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Reunited With The Billionaire
Sandra Marton






This exciting reissue from USA TODAY bestselling author Sandra Marton guarantees pleasure and passion!

An unquenchable desire…

When Wendy Monroe left Cooper’s Corner she’d been a championship skier in the making…and madly in love with Seth Castleman. Until an accident on the slopes shattered her dreams—and her heart.

Now Wendy has returned for life-changing surgery and comes face to face with Seth again. He’s more devastatingly handsome than ever, and it soon becomes clear that the chemistry between them still burns hot. Will Wendy overcome the past and be reunited with her billionaire?

A Cooper’s Corner novel.

Originally published in 2002 as Dancing in the Dark.


Reunited with the Billionaire

Sandra Marton






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


CONTENTS

Cover (#u02aea1f4-9c71-507d-b65d-f293ccb21d21)

Back Cover Text (#u330098cf-b30c-57bd-9422-af9574d3a233)

Title Page (#u2cc27eef-02c5-57e3-9758-530c7ac18c03)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_742849ed-e349-50e6-a9a9-22304367250b)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_40b833ac-0f4d-5310-80de-d4c7deee58c5)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_161667b9-9931-5a62-8444-e02888d4dea4)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#u5504f5da-bc27-5d5e-a1d5-857dd60d2db6)

IT WAS COLD THAT DAY, colder than usual, even for Norway. The sky was bright blue, the sun golden, the wind a gentle sigh.

Wendy stood poised in the chute at the top of the ski run. Excitement flowed through her blood like a river of quicksilver. She had never felt more alive.

“Empty your mind of everything but the mountain,” her coach said, and then the horn sounded. She dug her poles into the snow and began her run down the slope. Through the first gate. Through the second, and the third, and…

Too fast. Too wide on the turn. Recover, damn it! She’d made worse mistakes. Surely this wasn’t enough to make her lose control….

She flew through the air, bindings never releasing. Somebody screamed as she hit the netting and bounced over it.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, she thought with great clarity—and then she saw the trees…and the rocks.

After that, there was only blackness.

* * *

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, welcome to John F. Kennedy International Airport. Please keep your seats until the captain brings the plane to a complete stop.”

Wendy jerked awake. A dream. That’s all it was, just a dream. She hadn’t had it in a long time. Now she was returning to Cooper’s Corner for the first time in the nine years since the accident, and she’d had the dream again.

Welcome home, Wendy.

Whoever it was who’d said you couldn’t go home again had been right.

You can still change your mind, a little voice whispered. All she had to do was turn around and head back to Paris, where she’d been living for the past seven years. Yes, she’d given up her tiny flat in the Marais because she didn’t know how long she’d be gone, but she’d made friends. Gabrielle or Celeste would be happy to let her sleep on the sofa until…

Until what?

Wendy wasn’t about to regain the life she’d loved by teaching English to a bunch of French kids all day. One of the supporters of the American team had gotten her the job when she moved to Paris to continue therapy on her leg, but sitting in a stuffy classroom quickly lost its appeal even if your window looked out over a sea of chimney pots. She’d been born to schuss down a snow-covered mountain with the wind in her face, and if she was going to do that again—ski and race and feel as if she were truly alive—she had to go home. For a little while, anyway.

The 747 lurched to a stop. People unbuckled their seat belts, stood up, sought their carry-on luggage. Wendy clutched the handle of her duffel bag and followed the other passengers from the plane, through the terminal and to the line snaking toward Customs.

Even if she’d wanted to change her plans, it was too late. What excuse could she give? Her parents were expecting her, and her mother was ecstatic that she was coming home. Only her father knew the real reason for her visit, and she’d asked him not to say anything to her mother. Wendy would have to tell her the truth, but she’d do it face-to-face. Gina would take it better that way.

That’s what Wendy hoped, anyway.

And then there was Alison, driving the fifty or so miles from Cooper’s Corner to Albany Airport to meet the connecting flight from Kennedy. Wendy’s folks had offered to pick her up but she’d refused.

“You guys don’t have to take the day off,” she’d said when they’d phoned the last time. “I know how crazy things get at school. Besides, I haven’t seen Allie in years. This way, we’ll have time for girl talk.”

It was another half-truth. Gina and Howard had visited her every six months, but she hadn’t seen Alison in nine years. So, yes, it would be nice to spend some time with her—and if it also gave Wendy a little longer to adjust, out from under her mother’s watchful eye, so much the better.

Wendy reached the Customs counter and handed over her passport and declarations form.

“Nothing of value to declare?” the Customs officer said.

“Nothing,” Wendy replied briskly.

Nothing the government would want to hear about, anyway. Only Oprah or Ricki would lift an interested eyebrow if she said, “Well, actually, there’s a swarm of butterflies in my stomach right now because I’m coming home so I can convince a doctor to perform an operation my own physicians call insane.”

That kind of thinking wasn’t good. This was her life. She had to do what she thought best, and why have second thoughts now? The thing to do was concentrate on how great it would be to see Allie. They hadn’t done anything except talk on the phone since the night before the ski team left for France…

The same night Seth made love to her for the very last time.

The thought was so sudden, so unexpected that it almost stole her breath away. She must have made a sound because the Customs guy, who was holding out her passport, raised his bushy eyebrows.

“Miss? You okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” Wendy smiled brightly, took back her passport and walked to the exit doors that led into the terminal.

There was a sign just ahead. She paused to check the directions for the connecting flight to Albany. People brushed past her, everyone in a hurry to get somewhere. She was in a hurry, too. The sooner she got to Cooper’s Corner, the sooner she could get started on the future.

Once she’d reached the right terminal, she limped to the waiting area at the gate. Her leg ached something fierce. The doctors had warned her that it would, after all the hours in the air. Inactivity wasn’t good for bones that were held together with screws and steel plates. Muscles didn’t like stretching themselves for the benefit of all that hardware, either.

Not that she’d never had cramped muscles until the accident. A weekend of hard, competitive skiing had often left her feeling as if a sadist had tied her in knots. Seth would see her wince as she rubbed her calf or ankle, and he’d know she was hurting.

“Here,” he’d say, “let me help.”

She’d smile and put her foot in his lap—not easy to do in the confines of the cab of his old truck—and he’d knead her flesh gently, stroke her gently, and after a while a sensation that had nothing to do with pain would turn her bones to liquid.

“Miss?”

Wendy blinked. A middle-aged man had risen from his seat.

“Would you like to sit down?”

She wanted to. Lord, yes, she wanted to. Instead, she gave a thin smile. “Thank you, no.”

“I noticed…” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, noticed that your duffel looks heavy.”

“It isn’t,” she said, trying to sound polite.

Who was he kidding? What he’d noticed was the way she limped. She walked away as quickly as she could, never looking back, tired of people’s good intentions, tired of wanting to scream and tell them that trapped inside the woman with the limp was a girl who’d once been graceful, who’d flown down snow-covered slopes and through the gates like a hawk after a dove.

A sign blinked on. The commuter flight to Albany was boarding.

Not a moment too soon, Wendy thought, and didn’t slow her pace until she was on the plane and in her seat.

* * *

IT WAS THIRTY DEGREES in Albany, with a windchill that made it feel more like eighteen, according to the pilot’s cheerful landing announcement.

Wendy looked out the windows of the terminal as she made her way to the exit. Snow was piled in gigantic mounds. Fresh snow, from the pristine look of it. There’d been a time when she could tell how long snow had been on the ground just by the way the crystals reflected the light, especially on Jiminy Peak. Jiminy didn’t have the highest slopes in the area; compared with the mountains she’d skied in Colorado and Utah, Jiminy was hardly worthy of being called a mountain at all. But she’d skied there as a little girl, discovered her passion for speed on its trails, and it would always hold a special place in…

In what? Those days were gone. Damn it. Was a quick visit home turning her into a bundle of sloppy sentimentality?

An icy wind bit through her as she exited the terminal. She shivered, put down her duffel and zipped her anorak all the way to her chin. Her long, auburn hair was whipping around her face and she put up her hood and tucked the unruly curls inside while she looked around in search of Alison.

“I’ll meet you right outside the door,” Allie had said when they’d touched base a couple of days ago. And then she’d laughed and said how wonderful it was going to be to see each other again. “I can’t believe you’re coming home!”

“It’s just a visit,” Wendy had answered, correcting her oldest friend the same way she’d corrected her mother. Allie had said yes, sure, she understood that, but in a way that made it clear she didn’t believe it any more than Gina.

Snow began to fall, big, fat flakes. Wendy tugged a pair of gloves from her pockets and put them on.

That was all it was. A visit. She was here for a purpose, and if she was successful, she’d be ready to begin life again in a place that was free of memories. Not France, where she’d lived in a kind of twilight world these last years. Not Cooper’s Corner, where everything would only be a reminder of what had once been. She’d find a place where there were no ghosts, no shadows from the life she and Seth had once planned….

“Wendy?”

The snow was falling faster, tumbling down like feathers from a torn pillow in a heavily overcast sky. Someone was rushing toward her. A woman, bundled in a tweed coat.

“Wendy, oh my God, it’s really you!”

“Allie?” Wendy laughed and felt tears burn her eyes. “Allie,” she said, and she grabbed Alison Fairchild in a loving hug. “Oh, it’s been so long!”

The women held each other for long moments. Then they clasped hands, stepped back and grinned.

“I don’t believe it! Allie, you cut your hair!”

“Uh-huh.” Alison bit her lip. “Cut it and colored it, too. What do you think? Too big a change or what?”

“I think it’s wonderful! You look gorgeous!”

“Well, not gorgeous, but I finally figured that it couldn’t hurt to try and improve on Mother Nature. And talk about gorgeous…” Alison cocked her head and her gaze swept Wendy from head to toe. “You look terrific!”

Wendy’s smile tilted. “Yeah. Right.”

