The Right Mr. Wrong. Cindi Myers

been part of an insular group who’d descend upon a resort en masse. They’d be the ones shoving the tables together and mostly hanging with each other before heading to the next race venue. It had been many years since she’d stayed in one place long enough to really get to know people, and she still wasn’t sure how to respond to the friendliness almost everyone in town had shown her. She wanted to return their warmth, of course, but she didn’t want to come across as overeager and needy.

      After years as a skiing nomad, she was out of practice making new friends. It didn’t help that she had no idea how long she’d stay in Crested Butte. Unable to imagine a winter away from skiing, she’d taken the patroller’s job as a stopgap—something to do until she figured out where to go next. Ever since her injury her life had been plagued by uncertainty and the feeling that everything she did was temporary. She was on edge, waiting for something, but she had no idea what that something would be.

      Maybe the next thing to do was to go with the flow. Get to know these people. It couldn’t hurt, and it might help her to feel less alone. Less isolated by her private misery.

      She studied the dreadlocked blonde next to Hagan. “Zephyr?” she repeated, not sure she’d heard the name correctly.

      “Yeah. I’m a rock guitarist.” He pantomimed playing a guitar.

      “Cool.” Maybe he was famous and she didn’t know it. She’d slept, breathed, thought and lived nothing but skiing for the previous ten years, so she was a little behind on pop culture.

      “Right now I’m taking a break from music to pursue fame as a snowboarder,” Zephyr continued. “I’m entering the Free Skiing competition next month.”

      The Free Skiing competition was the biggest event in the country, with the serious daredevils of skiing and snowboarding competing. All the big names in alternative winter sports would be there. “Have you ever competed before?” she asked.

      “No. I’m not really the competitive kind.” Zephyr grinned. “But I’m good.”

      “He is.” The man next to him, a muscular guy named Max, said. “He’s also crazy.”

      “It helps to be crazy to compete.” She took a long drink, not really tasting the beer. What else but insanity drove a person to do things like race at top speed down steep, icy mountains or jump off cliffs into canyons of snow? There was no greater adrenaline rush. She wondered if she’d ever stop missing that feeling.

      “I think you ought to be committed.” A woman who could have been Jennifer Anniston’s double frowned at Zephyr, who sat across from her at the table. “Aren’t you afraid, doing all those crazy stunts?”

      “No. I know I can do it.”

      “You should be afraid,” Maddie said. “In racing we had a saying—it’s not if you get hurt, it’s when.”

      He shrugged. “I refuse to think about it,” he said. “It’s a Zen thing.”

      “Zen is drinking a nice cup of tea at my coffee shop and listening to Indian flute music,” the woman said. “Zen is not hucking your body off of cliffs on a snowboard.”

      Zephyr grinned again. “Aww, Trish. It’s nice to know you care.”

      Trish flushed. “I care about stray dogs and lost tourists, too. Don’t assume it means anything.”

      “Some people believe confronting fear makes them stronger.” Hagan’s softly accented voice cut through the barroom chatter. Maddie looked over to find his gaze on her, intense but unreadable.

      “Some people say a lot of things that don’t make sense,” she said. She leaned toward him, refusing to look away or let him think he could intimidate her. “What about you? What fears do you confront?”

      The creases fanning out from the corners of his eyes sharpened, then he looked away. “I did not say facing fears was always a good idea. Sometimes it is better to avoid the situation altogether.”

      She had expected him to say he wasn’t afraid of anything. His answer intrigued her—what did a man like Hagan have to fear? Then she was annoyed with herself. What did she care what Mr. Handsome Hagan thought or did?

      She turned and grabbed Scott’s arm. “Let’s dance.”

      “Uh…okay.” He let her pull him onto the minuscule dance floor and began to move, a little stiffly. “Just so you know, Lisa and I are kind of an item.” He nodded toward a curvy redhead who worked in the resort ticket office.

      She hadn’t realized, and felt a little foolish. “It’s only a dance,” she said. All she’d really wanted was to get away from the table for a while.

      “Right. Just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

      She’d hoped getting up and moving around would help her feel better and keep her mind out of the downward spiral that thoughts of skiing and her fears could bring on. Instead her knee hurt and a different kind of pain had settled in her stomach. Coming here was a mistake—not only coming to the Eldo tonight, but moving to Crested Butte and joining the ski patrol. She’d picked Crested Butte because it was far from a city, off the racing circuit and offered the opportunity to ski. Skiing was what she knew. What she was good at. But she didn’t really belong here, in this town where everyone knew everyone and all got along so well. Traveling, competing and training was the life she knew—nothing else felt right.

      As soon as the song ended, she mumbled her thanks to Scott, then grabbed her coat and slipped out the door. The others at the table were focused on Zephyr and his friend Bryan’s arm-wrestling match; the loser would have to wax the winner’s snowboard.

      Maddie hurried down the stairs into night air so cold it felt like breathing ice. She stood on the sidewalk in front of the bar and stared up at a sky studded with stars like silver glitter on black glass. Get a grip, she scolded herself. She had a good life. She needed to focus on all the great things ahead instead of what she’d lost.

      But what was ahead for her? For the previous decade she’d had a clear goal—to get to the Olympics. To be recognized as one of the top ski racers in the world.

      All that was gone now, and she had nothing to replace it. The knowledge made her feel empty and lost.

      “If you want to look at stars, there are better places than on the street in front of the Eldo.” Hagan came to stand beside her. He was wearing a red and black parka, but his head was bare, the night breeze ruffling his white-blond hair.

      “You’re going to freeze without a hat,” she said.

      He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “Where I grew up, it is colder than this.”

      She went back to looking at the stars. It was either that or keep staring at him. Whether it was his good looks, or the quiet strength that radiated from him, or the solid confidence she envied, being with Hagan made her hyperaware of every one of her own flaws.

      “Are you all right?” he asked after a moment.

      “I’m fine.” Freezing, but fine. She hugged her parka closer around her body. “I’m going to catch a bus back up to the mountain and turn in early.”

      This was his cue to go back into the bar, but he fell in step beside her as she began walking toward the bus stop. She glared at him. “Why did you follow me out here?”

      “You interest me.”

      The idea made her catch her breath. She’d heard all about Hagan’s rule about not dating locals. “Why? You have a thing for washed-up athletes?”

      He raised one eyebrow. “Do you have something against Norsemen? Or men in general? Why are you so prickly?”

      Her shoulders sagged. He was right. She was being a witch with a capital B, taking her bad mood out on him. Yes, he was a player and his confidence—which bordered on arrogance—annoyed her. But so far he hadn’t made any moves on her or done anything to warrant her hostility.