The Longest Run: a Ski Patrol Rescue Romance

The soaring beauty of the Big Sky Ski Resort in Montana helps Carly Lawson forget the terrible mistake she made ten years ago—a secret she’s vowed to carry alone. Each winter brings a new lover, and each spring the end of that relationship—and that’s the way she likes it. But the new guy on the slopes is different—and not just because he’s a paraplegic.

Chris was going too fast, and he knew it.

It had taken him hundreds of hours in a simulator to learn—or re-learn depending on how you looked at it—to ski as a paraplegic. Since arriving at Big Sky a few days ago, he’d focused exclusively on running the race course.

Now he realized that focus had left out a critical element of everyday skiing. One he’d expected to have no problem with. Namely: fresh powder snow.

This powder-covered run was nothing like the packed snow of a race course. The uneven and unpredictable pressure of the chopped-up snow was pushing his muscles—already tired from a hard training session yesterday—to the limit.

He shifted his weight back, allowing the monoski’s single tip to protrude from the powder on the turns.

Too much!

The edge of his monoski plowed into an unyielding pile of snow and yanked his body sideways. His arms flailed and he landed in the powder with a soft oomph.

He lay still, taking inventory of his body parts and giving his heart rate time to slow down. Everything was working, and he didn’t feel any major pain. The monoski was still attached to the base of his chair (thank God for small favors) but one of his arm outriggers was uphill from him.

Damn. I used to eat powder for breakfast!

He rolled himself over and peered downslope through the snow plastered to the top of his goggles. Taylor was just pulling up on the ridge below him; Chris would have to retrieve the outrigger—the ski ‘stem’ that strapped to his wrist and gave him the ability to steer—himself.

He gave Taylor the Okay sign, then started dragging himself uphill.

He’d just about reached the outrigger when a pair of skis appeared above him. “You okay?” The voice was undeniably female.

“I’m fine.” He grabbed the outrigger as she came to a stop a couple feet away from him.

“Can I help?” she said.

He glanced at her; she wore the distinctive red-and-black of the Big Sky ski patrol.

Great, the cavalry has arrived.

“I don’t need help,” he growled. He yanked the strap of his outrigger open and slapped it around his wrist, already regretting his tone of voice.

When she didn’t immediately respond, he chanced a glance at her name tag. Carly.

She propped her goggles on her helmet, drawing his gaze to her face. Her dark-brown eyes demanded his attention. She didn’t look away, as many people did when faced with a disabled skier; in fact, she looked…
Amused?

He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or annoyed, so he focused on getting himself upright. He’d done it hundreds of times, so it didn’t take long.

She didn’t move.

“I’m good.” He tried to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. “You can move on.”

“No worries,” she said. “I’ll head down in a bit.”

She meant to stand and watch him, then. As if he’d take another tumble. His annoyance surged.

Fine.

He gripped the outriggers firmly and pushed off.

He felt her gaze the rest of the way down the hill.