“I mean it. You haven’t gained an ounce, for which I just might not forgive you. No gray hairs in those red curls—and please, do not, I repeat, do not bother telling me women don’t get gray hairs at our age. Two years ago, and wham, there they were, silver threads among the gold. Not that the rest was gold then, but you know what I mean.”

“You used to talk about going blond when we were in our junior year, remember?”

Alison rolled her eyes. “Do I remember? How could I forget? There I was, everybody telling me I looked like Barbra Streisand—”

“A compliment,” Wendy said, falling into the old dialogue as if they were still in high school.

“Yes, if you’re la Streisand,” Allie said, picking up her end of the conversation with the same ease. “I may have her nose, but it doesn’t work on my face.”

“You don’t still believe that.”

“What I believe is that we’re going to turn into instant snowmen if we stand here much longer. Let me grab that duffel. My car’s in the first lot. Want to wait for the bus or—I mean, the bus stop is right—”

“I can walk.”

“Well, sure, but—”

“And I can carry my own bag.”

“I know, but—”

“Allie, listen. Let’s get this out of the way right now, okay?”

“Oh, hell. Wendy, I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t. I just want to set the record straight. I’m strong as a horse. Honestly, I am. I spent years in rehab. I still do hours of exercise each day. I can walk. I can carry stuff. I can do anything I want….” Her mouth twisted. “Anything but ski.”

Her voice broke on the last word. Horrified, she covered it with a cough. She’d only meant to let Alison know that she could handle the truth, but her emotions were right there on the surface. Well, why wouldn’t they be? The long flight, too much sitting still, and under it all, the persistent worry that the surgeon she’d come so far to see wouldn’t help her….

Alison was looking at her as if she didn’t know what to expect next.

Wendy smiled. “You know what?”

“What?” Allie asked cautiously.

“How about we get out of the snow? That terrific haircut’s getting plastered to your head.”

“Yeah. Good idea.” Alison cleared her throat. “So,” she said briskly, “you up for a stop at the Barn?”

“The…?” Wendy looped her free arm through Alison’s. Dipping their heads against the wind, they crossed the roadway and headed for the parking lot. “You mean the Burger Barn? Is it still there?”

Alison clucked in dismay. “Is it still there, she asks. Certainly, it’s still there, only a ten-minute detour on our way to town. Of course, you’re probably not into juicy, charcoal-broiled hamburgers and hot, crisp, salty fries after all these years of gourmet dining in gay Paree, but I thought, if there was the teeniest possibility that you were interested…”

“Gourmet dining?” Wendy laughed. “Not on a teacher’s salary. If I never see another hunk of cheese or sausage, it’ll be too soon.”

“You mean Mademoiselle DuBois was wrong?” Alison unlocked the car door and Wendy tossed her things into the back seat. “I thought it was supposed to be fromage and saucisson—much more exotic sounding.”

“Cheese and sausage are cheese and sausage, whether it’s French or English,” Wendy said. “Trust me.” She shut her door and looked at Alison, who was buckling her seat belt. “The Burger Barn would be paradise. Just tell me that the fries are still greasy.”

“Cholesterol City,” Alison said cheerfully.

“Does a straw still stand up in a chocolate shake?”

“Scout’s honor, nothing’s changed.”

“Great,” Wendy said, but in her heart, she knew that everything had.

* * *

ALISON TOOK THE LONG WAY home.

It was a pretty road that wound into the Taconic Mountains before they fell away into the more subdued contours of the Berkshires. The scenery, at least, was still the same. Cozy old houses, rolling pastures, deep forests mantled with white, and everywhere the sense that time had reached this place and decided to pause for a while before moving on.

Wendy sighed and laid her head back. “I’d forgotten how peaceful it is here.”

“Peaceful’s the word, all right.” Alison raised an eyebrow. “On the other hand…”

“What?” Wendy looked at her friend. “Something exciting happened in Cooper’s Corner?”

“Well…yeah, you could say exciting.”

“Don’t tell me. Let me figure it out.” Wendy put on an innocent look. “Philo and Phyllis Cooper decided to give up gossip.”

Alison laughed. “I said `exciting,’ not `unbelievable.’“

“Well then, you’ll have to tell me. What new and exciting stuff happened?”

“Well, Bonnie Cooper—remember her? Bonnie was on a date with a guy in New York and they witnessed a mob hit.”

Wendy sat up straight. “You’re kidding!”

“Cross my heart, it’s the truth. Oh, and we had a visitor go missing, too.”

“Somebody hiking in the fall?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. This was a guest at the B and B, and he—”

“What B and B?”

“Remember the old Cooper place? Twin Oaks?”

“Sure. Big house, up on the hill across from the green.”

“Uh-huh.” Alison glanced in the mirror, signaled a turn. The sound of the engine deepened as they started up a hill. Ahead, the red taillights of a snowplow blinked hypnotically in the haze of the falling snow. “Old man Cooper died and left the place to his niece and nephew. A sister and brother from New York. Well, originally they were from around here.”

“From Cooper’s Corner?”

“Yeah. They moved away when they were kids. Anyway, they came up to see the house, and the next thing anybody knew, they’d kicked out of their old lives and moved here. Caught most people by surprise, especially when they turned Twin Oaks into a B and B.”

“I can’t believe my parents haven’t mentioned any of this. But wasn’t the house in bad shape?”

“Not anymore. Clint and Maureen have done wonders. New paint, new wallpaper, and they found a load of old furniture in the attic that just needed cleaning and polishing.”

“And that did it? Fresh paint, old furniture and a good cleaning?”

“Well, no. There was more. Bonnie did the plumbing.”

“Good for her.”

“Yeah, I said that, too. She put in new bathrooms, did some stuff in the kitchen….”

Wendy tried to concentrate, but it was hard. They were approaching a traffic light that marked an intersection whose claim to fame was two mini-malls, one on either side of the road. The Burger Barn was a couple of miles past them.

Minutes after that, they would reach Cooper’s Corner.

Her heart gave a little lurch. She was almost home, and nothing that really mattered had changed. The roads were the same, and when they got to town, it would be the same, too. The village green, with its bronze Minuteman standing eternal guard; Main Street and its bundled-up tourists, eager to soak up what they saw as an authentic bit of New England. The windows of the little antique and crafts shops would still be bright with Christmas displays, even though the holiday was over.

The traffic light went from green to amber. The car slowed to a stop and a small knot of people crossed to the mall on the opposite side of the road. Wendy stared out the window. It was hard to identify anyone. People were hunched into their coats, ducking their heads against the snow. Not that she was searching for anyone in particular. Not that she was looking for—

“…Seth,” Alison said.

“What about him?”

She thought she’d spoken calmly, but from the way Alison looked at her, she knew she hadn’t quite pulled it off.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I was so busy trying to bring you up to date on what’s been happening that I… Just forget I mentioned him, okay?”

“Allie, there’s no problem. Come on. What were you going to say?”

“Just that Seth did the carpentry at Twin Oaks.”

“Seth is a carpenter?”

“A really good one. And it turns out he’s got a talent for building fine furniture, too. From the looks of things, he’s doing…” She hesitated. “Wendy? You sure you want to hear all this?”

“Why wouldn’t I? The past is the past.” Wendy cleared her throat. “It’s just a surprise, that’s all. When he and I… When I left town, Seth was taking business courses at the Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts.”

“Yeah. I remember. He quit MCLA after your, uh, your accident. He went to work for somebody in Stockbridge, and a couple of years ago he opened his own shop here.” Alison hesitated. “He still doesn’t know you’re coming home?”

“No.” Wendy looked at Alison. “Not unless you told him. You didn’t, did you? Allie?”

“Of course not,” Alison said, a little stiffly. “You asked me not to.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s all right.”

It wasn’t, and Wendy knew it. She reached across the console and touched the other woman’s hand.

“Allie,” she said in a low voice, “it’s…it’s harder than I figured, you know? Coming home, I mean. So much time’s gone by…” She swallowed hard. “Maybe I’m more tired than I realized.”

“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to jump on you.” The light changed to green and Alison stepped on the gas. “I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to see him. I mean, it’s been a long time, but you and Seth—”

“There is no `me and Seth.’ There hasn’t been for years.”

“Yeah. That’s the point. When you left for Norway, you two were crazy about each other. The next thing we knew, it was all over. Seth wouldn’t talk about you, wouldn’t even say your name. And then you didn’t come back, and we all wondered—”

“There’s nothing to wonder.” Wendy’s voice turned cool. “I’d think people would have better things to do with their time than gossip.”

“It wasn’t gossip.” Alison slowed the car again, signaled a right and turned into the Burger Barn parking lot. She pulled into a space, shut off the engine and looked at Wendy. “We all cared about you. The whole town turned out to see you off. Remember? There were signs in the windows on Main Street, everything from Good Luck to Our Wendy to Bring Back the Gold. When you got hurt—”

“Allie.” Wendy put her hand over Alison’s. “That’s history. The Olympics, the accident, Seth…it’s all in the past. I have a new life now.”

“So does he.”

The simple words fell between them, as heavy as stones. Wendy looked at Alison. “You mean, that he’s become a carpenter?”

“Well, sure.” Alison fell silent, averted her gaze. “And—and other things.”

“Other things?” Wendy moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Ah. I see.” Could she sound casual about this? Yes. Of course she could. Funny that she’d never thought to ask before. “You mean, he’s married?”

“No. But he’s seeing someone. Her name’s—”

“I don’t need to know her name. Who Seth dates is none of my business.”

“It’s more than dating. They’ve been going together for a couple of months.” Alison shot a glance in Wendy’s direction. “I guess I shouldn’t have dumped the news on you like that, huh?”

“Don’t be silly.” Wendy stretched her lips in what she hoped was a semblance of a smile. “You know, if we sit here much longer, we’ll freeze.”

“Meaning, `Alison, that’s enough of that.’“

Wendy tried another smile. “Meaning, did you or didn’t you promise me a hamburger at the Barn?”

