Authors: Darah Lace
He held out his hands palm up and shook his
head. “Once she gets started, I can’t stop her.
Nobody can. She doesn’t mean any harm. She’s just
brutally honest and believes everyone else is. Or
should be with those they care about. And I’ve
already told you to tell him the truth. He has a right
to know. Besides, I’m getting tired of being on the
receiving end of his bad side.”
“And why do you think she did this?” she heard
Marcus ask as the two drew near.
She held her breath, waiting for Robyn’s answer,
certain the bubbly woman had run out of
information to ruin her with. What else could she
possibly know?
“Oh, my, I don’t know. Ask her. She’s the one
with the psych degree. Two, or is it three of them?”
“Please, no,” Charlotte whispered, drawing
Grant’s questioning gaze.
“But then you already know that.” Robyn’s
excitement increased, as did her rambling. “I’ll bet
you have big plans to celebrate her turning in her
dissertation. We’ll have to order champagne at
lunch. It’s not every day someone you love becomes a
doctor.”
Charlotte closed her eyes and hung her head,
the fight completely sucked out of her. Except maybe
for the small part of her that wanted to kill Grant’s
fiancée. In one breath she had single-handedly
dispensed with most, if not all, of Marcus’s
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misconceptions. She’d known he would find out
sooner or later, especially after she opened her
practice, but she’d hoped to have miles between
them when he did. As for her pact with Grant...
Geez, how was she going to explain that?
“Dr. Reese, I presume?” Marcus’s deep voice
startled her out of her contemplation of murder. His
dark speculative eyes stared into hers, as if trying to
read her thoughts.
She searched for a lifeline, but Grant had finally
harnessed Robyn and led her across the room. A
little too late as far as Charlotte was concerned. “Not
until May. Contrary to reports, I haven’t finished
writing my thesis.”
“And after that?”
“I’ll be working at the hospital for a while.”
“With kids like Amy.”
It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway.
Why deny it? “Yes.”
“What about your agreement with Wylie? Were
you lovers or not?”
So he wasn’t entirely sold on Robyn’s story.
Maybe she could salvage something. She flattened
her palms on his chest and leaned into him. In a
breathy whisper, she asked, “What do you think?”
“Charlotte.” Unlike Grant’s warning, his came
with a blistering gleam of impatience.
Okay, so that didn’t work. She stepped back,
folded her arms across her chest and tilted a
stubborn glare at him. “It’s really none of your
business.”
He mimicked her stance. “So, did Wylie
fabricate the story to keep his fiancée from getting
jealous?”
Charlotte wanted to let him believe that, but
Grant had proven a friend to her and deserved
better than to get caught up in another one of her
illusions. “No, it’s all true. Grant couldn’t get a
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handle on English Lit.”
“And you needed a cover. Why?”
“We’ve gone over this.” She started to turn
away, but he grasped her arm.
“Why?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation.” She called to
Robyn. The woman was good for something if only a
diversion. “Come help me decide which swimsuit to
wear for the hot tub shots.”
Marcus released her as the pretty redhead
hurried toward them, but his frown threatened
retribution. “We’ll finish this later.”
“That’s what Grant and I were just discussing,”
Robyn said.
Charlotte lifted a brow. “Swimsuits?”
“No, silly. We were talking about later. This
afternoon.” She turned to Grant who had followed
her. “Tell them.”
“Robyn arranged an outing after the ski lodge
promo.”
Marcus shook his head. “We’re not free.”
The woman’s face crumbled. “Oh.”
Charlotte wanted to object to his assumption
that he could speak on her behalf, but she let it go.
She’d been about to decline herself, having no wish
to spend any more stress-filled time with the Little
Miss Chatterbox. No telling what else Grant had
confessed.
“I’m sorry.” Marcus pinned Charlotte with a
determined gaze. “We have business to attend to.”
On the other hand, when faced with the
alternative
to
spending
an
afternoon
being
interrogated by Marcus, Charlotte decided maybe
Robyn wasn’t so bad after all and did the only thing
she could. She wound her arms around his waist and
gave him her best pout. “I know I promised, but we
can do
that
anytime. Who knows when we’ll ever see
Grant and Robyn again.”
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Robyn seemed to take her cue from Charlotte.
She latched onto Marcus’s arm and tugged. “Please
say yes. Whatever it is you and Charlotte were going
to do can’t be nearly as fun as what I’ve planned.”
A deep scarlet crept up Marcus’s neck and face,
and Grant coughed to cover his laughter. “Well, I
guess—”
Robyn launched herself at Marcus. “Thank you
so much.” Like a whirlwind she released him and
turned to Charlotte. “Chad told us you spend time in
Vail every year so we’ve been dying to show you
what Aspen has to offer.”
“Oh? You have a shopping spree planned?”
The annoying little redhead laughed. “No, silly.
We want to show you the slopes.”
Where Marcus’s face had suffused with color
moments ago, Charlotte was certain hers was now
bleached white. “Skiing? You want to go skiing?”
“Isn’t that what one does at a ski resort?”
