Chapter 1 Presley #2
“Record breaking snowfall expected at Sage Mountain Resort this weekend! But unless you pow chasers are already there, your luck may be up, as the highway is expected to close down. Snowplow crews are already running on overdrive as they gear up for the Winter Games, so don’t expect a fast turnaround on opening back up, either.
” I turned it back off. Good thing I brought groceries for the week, though now that I was there, my appetite was craving way more carbs than I came prepared for.
It was still early, not yet dark, and the snow hadn't started yet.
I decided a last-minute trip to the store for supplies was a good idea.
Jumping up from the couch, Priscilla got her second wind for the day, looking at me as if to ask, “Where are we going?” I checked the mirror; just because I was happy in my singledom, didn’t mean I want to look ragged in public, right?
My brown hair was shiny, thanks to my last-minute appointment for a blowout yesterday.
My green eyes popped with this moody taupe eyeshadow, and the cheeks were naturally flushed because of the warm cocoa.
My outfit, a 2-piece tan jogger set was okay, but not really giving “ski holiday.” Priscilla looked more the part than I did in her cute, green sweater with white snowflakes embroidered on it.
I decided a quick outfit change into a beige turtleneck sweater, dark jeans, and snow boots would be much cuter.
I put a black headband in my hair, pushing the hair out of my face.
It worked. I felt cute. And that was enough for me.
As Priscilla and I walked to the car, off in the distance I saw a man walking a horse into a barn.
The sight seemed unusual for the area, but I realized it must have been part of the skijoring that I had heard so much about on the way up there.
I smirked; after all of the ads I heard, I felt like an expert on the matter.
The first snowflake fell on my windshield as I got back out onto the road.
The coziness of the incoming storm was exciting me to no end.
Pushing the cart around Natural Grocers, with Priscilla in the child seat, we made several bad decisions.
The first of which, we hit the ice cream aisle.
Then, we got some bacon to sizzle up in the morning, mostly because I wanted her to have a treat, too, since she wasn’t about to have a bite of my Rocky Road.
Next, I got a variety of ready-made food.
Lastly, I stocked up on colorful pastas, fresh mozzarella, and aged Parmesan cheese.
I decided to skip the garlic bread since I had ice cream. Balance.
The woman at the checkout had long, bright red nails that matched her sweater. She was chewing gum at high speed, popping it every few seconds. Her nails clicking on every packaged item that she scanned was entertaining.
“And how are you girls doing tonight?” she asked, gum popping erratically, beaming at me in between.
“We’re good! Preparing for the storm. And you?”
“Oh yeah, you and everyone else getting ready for the weather. It's ‘no carb left behind’ around here. If there's a single box left of mac and cheese at the end of my shift, it will be a miracle.” She winked, and I considered just how good macaroni sounded.
As we left the store, the flakes started falling faster.
By the time we got back to the chalet, it was nearly pitch black and a full-blown blizzard.
Priscilla wasn’t happy about her last potty outside for the evening, as the snow was up to her chest, but thankfully I brought her snow booties and heavy winter coat that protected her fur from getting wet.
Back in the chalet, Priscilla and I each ate our dinner —hers of the finest quality refrigerated dog food that looks like human grade eats—and mine, a lovely chicken carbonara pasta for one.
In my coziest plush pajamas, we made our way to the bedroom, where normally, I would read for a few hours in my winding down time.
But no reading on this trip, unless it was the Bible, which I enjoyed for thirty minutes before turning off the lights and falling asleep.
*****
I awoke to a freezing house. Priscilla was pressed up against me under the covers, body burrowed into the blankets. Slipping on a pair of thick socks and a heavy robe that was left for me next to the soaking tub, I went downstairs to investigate.
Finding the thermostat, I cranked it up to a toasty seventy degrees.
I also turned on the gas fireplace to warm up the chalet faster, as I walked past the wood burning stove.
I opened the latch—no wood inside, or I’d have lit that, too.
I remembered seeing a stack of wood outside by the driveway.
It was barely past dawn; I went back to bed, the warmth rising to the loft quickly.
