Free Fall. Jill Shalvis
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he gently set her off him. “I don’t need a week off. I don’t have a week off.”
“What are you talking about?” Wyatt laughed. “We work for ourselves. You want a week, you take a week.”
Yes, they worked for themselves. Mostly. He and Wyatt co-owned the helicopter he’d flown last night. They supported their joint helicopter habit with paying jobs—Wyatt flew for the local TV and radio stations, and Logan flew a couple of local millionaires around at their whim during their business day. But they also worked volunteer for the SAR team, both men living for and loving the times they were called to fly search and rescue.
“It’s not that simple,” he protested now. “I have jobs scheduled, and with you going on your honeymoon, I’ll need to be available to fly for SAR 24/7.”
“So wait until I get back. But you’re going. You need to get away, every bit as much as I do.” Their eyes met, and all the things they’d done and seen shimmered between them.
The stripper Logan had set aside shifted her attention to Wyatt, who sat back, easygoing and smiling at her slow, sensuous movements. But Logan knew his partner extremely well. Wyatt’s thoughts were elsewhere. Probably with Leah, who he’d be marrying tomorrow.
Marrying. Logan shuddered. He had no idea why in the world Wyatt would want to screw up a good relationship with marriage.
He watched his old friend draw the stripper’s attention away from himself and onto two of their oldest buddies, who eagerly lapped up everything she dished out, and he had to admit that if any couple could make it in the crazy, dangerous world he and these guys all lived in, Wyatt and Leah could. They had a rare, beautiful, deep connection—one Logan had never really experienced himself.
“Maybe you’ll meet a hot ski bunny,” Wyatt said, and waggled his eyebrows.
“A hot ski bunny.” Logan had to laugh. “Is that what you think I need?”
“You need something, starting with a week off. Take the trip,” Wyatt said quietly. “I have a feeling about it.”
“A feeling? Hell. You fall like a brick for a woman and now you’re thinking like one.”
“Okay, how about this—you worked every single day last month, and I think the month before that, too. If you haven’t been at the mercy of a Trump wannabe, you’ve been risking life and limb for perfect strangers. It’s a bad equation that equals burnout.”
Logan looked at the strippers, and—unmoved by their gyrations—he admitted that Wyatt had a point. Burnout was lurking, flickering at the edges of his mind. He needed to get away, and skiing his brains out on Wyatt’s dime sounded…good. Damn good. “Fine, but if you have to come drag me back, it’s your own fault.”
“Duly noted, man. Duly noted. Just make sure to cut loose and have fun.”
Yeah. Logan figured if he really tried, he might manage to do just that.
1
Lake Tahoe, California
“LILY ROSE? YOU KNOW IT’S payday, right?”
Oh, for God’s sake. Lily Harmon’s head was going to blow right off her shoulders. Truly. If she didn’t get a moment of peace in her immediate future, she couldn’t be held responsible for what came next.
Knowing that, and her own limited patience, she drew a deep, calming breath, turned away from her ski locker and smiled blankly at her older sister, Gwyneth. “Really? It’s payday?”
Gwyneth’s mouth fell open. “You did forget.”
“Nah. I just like watching you grow gray hair before my eyes.”
Gwyneth was thirty-five to Lily’s twenty-five, and not a single day went by that she didn’t fling around the extra wisdom that those ten years supposedly granted her. “I was just trying to help.”
“You can save your breath.” Lily dug back into her locker. “I have the general manager job down.”
“But—”
“Look, if you feel the need to waste some of your own time, go find someone else to waste it on. And, sheesh, while you’re at it, try to relax a little.” Lily pulled her red ski-patrol jacket over her head, then buckled on the small fanny pack that held all her essentials—not a brush or lip gloss or anything that Gwyneth’s pack might have contained, but a first-aid kit, a screwdriver for fixing bindings and other various handy items.
“How about the statistic reports?” Gwyneth said. “Did you get my memo—” She broke off at the look of steel in Lily’s eyes. “Right. You’re fine.”
“You know what you need instead of that anal accounting job, Gwynnie? Someone to boss around. Have some kids. Then you can bicker with them all day and turn into Mom.” Lily jammed on her helmet and eyed her snowboard and skis. Board, she decided. She stomped into her boots and snatched the board, and then glanced at Gwyneth, who was still standing there looking like the substitute teacher whose class had all ditched on her.
Shaking her head, Lily walked out of the ski-locker area and into the open lodge, where a handful of guests milled around in various stages of ski-gear dress. She moved past the huge stone fireplace where the roaring fire she herself had started at the crack of dawn this morning was still going strong. The comfy chairs and sofas in deep, inviting colors, strategically placed to capture the warmth of the flames, were filled with guests; some talking, laughing, some taking in the ambience of the cabin walls that were dotted with photos from the lodge’s past hundred years.
The scene always brought a smile to her face—a smile that faded when she realized that Gwyneth had caught up with her and was back to checking off items on her ever-present clipboard. “We’re having bear problems in the trash again.”
“What? After you authorized the purchase of the correct boxes with the suggested latches that the bears can’t get into?” Lily silently predicted that her sister would miss the sarcasm.
“Yes, but now the bears aren’t the only ones who can’t get into the trash. Our guests can’t, either, and they don’t understand that we actually get a lot of bears waking up all winter long. So now the bears are simply hanging out by the bins, waiting for the guests to leave the trash on the ground beside the bins.”
Yep. No sense of humor at all. “I’ve already ordered more Do Not Feed The Bears Or Else Lose Your Life signs, along with better directions for getting into the trash bins. It’s not rocket science, so I’m sure our guests will figure it out with the help of the extra pictures.”
Gwyneth’s mouth tightened. “Also, it’s end of month. The payables and receivables need to be—”
“Right. I’ve got a calendar.”
“Okay, but also there’s the—”
“Good Lord.” Lily tipped her head back to take in the huge wood beams running the length of the large lodge that she’d been walking through all of her life. Then she turned to her sister. “Look at me, Gwyneth. Do I look like I give a crap that you’re chasing after me and listing all my responsibilities, as if I was a five-year-old?”
Gwyneth’s lips all but disappeared now. “No. No, you don’t.”
“Good. So maybe you could try not to give a crap if once in a while I do things my way. What do you think?”
Gwyneth slowly let the clipboard down to her side. “I’m not trying to nag. I just want to see Bay Moon under control.”
Bay Moon Resort was a big, fancy name for a place that wasn’t really big or fancy but just right. They had fifteen guest rooms, a full-service cafeteria, a bar, a gift shop and a ski-rental shop. They also had a reputation for being one hell of a gathering spot, attracting so many repeat visitors on their mountain and in their lodge every year that getting into the place had become tough enough for the Lake Tahoe brochures to give them