Chapter Three
Liam caught up with Nina by a rack of skis. “Remember, this wasn’t my idea,” he said.
She nodded. “It’s just a shock, to be told I can’t do my job.”
“This is your job, too, isn’t it?”
She pressed her lips together. “Right. And I guess the sooner we get this over with, the better. Where do you want to start?”
“Do you want to change clothes?” Liam asked. “In her text, Marlena suggested something blue and white—SkyCrest’s colors.”
“I’m wearing my ski patrol uniform today, and I’m not going back to my house to change. You’ll have to film me like this.”
“Fine by me. Why don’t we ride up the lift and get some long shots of you skiing.”
“Sky needs to come with us. I don’t want to interrupt the meeting to put her in her kennel.”
“Sure. She and Angel are getting along great.” The two dogs were currently rolling in the snow together.
“Then let’s go.” She grabbed her skis from the rack.
He retrieved his own skis and joined her at the lift. “Hey, Nina.” The lift tech unhooked the rope blocking the entrance to the lift.
“Good morning, Cerise. This is Liam and Angel.”
“Hi, Liam. And hello, sweetie.” Cerise, a brunette with big brown eyes, beamed at Angel. “Does she need help on the lift?”
“I’ll take care of her.” Liam bent and scooped up the little dog and skied to the loading line.
He sat on the lift chair as it came up behind them, the dog in his lap.
Nina sat next to him, Sky between them. Below spread a sea of white corduroy, unmarred by even a single set of ski tracks.
The long shadows of the lift towers stretched across the runs, obstacles he would have to account for in his filming.
“I’m not blaming you,” Nina said. “If anything, this is my fault for not better defining my duties as an ambassador.”
“I’ll try to make this as painless as possible,” he said.
She nodded. “I hate feeling like I’m letting down my fellow patrollers. I was hoping we could manage the filming outside of my work hours.”
“Hard to do, since we need the good daylight hours for the best shots.”
She buried her gloved fingers in the thick fur at the back of Sky’s neck. “I always worried the other patrollers wouldn’t take me seriously because of my background.”
“As a silver-medal-winning skier?”
She frowned. “As a celebrity and fashion model.”
“Did they give you any trouble about that?”
“No. Everyone has been wonderful. Getting to be part of the avalanche dog program was a real privilege. I never take that for granted.”
“From what I’ve seen, you’ve worked hard at anything you’ve ever committed yourself to. It takes a lot of dedication and labor to get to stand on that podium. And I’ve photographed my share of models. It takes a lot of effort to look that good in front of the camera.”
She said nothing, merely straightened and took a firmer grip on her ski poles. “Tell me how you want to handle these first shots.”
So that’s how she wanted to approach this—all business. He hid his disappointment. “Let me set up halfway down this run, then you ski down past me,” he said. “We’ll try that first, and move on from there.”
* * *
Nina tried to push thoughts of everything she couldn’t control out of her mind and focus on skiing—on the release flying over the snow had always given her.
In this moment she had nothing else she needed to do but ski, and ski well.
Sky loped along beside her, long legs outstretched, snow flying up from around the dog’s paws with each stride.
They had the run to themselves, and Nina picked up speed, icy wind stinging her cheeks, muscles tensing and relaxing in a call and response that was second nature to her.
She spotted Liam bent over a tripod to the side of the run, Angel seated by his side, and executed a series of graceful curves to slow slightly as she approached man and dog. He raised his hand in salute as she sped by. “Let’s do it again!” he shouted.
At the bottom of the mountain, she skied straight to the lift and rode to the top again.
She paused to offer Sky a drink of water before they skied past Liam once more.
This time he had positioned himself on the opposite side of the run, and slightly higher.
“Again!” he shouted, and she waved to indicate she had heard.
She skied past him a third time. This time he joined her at the bottom of the run and they rode the lift up together. “That was great footage,” he said. “I’ll ski with you some and try to get some close-ups.”
She skied more slowly now, and looked toward the camera from time to time.
How many times had she done this—for television crews and documentary crews and even for trainers who would study her form and try to find ways to shave hundredths of a second off of her competition time.
Today she felt none of the pressure of those other times—no compulsion to do better or look better or to prove that she was worthy of the focus on her.
She was doing a job now, paid to look good, but her performance today held little importance to her future. Her real purpose, as a ski patroller, depended on skill and caring, not fashion and figure.
