Page 59 of Love Me Reckless

If that wasn’t a bluff, then… damn.

What gets her hot? What gets her off?

Not knowing is slowly eating me alive.

The next morning, it’s still snowing, with temperatures in the teens. I slip on my winter boots and jacket and wade through at least two feet of snow to my truck so I can get it warmed up for the commute.

Inside the cab, I start the engine and turn on the defrost. When I open the glove box to grab the ice scraper, my registration paperwork falls out. I glance at the open glove box as unease crawls up my spine. My registration lives between my owner’s manual and my Maglite and an emergency kit that includes a poncho and set of wool liner gloves and road flares. It makes no sense why it would just fall out.

Unless someone has been in here?

I unfold the paperwork, scanning for clues that aren’t there. I left my truck at Kirilee’s all weekend because we took her car to Darby. Her family’s estate is crawling with security plus the ranch is tight. Ifsomeone broke in, why would a thief choose my old rig over the luxury cars available all over the ranch? Someone could have broken in last night when my truck was parked on the street, but that makes no sense either. There’s nothing valuable here. Plus, I didn’t see footprints in the snow.

Stumped, I tuck the registration back into the glove box and jump out with my ice scraper.

After I get suited up in the locker area including the heavy winter boots and extra thick gloves and the black insulated coveralls, I join the others for the day’s briefing.

The mood in the room is definitely tense. We’re about to start the ski season and there are many steps to opening left to complete before that happens.

We’re starting the day with a drill McTavish calls “Zero Down Time.”

“If you’re at the terminal,” McTavish says, pointing his whiteboard pen at us, “anything longer than one minute out of service is unacceptable.”

We break into teams. I offer to test first, mostly so I can get it out of the way. Ski lifts are actually pretty simple. Each bottom terminal has two motors. The main one is electric, which powers the bullwheel. The backup motor is a diesel, which only gets used if the electric one fails, like in a power outage or a rare mechanical shutdown so we can unload the guests safely. This scenario has apparently never happened at the ranch, and McTavish warns it never should. It’s the reason the crews bust their asses all summer, greasing bearings and refitting and refining systems, and the reason why we train for every contingency.

While we rotate through crew members, snow pelts the plexiglass housing. I can’t hear shit over the motor up here, but when I rub away the condensation and peer out, all I see is white.

I think about my vehicle registration paperwork falling out of my glove box earlier. Could I have shuffled things in there and just not remembered? What other explanation isthere?

It snowshard for five days, and McTavish pushes us extra hard to meet our opening date deadline, which gets moved up. We run a final check on every tower, chair, grip, and do load tests and countless stop tests on each lift. It’s demanding, physically and mentally, and the harsh weather takes some getting used to, but work is ever-changing and interesting, and the guys are great to work with. The best part is we’re too busy for anyone to notice I never put on a pair of skis.

On opening day, I volunteer to work overtime because I want to be on the mountain to see everything come together. Carson is on shift too, and we buzz all over the mountain on sleds making sure everything is ship-shape. The moment I finish my opening checklist on Glory Basin chair, a bubble of pride surges up through me. Seeing happy skiers load up for that first chair feels oddly surreal.

“It’s the Men in Black!” a kid calls out from the lift line as we climb down from the terminal.

“At your service,” Carson replies with a grin.

When we’re inside the transmitter building to complete our final check, I give him a look. “Men In Black?”

He stomps the snow off his boots, and it clicks—the lift mechanic’s winter uniform mainstay are these black insulated coverall suits. “Soak it in, bro. They love us.”

By the end of the day, after getting several thanks from cheerful guests, my smile practically cracks my face in two.

It’s not normal to be so excited about this, is it?

I get a text that night from Kirilee.

I hear opening day was a huge successthanks to you

Not just me. It was a team effort.

You itching to get on the slopes?

Our ski lesson is a week away, and hell yeah, I’m itching, but it’s not for skiing.

I’ve been working on my foreign accent

She sends a laughing emoji andCan’t wait!

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