Chapter 2 Ford #3
The next morning, I awoke to my favorite childhood pastime: an abundance of snow, covering every surface with its thick, heavy powder.
It looked like a blanket had been put out over the entire resort.
Suddenly, my feet felt an itch to ski that I could barely ignore.
The runs were going to be fantastic today.
I reached for my phone to check the snow gauges before remembering it was broken, while I wrestled with the decision if I wanted to risk being recognized.
I thought I could wear my helmet with the most coverage.
But that wouldn’t cover up my very distinct chin dimple or scar on my jaw.
My black jacket that zipped up over my chin would be an option.
But what if it slipped? Then, it dawned on me: I had a half-face gator with a cheesy tiger face on it that I got at a white elephant party last year.
That was the perfect disguise for me to enjoy my ski day.
It took me a minute to find skis that I hadn’t done a product deal with, as those pairs had my name engraved on them as a gift from the company.
Sorting through my garage, I found a pair of Atomic skis that I got as a graduation gift nearly a decade ago.
They were barely used powder skis, and just what I needed for all of this fresh snow.
Stepping out of my chalet, I saw my neighbor leaving a few moments before me.
I held back just a second, mostly so I didn’t end up in a conversation.
Coincidentally, my neighbor—whom I reminded myself did not know I’d seen her, who I was, or that it was me under this mask—she and I ended up in the same bright red gondola.
The second one of the day, I admired her commitment to skiing.
The rest of the group was chatting eagerly, and I attempted to hold my breath when my name was brought up, lest someone realize I was sitting right there.
I just sat still, not trying to get anyone’s attention.
As I sat across from my neighbor, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was.
Her thick, brown hair was braided on one side and poking out of her white helmet: the fleeting brightness of the sun revealing golden hues.
Her goggles, pulled up on her helmet, were bright purple, which added some much-needed color on a snowy day like today.
But it was her icy blue eyes that gripped me.
As we reached the top, I saw her shiny lips smirking at something.
If it had been just us and no other riders who definitely knew who I was, I would’ve asked her what was funny. But for now, I let it go.
I couldn’t get out of the gondola soon enough. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing her; a vision I didn’t want nor need for distraction. This woman was trouble with a capital T, and I would do everything in my power to avoid her. I just needed to get through this storm and the Winter Games.
Skiing was the adrenaline rush I didn’t know I needed.
As I carved through the tougher and ungroomed territory, I found few people on the same trails with me.
The clouds gave way to the most beautiful blue skies and for a moment, I lifted my goggles and pulled down the neck gator and felt the warmth on my face.
Two snowboarders came ripping up behind me where I was stopped mid-trail—an etiquette of being out on the slopes that you’d never want to break—so I quickly moved off to the side, hoping they didn’t stop to see me or to talk. They didn’t. I released my breath.
Call me paranoid, but when your sport is the biggest news story on all of the major news networks, and I’d been fortunate to be considered the face of Skijoring, it doesn’t feel good to be constantly stopped and questioned.
Especially with my ex-fiancé getting married and my name being brought up in such articles; I just wanted to lay low.
With a zest of joy and tired legs, I finished the day a few minutes before the last chair, and instead of taking the gondola, I skied down a back way and came out near my horses.
A farm gate was the only thing keeping me from being able to ski all the way to my house from there; one that I didn’t have a key to.
So, after unclipping my skis and awkwardly filling the corral with hay via pitchfork in my ski boots, I made sure the horses had fresh water in their trough and walked the rest of the way home with my skis slung over my shoulder.
The snowflakes were starting to ramp up again, and since I was no longer moving at high speeds as I worked my way down mountain trails, the cold caught up to me.
By the time I reached my chalet, I could barely punch the numbers into my garage keypad to throw my skis inside.
Peeling off a few layers of my ski clothes, I left my black henley undershirt and ski pants on while I threw a few logs into my wood stove.
Call me old fashioned, but I can’t stand gas fireplaces.
There’s something that I find incredibly wrong about having a fire started with the click of a button.
Sure, everything else in my chalet was top of the line—just like the other nine in this row of ten.
But this was something I couldn’t budge on, and I didn’t let them put that faux-wood monstrosity in there.