“Yeah, sure,” Alison said, but she didn’t move. “There’s one other thing. I know you said this was just a visit, but I hoped… You really aren’t staying, are you.”

Wendy shook her head. “No,” she said quietly, “I’m not.” She looked at Alison. “Does the name Rod Pommier mean anything to you?”

“Should it?”

“He’s a surgeon. From New York.”

“What kind?” Alison gave a quick laugh. “If he’s a plastic surgeon, maybe my nose and I will go to see him.”

Wendy knew it was a desperate attempt to lighten the situation, but nothing could do that. First all the talk about Seth, and now this. Well, telling Allie would be a dress rehearsal for telling her mother. Go for it, she thought, and took a steadying breath.

“He’s an orthopedic surgeon. They wrote him up in a zillion papers and magazines a few months ago.” Wendy lifted her hands and stretched out an imaginary banner. “`Rod Pommier,’“ she said in solemn tones, “`the brilliant young surgeon who’s developed a break-through bonding technique for healing shattered bones….’“

“Yeah? So what about…” Alison blinked. “Shattered bones?”

“Uh-huh. When the doctors pieced my leg together, they used pins and plates. That’s what they’ve done for decades. But Pommier’s found a new technique that allows joints to regenerate normally.”

“Interesting, I guess, except you just said your leg is already fixed.”

“Pommier’s method would make it as good as new. The thing is, he’s not taking on new patients. He’s booked for the next umpteen years, and besides, the procedure can be dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?”

“I don’t know. It has something to do with whether your bones are right for the technique or not.” Wendy gave a brittle laugh. “Of course, the real question is, if your bones don’t work right in the first place, how can they be wrong for it? Anyhow, I phoned Pommier. His receptionist wouldn’t put me through. I called the hospital where he’s on staff. They wouldn’t put me through, either. So I wrote him a letter, gave him a rough rundown on my accident…”

“And?”

“And,” Wendy said with a defeated sigh, “I got a letter back. He was very polite. He said he was sympathetic to my situation, yadda yadda yadda, but—”

“But he wasn’t interested.” Alison smiled sadly. “Sounds like a message on my answering machine after a blind date with some guy who’s a jerk.”

“That’s just the thing, though. I don’t think he’s a jerk. I think he’s just wrong about not wanting to take me on. If I can talk to him, face-to-face, I can change his mind.”

“Are you so sure this new thing he’s invented can help you? You had your accident years ago. The surgery—”

“The surgery,” Wendy said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “was a disaster. It wasn’t the doctor’s fault. He did everything he could, but pins and plates can’t make up for missing bone. This technique of Pommier’s can.”

“You think?”

“I know.” She tapped her fist lightly against her breastbone. “I can feel it. Maybe that’s not the most scientific appraisal, but it’s what I feel. I just need to talk to him, but he’s wary. And I understand why. Pommier’s being hounded to death by the media, by desperate patients….” Alison raised a brow, and Wendy colored. “Right,” she said, with something close to defiance, “desperate patients like me. That’s why he’s coming to Cooper’s Corner.”

Alison’s jaw dropped. “Huh? Wendy, honey, you’re losing me here.”

“Pommier wants to get away from everything for a few days. He’s coming to the Berkshires to ski. My dad’s a member of the ski club, remember? Well, so’s an orthopedist from Pittsfield who’s a friend of my father’s. It turns out he and Pommier did their residencies together, and Pommier wrote to him, asked him about the town, whether it was as off the track as it seems, and if he could recommend a place to stay.” Wendy caught her breath. “Hey. I bet he’s going to stay at the old Cooper place. Twin Oaks.”

“If he’s this big-deal celebrity, wouldn’t he stay in Lenox? Or in Stockbridge? I mean, I love Cooper’s Corner, but you have to admit it’s not big on glitzy amenities.”

“That’s the point, Allie. The man wants to be just another face in the crowd. No reporters. No microphones and cameras.”

“I see.” Alison let out a breath. It had grown chilly inside the car, and her exhalation puffed out like steam. She turned on the engine and gave a little shiver as heat began to seep from the vents. “So, that’s why you came back. To corner this guy.”

“Yes.”

“And convince him to operate on you.”

“Exactly.”

“Do your folks know? �Cause when I spoke to your mom the other day, all she could talk about was how thrilled she was that you were coming home.”

“My dad knows. My mother doesn’t. Don’t look at me that way. Don’t you think I feel guilty enough? I just think it’s best to tell her with my father there as backup.” Wendy sighed. “You have a face like an open book, Alison. You think this is a bad idea, don’t you?”

“I sure do. You said yourself the surgery’s risky. Well, why subject yourself to it?”

“Because I want a life, that’s why!”

“You have one. You lived when they thought you wouldn’t. Isn’t that enough?”

“No, damn it, it isn’t. Look, it’s hard to explain, but I’m not who I used to be. Can’t you see that?”

“Yes,” Alison said after a minute, “I can. So, you’re home just to get to this doctor. Not because of your mom or your dad or Seth—”

“Seth again!” Wendy flushed. “What does he have to do with this? I was eighteen. He was nineteen. Whatever we had was kid stuff.”

“That’s not how I remember it. You guys were always together. You had plans.”

“I just told you, it was—”

“Kid stuff. I heard you. But I was here when we all got word of the accident. How you’d fallen on that practice run—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Wendy said sharply.

“Seth was like a crazy man. He flew to Norway on the first flight out—”

“Stop it! That was a thousand years ago.”

“It was nine years ago, and I’ve never forgotten how he looked, like somebody whose world had been destroyed.”

“It was my world that was destroyed,” Wendy cried, “and I did whatever I had to do to survive.” The friends stared at each other, each breathing hard. Then Wendy turned away and grabbed the door handle. A frosty breath of snow blew into the car. “I can walk home from here.”

“Don’t be a fool.” Alison reached past Wendy, caught the handle and slammed the door shut. The women glared at each other for a couple of minutes and then Alison sighed. “Can we continue this conversation inside?”

No. They couldn’t, Wendy realized. All the talk about Seth and old times…the look on Alison’s face when she’d tried to explain that she couldn’t accept the path her life had taken… It had been confirmation that her original plan was the wisest one. Lie low, stay away from the old hangouts, and avoid going through this horrible little scene and the pity of old friends who couldn’t understand why she wasn’t grateful just to have survived.

“Wendy? Are we going for that burger or not?”

“I think I’ll pass,” Wendy said quietly. “My folks are expecting me.”

Alison nodded. “Of course.” She put the car in gear, backed out of the parking space, then put on the brakes and glared at Wendy again. “I’m your oldest friend! If I can’t tell you the truth, who can?”

“You don’t know the truth,” Wendy said, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “I’m the one this happened to. Me, not you, or the doctors, or the nurses, or the therapists with their sympathetic looks and endless exercises.” She pushed down her hood and dragged her hands through her tumbled auburn curls. “Sometimes I wish I’d died that day, instead of waking up in a hospital bed and finding out that—that…”

“What? That you were alive? That you still had both your legs? I don’t understand you. Don’t you ever stop to think how lucky you were?”

“I’m trying to move on, Allie. Don’t you understand that?”

“By pretending Seth doesn’t exist? By trying to force a doctor into surgery that might do more harm than good?”

“Seth’s got somebody. You just told me that. And the doctor will want to do this operation once he talks to me.” Wendy shook her head. “You’re right. I lived. I got out of a wheelchair I was never supposed to get out of. But this woman, the one who can’t do the things she once did—this woman is a stranger. I can’t help it if that sounds selfish. It’s the way I feel.”

“You’re right,” Alison said quietly. “I don’t understand.” She looked at Wendy and smiled, though her eyes glittered with tears. “But I don’t have to. I’m your friend. I’ll stand by you, no matter what. Okay?”

Wendy nodded, even though it was more than okay. The pledge, the compassion in Alison’s eyes… Wendy felt her own eyes fill. For one improbable moment, she thought of letting all the pain inside her spill out. The truth was so much more complex than anyone knew. Maybe if she shared her awful secret…

She knew better. It wouldn’t change a thing.

Her heart, not just her body, had been broken in pieces on a winter’s day nine years ago. Looking in the mirror, seeing her scarred, twisted flesh was a constant reminder of what she’d almost had, what she’d lost, what she’d never have again. Now she could only pin her hopes on a time when she could stare at her reflection and see a whole Wendy instead of a shattered one. Then, perhaps, the agony would turn into a pain she could live with.

“Wendy?” Alison said softly.

She looked up, saw the confusion in her friend’s eyes. “Yes. I heard what you said. Thank you. You’re the best friend in the world.”

The women gave each other wobbly smiles, then Alison scraped her hand across her eyes. “If you make me cry,” she said gruffly, “and my mascara runs, I’m never going to forgive you.”

“Too late. It’s already running.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yours, too, so don’t look so smug.”

They gave each other sharp looks. Then they laughed, reached out and hugged.

“It’s good to have you home,” Alison said, “even if it’s just for a little while.”

“And it’s good to be here.” Wendy pulled a couple of tissues from her pocket and handed one to Alison. “Even if it’s just for a little while.”

Alison wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She started the car again and they drove to Cooper’s Corner, turned down a familiar old street and stopped in front of a handsome house with bay windows and flower boxes that Wendy knew would overflow with pink and lavender impatiens all summer.

She stepped from the car just as the front door opened. Her mother and father stood poised in the doorway. Then Gina laughed and ran down the steps, with Howard right behind her, and just for a moment, as Wendy went into their sheltering arms, she had to admit that home was the best place in the world.


CHAPTER TWO (#u5504f5da-bc27-5d5e-a1d5-857dd60d2db6)

IT WAS, Seth Castleman thought, the worst possible kind of day to be wrestling with Santa Claus on a sloped, snow-covered roof.

Almost six inches of snow had been predicted overnight, and that was exactly what had fallen. Those six inches, coming hot on the heels of an earlier storm, had been enough to make taking down the ten-foot Santa figure a nasty, fairly dangerous job.

