Part 20 (2/2)

I could hear her squeals of terror as she raced out of control. She was veering right, streaking toward the solid wall of pines. I tucked low, gaining incredible acceleration, realizing in a panic how deadly serious this had all become. If I didn't reach her soon, it would be too late even for me to turn away from the trees. We'd both die.

”Come on,” I screamed at myself. ”Fasteeer.” Wind roared in my ears. I could see the pines like grim death ahead, see Sylvia. Still time, still time. Careening downward, I raised my body slightly, ready to deliver the blow. I shot in beside her and threw my body forcefully into hers, knocked her off balance. She crashed instantly. I flipped too and went airborne, cartwheeling, spinning through the air, then hit, tumbling over and over, skis and arms and legs flying and spiraling down the slope.

Eventually, I slammed down on my chest-spun crazily to a stop. I couldn't breathe, the wind knocked completely out of me. I lifted my head, saw that all my limbs were still attached, and that I'd missed certain death by six, maybe seven feet. I couldn't see where Sylvia ended up.

Finally, I was able to suck in some air, then tried to move my arms and legs and felt no pain. Nothing appeared to be broken, though my neck hurt.

The men skied up. ”G.o.d almighty,” said Trevor.

I pushed myself to a sitting position and saw that Sylvia was a few yards down from me, not moving. ”Sylvia, are you okay?”

She still didn't move, but a small shaking voice issued from the snow. ”Yes, my lip is bleeding, but I think I'm okay.”

”We need to get the Ski Patrol,” said Trevor.

”No,” Sylvia said weakly. ”I'm okay. Just let me lay here for a minute. Nothing hurts. Just my lip.”

Eventually, Trevor and Bob helped each of us up. Sylvia clutched at the two men, her body shaking.

Someone who'd watched it all from the chair must have called for the Ski Patrol, because they showed up with a sled. Though Sylvia protested, she let them tuck her safely inside and tow her down the mountain to the Ski Patrol shack where they checked her for injuries.

They put a small bandage on her b.l.o.o.d.y lip, and when she insisted again and again that she was okay, they let her leave, warning that it might be prudent to make a stop at the hospital-just to be sure.

I didn't mention my own neck, though I knew it would be really sore by tomorrow.

Despite everything that had happened, Sylvia insisted that we hit the bar, promising not to drink anything stronger than a c.o.ke with a lime.

”I can hold the cold gla.s.s against my lip,” she said, ”bring down the swelling.”

Trevor walked beside me as we entered the bar, already filled with skiers celebrating the day's good weather and skiing. ”G.o.d, Gwyn,” he said quietly. ”You saved her life.”

”Don't remind me.”

He laughed. ”You really don't like her, do you?”

I shrugged, then stopped to rub my neck, pus.h.i.+ng my fingers into the soreness.

”Here, let me do that,” he said, but removed his hand once we caught up to Sylvia and Bob.

There was no place to sit, except for one seat at the bar. Sylvia took that spot. I stood by while the men ordered drinks, then excused myself and shouldered through the crowd to the john. I combed my hair and washed my hands, wondering how I was going to make it through another day of Sylvia.

As I approached Bob and Sylvia-Trevor was farther off securing a table from a group that was leaving-I overheard Sylvia's harsh accusing words. ”From now on I'll make sure I have a real instructor, someone who won't get me killed.” I shrank back, hoping they wouldn't see how close I'd been. In any other situation, I would have given it right back at her, saying, ”I didn't volunteer to teach you, Sylvia.” Or nastier, ”Even a real instructor would give up on you-b.i.t.c.h.”

I bypa.s.sed the two and walked over to Trevor. He smiled and handed me the gla.s.s of wine I'd requested. Maybe when the weekend was over I'd let him know what an ungrateful a.s.s Sylvia had turned out to be.

Bob and Sylvia joined us at the table. I was the only one seated, and as I looked back over my shoulder I saw Sylvia whisper something into Trevor's ear. He saw me watching, frowned and pulled his head away.

He sat down next to me, and Sylvia followed him, anchoring herself between Trevor and Bob at the small round table. She leaned forward and stole a glance at me, a tiny smile forming. ”I'll take your advice next time, Gwyn, and hire an instructor. I shouldn't have placed all that responsibility on you.”

Was it an insult or an apology? I wasn't sure. Maybe she did know I'd heard the callous remark. ”It's okay. Everybody's fine and it was a great day.”

She held her gla.s.s to her lip, then withdrew it. ”Yes, and we have one more day to look forward to.”

I didn't like it that Sylvia was sitting next to Trevor. Her hand, the one at Trevor's side, was hidden beneath the table, and I could only guess what she might try doing with it. I suddenly wanted to grab her by the hair and swing her-Tarzan style-up and into the rafters of the bar.

”You're planning to ski tomorrow?” Bob asked Sylvia.

”Of course. All I have is a small cut on my lip, though it does hurt a little to smile.” At that, she grinned at Trevor.

I held my empty winegla.s.s toward him. ”Could you get me another, honey?”

”Sure. The merlot?”

”Yes.”

”Anybody else ready?”

Bob shook his head, siting the two beers in front of him on the table. But Sylvia nodded yes.

As soon as Trevor stepped up to the bar, I scooted over, taking his seat, eliminating any further funny business under the table. I leaned in toward Sylvia and Bob. ”It's really hard to hear in here,” I said. ”Have you two decided where you'd like to ski tomorrow?”

”Well, I always love Snowma.s.s,” said Bob, ”though we'd have to rent a car or else take the shuttle bus.”

”Yes, Snowma.s.s,” said Sylvia, turning her face from me and placing the gla.s.s to her lip again. ”I hate Aspen Mountain.”

That evening we again met at Sylvia's condo, and because she had enjoyed it so much the night before, we repeated dinner at The Silver Strike. After the meal and a quick stop at the Red Onion and The Little Nell, we strolled through town, the four of us walking arm-in-arm at Sylvia's insistence. Always, she managed to place Trevor on one side of her or the other.

Finally, I'd had enough.

”Let's go,” I said, pulling Trevor aside as we stood before one of the storefronts, admiring ten gallon Stetson hats and impressive leather saddles. ”I'm tired.”

”It's not late,” he said. ”It's only ten.”

”Please, Trevor.” I gave him a look he couldn't fail to understand.

”Okay.” He walked forward and put his hands on the shoulders of Bob and Sylvia. ”I've got to call it a day, you two. You wore me out.”

”Oh-h,” Sylvia cooed at him. ”It's so early. At least come back to the condo for a while.”

”No, can't do it. I'm a sleepy boy.”

I smiled at them both. ”Well, thanks again.”

”Okay,” said Sylvia, ”then we'll all go back.”

I quickly wrapped my arm around Trevor's waist and urged him forward before Sylvia could pull the four of us together again.

<script>