The Right Mr. Wrong. Cindi MyersЧитать онлайн книгу.
the top of Silver Queen, they headed into Paradise Bowl and up the North Face lift. They found the two snowboarders in a deep gully a few hundred yards beyond the ropes closing off the popular Spellbound Glades, an area of double-black runs that usually didn’t open until the snowpack had built up later in the season.
One of the boarders, wearing a bright green stocking cap, was hung up on a snag, trying to wrench his board free, while his friend, in a camouflage snowboarding suit, stood downslope, shouting at him to hurry.
“Having trouble?” Maddie asked as she and Andrea stopped above the two.
Green cap scowled up at her. “I’m okay,” he muttered, and went back to working his board loose.
“You guys are in a closed area,” Andrea said.
“We are?” Red Jacket’s innocent look might have been practiced in a mirror for just such an occasion. “We thought we might have gotten off the trail, but we weren’t sure.” He grinned. “Sorry.”
“Dude, we saw your tracks where you slid under the ropes,” Maddie said. “Right next to a sign that said closed.”
“What’s the big deal?” Green Hat asked, his board free at last. “We’re not hurting anybody.”
“Not yet,” Andrea said. “But this area is closed for a reason. You could trigger an avalanche.”
“Yeah, and then we have to go to all the trouble of digging out your bodies,” Maddie said. “We hate that.”
“We hate that,” Red Jacket mimicked.
Maddie looked at Andrea. “I think these two just lost their passes,” she said.
“There’s also the fine,” Andrea added. “Up to one thousand dollars.”
“You have to catch us first,” Green Hat said, and took off down the slope.
“Yep, they’re getting the fine, too,” Maddie said. But as she stared down the rocky, vertical slope, she felt a little queasy.
It wasn’t any steeper than anything she’d skied as a racer, but merely looking at it made her palms sweat and her heart race. It was strange how only certain runs and situations—such as this one—brought back the horror of her accident. She’d hoped being on patrol, skiing every day and confronting terrain like this would help her get over her fear, but so far this cure wasn’t working.
“We don’t have to chase them,” Andrea said.
“We don’t?” Maddie thought she did a good job of hiding her relief.
Andrea shook her head. “Nah. This funnels down to the top of the East River lift. We’ll radio for someone to meet them there.” She unclipped her radio from her pack and gave the description of the two boarders, requesting someone hold them at the top of East River. Then she and Maddie shouldered their skis and hiked up out of the closed area.
Maddie wished she had a camera when, twenty minutes later, Red Jacket and Green Hat looked up from their conversation with patrollers Eric and Marcie to see Andrea and Maddie coming toward them.
“Hello, guys.” Andrea smiled. “Looks like we caught up with you after all.” Before the men could say anything, each patroller had pulled out a pair of scissors and snipped off the boarders’ passes. “You can either come with us quietly and fill out the paperwork,” Andrea said. “Or we’ll call the police and have you arrested.”
“Arrested for what?” Green Hat asked.
“Trespassing on private property and violating the Colorado Ski Safety Act, for a start.” Maddie glanced at Andrea. “I’m sure we can come up with a few other things if you don’t think that’s enough.”
The two boarders exchanged looks, shoulders slumped, then admitted defeat. They waited quietly while Eric started up a snowmobile to take them off the mountain.
Once the two boarders were taken care of, it was after three-thirty and the lifts were beginning to shut down. Andrea and Maddie joined the other patrollers in sweeping the mountain—skiing each trail to make sure there were no stranded skiers or riders. It was Maddie’s favorite time of day, when she skied the mostly deserted runs, alone with her thoughts and the feeling of freedom soaring over the snow always gave her. For that brief period she wasn’t a poorly paid, overworked ski patroller, but an elite athlete who still had the potential for greatness.
By the time Maddie dragged into the locker room, it was after five. She was pleasantly tired, and feeling better about the start of her second week as a patroller. It wasn’t her dream job, but it was skiing, and that made it worth something. She sat to take off her ski boots and Andrea slid down the bench to rest beside her.
“There’s a party at the Eldo tonight,” she said. “You going?”
“What is the Eldo?” Maddie asked.
“It’s a place downtown, on Elk Avenue. Everybody hangs out there.”
Maddie shook her head. “I’m not really in the partying mood.”
“Come on,” Andrea pleaded. “Are you just going to hang out at the condo by yourself and brood?”
“I’m not going to brood.” But if Maddie were completely honest, that was probably exactly what she’d do.
“You need to get out and meet people,” Andrea said. “And there are a lot of good-looking guys in this town. Some of them are even worth knowing.”
Guys like Hagan Ansdar? Maddie dismissed the thought. She already knew all she needed to know about Hagan. He was a playboy who took his good looks and athleticism as his due—as if he were somehow immune from mere human frailties that plagued those around him.
“Come on,” Andrea said again. “If you don’t like it, you can always take the bus back up to the mountain.”
Maddie couldn’t argue with that reasoning, so ended up seated next to Andrea on the free shuttle bus headed down to the town of Crested Butte, which sat in a little valley a few miles below the ski resort. The main street, Elk Avenue, was lined with restored Victorian buildings and newer buildings made to look old, most painted in bright colors. Light from streetlamps and storefronts spilled across the mounds of snow that lined the sidewalks. Noisy groups of tourists and locals alike navigated the slippery walks and crowded into the restaurants, shops and bars.
The Eldo occupied the second story of a building near the end of the street. The outdoor balcony was already crowded with revelers who greeted newcomers with shouts and whistles. Maddie followed Andrea up the stairs and through the glass-front doors, into the throbbing pulse of music on the jukebox, the crack of pool balls and the low roar of conversation. How many such bars had she been in, all over the globe, with her fellow skiers? This one felt no different, right down to the woman on crutches in the corner, the guy in the knee brace by the bar and the assortment of outlandish knit hats worn by the patrons. This was her world, what she knew. And this feeling of belonging, of recognizing the social landscape, was part of the reason she’d settled for such a menial job as patrolling.
As she and Andrea squeezed past the crowded bar, Maddie waved to a few familiar faces. After only ten days in town she was getting to know people, though more of them recognized her thanks to her brief flirtation with fame. Not for the first time she wished that photographer from Sports Illustrated had never snapped the shot of her and two of her teammates posed with their skis and a collection of medals. America’s skiing sweethearts, the caption had read, and the article inside had described them as the United States’s top medal hopes for the 2006 Olympics.
But instead of standing on an Olympic podium, Maddie had watched the games from a hospital bed, alternately weeping and cursing her fate.
She shook off the memory and followed Andrea to a long line of tables pushed together and crowded with Eric, Scott and other patrollers. Hagan was seated a few chairs down from her, with a couple of snowboarders Andrea introduced as Max and Zephyr.