Page 103 of Even After This
I shake my head. “And this is how you show your devotion? By hurling me off of a mountaintop?”
“It’s my family tradition. When I was eleven, my dad took my brother and me skiing on December twenty-third to keep the peace. The twenty-fourth is our official Christmas celebration, and Mom asked Dad to take her two rowdy boys away to save her sanity.” He shrugs. “We’ve been doing it ever since.”
I scrunch up my nose.
“But I brought you something that I think will help.” Out of his pocket, he removes two safety pins and an unlined, square piece of yellow paper covered in black block letters.
As he holds up the note for me, I read it out loud. “My name is Meredith Harper. If I get lost, please return me to Harlan Holcombe or anyone in the Holcombe family. Their phone number is 555-4367. If you cannot track them down, please take me to the Ski Hill Grill at the base of Peak 8 and buy me a cup of hot chocolate. I will wait for the Holcombes, who will come to claim me at the end of the day.”
A warmth starts in my core and spreads to my limbs. The message reads as if I’m a member of Harlan’s family.
Could I find my purpose here?
Harlan holds one safety pin between his lips while poking the other through the paper. “One of your concerns is getting lost alone on the trails. If we get separated, you have a reminder about where you belong.” He opens my puffy pink ski jacket and starts to attach the note to the inside lining.
“What if an axe murderer is hanging out on the slopes waitingfor people like me who don’t know what they’re doing?” I blink in earnest.
His gaze darts to mine, and he grins through the metal fastener. “Sweetheart, if that’s the case, then I will miss you.”
As he leans in to kiss me, I quickly draw back. “Watch the sharp object, mister. Maybe instead of an axe murderer, you’re the one I should worry about.”
Harlan pulls the safety pin out of his mouth and grabs my shoulders. “If an axe murderer gets you on the mountain, I will do everything in my power to turn your story into an above-average made-for-TV movie.”
I squint. “Will you play yourself?”
He offers a mocking solemn nod. “If that would make you happy.”
“Who will be cast as me?” I jut my chin out and use a weighty tone. “Because it has to be someone good.”
He fastens the remaining pin to the bottom of the paper to secure it to my coat. “Are you playing the game where you get pretend mad so you don’t have to go skiing?”
I feign shock while I jerk my head back. “Can’t you grant a woman her dying wish?”
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Okay, I will work on getting Emily Blunt. TV movies aren’t her normal gig, but when she learns the circumstances behind your unfortunate death, I think she’ll be on board.” His gaze turns to my zipper, and he runs the slider through the teeth, up over my sweater.
Dear Lord. I’m dating someone who knows Emily Blunt.
I stretch my neck to give him access to the two snaps at the top of my ski coat. “Thank you for honoring my memory. It means a lot to me.”
“Uh-huh.” While placing his hands over mine, he leans in and brushes his lips to my cheek. “Now, let’s load up the Jeep.” He pries my left hand off the counter edge, draws it up, and kisses the palm. “We’re going to meet my family.” He peels my righthand off the ledge and repeats his sweet affection. “And we’re taking the first step to jump-start your professional ski career.” The final peck is to my forehead, where he leaves his lips when he says, “Sans serial killers.”
Sleeping the ninety-minute drive to Breckenridge did nothing for my hair. As Harlan and I maneuver through the village at the bottom of the mountain, I wrangle in the strays, tucking them under my knit hat. Because of my glove-clad hands, I’m not sure this hairdo is much better. Just as I yank my hat off, my hair defying gravity in the power of static electricity, Harlan homes in on a group of people standing under the awning of a ski rental store.
Harlan, his mom, and his brother William own equal parts of the vast and successful Holcombe ranch. William and his wife run the family business. When the man in the group turns around and grins, it’s clear he’s a Holcombe.
Oh my word. The genes in this family.
For a split second, I debate whether Harlan’s sibling should have been the one to go into show business. Instead of dark hair, his is a fabulous mix of blond, brown, and a few distinguishing strands of gray. His deep-hued brown eyes match the set that I enjoy getting lost in. William’s frame is as tall as Harlan’s but leaner.
“Hey, big brother,” he says.
“William.” Harlan’s grin lights up, and he clutches his brother in one of those manly pat-on-the-back-that-could-knock-over-an-ox hugs. He turns to me. “Meredith, this is William.”
“Ma’am.” William shakes my hand. “Mama’s upset she won’t make your acquaintance today, Meredith. But when you taste her chocolate cream pie, you’ll understand why she never comes to the mountain.” He shifts to the woman behind him, tucks her under his arm, and shoots a proud grin to me. “This is my elementary school sweetheart, Gracie.”
Gracie is a little shorter than I am, and her stout frame speaks of country living. The sparse makeup and brown bob haircut outline her heart-shaped face in a flattering manner. But as I study Harlan’s sister-in-law, I wonder why her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
After patting down my flyaway hair, I offer a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”