“I hate to ask you,” Philo Cooper had told Seth when he phoned at nine that morning, “but I can’t reach the guy who rented it to me up in Pittsfield and it’s due back tomorrow. His answering machine’s on but maybe he’s away.”

“In Florida, if he’s got half a brain,” Seth had said dryly. “I’ll stop by later this afternoon.”

“Thanks, Seth.”

“No problem,” Seth had replied, which wasn’t really true. It was a problem to move around on the pitched roof with ice under your boots. But the job was simple, and he was almost finished. The Santa was now in the back of Philo’s truck and Seth had just one more brace to remove.

Actually, the view from here, twelve feet above Main Street, was pretty interesting. The town looked like a Currier and Ives Christmas card. Spruce boughs, accented with big silver balls that dangled and swayed in the wind, were wired to a cable that stretched from one side of the street to the other, and holly wreaths hung on the old-fashioned lampposts. It wouldn’t be long before all those decorations were taken down, too.

Seth pulled out another nail from the brace.

Cooper’s Corner was beautiful all year, but winter was special. He’d first seen the town in December a long, long time ago. He’d been eighteen then, a sullen kid who’d bounced from one New York City foster home to another, with no bigger plan than to find a job at one of the ski resorts, make a few bucks and then move on. But he’d found something here, not just a job but a way of life that had turned his life around.

Even at eighteen—hell, especially at eighteen—he’d been a cynic, world weary and hard-shelled. At first, he’d scoffed at the town’s old-fashioned setting. Surely it was phony, something carefully constructed for the tourist trade.

After a couple of months, he’d been surprised to learn that the town was what it seemed, a village whose residents cared about each other and even about him, tough guy that he tried to be.

Gradually, without him even realizing it, his carefully constructed walls of cynicism started to crumble. Tough guys weren’t supposed to fall in love, but Seth had, with the pretty little town that time seemed to have bypassed. He’d fallen in love with its solid, old-fashioned houses and quiet roads, with its friendly people…

…with a girl whose hair was the fire of maple leaves in autumn, whose eyes were the blue of a mountain lake in midsummer.

“Damn it!”

Seth mouthed a string of four-letter words as the brace broke free and clipped the side of his hand. Well, that was what you got for daydreaming. You worked with tools, you worked on a slippery roof, you had to pay attention. A mistake could be a lot worse than a bruised hand, and what in hell was wrong with him, anyway, thinking about what used to be? Wendy was history. Ancient history. It made more sense to think about the people who’d left the giant stone heads on Easter Island than it did to waste time thinking about the year Wendy had been his girl.

The giant stone heads, at least, were still around. Wendy sure as hell wasn’t.

Seth shoved the hammer back into his leather tool belt. He had no idea why she’d been on his mind so much lately. Maybe it was because he’d met her this time of year, and lost her the same time, too. No, he thought as he gathered up his tools, no, that couldn’t be it. Nine Januarys had come and gone since then, and except for the first two—okay, the first two or three, or maybe even four—except for them, the pages of the calendar hadn’t triggered memories of Wendy.

Not like this.

He woke up thinking about her, fell asleep the same way. Just last night he’d shot up in bed, yanked from sleep by a dream of her in his arms, her mouth on his, so real that, just for a second, he’d believed she was there.

“Wendy?” he’d said, and Joanne, curled beside him, had sat up, too, and put her hand on his arm.

“What’s wrong?” she’d murmured sleepily. “Seth? What is it?”

The image of Wendy had faded. Joanne’s perfume, a scent still not as familiar to him as the scent that had clung lightly to Wendy’s skin so long ago, filled his nostrils. He’d thrust his hands into his hair, shoving it back from his forehead.

“Nothing’s wrong. I was dreaming, that’s all.”

Jo started to put her arms around him, looking to soothe him, he knew, but he’d drawn away, as riddled with guilt as if he’d actually been about to go from holding Wendy to holding another woman.

“It’s late,” he’d said. “I have an early start in the morning. I might as well get going.”

He’d felt Jo’s disappointment and couldn’t blame her. He never stayed with her through the night, and even though she hadn’t commented on it, he knew damned well she was aware of it, just as she was surely aware that he’d never asked her to spend the night at his house, never made love to her there.

“The roads will be bad,” she’d said softly as he dressed in the dark. He’d kissed her temple and assured her that the roads would probably be clear.

He’d been half-right. The roads were awful, but halfway to the home he’d built for himself on Sawtooth Mountain, he’d lucked out and fallen in behind a state plow going straight up Route 7 to where he made the turnoff onto the long driveway to his house. His truck’s four-wheel drive had seen him safely through those last couple hundred feet.

Once inside, he’d built a fire in the living-room hearth, poured himself a brandy and sat in the flame-lit darkness, staring out the wall of glass that overlooked the valley until the first, faint light of dawn, telling himself there was no reason in the world he should be thinking about Wendy….

And thinking about her all the same, just the way he was right now.

Enough.

Carefully, Seth made his way across the icy roof, then down the ladder he’d left propped against it. He dumped his toolbox in the truck and headed into the store.

The bell over the door jingled merrily and Philo came out from the back room, wiping his hands on his denim apron.

“All finished?”

Seth handed him the braces and nodded. “That’s it until next Christmas.” He smiled. “Still planning to put up George and Abe for Presidents’ Day, same as always?”

“Absolutely.” Philo tapped a key on the old-fashioned cash register. “How much do I owe you?”

“I’ll send you a bill.”

“You sure? If you want me to pay you now—”

“No need.” Seth rubbed his hands together. “But I’ll hang around a few minutes and warm up by the stove, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. One minute, and I’ll join you.”

Philo disappeared behind the curtain. Seth tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, whistled softly between his teeth and strolled over to the cast-iron, pot-bellied stove that radiated heat throughout the store.

It was a cozy setting. Half a dozen chairs were drawn around the old stove; prints hung on the nearby walls. Seth recognized some—there were lots of Norman Rockwells. No surprise there, he thought, smiling as he rocked back a little on his heels. Rockwell had lived in these parts and his paintings and illustrations had immortalized the hardworking people of the area. One print in particular, of a boy warily dropping his trousers for a physician holding a hypodermic syringe, made him smile.

“That’s always been one of my favorites.”

Seth turned. Philo grinned and eased into one of the chairs.

“Same here.” Seth sat down, too, and extended his hands toward the stove. “That’s a good fire you have going.”

“Pretty cold work up on that roof, huh?”

“Sure was.”

The men sat in companionable silence. That was another thing Seth liked about Cooper’s Corner. Nobody ever felt the need to fill the air with chatter. If you had something to say, fine. If you didn’t, it was perfectly okay to keep still.

“So,” Philo said after a minute, “how’re things going?”

“Fine. Just fine. I’m keeping busy.”

“Guess that house of yours is almost finished, huh? How long have you been at it, now? Two years?”

“Three,” Seth said. “I should be done this spring.” He shrugged. “Or this summer, for sure.”

“Well, it can’t be easy, puttin’ up a place all by yourself, workin’ only weekends.”

“It’s the only way I could manage to do it.”

“Uh-huh. Nothing like free labor. Heard tell you got a good price when you bought that land, too.”

Seth bit back a smile. Philo heard everything sooner or later. “Yeah, I did. I guess I could have hired somebody to help me out, but I enjoy the work.”

“Figured that.” Philo opened the stove’s fire door and added another maple split. “It’s none of my business, I know….” He cleared his throat. “It’s just, well, the wife and I were talkin’ at breakfast this mornin’ and we were wonderin’… Are things okay between you and the lady?”

Seth raised one dark eyebrow. This was a small town. What passed for gossip elsewhere was neighborly concern here, but asking him such a personal question about his love life—or what passed for his love life—was, well, unusual.

“Sure,” he said carefully. “Things are fine.”

“Ah.” Philo nodded as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. “Well, the wife’ll be happy to hear it. Phyllis always liked her. Me, too, for that matter, though I never knew her very well.”

Seth looked at Philo with curiosity. There was an off-kilter feel to this conversation, not just the sudden interest in his private life and his relationship with Joanne, but the way Philo was talking about it. Jo had only moved into the area a couple of years back. She lived in New Ashford. As far as Seth knew, she’d never even been into the Coopers’ store.

“Well,” he said, even more cautiously, “she’s a private sort of person.”

“Uh-huh. We figured that. Especially now with, you know, all the stuff that went on….” Philo’s Adam’s apple slid up and down. “So,” he said briskly, “is she back for good? Or is it true, like some folks say, that she’s only here to visit?”

Seth felt his heart give an unsteady thump. They definitely weren’t talking about Joanne. He searched his mind for a “she” who might fit the conversation, a woman he’d know well enough for Philo to ask him such intimate questions. Then he realized from the look in Philo’s eyes, from last night’s dream, from the memories that had been tormenting him…

He knew who they were discussing, and what it meant.

Wendy was home.

Except he didn’t believe that you dreamed about what was going to happen. The images in his head were there because of the time of year, and all this proved was that he’d never quite gotten past thinking about her.

“Is who back for good?” he said, as if Philo’s question might simply be about one of the winter visitors who’d asked him to do some repairs on her cabin.

He thought he’d spoken with casual ease. One look at Philo and he knew he hadn’t pulled it off. The other man’s plump cheeks reddened. Even his ears seemed to burn with embarrassment.

“Damn it,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry, Seth. I told Phyllis this wouldn’t be a good idea. `Phyl,’ I said, `honey, did it ever occur to you that the man might not want to talk about this? That he just plain might want to avoid—’“

“I’m not trying to avoid anything. I just don’t understand the question. Who are we talking about, Philo?”

Philo looked as if he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. He lifted the poker, reached into the fire, made a show of rearranging the burning wood, then stared at the dancing flames as if they held the answer to Seth’s question.

Finally, he looked up.

“Wendy Monroe,” he said with a swift exhalation of breath. “And if you want to tell me to mind my own business about why she’s come back to Cooper’s Corner, or how long she’s goin’ to stay, that’s okay with me.”