Robyn’s voice echoed around Charlotte as if from
the bottom of a well. Her palms grew clammy. Yes,
she’d been to Vail every year since she turned
fifteen. And yes, she’d learned to ski. But she’d never
been higher than the bunny slope because of her
inexplicable fear of heights. The one time she tried,
she’d ended up jumping out of the lift before it got
five feet off the ground. She’d stuck with the towline
after that.
Marcus touched her arm. “Are you okay?”
Staring up at him, Charlotte considered her
options. Risk Marcus’s interrogation or certain death
on a mountain?
She forced a smile and turned to Robyn, “Show
me the mountain.”
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“Ohmigosh, I thought the two of you were going
to spontaneously combust this morning.”
Charlotte gripped the arm of the chairlift, her
teeth clenched, every muscle in her body tight. Not
because of Robyn’s continued personal observations.
She’d gotten used to the woman’s perky chatter. It
kept her mind off more important matters. Like how
the hell she was going to get down this mountain.
She had manipulated the seating arrangement
for the ride up, stressing her desire to get to know
Robyn better. Mostly to avoid Marcus and his
questions, which she’d succeeded in doing regardless
of his attempts to get her alone, but also to prevent
him from discovering her phobia of heights. He had
learned too much about her already.
Purposely dropping her ski pole prior to liftoff
hadn’t gained her the excuse to stay behind either.
But a pair of eager teenagers dressed in neon orange
had cut when Marcus stepped out of line to retrieve
it, which put him and Grant two chairs back instead
of right behind her. At least she would have a
moment to compose herself before he arrived.
Robyn released a dreamy sigh. “It’s so romantic.
The way he looks at you—like he could eat you up.”
Like a certain ice cream sundae
. “Like Grant
doesn’t worship the ground you walk on,” Charlotte
said, bracing herself as they bounced through the
last pulley connection.
“But yours is such a fairy tale romance.
Announcing your feelings for each other in such a
public way, bidding on Marcus to keep him from
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another woman’s clutches. And he’s so clearly in love
with you.”
Her heart skipped several beats then pounded
faster. Her stomach flipped right side up and back
again. For a moment Robyn’s words made Charlotte
forget where she was, that her feet dangled over fifty
feet in the air as they neared the drop-off point at
the top.
Then common sense returned, jerking the reins
on any runaway notion that Marcus could love her.
They’d played their part as lovers well. Apparently,
too well. Even she was getting confused. The sooner
they ended this farce the better.
“End of the line,” Robyn announced, reminding
her that “sooner” meant
after
she dealt with her
current predicament.
Forced to let go of the chair, Charlotte managed
to stay upright as her skis hit the slippery ice-
packed ground. In awkward sideways steps she
maneuvered a safe distance away to the softer,
fresher snow and sucked in a calming breath.
“They’re almost here,” Robyn said, beside her. “I
can’t wait to hit the slope today. All that fresh
powder we got last night. You’re gonna love...”
Robyn’s mouth kept moving, but Charlotte
couldn’t hear anything for the growing roar of an
engine. A snowmobile with a bright red cross on the
side careened to a stop on the other side of the tiny
building that the lift cable wrapped around. The
driver, a broad shouldered, blond, in a red parka
with EMT on the sleeve, killed the motor and lifted
his goggles, revealing white raccoon-eyes on a
sunburned face. His interested gaze swept her from
head to toe before settling on her face. He flashed a
grin and dismounted.
Her spirits lifted as she smiled back, pleased she
still had on the powder blue bib and matching
sweater she’d worn for the ski lodge promo. They
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were skin tight and emphasized her eyes. If she
played her cards right, this Nordic god would be the
answer to her prayers. And her way down this
mountain.
A quick glance at Robyn showed her occupied
with a buckle on her ski boot. Turning back to the
lift, Charlotte saw the brightly dressed teenagers
bobbing in their chair like a caution light on a windy
day as they approached all too quickly. Marcus and
Grant not far behind.
Without hesitation, she used her poles and the
vaguely remembered leg action to slowly glide
toward the rescue vehicle and its rider. She was a bit
rusty, but like riding a bike, she would soon regain
her confidence as well as her balance.
Until she looked over the edge of that first slope.
Then both would desert her.
Just a peek in that direction and thinking about
the sheer drop off she would face on this expert run
made her head spin and her knees weaken, causing
her to wobble when she stopped in front of the
snowmobile. Not the most graceful of maneuvers,
but it lent credence to the excuse she intended to use
to enlist the medic’s aid.
“Whoa there,” he said, reaching for her.
“Sorry,” she said, grasping his arm. He was
probably used to women falling all over him—
physically and metaphorically. But he seemed to
enjoy the contact. Maybe a little too much. She let go
and pushed the hair from her face. “I’m so glad
you’re here.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Yes.” She squeezed one eye shut and read the
name embroidered on his coat. “Blake, is it? I lost a
contact on the way up and everything is a blur.” The
only blur she saw was one of orangey-yellow as the
young couple whizzed past, increasing her urgency
for escape. “I’ll never make it down in one piece.”
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He gave her another once over. “We wouldn’t
want such lovely pieces rearranged.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and
instead released a genuine sigh of relief. If they