The two dogs followed behind Nina and Liam, pausing to nip at each other or roll in the snow.
By this time the lifts were running and the slopes were full of skiers.
Nina became more aware of the tourists skiing dangerously close to the dogs, and to Sky’s lolling tongue and slowing gait.
“I need to kennel Sky,” she said. “She’s getting really tired. ”
“All right,” he said.
They stopped at the ski patrol headquarters to crate Sky. “What about Angel?” Nina asked. “She must be exhausted, too.”
“She can ride in my pack.” He scooped up the little dog, who vaulted to his shoulders and from there into the open top of his pack. She settled inside, the top of her head peeping out.
“You’re not too tired, are you?” Liam asked.
“Are you kidding? I do this all day.”
“Then let’s head higher up the mountain,” he said. “I’d like to get some panoramic shots.”
She guided him to a different lift, which deposited them on a ridge that afforded a view of the ski village spread out below.
He took a few dozen photos, with and without her in the frame, as well as video footage.
“This reminds me of when we met,” he said as she posed beneath a sign for Top of the Mark.
“Kvitfjell, Norway,” she said, and had a sudden, sharp recollection of a sunny day much like this one, when the photographer with the dog riding on his shoulder had approached her and introduced himself. “I was so focused on Angel at the time I almost immediately forgot your name.”
“Crushing for my ego,” he said. “Upstaged by a terrier.”
“You managed to make yourself pretty memorable,” she said.
Less than a week later the two of them had been inseparable, spending every night and much of each day together.
She had never fallen into a romantic relationship so quickly and completely.
Over the next two months the connection between them had been intoxicating, daring and even a little dangerous—until they arrived in Lake Placid and real danger intruded.
Her radio crackled, and patroller Lily Alton’s voice said, “I’ve got a yard sale over on Top of the Mark. Maybe a broken bone.”
Nina keyed her mic. “I’m right here at Top of the Mark,” she said. “I’m on my way.”
She turned to Liam. “I have to go,” she said, then planted her poles and took off.
Two-thirds of the way down the slope she spotted a crowd gathered to one side of the run, and Lily’s bright red jacket.
A pair of skis, two poles and even a glove were scattered across the snow—the “yard sale” Lily had referenced, a sign of an out-of-control fall.
Nina steered to the edge of the run, removed her skis and hurried to Lily and the young man who lay on his back in the snow, his face contorted in pain.
“Nina! I thought you were off for the day,” Lily said.
“I’m here and no one else is,” Nina said. “Let me help.” She knelt beside the man in the snow. “What’s hurting you?” she asked.
“Leg.” He groaned. “I heard it pop.”
Lily joined her beside the man. “I’m just going to feel around and make sure you don’t have an open fracture or any bleeding,” she said.
Gently, Lily ran her hands over his lower leg, where he had indicated the pain. When she tried to loosen his boot, he screamed. “Okay, no more of that,” she said. “We’ll splint it, which should help with the pain.”
He nodded, his face almost as pale as the snow.
Brian Weeks, an easygoing blond, arrived on a snowmobile, pulling an orange plastic rescue sled. He glanced at Nina but said nothing. “We need to splint his leg,” Lily said. “Then shift him into the sled.”
Anders Iverson, a Norwegian who had been part of that country’s junior men’s ski team, skied up a few minutes later with his avalanche dog, Darth. “One adult leg splint,” he said, and presented the bright orange splint.
The four of them worked for the next few minutes to ease the man’s leg into the splint, a process that produced a sharp cry of pain with each movement. But at last the man was splinted and secured in the sled.
Nina was sweating from the effort but was rewarded when the man smiled up at her. “Thanks,” he said. “Sorry about all the groaning.”
“I’d be screaming my head off if I broke my leg,” she said. “You did great.” She had, in fact, broken her leg six years ago, in Slovenia. She didn’t remember much about the incident, but she had watched video of the accident later and she had only screamed on impact. Then she had passed out.
Brian remounted the snowmobile and began to ferry the sled down the slope, Anders skiing behind. “Thanks for your help,” Lily said, before she took off after the others.
Liam skied to her side. “That was impressive, seeing you all work together,” he said.
“You filmed it, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “It might be interesting to include footage of you in your role as a ski patroller. Not just a pretty face, but a real member of the community.”