Page 5 of Going Down

“I’ve seen you out here for ski school.”

Dash chaws on some gum. “Makin’ em fast and fierce. The little ones are cute. The big ones—like our patient—could do with a refresher course.”

It strikes me. “This is the first time you’ve said something negative.”

“You can’t encourage people with a lousy attitude.” Dash unstraps his goofy foot and I slide my ski back, pushing against the snowy ground like I’m skating. We have a few hundred yards until we’re back inside the building. He crinkles his nose. We’re both hoping the place is smelling better, which is funny to me now that I’ve had lunch with Dash while he devours one of those pungent meals.

“Come to my place for dinner?” he asks before we get too close.

“Are you always this forward?”

“Life’s too short to beat around the bush. I like you, Kat. I had fun today and it was sort of what I expected.”

“Expected?”

“Yeah, when Chip called to ask if I’d cover, I jumped at it.”

“What kind of line is that?” I giggle.

“A damned good one if it gets you to consider extending your time with me. I’d like to hang for a few hours more if you’re into it.”

I snort, tossing out a throw-back phrase from my parent’s generation. “Netflix and chill?”

“Nah. I have a hard and fast rule that I don’t fuck people I’ve just met.” His light brow raises and I begin to wonder what besides dinner is on the menu for the night.

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3

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There is no such thing as an ordinary cat

Dash loads my gear into the back of a big navy truck with a matte bedcover. The dual rear wheels remind me of something a man who is trying to overcompensate drives and the metallic paint glints off the parking lot lights, sparkling against the fresh-fallen snow and the deep opaque blue of the misty winter night sky.

Less than three-quarters of a mile down the road, we turn into a field. Snow is piled up on both sides of the truck and the tires crunch over the fresh flakes covering the packed ice underneath. I bounce in the passenger seat. In the darkness, the faint profile of a small trailer comes into view. Someone’s taken the time to shovel around the wheels, clearing a large rectangle to park.

“Is this one of those tiny houses?” My nose scrunches up and my cheeks bunch. It’s the most adorable little structure I’ve ever seen. When Dash offered to make me dinner, I thought he might live in a rickety old farmhouse that’s been broken up into apartments the way so many others around here do. This is so. Him.

“Yup.” He pops the ‘p’. “I haul it behind the truck so I can work at a different resort each season.”

Now the testosterone truck makes a ton of sense. Anything else wouldn’t have enough towing power to move the house.

“Where do you take it? There’s no place in the northern hemisphere with substantial snow during the summer.”

“It’s stored on my family’s ranch near Houston.”

“You drive thousands of miles? With this thing?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yeah, why not? It is a mobile home.”

“I don’t know. It seems like something might break.” Images fill my brain of Lucille Ball stumbling in the back of a Streamline while Desi drives up front, unaware of the chaos.

“Everything outside gets broken up and the stuff inside gets tied down. It’s not any different than driving with a fifth wheel. I do have a damaged cabinet that flew open in transit. My cousin is coming to fix it.”

“Are you from Texas?” The drawl I heard slope-side all of a sudden makes sense. I hadn’t been able to place it before.

“Originally. My momma said she named me right because as soon as I could crawl I took off and didn’t look back.”

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