Holiday Homecoming. Mary Wilson Anne
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They were on her land. She hurried, shouted to him, “Hey, there!”
She went forward for the widest opening in the trees, pushing hard to move faster, and broke out of the snow-laden grove directly across from the single person. He was turning, the bloodred of his vest brilliant against the clear blue sky behind him. Fancy clothes, she thought, expensive skis. Reflective glasses that bounced back at her the glint of the morning sun. She skied closer to him, ready to tell him to get off her property, then she realized the intruder was Cain Stone.
That stopped her within two ski lengths of him. She took a gulping breath, then demanded, “What are you doing here?”
He looked unruffled at her arrival, almost as if he was enjoying it. “I’m not going to be basket weaving,” he said with the hint of a smile twitching at his lips. She had no idea what was in his eyes. The glasses just reflected her own, distorted image.
She’d taken this run for years, and she had no doubt she could ski it, but she didn’t know too many others who would even try, except Cain Stone and his cohorts years ago. Back then she’d thought they had to be either stupid or arrogant. Now she realized this man had to be both. “You aren’t going to ski down, so why don’t you go back that way.” She motioned behind her. “There’s a road about a quarter mile beyond the trees. If you’re lucky, you can hitch a ride back to town.”
She expected him to get angry or annoyed, but she didn’t expect him to laugh right out loud. The sound echoed around them. “I don’t hitchhike,” he finally said.
“Do you read signs?”
“Every one of them.”
“How about the Private Property signs you had to pass on the way here?”
His laughter was gone now. “I read every one of them.”
“Then get off this land. It’s private.”
“I don’t see a badge.”
“What?”
“I assumed that you’re some sort of security, policing this area.”
She shook her head. “It’s private land.”
“Oh, and you own it?”
She stared right at him. “Damn straight I do.”
She couldn’t tell if she’d shocked him or not. His expression didn’t change—at least, she didn’t think it did. And she couldn’t see his eyes. “How?” was all he said.
“How what?”
“How could you own it?”
“All you need to know is I own it. And this isn’t a public run. It’s posted, and—”
“The kid,” he exclaimed. “You’re the kid, aren’t you?”
“What kid?”
“The hair. I remember the hair. Jennings coming after us, and you running up behind him, a tiny little thing, but with a booming voice.” He smiled suddenly, an expression that shook her. “You’d yell, ‘Get off my mountain,’while Jennings threatened to shoot us on the spot.”
Her dad had been furious at their intrusion. “I’ll skin them alive,” he’d say. “Maybe shoot them, too.” But he never caught up with them. As she and her father had come out of the trees, one by one the boys had turned and taken off. By the time she got to the edge, the boys were shooting down the run, their voices echoing into the mountains as they yelled, “Yahoo!” Then she’d go back to the cabin with her dad, and while she’d wait for her mother to pick her up, she’d keep the fire going and watch her father get drunker and drunker, all the while muttering about “those blasted teenagers.”
“You were trespassing back then, too,” she murmured, not wanting to remember that time of her life clearly.
“You’re…” He thought for a second. “Molly?”
“It’s Holly, and you’re still trespassing.”
He didn’t move. “Tell me one thing, Holly.”
“What?”
“Did he really have a gun?”
She was so shocked that she almost smiled. She didn’t intend to smile with this man, or have this conversation. “No, he didn’t, but he didn’t want you on his land, and neither do I.”
The next question rocked her. “Is that why you hate me? Because I used the run when Jennings didn’t want me to?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
He actually came closer, his skis spreading right and left to go on the outside of hers. He got within two feet of her, and he towered over her. She forced herself not to retreat. If she moved, she’d fall into him, tangle with his skis, and this whole situation would be even more embarrassing.
He leaned toward her, erasing even more space between them. “You know, that look, as if I’m two rungs below the lowest rung on the ladder of humanity.”
“You’re crazy,” she said quickly, but didn’t sound very convincing even to her ears.
“Am I?” he asked, and she was certain she felt the suggestion of heat from his breath touch her face.
She shook her head. “Yes, you are.”
“And you don’t hate me?”
She couldn’t tell a lie of that magnitude. “What difference would it make if I did?”
He was very still for a long moment. Then, without warning, he leaned even closer, cupped her chin with his gloved hand. “A hell of a lot of difference,” he whispered roughly. Then he let her go before she could think of how to react, and expertly turned without hitting her skis. With a glance back at her, he moved to the edge of the run, dug in, and in the next instant he pushed off and was away. His voice echoed to her, “Yahoo!” over and over again.
She hurried to the edge, saw the path he cut in the snow and saw him take the jump at the outcropping with ease. She’d been ready to ski the run herself, and she wasn’t going to let him change her plans. She flipped up her goggles, then pushed off herself. Never glancing away from the bright red vest, she made the jump cleanly, and landed with knees bent at almost the exact spot he’d landed.
She kept going, her eyes on him ahead of her, and she saw his mistake an instant before he made it. She screamed, “Left, left,” but there was no time for him to adjust. He didn’t go left, kept going straight ahead, no doubt figuring that the even snow beyond was safe. But it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. There’d been a rock slide in the summer, and there was now a crater in the mountain where it hadn’t been before. The snow that hid it was soft, and the instant he hit the softness, he sank. His skis caught, and he went flying forward, skis over head. She slowed, swept left and back, then she skied sideways to a stop near where he was sprawled awkwardly in the snow. One ski had been released from its bindings, coming to rest near his head, and the other ski was on its side, twisted with his foot. She couldn’t see his poles anywhere.
She pushed with her poles, skied sideways, approaching the hole of snow, and carefully picked her way over to where he’d ended up, no more than three feet from a huge pine. He wasn’t moving, just lying facedown in the snow. She didn’t like him. She didn’t like his kind, but that didn’t stop her heart from rising in her throat. “Are you okay?” she yelled.
She bent down, unsnapped her bindings, then trudged over to him. She stooped by him, her knees sinking in the powdery snow. She reached for him, grabbing his vest, but was afraid to move him in case she did more harm to him than good. “Cain,” she breathed. “Can you hear me?”
He stirred then, and she pulled back. He pushed one hand into the snow, then slowly turned until he was on his back. His goggles were still in place and they reflected her image and caught the sunlight behind her. She couldn’t see any blood on him,