* * *

THE SUN WAS LOW in the sky, the wind had picked up and it had begun to snow again. Main Street was one long sheet of ice. The sanding trucks hadn’t come through yet.

Seth drove carefully and fought to keep his mind on what he was doing. It wasn’t easy. All he could think about was Wendy. She was back. She was in Cooper’s Corner. The whole town probably knew it.

Now he knew it, too.

A car pulled out from the curb, skidded delicately to the left before its tires gained purchase. Seth braked gently, then fell in behind the slow-moving automobile.

Philo had all the details, though he’d been uncomfortable providing them. She’d flown in yesterday. Alison Fairchild had picked her up at the airport in Albany and driven her to town.

Seth’s jaw knotted. He’d seen Alison just a couple of days ago, at Twin Oaks, when he’d stopped by to double-check the dimensions of the corner where Clint and Maureen wanted to put the china cabinet he was making for the dining room. On the way out, he’d bumped into Alison. Literally. He’d been trotting down the porch steps, his head full of measurements; she’d been coming up, on her way to visit Maureen, and they’d collided.

“Whoops,” she’d said with a quick smile, then apologized for having her head in the clouds. They’d had a perfectly normal conversation about how well the B and B was coming along, about the weather and the season and every damned thing in the world except the one that would have mattered to him—that Wendy was returning to Cooper’s Corner. There was no way he’d believe that Alison hadn’t known about it then.

And what about Gina? He’d kept in touch with Wendy’s mother. They spoke often. Well, not so often now, but for the first few years he’d phoned at least once a week to ask about Wendy’s recovery. To hell with her father. It was Howard’s fault Wendy had the accident. If he hadn’t been pushing her so hard…

Seth took a deep breath.

There was no sense in going through all that again. It was over. So was what he’d once felt for Wendy.

Calmer now, he understood that neither Alison nor Gina felt under any obligation to tell him Wendy was returning. In which case, why had he gotten so upset? Wendy was the past. Joanne was the future.

His hands flexed on the steering wheel. Okay. Maybe she wasn’t the future. Maybe what he felt for Jo wasn’t what it should be. Maybe it was time to tell her that, before things got any stickier. Maybe…

The tires spun. Seth felt the truck slewing toward the cars parked along the curb. He managed to recover with only a fraction of a second to spare.

Maybe, he thought grimly, he needed to get his head together before he ended up breaking his neck.

He put on his signal light and pulled into an empty parking space just ahead. Climbing out of the truck, Seth turned up the collar of his old leather jacket and trudged toward Tubb’s Caf;aae, just down the street.

The caf;aae was warm and steamy, fragrant with the aromas of coffee and freshly baked doughnuts. He slid onto a stool near the window, exchanged greetings with the college kid working the counter.

“Coffee,” he said.

The kid poured him a mugful. Seth wrapped his hands around it, letting its warmth chase the cold from his fingers. Maybe it was irrational, but it pissed him off that nobody had thought to tell him about Wendy. Hadn’t it occurred to Gina or Alison that he’d be interested? He’d loved her, once.

No. Damn it, no! He’d been infatuated, that was all. What nineteen-year-old kid who’d come out of nowhere wouldn’t be infatuated with a beautiful girl? Wendy had been the town’s darling. The guy she went with should have been a local product. The captain of the football team. A jock with varsity letters and a family that went back a hundred years. Instead, she’d fallen for him. No family, no background, no varsity letters on his jacket…

There she was.

The mug trembled in Seth’s hands. He put it down on the counter, his gaze riveted to the window. Two people had just come out of a store. A man and a woman. Howard Monroe and Wendy. She was bundled in a dark-green anorak; her fiery hair was tucked up under a knitted ski cap so that only strands of it were visible against the pale oval of her face, and her eyes were hidden behind big, dark glasses. But none of that mattered. People hurrying past didn’t recognize her, but Seth did.

He’d have known her anywhere.

His heart turned over as she began walking alongside her father. It was the first time he’d seen her on her feet. Until this moment, the damage she’d suffered had been confined to his imagination. Now he could see the reality of it. Instead of her former graceful walk, Wendy’s hip and knee were stiff. Her limping gait after all those years of rehab, was evidence of the severity of the accident.

They reached her father’s SUV. Howard held out his hand, but she shook her head and said something that looked like “I can do it.” And she did, navigating the icy sidewalk toward the curb and the truck door with studied care.

Seth’s eyes narrowed.

Why wasn’t she using a cane? Why wouldn’t she take her old man’s hand? Why was she so damned thickheaded? She could fall. She could go down in the ice and snow and…

And it was none of his business.

Except it was. Wendy had meant something to him once upon a time, even if that time was long ago.

He got off the stool, dug out a bill, tossed it on the counter and zipped up his jacket. What was the matter with people in this town? Didn’t anybody consider what it would be like for him to discover that she was back by stumbling across her?

He strode toward the door, slapped his hand against the glass. He wasn’t going to let Wendy get away with treating him as if he didn’t matter, the way she’d done nine years ago. He’d go straight up to her, grab her and shake some sense into her. Yeah, that was it. He’d march out of here, take her by the shoulders, shake her…. God, he’d pull her into his arms, tell her that it broke his heart to see her like this, her leg hurting, her dreams shattered….

“Mr. Castleman?”

He looked around. The kid who worked the counter was holding out a bunch of bills.

“You gave me a twenty,” he said. “Here’s your change.”

Seth turned toward the street again. Wendy was getting into her father’s truck. He watched Howard shut the door, then trot around to the driver’s side and get in.

“Mr. Castleman?”

Seth swallowed hard and swung around. “Yeah. Thanks.” He plucked a couple of bills from the kid’s outstretched hand, left the rest behind. “Keep it,” he said. It was the least he could do, considering that the boy had just kept him from making an ass of himself.

Wendy was back. So what? It didn’t change a thing. Seth whistled through his teeth as he got into his truck and drove along Main Street toward Sawtooth Mountain Road. Yeah, they’d had a thing going for a while there. He’d thought he loved her, thought it enough to have flown to Norway the second her mother phoned in hysterics to tell him that Wendy had fallen during a practice run and nobody knew if she was going to make it or not.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

He hadn’t wanted her to go to Norway to start with. He knew how much it meant to her that she’d made the Olympic team, but he’d wondered if she was really up for it. She had the talent and the determination, but those last few weeks, watching her…

He shook his head, thinking back, still seeing the exhaustion on her face, the dark circles under her eyes. She’d been tired all the time, and why wouldn’t she be, the way her old man cracked the whip? As part of the American Ski Team, she had the best coaches in the business, but Howard had taught her to ski. He’d been her trainer from childhood on and he wasn’t about to let that change. He’d still been coaching Wendy, taking her out on the slopes early in the morning, bringing her back late at night, working her and working her until she’d looked ready to collapse.

Seth saw less and less of her as the time for her departure drew close. She was worn out by the end of the day. The few times they did go out, Howard would come to the door, flash a practiced smile and say, “Don’t forget, Seth. Our girl can’t stay out too late.”

As if he hadn’t figured that out for himself, Seth thought, his jaw tightening. He’d been more concerned about her welfare than Howard, when you came down to it. He wasn’t the one who had her skiing and lifting weights and doing leg lifts a thousand hours a day, her old man was.

But Howard was his girlfriend’s father. He deserved respect. So Seth would nod and say yes sir, he understood, even though he didn’t.

The road rose steeply ahead as it climbed the mountain. The plow and the sanding trucks had already been through. Seth downshifted, made it up and over the rise and into his driveway, but he didn’t pull into the garage. Instead, he shut off the engine and sat quietly in the gathering darkness.

He’d never understood how Howard could push his daughter the way he had and not see what he was doing to her.

Seth had finally told Wendy that one evening.

“Honey,” he’d said, “don’t you think your dad’s overdoing things?”

“He isn’t,” she’d replied. “He’s just helping me.”

“Yeah, but you’re so tired….”

Wendy, curled against him with her face buried in his neck, sighed deeply and snuggled closer.

“Just hold me,” she’d murmured. “I love being in your arms.”

He’d held her tighter and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“You can be there all the time,” he’d said huskily. “Just say the word and I’ll drive us to Vermont. We’ll go to the county clerk’s office the minute it opens in the morning, get a license, and by noon, you’ll be my wife.”

Wendy had sat up and looped her arms around his neck. “We’ve been through this before,” she’d said with a little smile. “You know I want to marry you, but—”

“But,” he’d said, trying for a light tone, “first you want to bring back the gold.”

“I just want to go to Lillehammer and do the very best I can. Is that so wrong?”

It wasn’t wrong at all. He knew that, and he told her so. After a while, he just kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to quarrel with her, especially not with the Olympics so close. She didn’t need any more stress. Besides, he knew he’d miss her terribly while she was gone, and he didn’t want his memories tinged with bitterness.

Instead, he made the most of those last few evenings together.

Some nights they went to Pittsfield and took in a movie. Others, they just drove around for a while, maybe stopped in at the Burger Barn for a double order of the fries she loved.

But the best nights, the ones he’d never forgotten, were when they drove up Sawtooth Mountain and parked in the little clearing they thought of as their very own. He’d turn on the radio, find a station they both liked, and take Wendy in his arms.

“Seth,” she’d whisper, her voice going all low and smoky, and he’d kiss her, gently at first, then with more passion. Her breathing would quicken and he’d undo her bra, slip his hands up under her sweater and cup her breasts, so silky, so warm, so sensitive to his touch.

Her soft moans were sweeter than the music coming from the speakers. The heat of her against his questing hand when he slid it inside her jeans was like flame. Together, they’d undo his zipper and she’d straddle him, kiss him as she lowered herself on him….

“Hell.”

Seth shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Terrific. He was a grown man thinking about kid stuff that had been over for the best part of a decade, and he was turning himself on.

