Baby, It's Cold Outside (19 page)

B
Y THE TIME
S
TACY EMERGED
from the spa she was massaged, buffed, polished and perfumed as she had never been before. She practically floated out the door, her head filled with fantasies of seeing Kristján again, and having the most fantastic, stress-free sex of her life.

She quickly came back to earth when she saw Jóna waiting for her outside her room. “Have you seen Kristján?” Jóna asked, worry lines making furrows between her brows.

“No. I mean, not recently.” Not since she’d fallen asleep in his arms last night.

“I can’t find him or Arni anywhere. They’ve both checked out of the hotel, and they aren’t in any of the pools or the sauna.”

Stacy put one hand to the wall to steady herself. “They’re gone?”

“Arni and I were supposed to have lunch together, but when I went by his room, he was gone. The front desk told me he’d checked out earlier, and so had Kristján. No one knows where they’ve gone. I was hoping they were with you.”

Stacy shook her head. “I’ve been at the spa all morning.”
She stared at Jóna. “They left? Without saying goodbye?” After all Kristján’s tender words last night—his sweet note this morning—had he really just abandoned her?

She closed her eyes, remembering a morning when she was eleven. She’d awakened early and gone into the kitchen to make a bowl of cereal. There, on the kitchen table, was a note from her father. He was sorry, but he had to leave, and he wouldn’t be coming back. It had been months before she’d seen him again, longer than that before she could think of him without crying.

But there was no reason for Kristján to leave this way. Surely she couldn’t have misjudged him so badly. “Maybe there was an emergency,” she said. “Something with Arni…”

“They would have contacted
me.
” Jóna searched Stacy’s face. “I thought maybe…did the two of you have an argument? Something that would have made Kristján want to leave?”

“No! Not an argument.”

“I thought maybe you were upset about this.” Jóna reached into her purse and withdrew a folded newspaper and handed it to Stacy.

Stacy stared at the large color photo of her standing with Kristján, that day at Gullfoss. She blinked back sudden tears. Maybe the photographer had recognized something between her and Kristján that she hadn’t been willing to recognize yet herself: the two of them looked right together. Like two people in love.

“I hadn’t seen it,” she said, handing the paper back to Jóna. “But I’m not upset about it. Kristján and I…we spent the night together. It was wonderful.” The last
words were a whisper, squeezed out past a threatening flood of tears.

Jóna put her arm around her. “Then something must have happened. Kristján wouldn’t leave without speaking to you. He loves you.”

“He told you that?”

“He didn’t have to tell me. I saw it in his face every time he looked at you. Do you love him?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath, pushing back the fear. “Yes, I do.”

“Then we’d better find him. And Arni, too. It isn’t like him to leave. He doesn’t like to be out in public.”

“Have you tried Kristján’s cell?” Stacy asked.

“I did, but he’s not answering—at least he’s not answering me. Why don’t you try?”

Stacy dug her phone from her purse and turned it on. “I had it off while I was in the spa,” she said, waiting impatiently for the signal to register. Her heart skipped a beat when the message icon appeared. “I have a message. Maybe it’s from Kristján.”

She could have wept for joy when his voice filled her ear. “Arni and I are flying to Crested Butte this afternoon,” he said. “Don’t tell anyone except Jóna. We’re trying to avoid reporters. Your father has agreed to meet us there. I hope you will meet us, too. I have some very important things to say to you.”

She listened to the message twice, elation warring with confusion. “They’ve gone to Crested Butte, Colorado,” she told Jóna.

“Colorado? Why? And why leave so suddenly?”

“The message said something about wanting to avoid
reporters.” She shoved the phone back in her purse. “My father is in Crested Butte. He works with the Adaptive Sports Center. I think Kristján persuaded Arni to go there, to learn to ski again.”

Jóna’s eyes widened. “I think Arni would give anything to learn to ski again.”

“I still don’t understand the rush. Why did they have to leave right away?”

“Kristján was probably afraid Arni would change his mind,” Jóna said. “And the more quickly they acted, the less likely that reporters would learn of the trip. Here in Iceland, Kristján really has no privacy.”

