Gold Fire (3 page)

“Really?” He savored it, a smile playing at the side of his mouth as he tried to look concerned. “How disappointing for you. How much does he want?”

“He says he won’t sell at any price.” David nearly lit up, and she rushed to squash his hopes. “I haven’t given up. I’ll get to him, I just haven’t found his weak spot yet.”

David’s smile was serene. “Maybe he doesn’t have one. It would be awful to disappoint the Flemmings, though. I heard Ruth Ann put Matt in charge of the whole expansion project, and you know how she is about her baby boy. He’s not the person you want to piss off.” He looked positively thrilled that she might.

“He won’t be disappointed.”

He punched the air like a cheerleader. “That’s the spirit.”

She looked around, wondering if there was anything she could accidentally bash his teeth in with. Her gaze fell on a large box in the corner. Beneath packing labels and tape, the box bore the distinctive double-E logo of Everton Equipment.

She frowned. As far as she knew, Everton didn’t make ski equipment. But they did make an exclusive line of clothing and equipment for golf. She gave David a puzzled look. “Are we already ordering for a golf line? They don’t even know if the project is a go.”

“More pressure on you, huh?” He enjoyed it for a moment before nodding at the box. “Those are sample shirts direct from the factory. Naturally, if the Alpine Sky builds the golf course, we’ll carry only the best
brand in our pro shop. I imagine Everton heard rumors and decided to do some early lobbying for their brand.”

Really
early; she was surprised they even knew about it. That meant Ruth Ann and Matt must be operating on the assumption that buying the Rusty Wire was a done deal. Zoe had to convince Jase Garrett to sell—and fast.

David went to the box and lifted the flaps. “Here, take one.” He pulled out a dark blue polo shirt and tossed it to her. “Wear it to the Rusty Wire; maybe it’ll help.” For some reason that made him grin.

She’d had enough of David’s encouragement. Clutching the shirt, she stood. “I’m not giving up, you know. I’ll find a way to convince him to sell.”

He smirked. “Good luck.”

She wasn’t stupid enough to count on luck. This required research. She had several hours before her shift started to find out everything she could about Jase Garrett.

•  •  •

It didn’t take long. Not many people lit up a Google search like Jase did.

At first she thought she had the wrong Jase Garrett as she scanned all sorts of hits on downhill skiing events and websites. Then she saw the photos. A younger version, but unmistakably the chiseled face of the man she’d talked to at the Rusty Wire.

And the accolades. She lost count of the titles and trophies.

And, oh my God, the
medals
. She’d hit on them right away and nearly fell off her chair. Olympic medals, flashing in the winter sunlight—three gold and one
silver. Jase grinned in the picture like the winner he was, holding them up for the camera.

On the cover of
Time
magazine.

Zoe stared at the picture for a long time. The red, white, and blue parka, the confidence in his squared shoulders and raised chin, the glint of victory in his eyes. And the words beside the picture: “Jase Garrett Shines for America.”

He’d been famous. Probably had endorsement deals with major companies, which explained why her offer hadn’t tempted him. She was not the first person to offer him millions of dollars.

Why hadn’t she known? Her eyes strayed to the date—ten years ago. She’d been in her first year of college. Well, that explained it; she’d barely noticed the world beyond campus during those years, being much too busy trashing her future. But he was only a few years older than she was, which meant he would still have been young and strong enough to compete in the next winter Olympics. She quickly searched the U.S. ski team four years later, but couldn’t find his name. An injury could have kept him out; it happened all the time. No matter, nothing could take away from the four medals he’d earned that one year. And if he’d ever been injured, he seemed fine now. She hadn’t noticed so much as a limp.

He might no longer compete, but Jase hadn’t retired to a tropical island or gone off to mingle with the jet set. He lived in tiny Barringer’s Pass, where he had access to the best ski slopes this side of the Alps. She’d bet anything he still skied. That sort of dedication to a sport didn’t just fade away.

A slow smile crossed her face as she realized how she could use that.

