, his voice low, careful.
“Fine,” she bit out as she sat up, pulling her goggles onto her helmet.
He shoved his own goggles up, ready to defend himself, but the second their eyes met without the tint of plastic between them, his focus locked in.
She wasn’t a kid. Beautiful, angry honey-brown eyes stared back at him, full of grit and challenge, but there was a spark in that stare that made it impossible to look away.
Her expression faltered, surprise flickering across it, but just as quickly, her eyes narrowed, and her lips curved into a too-damn-sexy smirk. “You know, there are easier ways to meet women than tackling them.”
Ballsy and beautiful. A dangerous combination. “You cut in front of me.”
“I didn’t see you,” she said defiantly. “I was filming. It’s not like I can look up when I’m going down the mountain and talking to a camera.”
“Yeah,” he said flatly. “I noticed.”
“It’s important to be authentic and in the moment when you’re filming,” she insisted. “And I had to get the right angle. It’s tricky. It takes skills to film on the move. Hold the phone too high and I look like a child. Too low and I look like a slug.”
A laugh rolled out before he could stop it. “Right. A slug. I can see that.” He definitely could not see that, with those plump lips and fiery eyes, but he got a kick out of her uppity spirit.
“Hey! That’s not nice.”
“You said it.”
“And you’re supposed to say I could never look like a slug, or don’t be silly, or something other than agreeing with me.”
“I have a feeling you don’t need any man to tell you that.” He cocked a grin. “Want me to film you now? Show all your fanboys how you swerved into my path just so you could meet me?”
“I did not. It was an accident, and if you weren’t acting like a flying monkey, I’d’ve been fine.”
“You keep telling yourself that.” He pushed upright on his board and held out a hand to help her up.
As he tugged her up, she sucked in a breath. “Ow!” She yanked her hand free and dropped to her knees. “Shoot.”
Shit. “Where does it hurt?”
“It’s my ankle. I must’ve tweaked it. I’m sure it’s fine.
” She tried pushing to her feet again, winced, and immediately sank back down, groaning.
“Okay, so maybe fine is too strong a word. But I can get up.” She tried to stand again and plunked down a third time.
“Damn it. Stupid ankle. I guess I can try rolling down the hill, or maybe I should call a rescue team.” Her eyes lit up.
“They do have a team of hot rescue guys. That’ll work. ”
He stifled his amusement. “You don’t need a rescue team. Hold still.” He unclipped her boots from her board and picked it up. Turning his back to her, he crouched and looked over his shoulder at her. “Climb on.”
“Seriously?” There was a hint of excitement in her voice.
“I’m not kneeling here just to admire the view.” He lifted his chin. “Let’s go, Trouble.”
Her lips curved into a killer smile, and she pulled her goggles into place. “Okay, Ragnar.”
He felt a smile tugging at his lips. It had been a long damn time since he’d had a reason to smile. “That’s not my name.”
“It is now,” she said, her arms looping around his neck as she hopped onto his back. “And don’t even think about telling me your name is Brian or Dave or some other boring name. Just let me live out my Viking fantasy.”
Why did he find her cheekiness so cute? And why did she smell like the beach? Why am I noticing? Gritting his teeth, he rose to his full height.
“Whoa,” she exclaimed, holding on tighter, wrapping her legs around him. “Don’t drop me!”
He wasn’t worried about getting her down the mountain. He’d been snowboarding forever and could do just about every trick out there. But he did worry that Little Miss Oblivious to the World Around Her might forget to hold on.
“Don’t let go,” he warned, and pushed off carefully, her board in one hand, her weight steady on his back.
“The world looks different from up here!” she hollered as they headed down the slope.
Feels different with you up there, too.
“Woo-hoo! I might never snowboard on my own again. Can I rent you out?”
She was a fucking trip.
“Go over a bump!” she said, her legs squeezing his waist.
Fuck. Even through his jacket, she felt too damn good.
He headed for a mogul, and she squealed as they went over it.
“Go over another!” she hollered.
It was ridiculous how much he was enjoying this as he carved their way to another mogul, earning carefree laughter as they caught air. He landed solidly, and she shouted, “Again!”
As he navigated bumps and landings, she hollered, “Your back is shockingly comfortable. I’m officially holding on tight for reasons other than safety!”
Hell if that didn’t make him grin.
“I should probably apologize for that later,” she said. “But I won’t.”