Stacy nodded, thinking of Lang Kerr. “I can understand them not wanting the press to learn of their plans.” But couldn’t he have taken the time to stop and say goodbye?

“Do you live very far from Crested Butte?” Jóna asked.

“Only a few hours away. Kristján asked me to join them there.”

“Will you?”

“I don’t know.” Everything was happening so fast. She needed time to think….

“Don’t talk yourself out of this if it’s what you really want,” Jóna said. “Sometimes it’s good to follow your heart instead of your head.”

L
EGS STRAPPED TOGETHER
, modified ski poles tipped with short skis grasped in either hand, Kristján strained to keep the mono-ski upright, and to tilt his body while shifting his weight the right amount to accomplish a turn.
His arms and shoulders ached already and this was only his second run. He felt the mono-ski shift beneath him and struggled to regain control, but felt himself tipping, sliding on his side to a stop.

Ed skied to a stop beside him. “You all right?” he asked.

“Only my pride is injured,” Kristján said, shoving himself upright once more.

“It’s a lot harder than it looks,” Ed said. “Wait until they have you skiing on one leg, or blindfolded.”

“I feel like I’m learning to ski all over again.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“No. I want to.” He looked up at Stacy’s father. In the three days he’d been in Colorado, the two men were fast becoming friends. One day of watching him work with Arni had been enough to convince Kristján that this was what he wanted to do with his life. “I want to help others, the way you are helping Arni.” His brother was happier than Kristján had seen him in years. No longer so angry, he was the brother Kristján had missed having in his life. To make that kind of difference in others’ lives would mean more than a whole drawerful of gold medals.

“I’ve been talking to some people in the front office,” Ed said. “You know, some resorts pay a celebrity skier to be their spokesperson, so you could do something like that and teach.”

Kristján nodded. While he’d kept a low profile so far, it was probably unrealistic to think he could leave his fame behind forever at a ski resort. And perhaps his name and face could raise the profile of the Adaptive Sports Center.

What would Stacy think of his decision? Would she be happy that he’d decided on a career helping others? She seemed proud of her father now, but she clearly resented the skiing lifestyle he’d lived when she was younger.

Would she only see her father in Kristján—a man who had put skiing above his family? Kristján’s heart twisted at the thought. Would he have to choose between skiing and the woman he loved?

“Come on,” Ed said. “You’ve still got a lot of work to do before you’re ready to teach.”

Kristján grunted as he struggled to keep the mono-ski upright. “I may never graduate from this contraption,” he said.

“Knowing what it’s like for your students will really help you as an instructor,” Ed said. “Don’t get too discouraged. You’ll soon be a lot better at it.”

“I’m not discouraged. It’s exciting to learn new things. It makes the sport brand-new again.”

“I saw Arni this morning,” Ed said. “He’s doing a lot better than you are.”

“Skiing always came easier for him than it did me,” Kristján said. “It’s one reason why being in a wheelchair has been so hard for him.”

“He’s doing great. He’ll be racing you down the slopes in no time.”

“If I know Arni, he will win.”

They reached the bottom of the run, and Ed helped Kristján remove the bindings from his legs and climb out of the mono-ski. The bullet-nosed pod mounted on a single long ski looked like something out of a science
fiction movie—some ultramodern means of transport. Coupled with the ski pole outriggers, the mono-ski allowed a seated person to maneuver down the slopes with surprising dexterity.

“Kristján!”

At first he thought he was dreaming. Or maybe when he’d fallen he’d hit his head. But no, Stacy really was walking toward him, smiling—as if it hadn’t been four days since he’d seen her or spoken to her.

S
TACY KEPT HER SMILE IN PLACE
as she walked toward Kristján and her father, though her stomach did backflips and her legs felt unsteady. In the four days since he’d left Iceland she’d purposely avoided talking to him—not because she didn’t want to hear his voice, but because she’d needed the time apart to clear her head. She had to convince herself that she loved Kristján enough to stay with him, even if he didn’t have a steady job or a definite idea of what he wanted to do with his life. Her heart told her yes, though her brain was still having trouble accepting the situation.