Impatiently, he climbed out of his truck and went into the house. The storm was over. Stars winked in the inky-black sky. It was going to be a cold, clear night. Maybe, he thought as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed his keys on the bird’s-eye maple table near the door—maybe he’d phone Jo, see if she wanted to grab dinner at the little place they both liked all the way down near Lee.

And maybe it was wrong to ask one woman to dinner when you were having sexual fantasies about another.

Seth blew out a breath as he undid the laces of his leather construction boots and toed them off.

The day had begun so quietly. At nine, the only problem on his agenda had been how to fit in time to stop at Philo’s and take down a Santa Claus.

That was how he liked things. Simple. Easy to figure out. He’d had enough complexity to last him a lifetime after Wendy’s accident. All those endless, mind-numbing days when he’d paced the corridor of the hospital in Oslo, going crazy because she’d been unconscious and all he could do was sit by her bedside and clutch her hand. Then going even crazier because when she’d finally opened her eyes and regained consciousness, she’d turned away from him.

“She’s not herself,” Gina had told him. “She’s just not herself yet, Seth.”

Two terrible weeks later, Wendy still didn’t want to see him. The flowers he’d sent her filled other rooms. The notes he’d written lay in the trash basket. She wouldn’t take his phone calls. And, at last, a weeping Gina brought him a note in Wendy’s own hand.

“I’m sorry,” she’d written, “but I don’t want to see you anymore. Please. Go away.”

He hadn’t wanted to believe it. She was upset. He understood that. She’d come close to death. Now she’d learned that she’d be in a wheelchair. Forever, the doctors said, though nobody who knew Wendy really bought that. So, okay. He’d swallowed past the lump in his throat, written her a last, long letter telling her that he would give her all the time she needed, that he wouldn’t rush her, that he loved her with all his heart and always would. When she was ready, he wrote, he’d be there. Because he knew—knew—that she really loved him.

Seth walked slowly through the house to the dark kitchen. He snagged a cold bottle of ale from the refrigerator, unscrewed the top and took a long, soothing swallow as he made his way into the glass-walled living room with its view of the valley and the mountain ridge beyond it.

How wrong could a man be? He’d poured out his heart in that last letter and Wendy hadn’t even opened it. She’d sent it back with a note scrawled across the flap.

“I don’t want you waiting for me,” she’d written. “I’m sorry, Seth, but the accident opened my eyes to the truth. What we had was just kid stuff, and now it’s over.”

Still, he’d hung in for a long time, telling himself she’d change her mind. The turning point had come months later. He’d phoned Gina to find out how Wendy was and to ask when she was coming home.

“She’s not,” Gina had told him gently. “She needs some very specialized rehabilitation. There’s a place in France, just outside Paris. She’s decided to go there.”

That was the day he’d finally admitted that the girl he’d loved had changed into a woman he didn’t know. A little while later, he’d realized it was more than that. Wendy had gotten it right. What had been between them had been kid stuff. Hot, horny teenage sex that steamed up the windows and made your toes curl, but nothing more. She’d figured out the truth before he had, thanks to the jolt of reality the accident had provided.

He’d needed his own jolt of reality to get on with his life. At first he’d packed up his things, loaded them into his old pickup and taken off for parts unknown. He bummed around the country for a while, as aimlessly as when he’d turned eighteen—washing dishes in Tennessee, picking beans in Arkansas, clearing a fire trail in the Wasatch Mountains, until he woke up one morning and realized with a start of surprise that he was homesick for New England and Cooper’s Corner.

Seth put down the empty bottle, tucked his hands in his back pockets and watched a fat ivory moon rise over the valley.

He’d headed for the Northeast, got an off-season job at a lumberyard. It sounded like something a guy with muscles and no particular training could do. He hoisted two-by-fours, cleaned up, delivered stuff to construction sites and carpentry shops. After a while, he realized he liked the smell of wood and the feel of it under his hands. The guy who owned the lumberyard was into carpentry, and Seth took to hanging around and watching him work.

One thing led to another. Before he knew it, he had a skill, not just a job. Now he had a thriving business and a home he’d built from the ground up, and the woman he’d been seeing for a couple of months had made it clear she’d be interested in a more permanent arrangement.

A smile curled his lips. He went back into the kitchen, put the empty ale bottle in the sink and reached for the phone. It wasn’t too late to call Jo. Seeing her tonight might be just what he needed. She’d come to mean a lot to him. She was a good woman, bright and warm and kind….

Except she wasn’t Wendy. His body, his being didn’t catch fire when she was in his arms, and he never felt the sweet contentment that came of just holding her after they made love.

Seth cursed and slammed the phone back into its cradle.

He was wrong. It was too late to phone Joanne. It was too late to do anything except take a shower, climb into bed and try his damnedest to fall into an uncaring, dreamless sleep.


CHAPTER THREE (#u5504f5da-bc27-5d5e-a1d5-857dd60d2db6)

AT EIGHT O’CLOCK the next morning, Seth had a cup of strong coffee in one hand, the day’s schedule in the other and the kind of headache that made a person consider decapitation as a cure—proof, as if he needed it, that life didn’t always give you what you wanted.

Instead of the solid night’s sleep he’d hoped for, he’d tossed and turned until the blanket and sheets were knotted. Eventually, exhaustion won, but instead of finding rest, he’d been drawn into a turbulent sea of bad dreams. Finally he’d said to hell with it and tossed back the covers. That was when he’d discovered that somebody with a sledgehammer had set up shop inside his skull.

Three aspirin, tossed down his throat as soon as he’d staggered to the bathroom, had yet to chase away the pain. A hot shower followed by a blast of icy water hadn’t done it, either. Seth took a swallow of coffee, hoping a belt of caffeine would do the job. He had a nine-thirty breakfast appointment with a guy he’d met on the slopes a couple of days ago. They’d been the only two people crazy enough to take on Deadman’s Run at dusk. Afterward, over brandy-laced coffee in the lounge, they’d introduced themselves.

“Rod Pommier,” the guy had said, narrowing his eyes as if he half expected the name would elicit a reaction.

Seth had recognized the name—he read the papers—and he knew Pommier wanted privacy. That was fine. As far as he was concerned, the doctor was just another skier.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m Seth Castleman.”

They shook hands—Seth liked Pommier’s firm, no-nonsense grip—and went back to talking about skiing. After a while, they talked about Cooper’s Corner and how laid-back the town was.

“People seem friendly but not nosy, if you know what I mean,” Rod said.

Seth smiled. “That’s typically New England.”

“I get the feeling that the president of the United States could show up with a pair of skis on and it wouldn’t cause a ripple.”

“Actually, it would depend on whether he was a Democrat or a Republican.” Both men laughed. “But I know what you mean,” Seth said. “This is a small town with an old-fashioned attitude. Don’t get me wrong. Gossip’s the lifeblood of the place, especially if you live here, but if you want to be left alone, nobody’s going to bother you.”

Rod looked up from his coffee. “Am I getting a message here?” he asked pleasantly.

“You mean, do I know who you are?” Seth grinned. “Sure. You’re a skier who just happens to be a doctor in his spare time. Does that about sum it up?”

“It sure does,” Rod said, and Seth could almost see him relax.

They bumped into each other on the slopes again. The second time around, Rod said he’d heard Seth was a carpenter. “And a guy who makes damned fine furniture,” he added. “I’m staying at Twin Oaks. I admired a walnut table in the entry hall and Clint Cooper told me it was your work.”

Seth nodded. “Yeah. That piece came out pretty well.”

Rod smiled. “Clint told me you’d say something like that, but he says the truth is, you’re good.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, it’s not immodest to admit it if you’ve got talent.” The men’s eyes met and Rod grinned. “The danger is in letting the rest of the world know it.”

They shared a chuckle, talked some more, and then the doctor mentioned he’d been looking at an old ski chalet with a fantastic view. It was for sale but it needed a lot of work. He described the location and Seth said he knew the place.

“I’ve seen it from the road. From what I’ve heard it’s sound, structurally, but the inside—”

“Is a disaster.” The doctor sighed. “Yeah, I know. Dark, old, boxy. But there’s nothing around here that has a view to match it. The sun just about lights up the top of the mountain. And I feel…comfortable, I guess, in this town.” He paused. “I’ve been giving some serious thought to buying the place and rebuilding it. Gut the interior, get rid of all that dark stained pine and put in—”

“Beech and maple. Draws the light right in.”

Rod raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Exactly.” He sipped his coffee, then tapped his fingers on the table. “Could you drive over one morning and tell me what you think?”

Seth smiled. “My pleasure.”

They’d made an appointment for this morning. Seth had already cruised by the chalet a couple of times, getting the feel of it, and ideas had started coming. As many as could, anyway, until he saw the interior. He’d jotted them down in his notebook and was eager to discuss them with the doctor.

There was still another hour and a half until it was time to meet Pommier. Thankfully, the little guy with the sledgehammer had gone from trying to bash his way out of Seth’s skull to merely tapping at it, so why stand around?

Seth drained the last of the coffee, rinsed the mug and put it in the sink. There were things he could do before he left. He could start stripping the finish from the old cherry rocker he’d picked up at a garage sale. Work on the chest he was making for his bedroom. Drive out to that farm near New Ashford, see if the owner had made up his mind whether or not he wanted to take down his barn and sell the hand-hewn beams and weathered old siding….

Who was he kidding?

He grabbed his jacket and keys and hurried out to his truck. There was only one thing that really needed doing this morning, and he damned well was going to do it.

* * *

GINA MONROE SAT at the old maple table in her kitchen, elbows propped on its scarred surface, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of herbal tea. On impulse, she’d taken the day off from her job as a teacher at the local elementary school. Now she watched with satisfaction as her daughter tucked into a stack of blueberry pancakes she’d sworn she could never finish when Gina served them to her ten minutes earlier.

Wendy forked up a mouthful dripping with maple syrup and melted butter. Gina smiled at the look on her face.

“Good?”

