Treacherous Slopes. Terri ReedЧитать онлайн книгу.
attention during the interview and she wouldn’t be so easily dismissed, she acquiesced and stepped back. “I’m looking forward to interviewing you later.”
His smile faltered. “No interviews.”
“Nick Walsh. What a kidder you are!” she quipped into the microphone, trying to salvage the live shot and keep it on a positive tone.
Staring at his retreating back, Julie pressed her lips together. The interview had been arranged. She’d been assured Nick would cooperate. Obviously he hadn’t been informed yet.
Gathering her composure, she plastered on a smile and turned back to the camera. “Exciting turn of events tonight at the Festival of Snow. But thankfully Nick Walsh is unharmed. I will be interviewing him later for a special segment of Northwest Edition. Stay tuned.”
Julie made a cut motion with her hand, indicating for Bob to cut the feed, then ducked through the tent flaps. Inside the clinic tent, welcome warmth seeped through her, making her limbs tingle. There were several screens lined up to cordon off makeshift exam rooms.
A woman seated behind a table glanced up. “Can I help you?”
“Nick Walsh.”
“Excuse us!” An elderly man elbowed his way past Julie. “My wife is having trouble breathing.”
The woman jumped up and came around the table to help the man with the pale older woman. “Let’s get you settled over here.”
She glanced distractedly at Julie and pointed toward the farthest screen.
“Your husband’s behind curtain number three.”
Julie drew back. “Oh, I’m—”
The woman turned her back, cutting Julie off as she led the older couple toward an exam table.
Julie hesitated for a moment, not comfortable letting the woman believe she was Nick’s wife, but seeing no opportunity to correct her, she walked away in search of Nick.
Voices raised in argument directed the way. She stopped just inside the screen barrier.
“I didn’t pass out,” Nick said, his voice raspy with irritation. He’d removed his goggles and helmet and sat on an exam table. Though he looked older than the last time she’d seen him in person, he was still handsome, even when pale and grouchy. “I had the wind knocked from me, that’s all.”
“Doesn’t matter,” the well-dressed man insisted. “You’re going to the local hospital for a head scan. The doctor agrees. He’s arranging it now.”
“I don’t need the hospital!”
“We already know he’s not right in the head,” said one of the skiers who’d helped him from the arena. He had blond hair badly in need of a trim and a scraggly beard that was so popular with guys under thirty.
“The scan will only prove it,” the other skier, who had light brown hair and brown eyes, joked.
“What are you two still doing in here?” the well-dressed man snapped. “Get out there and do your jumps. I can’t have all three of you out of the competition!”
Slipping past Julie with curious glances, the two skiers beat a hasty retreat.
Nick shrugged out of the top layer of his ski suit. A dark purple bruise covered his left arm starting below his elbow, spreading up his biceps and disappearing beneath his Dri-FIT T-shirt. Julie gasped at sight of his injury.
The big man in black, who had his back to her, swiveled and blocked her path.
Nick’s eyes widened. “No, it’s okay. Let Jules through.” Then a slow smile curved his mouth. “I never turn away a beautiful woman. Especially one in head-to-toe pink.”
Heat crept into her cheeks, but she refused to respond to his comment.
The well-dressed man moved closer to inspect Nick’s bruised skin. “Is your arm broken? Please tell me it’s not broken. You can’t compete with a broken arm!”
“No, it’s not broken,” Nick said, bending his arm on a wince. His gaze zeroed on his manager. “Gordon, you need to find the ski—” Nick flicked a quick glance at Julie. He seemed to hesitate a moment before saying, “Check the binding.”
“Is that what caused the ski to fall off, a faulty binding?” she asked.
Gordon stared at her for a moment as if just noticing her. “How did you get back here?”
“It’s been a long time, Jules,” Nick said, drawing her attention. He held his injured arm close to his body and looked as if he were about to topple over.
Concerned, she moved to sit next him so she could grab him if he pitched sideways. “Yes. Yes, it has.”
“You two know each other?” Gordon asked, his gaze bouncing between them.
“Yep. Grew up together.” Nick grinned.
She held out her hand to Gordon. “Julie Frost, Northwest Edition.”
Dawning realization widened Gordon’s hazel eyes. “Right.” He shook her hand. “Gordon Lewis, Nick’s manager. We spoke earlier.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Northwest Edition?” Nick asked. “As in the TV show?”
“I’ve been working there since college,” she said, which was technically true. She didn’t mention her official job title was production assistant. If all went well with the story on Nick, she’d be hosting her own segment by the end of the month.
“So Jules, how did you get back here?”
She grimaced guiltily as she answered Nick’s question. “The woman manning the table out there thought I was your wife.”
His eyebrows twitched. “Not that I wouldn’t mind, but you’re a reporter. I’d never date, let alone marry, a reporter.”
Bristling, she stared at him. “Excuse me?”
A doctor wearing a white lab coat over ski pants entered with a wheelchair. “Mr. Walsh, a transport will be here shortly to take you to St. Charles Memorial Medical Center.” He moved to inspect Nick’s arm. “Let’s get an X-ray of your arm,” the doctor said. “In the chair, please.”
Julie stepped back as Gordon and the doctor helped Nick into the wheelchair. The doctor rolled him out of the exam room, the big guy in black following closely behind. Julie figured he must be event security.
She turned to Gordon. “What will happen if there is a break in his arm or the CT scan shows a brain injury?”
“There would be no possibility of competing in the upcoming winter games.” Gordon ran a hand through his hair, clearly freaked out by Nick’s close call. “I can’t believe this is happening. We’re so close.”
“It’s been a hard year for Nick,” Julie stated quietly.
His weary gaze met hers. “For us all, Ms. Frost.”
“If Nick is knocked out of the running for a spot on the U.S. ski team, who do you think the committee would choose?”
Gordon shrugged. “There are thirteen skiers from the B and C teams ready and willing to step into his place on the A team, including the two skiers who were just here. And more behind them that would jump at the chance to be invited to join the U.S. ski team.”
Julie ached for Nick. She could only imagine how devastated he’d be if an injury this close to the games took him out of the competition.
“I take it you didn’t tell him about the interview,” she said, still smarting by Nick’s comment that he wouldn’t date or marry a reporter. Not that she wanted to date him—or marry him—but still...
Gordon winced. “I didn’t have time. But I