She had left a single message on his voice mail, assuring him she would talk to him soon, but asking him not to call her in the meantime. She doubted he understood, but they would have plenty of time for explanations later.

“Sweetheart!” Her father greeted her with open arms. “It’s great to see you again. You look more beautiful every time I see you.”

“Thanks, Dad. It’s good to see you, too.” But she looked at Kristján as she spoke. His eyes locked to hers,
filled with questions, and a sharp desire that made her heart race.

“Hello, Stacy,” he said, his voice calm. Cool, even.

“How are you doing?” her father asked. “When did you leave Iceland?”

“I left three days ago. I had some things I had to take care of at home before I came here.” She looked at the mono-ski, then at Kristján. “Were you skiing in that?” she asked.

“It’s part of the training for new instructors,” her father explained. “We want them to experience things from the client’s point of view.”

“Instructor? I don’t understand.”

“I’ve decided I want to work with the Adaptive Sports Center,” Kristján said. “I want to use my experience skiing to help others like Arni.”

“You’ve decided to work here? Really?” She looked to her father for confirmation.

He nodded. “I think he saw what a blast his brother was having and didn’t want to miss out.”

She felt torn between laughter and tears. She’d spent days worrying about how she’d cope with Kristján’s lack of a focus for his life, and he’d solved the problem on his own—with the help of her father, no less!

She looked away, trying to compose herself. “How is Arni?” she asked.

“He’s well,” her father said. “He’s enjoying the resort and being out on the snow again.”

“That’s good.”

“We’d better get this back to the office.” Kristján spoke—though he addressed himself to Ed, not Stacy.

“You go on,” she said. “I need to talk to Dad for a minute.”

The two men exchanged questioning looks. “We’ll catch up with you in a minute,” Ed said. “Leave the mono-ski. We’ll get it.”

Kristján hesitated, then left them, shoulders set in a stiff line, telegraphing his displeasure.

Ed turned to Stacy. “It’s good to see you,” he said.

“It’s good to see you, too, Dad.”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his ski jacket. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

This was the hard part, but she was determined to go through with it. “I wanted to apologize. I…I know I was really hard on you, especially when I was a teen. I said some things I realize now were really hurtful, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Don’t worry about it. Teenagers say a lot of things they don’t mean.”

“Still, it was wrong of me to judge you.”

He cleared his throat. “When I was younger, I know I let you and your mom down. I didn’t want to hurt you, but…well, I guess it took me a long time to grow up.”

“Maybe I needed to get older to understand some things, too, Dad.” Such as how following a dream wasn’t always a bad thing, and how taking time to discover what you really wanted in life could be years well spent.

When she’d first met Kristján, she’d been so afraid he was just another self-centered, irresponsible ski bum—one more man she couldn’t count on to be there for her. But she’d been wrong about him, and maybe she’d been wrong about her father, too. Whatever mistakes he’d
made in the past, he loved her, and he was here for her now.

“Kristján said you told him you were proud of me,” he said.

The vulnerability behind those words brought a lump to her throat. “I am proud of you,” she said. “You do wonderful work, and I know you’ve helped a lot of people.” Meeting Arni had opened her eyes to how important something as simple as skiing could be, especially to a person who had had so many things taken away from him. To give that measure of independence and freedom back must mean a great deal.

“It meant a lot to me to hear that.”

“I should have told you, Dad. I’m sorry.”

He patted her shoulder. “I love you, sweetheart. And I like Kristján, too. He’s a great guy.”

“Yes, he is.”

“So, is he someone special to you? More than just a friend?”

Her cheeks felt hot. “What makes you say that?”

“The way he talks about you. The way the two of you looked at each other just now.”

Kristján had looked angry with her just now. Had her father mistaken that for passion? Or were the two emotions not that far apart? “Kristján and I are good friends,” she said. “Maybe more.”

“None of my business, I know. But I’m still your old man. I have to ask.”

“It’s okay, Dad.” His concern was touching, really. “I’ll let you know.”

“Do you still ski?”

She laughed. With her father, it would always come back to skiing. She could accept that now, and even embrace it. “Yes, I do.”