We slept for two more hours. I never slept in at home; with work being early and running late into the evenings with books I brought home, I had never realized how hard on my sleeping pattern that was.
The stacks of manuscripts that surrounded me were always looming over my head.
Since I’d been free of them for 24 hours, I felt their power waning.
They could wait. This trip was about me.
Getting out of bed, I slipped my feet into the sherpa slippers that I kicked off last night next to the king-size beauty sleep machine.
Doing a few stretches, I felt great. The mattress was an upgrade to mine at home, and I considered slipping off the sheets to see what the make was when I felt another chill in the air.
Throwing on my robe and tightening it, I reached for Priscilla, who let out a groan.
“Time to get up, sleepy head,” I said in a coo, but it didn’t work, as she let out the faintest growl when I went to move her.
“Okay, up, Priscilla.” That worked, as she did know that command.
“Let’s go potty outside. After that? You can sleep all day, if you want.
Because mommy’s going skiing.” I looked out the window and felt the excitement in my bones.
The snowstorm came through, and it absolutely dumped overnight.
The walk from the chalet to the new gondola was as advertised; less than 100 yards.
In my barely-worn black ski pants that made a delightful swoosh with every step I took, black turtleneck and fitted white ski jacket, I felt cool.
Stylish. Sleek. I was glad for it, as carrying my skis over my shoulder became cumbersome after about three steps.
The lines were miraculously short as I raced to ride the new gondola at the base of Sage Mountain.
Peering over to the other chair lifts, the crowds were easily 2–3 times in size.
Looking at the base map, I realized why: This gondola went to easier runs, whereas the lifts went to more challenging peaks for which I was more than pleased with.
I was a good skier, but I enjoyed wide, groomed trails.
I wasn’t trying to overdo anything on my first trip skiing in years.
The singles line meant that I got to cut even more people, since I didn’t care about riding with a particular group.
I was on the second gondola of the morning, and the ride up was filled with chatter, excitement, and peering out the window as we crossed a deep canyon filled with snowy trees and off-piste trails.
Six people in total were in the gondola, and I was sitting directly across from a man, but I couldn’t see anything definitive about his appearance.
His goggles were down, and he was in head to toe black, other than a tiger face mask.
The gondola slowed, as it usually did if someone needed extra time at the top, and the slightest movement of his hand revealed the skin on his wrist. In certain cultures, showing skin on the wrist would be considered scandalous.
I smirked at the thought and was about to be bold enough to ask him about the mask when I was interrupted by someone in the gondola pointing out a moose.
“Look—right there! There’s a huge momma moose,” one woman said.
“I hope I don’t run into her or her babies while I’m skiing,” another woman said, with an undertone of fear in her voice. I hadn’t thought of that possibility, and too, felt worried.
“Just stay on the trails and you’ll be fine. No off-roading, okay?” The man next to her put his arm around her for reassurance. She nodded.
“Are you watching the Winter Games this weekend?” a man asked the couple in front of them, as they still kept their gaze on the tall, overpowering animal.
“Just the skijoring,” the man said, taking his arm back from around the woman's shoulders as we neared the top. “I have never seen it before, and I’m from a rodeo town. But we never get enough snow to do anything remotely as cool.”
“Yeah, same. That Ford Prescott is something else.” The conversationalist next to me let out a low whistle after he spoke, emphasizing on Ford’s name.
“And he’s not bad to look at, either,” the woman next to me spoke out, and the other woman laughed in agreement, her partner giving her a look.
“What? I’m married, but I’m not dead,” she smirked.
Ford Prescott… Was that the handsome cowboy I saw on the billboard, with a steely jaw, chin dimple, and yesterday’s stubble?
Maybe I would have to watch the games after all.
When we reached the top, I felt my ears pop with the change in elevation.
I was the first to get out, and since the gondola never stops moving, I felt the pressure of retrieving my skis from their holder as quickly as possible, as I skirted around it in my ski boots.
A small ice patch nearly took me down in the process, but I caught myself and walked out of the way so I could put them on and analyze my route.
Once I was out and in the place where everyone put their skis on, the man in the tiger mask flew past me on his powder skis. He was a very good skier, which was obvious.