Closing the laptop, her eyes fell on the polo shirt she’d tossed on her desk. Size large. On impulse, she folded it and tucked it into her shoulder bag. A little reminder of the marketing powerhouse backing up her idea might be the perfect way to make her point.

Chapter
Two

B
y 9 p.m. the next evening the Rusty Wire was in full Friday night swing. Since most of their customers were local, their business didn’t suffer in the off-season. From the look of the parking lot, tonight was no exception.

The double-door entry with an air lock between the two doors was an excellent sound barrier in addition to keeping out the winter’s cold. From outside she heard only the dull thump of a bass line. Inside, music and laughter hit her like a wave, rolling over and around her. The air was warm with the heat of a few dozen bodies, half of them crowding the dance floor as they stomped, clapped, and sang along while doing a line dance. From the level of excitement, she guessed more beer would be hitting the floor tonight.

Zoe skirted the dancers, letting her gaze sweep the tables. Several groups of people laughed and talked loudly. One table full of women dug into a deep-dish pizza, and she inhaled appreciatively as she passed. A
harried-looking waitress in jeans and a white T-shirt carried a tray laden with nachos and beers. There was no sign of Jase.

Reaching the crowded bar, she walked down its length, checking out customers and the two bartenders. Still no Jase, but she recognized the woman pulling beers as the one who’d been there yesterday. Zoe found an open stool and caught her attention.

The woman finished drawing a beer, then approached Zoe slowly, her eyes giving Zoe’s neatly tailored suit a disdainful once-over. “Miss Larkin. What can I get you?”

“Do you know where I can find Mr. Garrett?”

She took her time deciding whether to release the top-secret information, then nodded to a spot over her shoulder. “Back there.”

Zoe hadn’t noticed the room that extended off one side of the saloon. Through the wide doorway she could see poker and pool tables, all in use. The walls were decorated with poster-size pictures of gunslingers and cowboys, and framed collections of barbed wire. Zoe gave the closest display a puzzled glance. Who knew there were so many types of fence wire? And who cared?

From the line of chairs along the wall, several people watched the pool players. Jase was one of them.

Strictly speaking, he wasn’t watching the game. His attention—and his smile—were focused on the young woman sitting close beside him. As Zoe watched, the girl tossed her mane of blond hair and leaned close to his ear to say something. His smile widened to a grin.

Something like irritation hit Zoe in the chest, except
it couldn’t be that because she didn’t care what in the hell Jase Garrett did or who he did it with. Muttering a thank-you to the bartender, she tugged firmly on her fitted blazer and strode into the back room. A few pairs of eyes followed her, but Jase didn’t look up until she stopped right in front of him. His smile faded as his gaze ran down her official dark-blue Alpine Sky blazer and skirt all the way to her sensible heels, then back up again.

“Miss Larkin,” he drawled. “Fancy seeing you here. Just knocking off work?”

“I’m
at
work, Mr. Garrett.”

He sighed and sent the girl a disappointed look. “Sorry, looks like I need to take care of some business.”

“No prob.” The girl planted a kiss on his cheek and stood, pausing to give Zoe a curious look. Zoe took her first good look at the cute little blonde. My God, she couldn’t be over eighteen. From her Internet research, she knew Jase was thirty-three. The letch.

“I’ll see you later, sweetheart,” Jase said, giving the girl a farewell wink. Zoe’s mouth tightened with disapproval, which didn’t seem to bother him in the least. He hooked his hands behind the chair, his knees nearly bumping hers as he slid into a relaxed slouch. “Have a seat.”

Her gaze fell to his invitingly open lap. For one second a warm tingle spread through her at the idea of snuggling against his firm chest and being held by his strong arms. She squashed it and stiffened. “I don’t conduct business while seated on someone’s lap.”

He raised an amused eyebrow. “I meant the chair.” He cast a pointed look at the chair next to
his. “But if you’d prefer my lap, you’re more than welcome.”

She sat on the chair, flushing with embarrassment and wondering if his body language had deliberately led her to misunderstand or if her mind had gone there on its own. Either way, she resented him for it. She couldn’t afford to let a man sneak around her carefully constructed image of professionalism and polish. Especially a man who so clearly embodied everything she hated.