He was enjoying her one-sided conversations. They reached the bottom of the slope far too quickly. “Hang on,” he said, lifting his goggles up. He crouched to unclip his boots from his snowboard, careful not to lose her in the process.
“Ha! As if I’d give up my Viking transport that easily?”
Chuckling, he situated the two boards in one hand and scanned the area for a bench. Spotting one by the lodge, he carried her in that direction. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a trip?”
“Maybe a time or two.”
“Careful with that ankle,” he said as he lowered her to the snow.
She grabbed his arm, taking weight off her right foot.
“Sit.” He nodded to the bench.
She sat down and pushed up her goggles as he bent to check out her ankle. Turning a playful gaze on him, she said, “You don’t have to kneel for me. I know I’m queen of the slopes, but I’m not into all the fanfare that comes with it.”
Gently taking off her boot, he said, “Guess I’ll cancel the chariot.”
“Who needs a chariot when I’ve got a strong, broad back to carry me?”
He pocketed his gloves and wrapped his hand around her ankle, his eyes trained on hers, watching for signs of discomfort, but those honey-brown eyes only warmed.
“Your hand is hot,” she said. “That feels like information I should be filing away.”
He wondered if she meant to say that out loud. “Does this hurt?”
“No. You know what they say about hot hands?”
The sparkle in her eyes told him whatever saying she had in mind wasn’t cross-stitched on a pillow and had nothing to do with hearts and everything to do with trouble, but he gave it a shot anyway. “You mean warm hands, warm heart?”
“No.”
He felt her leg right above her ankle, and when she didn’t flinch, he angled her foot to the side. She winced. His gut tightened. “How bad is it?”
“The saying? It’s not bad at all. It’s a good one. But I think I’d better keep it to myself. It’s kind of dirty.”
He got a kick out of the way she bobbed between topics and rattled off whatever seemed to pop into her head. “I meant how bad is the pain in your ankle?”
“Oh. I think I tweaked it. It’s a little sore, but I’ll live.” She lowered her voice and said, “Relax, Ragnar. I’m not made of glass.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
Her grin tugged sideways. “You look like you want to apologize again.”
She saw more than he’d like her to. “I should’ve seen you coming,” he said, carefully sliding her foot into her boot.
“I should’ve been watching where I was going. I’ll take fifty percent of the blame.” She leaned forward, her eyes twinkling flirtatiously. “Now that you’ve felt me up, you should buy me a drink.”
He cocked a brow. “I wasn’t feeling you up.”
“You touched my ankle. That’s practically second base. What do you say? Want to buy me a drink?”
Hell yeah, he wanted to buy her a drink. He had no interest in drinking, but he could have one beer, if only to spend more time with her. “I don’t know, Trouble. Think you can keep from crashing into me on the way inside?” He rose to his feet.
“Do you really want me to?” She held out her hand, looking at him expectantly.
He eyed her hand but didn’t take it. “Why don’t you give your ankle a break. Let me have your boots and helmet, and give me your locker number and code, and you can wait here while I put away our equipment.”
“And give some other snow bunny a shot at living out my Viking fantasy? Not a chance.” She took his hand, pulling herself to her feet, and leaned on him, grinning adorably.
“Want me to carry you over?”
“Yes, but it’s probably better if I try to walk.”
Admiring her determination, he picked up their boards, situating them in one hand. “You really think I’d take your stuff and leave you sitting here in your socks?”
“Maybe. I know how men’s brains work. A pretty face can short-circuit their ability to make smart decisions.”
He ground his back teeth. He’d never been that kind of asshole, but that hadn’t stopped the two most important people in his life from pulling that shit on him. “In my experience, it’s the other way around.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said with as much sass as challenge.
“No, we won’t. I don’t do that shit.” He slid his free arm around her waist, taking the pressure off her ankle as they headed for the equipment return.
“If you say so. I mean, that’s a big proclamation coming from a guy who’s buying me a drink after I flashed a smile.”
He met her mischievous gaze. She was smirking.
Whether she was daring or goading, he couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter.
She was bold in a way that was nothing like the women he’d known in his former life.
For the first time in years, he felt something other than dread or guilt, and hell if his chest didn’t hitch on that unfamiliar feeling. “You enjoy riling people up?”
Her eyes gleamed wickedly. “Stick around, Viking. I get worse.”