Page 17 of Against All Odds

Then I leaned close to adjust her ski goggles. “And,Bambi, there’s no one here but you and me. No one’s gonna see anything.”

Sable looked around and, finally, noticed that we were indeed alone.

“How come there’s no one here?”

“I’m the general manager of this resort. I can arrange for a private bunny hill for us.”

“Charmingly arrogant,” she quipped.

She sighed but shuffled forward until the tips of her skis hit the snow. Her whole body went rigid. I reached over to adjust her stance, holding her steady by the arms.

“Relax,” I instructed gently. “Bend your knees a little. Lean into the skis. If you stay stiff like that, you’re just going to fall over.”

“That’s reassuring,” she muttered but did as I asked.

“Good.” I stepped back. “Now, just let gravity do the work. No sudden movements, no overthinking. Just feel the snow under you.”

She gave me a side-eye but started sliding forward. It was slow at first, more of a wobble than a glide, but then she picked up a little speed.

“I’m moving!” she called back, excited.

“You’re skiing!” I called, jogging alongside her.

Her smile grew, and her body relaxed as she picked up the rhythm…until her skis crossed. She let out a yelp, flailing her arms as gravity, indeed, took over, and the next thing I knew, she was face-first in the snow.

“Okay, that wasn’t great.” The snow muffled her voice.

I knelt beside her.

“You okay, Bambi?”

She lifted her face and grimaced. I couldn’t help but smile because even tumbling down a bunny hill, Sable Nees did it with style, and looked fucking gorgeous with snow on her face.

“That sucked.”

“That was a solid first run. You didn’t hit a tourist, so I’d call that a win.”

She rolled onto her back and glared up at me. “There are no tourists here.”

“Exactly.” I extended a hand to her. “Now, let’s get you back in the saddle.”

“Let’s not.” She let me pull her up. “I’m allergic to horses.”

I smiled. “I’ll pump you full of antihistamines before getting you on one. We have a stable at the resort for the summer tourists.”

She looked up at me, her cheeks pink from the cold—or maybe the fall—and for a moment, I forgot where we were. It was just her, standing in front of me, looking braver and more beautiful than she had any right to after face-planting in the snow.

“Isn’t this boring for you?” she asked sullenly.

“What is?”

“Teaching a grown woman how to ski?”

“When the woman is as beautiful as you, darlin’, it’s not a hardship,” I replied as we made our way back toward the start of the hill. “This isreallythe first time you’reskiing?”

She lived in Aspen, and I couldn’t imagine her not having tried the slopes ever before.

She chuckled. “We didn’t exactly have the budget for skiing. Woody Creek trailer park doesn’t come with lift passes.”

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