Wendy chewed, swallowed and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “No,” she said, straight-faced. “I’m just making a pig of myself to keep you happy.”

Gina grinned and thought how wonderful it was to have her little girl home again. It was the same thing she’d been thinking for the last two days.

“Seriously, Mom, these are incredible.”

“Well, we had a great blueberry crop last summer,” Gina said modestly. “Your father couldn’t keep away from the pick-your-own place just north of town.”

“Is it still there?”

“Mmm-hmm. And Daddy bought boxes and boxes of berries. I made blueberry pie, blueberry tarts, blueberry vinegar, blueberry liqueur—”

“Whoa. Blueberry liqueur? That’s a new one.”

Gina smiled as she rose and went to the counter. “Your father gave me a course in herbal cooking as a birthday gift last year.” She spooned some fresh herbs into an infuser and filled her mug with water from the kettle. “More coffee for you?”

“Yes, please.”

She topped up Wendy’s cup. “I have some pancakes left. Would you like a couple more?”

Wendy groaned and held up her hands. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“Just one, maybe?”

“Honestly, I’m full.” Wendy pushed back her chair. “I’d almost forgotten what an American breakfast was like. That was absolutely delicious.”

“I’m glad. Oh, don’t get up, sweetie. Let me get those dishes. You just sit there and take it easy.”

Wendy shook her head, collected her dishes and took them to the sink. “That’s all I’ve been doing since I got back.”

“It’s all I want you to do.”

“I’m not an invalid, Mother.”

“Well, of course you aren’t. I just enjoy fussing over you.” Gina made a face. “And now I’m in trouble.”

“Huh?”

“You just called me `Mother.’“ She took two cake plates from the cupboard and put them on the table. “That’s always a danger sign.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom.”

“See? Now I’m `Mom.’“ Gina smiled as she took out forks and arranged them on fresh napkins alongside the plates. “`Mom’ is good. `Mother’ is a warning,” she said, opening the oven. The scents of cinnamon and nutmeg drifted out. “You ready for some coffee cake?”

Wendy stared at her mother. “No. Yes. Is it that sour cream cake you used to make?”

“Uh-huh.”

“In that case, maybe a sliver…and what in heck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and the Mom-Mother thing.” Gina took the cake from the oven and put it on the table, then closed the door with her hip. “`Why must I wear my galoshes, Mother?’“ she said in a little-girl voice. “`Why must I do my homework now, Mother?’“ She laughed at the perplexed expression on Wendy’s face. “Ever since you were tiny, I was `Mom’ when you were happy with me and `Mother’ when you weren’t.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I didn’t know I was that transparent.” Wendy hesitated, watching as Gina sliced the cake. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap just now.”

“I know you didn’t, sweetie.” Gina looked at her daughter. “And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You just need to remember that I haven’t had the chance to fuss over you in a very long time.”

“I know. And I really love having you fuss. I just…I guess I confused it with you thinking I wasn’t up to doing things for myself, and I’m not very good at letting people help me.”

“Not good? Dear, you bristle like a porcupine, but I’m not surprised. You always were so fiercely independent. It’s what got you into trouble your very first day in kindergarten.”

Wendy smiled. “Seriously?”

“Oh, yes. I’ll never forget it. Your teacher cornered me when I came to pick you up.” Gina’s expression softened at the memory. “I’d just gone back to teaching. I was doing half days, paired with a new teacher. She took mornings so I could be home with you in the afternoons.”

“Uh-huh. I remember.”

“Anyway, I came to get you. And your teacher—”

“Mrs. Barrett.”

“Right. Sally Barrett said she hated having to tell me, but you’d walloped some little boy.”

“I didn’t!” Wendy laughed. “I don’t remember that at all.”

“Well, it’s true. Seems he’d been crying. Lots of the kids were. First day away from home and all that… Anyway, this poor little guy wanted his mother. You were sitting next to him and you were crying, too.”

“I definitely don’t remember that! I loved kindergarten.”

“Yes, you did. But that very first day, you were teary-eyed, the same as the other children. Sally said the little boy looked at you—for comfort, maybe—and you said, `What are you looking at?’ or words to that effect, and he said he was looking at you because you were crying, and you said—”

“Oh, wow.” Wendy giggled and covered her face with her hands. “It’s coming back to me. I said he was a baby and he said if he was a baby, so was I, and—”

“And,” Gina said, putting slices of cake on their plates, “you hauled off and hit him.” She grinned. “Then he really had something to cry about, poor kid. Anyway, Sally Barrett read you the riot act. So did I. And when your father came home and I told him what had happened…”

“He said I’d done a bad thing.” Wendy’s lips twitched. “Then he picked me up, lifted me high in the air and said I was some piece of work.”

“He was right. You were.” Gina smiled. “You still are. Soft as velvet most of the time, but tough as nails when you have to be.” Her smile tilted. “Which brings us to this operation.”

Here we go, Wendy thought. She’d broken the news to her mother her first evening home. Gina had blanched, but she hadn’t said much.

“Mom took it well,” she’d whispered to her father when she kissed him good-night, but Howard had shaken his head and reminded her that that was her mother’s way. When Gina learned something that upset her, she’d keep it to herself, turn it over and over in her mind, then talk about it when she was ready.

From the look in her eyes, she was ready right now.

Wendy caught hold of her hand. “Mom, I know the news that I want to have this surgery came as a surprise—”

“Surprise? Shock is a better word. Why did you tell your father and not me?”

“Because I knew you’d be upset,” Wendy said gently. “And I was right.”

“Of course I’m upset! I thought all those things—the hospital stays, the surgeries—were behind us.”

“Yeah. Well, so did I. But this new technique—”

“Is unproven.”

“It’s not unproven, Mom. Dr. Pommier’s performed this procedure on a lot of people.”

“If he’s the only one doing it, it’s unproven and experimental.”

“Any new technique is experimental. The bottom line is that what he does works.”

Gina stood up, dumped the pancake griddle into the sink and ran the hot water. “It works for certain people, Wendy, and for only certain types of injuries. You and your father admit that.”

“That’s right. And as far as I can tell, I’m a perfect candidate.” Wendy stood up and reached for a dish towel. “Look, I know you’re worried, but—”

“You had the very best surgeons in Norway, and the best doctors at the French rehab clinic.” Gina shut off the water, wiped her hands on her apron and turned around. “If any of them had thought there was more they could do, they’d have done it.”

“Exactly. They did everything they could, but things have changed. This technique didn’t exist back then.”

“And what about the fact that this doctor says he’s not taking on new patients? That you phoned him, sent him a letter, and he won’t even discuss your case?”

Wendy tossed the towel on the back of a chair. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you that!”

“You’re probably right. You kept everything else from me, letting me think you were coming home—really coming home—when all the time—”

“I never said that, Mother. Never!”

“No. You didn’t. But I thought…I thought—” Gina turned away, wrapped her hands around the rim of the sink as if that might help steady the turmoil inside her. “Aside from anything else,” she said quietly, “you’re not facing reality. Do you really believe you can change Dr. Pommier’s mind simply by meeting him?”

“Of course not. But if I can talk to him, show him my records, explain how desperately I want to try this—”

“Why `desperately’? That’s what I don’t understand. They said you’d never walk again but you did. You are. I mean, just look at you. You’re on your feet, getting around on your own—”

“I limp. I can’t ski—”

“For heaven’s sake!” Gina’s face flushed. “You’re my daughter. I can’t believe you’re so…so foolish that you’d think people would judge you by the way you walk, or by what you can or can’t do!”

“How about the way I judge me?” Wendy’s voice trembled. She felt her eyes fill with tears and she swiped her hand across them, hating herself for letting her emotions show again. “Do you know what it’s like to be reminded, every single day of your life, of what happened to you one morning a long time ago?”

“Oh, sweetie.” Gina clasped her daughter’s shoulders. “Is that what it’s all about?”

Wendy shut her eyes. The scene in her head was as real as if it had happened yesterday. She saw herself early that fateful day, dragging out of bed. Tired, exhausted, muscles aching, barely making it to the bathroom before her stomach rose in her throat as it had done every morning since the ski team arrived in Lillehammer…

“Wendy.” Gina cupped Wendy’s face. “Darling, you can’t possibly think you were responsible for the accident. The run was icy. Other skiers had wiped out before you in that very same place. You caught some ice, lost control….”

Gina couldn’t bring herself to describe the rest. Wendy sighed and put her arm around her.

“I’ve gone over it a million times,” she said softly.

“Then you know that it wasn’t your fault.”

Wendy nodded. She did, sometimes, when she was being logical. There were inherent dangers in racing down a snow-covered mountain at eighty or ninety miles an hour. When you stepped into your skis, you accepted that as a fact of life.

But…but maybe if she hadn’t been so determined to win a medal, she’d have faced the truth that day—that she didn’t feel well, hadn’t felt well for a while. Maybe she should have told her coach the truth when he looked at her, frowned and said, “You okay, Monroe? You look kind of green around the edges.”

“I’m fine,” she’d answered. She wasn’t. She’d felt rotten, but so what? If you wanted to win, you had to tough it out. She’d skied with aches and pains before. Everyone on the team did. She’d suspected she was coming down with the flu, like a couple of the men already had. She had all the symptoms. If she’d said, “You’re right, coach, I feel awful,” what then? He’d have sidelined her, and with the start of the Olympics just days away, she’d needed all the practice she could get….

So she’d lied. And she’d skied. And now, for the rest of her life, that quick, selfish decision would haunt her each morning when she limped from the bed to the bathroom. When she saw a snow-covered mountain and knew she couldn’t ski it. She’d remember not just who she’d once been but what she’d once been. What she’d had, and could never have again.

“Wendy? Sweetie?”

Her mother’s eyes were dark with worry. Wendy fought back the desire to fling herself into Gina’s arms and pour out her heart. What would that accomplish? Then the pain would be her mother’s, as well as hers, and she loved Gina too much to do that.

