Slow Heat

“Bailey—”

“No,” she said, pointing at him, voice shaking with the depths of her fury. “Don’t. You don’t have to say anything, I get it.”

She was just glad she hadn’t spilled her guts in the past two weeks, revealed any more of her feelings for him. That was her saving grace, she told herself. He had no idea how much he’d hurt her and it was going to stay that way.

He studied her for a beat and she didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t the words that came out of his mouth.

“I told you I wouldn’t regret what we shared,” he said, his words insidiously quiet, his voice flat.

She hated that most of all. “That you did,” she agreed. Hell if she’d thank him for it. She had to fight to keep her expression just as nonexistent as his—not easy when her heart had been cracked in half. “How nice for you to be able to turn your feelings on and off so easily,” she managed coolly.

He didn’t answer, not that she’d expected him to. She concentrated on dragging air in and out of her lungs until she no longer had the urge to cry. Because no way would she allow him to see her weak. She was going to stand strong if it was the last thing she did. Turning away from him, she faced the mural.

But Hud didn’t go. She ignored him for as long as she could, which wasn’t very long. The weak winter sun behind them cast their shadows on the mural, his a lot taller and broader than hers. “You’re in my light,” she said.

“We need to talk.”

She glanced over her shoulder. He was in ski patrol gear, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. His expression was dialed to dark and brooding, and his shoulders were set in grim determination. “I think we’ve talked enough,” she said.

His jaw tightened. “You misunderstood what I was saying to Penny.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t,” she said, concentrating on her painting. She was on the very last part, finishing up the caricature of Jacob. She’d decided to put him in an airplane, flying past the mountains painted behind him with his eyes on the horizon, a very small smile playing about his mouth. Then she spent some time filling in the heart and soul to the piece.

Her heart and soul.

“You said you couldn’t be pushed away,” he said quietly. “You said that to me. Was it a lie?”

She stilled and stared sightlessly at the mural in front of her, telling herself not to react to the… disappointment?… in his voice. “I need you to move a few feet to the left,” she managed.

“That would take me right off the scaffold.”

“Yes,” she said.

And then she went on painting, her heart in her throat. She heard his radio go off at his hip, then heard him respond that he was offline.

She sucked in a breath at that. But whoever was calling for him was insistent and the call was an emergency, which had her sucking in another breath.

Someone was hurt.

“Bay,” he said quietly. “I have to go.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to.”

This she didn’t answer. She told herself she was absolutely not listening for him to climb down and leave her alone. Not even a little bit. To ensure it, she pulled her earphones from her pocket, slid them into her ears, cranked the music on her phone, and tried to cancel out the real world.

But two minutes later she couldn’t stand it anymore and turned to face him.

He was gone.

She forced air into her lungs and nodded to herself, acknowledging that she’d done this, and kept painting. When it got dark, she didn’t stop. She didn’t go to bed.

She kept painting. She figured she had maybe six hours left on the mural and she was going to finish tonight if it killed her.

It nearly did. She stayed up all night and finished just before dawn, and it was worth it. As she stepped back to take it all in with the day’s first light, it caught her breath.

It’d come out better than she could have imagined.

Which didn’t ease the pain in her gut.

Or her heart.

Just as the first of the sun’s rays peeked over the mountain, she got into her car. She pulled the list from her pocket and crossed off the mural.

She eyed the rest of the list, trying to force her mind to settle on one item because she needed a direction now, more than ever, something to jump right into and take her mind off what had happened.

Skydiving?

No, she decided. She’d just discovered she was going to get to live, no sense in tempting the fates.

London maybe… Yes. That would do nicely. And she put her car into gear and headed off the mountain, not looking back.

Okay, she totally looked back, taking in the glorious colors of the new day in her rearview mirror.

Wishing…

But even as she let herself half hope, the words replayed in her mind. She’s not a keeper to me…

As the words washed over her again, she strengthened her resolve and hit the gas.

Chapter 29

Hud almost always knew what to do. On the mountain. On the job. With his mom. With any of his family, really—with the sole exception of Jacob—he knew what to do. And he did it.

A dad who’d walked when Hud had been so young he didn’t remember much of him at all? He’d handled it.

A mom who had a little problem sticking to reality? He’d handled it.

Having to move around because of poverty as a child due to said mother not being able to hold down a job for long? He’d handled it.

Finding out at twelve that he had siblings who wanted him in their lives? He’d handled it.

But then Jacob had left him. Walked away like their dad and never looked back, and Hud had finally come up against something he couldn’t handle.

So he’d faked it. He’d faked it pretty damn well too. He’d faked it for so long now that he’d given off the air of handling it just fine. And it had become true.

But losing Bailey? No, he couldn’t handle that. Wouldn’t. He’d make sure of it. He had no idea how, yet, but he’d figure it out and handle it like he had everything else.

If he ever got off work. The call that had taken him away from her last night had originated when a woman called the police because her boyfriend and his best friend hadn’t come back from skiing at Cedar Ridge for the day.

Dispatch had called Hud and put him on it. He’d done a quick sweep of the parking lot for any cars that didn’t belong to staff.

There were zero.

When he called the woman directly, she’d told them that she’d dropped the guys off that morning with the directive to call her when they’d finished skiing.

That call had never come.

The mountain had been swept at closing, as always. All of ski patrol skied the entire mountain at dusk yelling, “Closing,” checking every nook and cranny.

They never left anyone on the mountain.

But at the very end of the phone call the woman had admitted that the two men had been talking about going off-trail to ski, in an area clearly marked NOT CEDAR RIDGE PROPERTY.

Hud had been forced to call back all the staff who’d already left for the day, and they’d spent the long hours of the night combing the out-of-boundary areas along with search and rescue.

It was five in the morning before the woman called dispatch again to tell them she’d heard from the guys. Apparently they’d left the mountain at closing and had gone to the Slippery Slope and gotten drunk. They’d hitched a ride and had just showed up at home.