Stoking the roaring fire, it began to crank out the heat, so I went to the kitchen and figured out what I could make.
The grocery delivery brought so many options, but I didn’t really feel like cooking; rather, something fast. Lazy. So, I made a sandwich.
I was halfway done with the meal when the power began flickering.
Stopping my bite mid-chew, I waited a few moments, and it came back on.
I finished my ham and cheese when it went off again.
The beeping of my generator was a relief; it kicked all of my power back on, gloriously shining throughout the house.
I went around and flipped lights off, wanting to conserve what I could in the meantime.
Looking out my front window, I saw a very unusual sight to the left of me; the woman from next door, grabbing bundles of wood that were stacked outside, while her little dog sniffed around the pavement.
The dog on the leash was as far away from her as it could get before she motioned with her head for it to come back inside, to which the little dog minded and went back over to her.
But they didn’t go inside. She dropped the wood after a moment, picked up her dog, and disappeared.
Sitting on the couch, I thought of all the places she might have gone on foot with a little dog in a pink coat in this brewing storm and cold front.
Before my phone broke, my weather app said tonight was going to reach record lows.
Running my hands through my hair, I realized I needed to go out and see if this woman needed help.
Every year, tourists get rescued from danger on this mountain, but tonight, it might have been happening right in my backyard.
As I stood up to put my ski layers back on, a knock at the door caught me by surprise.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, but it appears that I’m locked out, and we are absolutely frigid cold right now.
I see that your power is on. Do you think that I could perhaps come in and use your phone?
” I was so caught off guard by the woman standing on my porch, holding a shivering dog, that I just nodded and let them in.
It was the woman staying next door. The woman from the gondola ride.
The woman who had been creeping into my thoughts ever since I saw her yesterday, and I didn’t even know what to say right now.
“Of course,” I mumbled. Then I remembered my phone was broken. “Except, uh, my phone is broken.” I shut the door behind them to keep the heat in the house, when I saw her eyes look beyond me. I kept it unlocked, as I didn’t want to put off any creepy vibes, and she nodded.
“Oh, okay then. Mine is inside my chalet. What should I do?” My mind was blank as she spoke. Did she say she was locked out?
“I, uh, have a key for the other chalets. Which one is yours?” Her eyes widened as I spoke.
“Why do you have a key to my rental?”
I was digging through my kitchen drawer when I found the keyring. “Long story.”
Her jaw dropped. After a long pause, she mumbled something under her breath.
“Okay, then.” She looked at me with her arms crossed, still holding her dog.
I could tell she was skeptical. Just waiting to jump down my throat with questions, but there was a hesitation.
Finally, she relented, looking around my chalet.
Mine, unlike the others, had rustic barnwood floors and ceilings.
What no one ever talks about is how barnwood is the most expensive type of material you can get.
I liked it because it reminded me of home on the ranch.
“I’m in chalet ‘2’,” she said.
“Here you go. Do you want me to help you?” Chivalry isn’t dead, but as soon as I said it, I wondered just what I would be helping her with.
“No, that’s okay. I think I can manage.” She smiled a radiant, toothy grin, took the key, and spun around on her heels. “I’m Presley, by the way. Here for the week. Hopefully, the power comes back on.” Presley.
“Ford. Nice to meet you, Presley.” She didn’t turn back around.
“If you need anything at all, I’ll be here.
” This was entirely out of character for me, as I had been retreated from the entirety of civilization, but it didn’t seem like Presley even knew who I was.
And that was fine with me. Then, she stopped in her tracks.
“Wait! I know you.” A pit formed in my stomach at her words.
Then, she pointed to the tiger gator on the hook near my front door.
“You sat across from me in the gondola this morning.” She grinned again, nearly taking me out with relief.
“I was wondering who was under that mask. Well, I better go. Thanks, Ford.” And with that, she was back outside, and the door shut behind her.
The snow melting on my floors was the only sign she had been there at all.
I caught myself going to the window at lightning speed to see if she made it back into her chalet next to mine, and she did.
“Get a grip, Ford. You have too much riding this weekend to be distracted by a woman. Not to mention, your decision about dating again.” Talking to myself was a sure sign I’d been alone at home for too long. Now, with this neighbor situation? I was in trouble.