No. This was her problem. Hers alone. She would deal with it.

“Wendy?” Gina moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I just want you to know that—that I don’t agree with what you want to do.” She held out her hands and Wendy took them. “But I’ll stand by you, every inch of the way.”

Wendy smiled. “I love you, Mom,” she said softly.

“I know. And I love you, too.” Gina gave her daughter a quick hug. Then she stepped back and smiled, even though her eyes were suspiciously damp. “Well,” she said briskly, “that’s that, my bristly, stubborn daughter. I have the feeling that doctor’s in for a big surprise.”

“Me, too,” Wendy said, and her smile broadened.

“Did Daddy say when he’d set up a meeting for you with this Dr. Pommier?”

“He doesn’t know, exactly. He’ll have to wait for the right moment.”

“Well, until that moment comes, I’m going to make the most of having you here.” Gina brushed a curl from Wendy’s brow. “What would you like to do today? How about driving down to Lee? Did you know they built a mall there?”

“A mall?” Wendy said, grasping eagerly at the lifeline her mother had tossed. “A real mall? With real department stores?”

“Better than that. Discount stores.” Gina rolled her eyes. “Veddy, veddy upscale, my deah. Wait until you see. Tell you what. I’ll clean up here while you get dressed.”

“I’ll help you.”

“I thought we’d settled all that. You’re my baby, you’re home and I’m going to do my very best to spoil you rotten.”

“Sentenced to spoiling,” Wendy said, and grinned. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

Gina watched her daughter start from the room. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought, and took a deep breath.

“Wendy?”

Wendy turned and looked at her. “Yes?”

“I know you told me that you didn’t want anyone to know you were going to be here, but…are you going to see Seth while you’re home?”

Wendy’s face paled. “Did you tell him I was coming back? Oh, Mother! I specifically asked you—”

“I didn’t tell him anything.”

“You just said—”

“All I said was, are you going to see him while you’re here?”

“No,” Wendy said sharply. “Why would I?”

“Well, I just thought…” Gina hesitated. “As a courtesy, I thought you might at least call him. He still asks about you, you know.”

Wendy dug her hands into the pockets of her robe. Her fingers closed around a loose thread and she worried it between her thumb and forefinger. “Does he?”

“He used to call to see how you were. Even now, if we run into each other, he asks about you.”

“That’s very nice of him,” Wendy said stiffly, “but Seth and I have nothing to say to each other. I’m a different person now, and so is he.”

Gina gave a resigned sigh. “Okay.”

“I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to see him. And if you should run into him—”

“Wendy.” Gina put her hand on her daughter’s arm. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“We were kids, that’s all. Two silly kids. The accident helped me realize that.”

Wendy’s eyes darkened. She looked down, and Gina held her breath. Her daughter seemed on the verge of saying something that would explain the change of heart that had taken place in her, but when Wendy raised her head, Gina knew the moment had slipped by.

“Let’s not talk about the past,” she said softly. “Okay?”

Gina nodded. She wanted to fling her arms around Wendy and tell her she’d make whatever was troubling her go away, just as she had when Wendy was little. But the bittersweet truth was that mothers lost that magical talent when children grew up.

“Okay.” She smiled brightly and looked at the kitchen clock. “Hey, if we want to be the first ones there and pick up some real bargains, we’d better get moving.”

“Right.” Wendy smiled back, although her smile looked as phony as Gina’s felt. “Give me ten minutes to shower and dress.”

“You’re on,” Gina said.

She held her smile until Wendy left the kitchen. Then she sighed and began stacking the dishes in the dishwasher.

Her little girl—and that was what Wendy would always be, no matter how the years slipped by—her little girl was badly troubled. Gina kept looking for an explanation. Howard kept saying it was her leg, as if it was foolish to wonder about any other reason.

Maybe he was right, but Wendy had beat the odds. Wasn’t that all that mattered? She was out of a wheelchair and walking, after most of the doctors had said she’d be an invalid for life.

Still, Gina supposed she could understand that Wendy would feel differently. People tended to define themselves by the things they did. She’d taken enough silly pop quizzes to know that. Who was Gina Monroe, if anyone asked? How would Gina Monroe describe herself? As a wife. A mother. A teacher.

Wendy would have defined herself as a champion skier. But was that all? It didn’t seem possible that her daughter’s self-image could be so one-dimensional. Wendy had loved to ski from the time she was a child, but there’d been more in her life than skiing.

At least, there had been after Seth Castleman came along.

Gina untied her apron, hung it on the back of the pantry door, then sat down at the table to finish her lukewarm tea.

Howard had bought their daughter her first pair of skis the Christmas she was, what? Four? Five?

“She’s just a baby,” Gina had said warily. “She could get hurt.”

Her husband had smiled proudly as they watched their little girl stomp around the snowy yard. “She’ll be fine. She can’t possibly get hurt on the Ski Wee hills. You know that, darling. Those slopes are nothing more than bumps in the snow. Besides, our girl’s a natural. Just look at her. She’s got the makings of a champion.”

He was right. Wendy had been born to ski. She was quick, graceful, a joy to watch. At eight, she’d won her first junior medal. At ten, she was taking winter vacation trips with Howard to Aspen. By the time she was twelve, skiing was all she lived for.

She was bright, thank goodness, so she did well in school, even though she didn’t pay much attention to her studies. As for dances and parties and the sweet silliness young girls enjoy—those things didn’t interest her. Gina closed her eyes, remembering how she used to long to be able to make the same complaints as other mothers of teenage girls, but Wendy didn’t spend hours tying up the phone, or plaster her room with posters of rock idols and giggle over boys.

And then, when Wendy was seventeen, she’d met a boy on the slopes. She was practicing; Seth was running the lift. Gina didn’t know what had happened that day, except that her daughter came home with high color in her cheeks and excitement in her eyes.

“A good day at Brodie, huh, punkin?” Howard said at dinner.

Wendy nodded. “Yes…terrific.”

Something in the way she said it, or maybe in the quick rush of color that climbed into her face again, told Gina the truth.

Wendy had met a boy.

Gina kept her thoughts to herself. The phone began to ring with calls for Wendy, all of them from the same polite young man. Sometimes she came home a little late from school, and in the evenings, when she sat at the kitchen table doing her homework, Gina caught her staring into space with a dreamy look in her eyes.

Gina was glad. It had begun to trouble her, seeing Wendy lock everything but skiing out of her life. Her daughter still loved to ski, still skied almost all weekend, but for the first time, she balked at Howard’s rigorous practice schedule.

Howard was perplexed.

“What’s gotten into her?” he mumbled one evening when Wendy said she wasn’t in the mood for a drive to Brodie for an hour’s work.

“She’s a teenage girl,” Gina answered. “She just needs time for other things.”

“Not if she wants to make it to the Olympics, she doesn’t,” Howard said, and not for the first time, Gina wondered whose goal that really was, his or Wendy’s.

One evening at dinner, Wendy asked to be excused before dessert.

“Apple pie,” Gina said. “Your favorite.”

“I know, Mom, but…” She blushed. “I have a date.”

Gina smiled. Howard stared.

“A date? With a boy?” Howard spoke in the same tone he’d have used if Wendy had announced she had a date with a Klingon warrior.

“Yes.” Wendy’s blush deepened. “His name is Seth Castleman.”

From that night on, everything revolved around what Seth said or did. Gina thought she’d never seen her little girl so happy. Howard thought he’d never seen her so distracted.

“She’s going to lose her edge,” he grumbled late one Friday night when he and Gina lay in bed, listening to the clock chime eleven and knowing Wendy had yet to come home.

Gina sighed and put her head on his shoulder. “She’s in love, Howard.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“The signs are all there.”

Howard had snorted. “Puppy love, maybe. That’s all it is.”

Gina had been sure it was more than that—until the accident, when Seth flew to Norway to be with Wendy and Wendy wouldn’t even see him. When she’d sent him a note that cut him out of her life.

The doorbell sounded. Gina glanced at the clock. Howard was the reading coordinator at the school where they both worked. He was meeting with the principal and she expected him home for lunch, but it was only ten. It had to be the UPS man with the books she’d ordered.

But it wasn’t the UPS man. It was Seth.

“Hello, Gina.”

She stared at him stupidly. Seth hadn’t come to the house in a long time, and now, only minutes after they’d talked about him, he was here. She gaped at the young man before her, snow dusting his dark hair and leather jacket, as if he were an apparition.

“Seth? I didn’t expect… I mean, what are you—”

“May I come in?”

Gina swallowed. “Actually,” she said carefully, “this isn’t a very good time.”

“I know she’s here.”

“Seth.” Gina glanced over her shoulder at the stairs. “I really don’t think—”

“How come you didn’t tell me she was coming home?”

There was anger in his voice, but she thought she could detect pain, too. “Oh, Seth…”

“You should have told me,” he said gruffly.

The snow was coming down harder. And Mrs. Lewis, out walking her dog, had paused on the sidewalk and was watching the scene with frank curiosity. Gina swung the door wide and moved aside. “Come in, then. But only for a minute.”

“Thanks.” Seth stepped into the entry hall and stomped his boots on the mat a lot harder than necessary. He didn’t give a damn just now about the snow he might track in on Gina Monroe’s slate tiles. Driving here, he’d gone from ticked off to angry to plain furious. It was stupid, he knew, because Wendy didn’t mean anything to him and Gina was under no obligation to tell him anything. Still, stupid or not, his temper was almost at the boiling point.

His anger started to abate as he looked at Gina’s worried face. Calmer now, he wasn’t even sure why he’d come. It was only that it was wrong that nobody had told him Wendy was coming home, warned him so he’d have been prepared for the shock of seeing her again.

“Seth.” Gina looked up at him. “You can’t stay. Really, I wish you could, but—”

“Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his snow-dampened hair. “Look, I’m sorry. I just…I saw her, you know? And it was—it was a surprise. How come you didn’t tell me?”

“Because…because—”




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