Overcompensating, she held her knees primly together and placed her shoulder bag on her lap, folding her hands over it. Shields up.

“Mr. Garrett, I came to discuss the Alpine Sky’s offer to buy the Rusty Wire.”

“I guessed.” His gaze took a leisurely trip down her body and back up again. She figured it was meant to unnerve her and forced herself not to squirm.

“I brought something for you.” She pulled the polo shirt out of her bag and handed it to him.

“You’re bribing me with a shirt?” He looked at it. “Good brand.” One eyebrow lifted in surprise as he held it against his chest. “Fits, too. Well, damn, I think you’ve swayed me, Miss Larkin. Now that you’ve thrown in this nice shirt, I’ll be glad to sell you the Rusty Wire.”

She gave him a tolerant smile, trying not to notice how the dark-blue shirt only deepened the blue of his eyes. “The shirt is simply to remind you that the Alpine Sky stands for quality. Quality accommodations, quality equipment, and quality services. I want you to remember that when you consider our offer.”

“I already declined your offer. Do I have to give back the shirt?”

“I believe I can sweeten the deal for you.”

“I don’t know, three million and a shirt is already pretty sweet.”

His sly smile put tiny crinkles beside his eyes and caused a sudden skip in her heartbeat. She caught her breath, annoyed by her reaction, and at the same time wondering what it would be like to be the focus of that dazzling
Time
magazine cover grin. It was probably best if she never found out.

She wished he’d stop looking at her hair. She’d deliberately pulled it back and up to make it less noticeable. Strawberry blond was a distracting color. Frivolous. She never wanted to be taken for frivolous again.

“The shirt and the three million are not the whole deal. I believe the Alpine Sky can offer you something that might change your mind.”

His look of secret amusement disappeared. “Really?” he asked in a flat, dry tone.

His direct gaze was more unsettling than she’d expected. She swallowed and pushed on. “You’re a skier.”

She had the impression walls had suddenly gone up between them. “Around here that’s hardly unusual,” he told her. Even his voice was guarded.

“An
Olympic
skier. A gold medal winner. That’s beyond the usual, even in this town.”

Lines appeared around his mouth now, and he clenched his jaw. “That was a long time ago.”

“You were famous. Respected.”

“Fame is fleeting.”

“No, Mr. Garrett, it isn’t. Not that kind of fame. An Olympic medal is highly regarded by every skier I know. You have four.” He kept his stony gaze on her, saying nothing. “Do you still ski?”

“I don’t compete.” The words were harsh and clipped.

“The knowledge doesn’t go away. Have you ever thought of doing something with that experience, Mr. Garrett? Sharing it with talented young skiers who may have achieved some measure of success but strive for more?”

His brow lowered over his eyes. “Just say what you came to say, Miss Larkin.”

“The Alpine Sky is willing to offer you that opportunity. A position as a ski instructor.” She felt confident Ruth Ann would go along with the plan. Anything to get Jase Garrett to sell.

He pushed the shirt back into her hands. “I don’t want to be your ski pro. Good-bye.”

“Not our ski pro,” she said, ignoring the shirt and letting it fall between them. “We already have one. I’m talking about a position above that level. You would only instruct advanced students, young athletes who come to sharpen their skills and get pointers from the best in their field. Athletes who have a passion for the sport equal to your own.”

She watched him closely. Anyone who made it to the Olympic level in his sport had to have an enormous amount of drive and determination. That might not show when it came to running a saloon, but it had to be there still. Sure enough, interest flickered deep in his eyes, and she went after it. “You could select the students yourself. Handpicked, top-rated skiers. You
would have full control of the program, and I promise the salary would be generous.”

She held her breath. His piercing glare softened and something wavered behind it, temptation edging its way through that hard shell. For a moment she was sure she had him.

Then it was gone. The shutters were back in place as his mouth pressed into a firm line. “No.”

Again with the flat no. It couldn’t be that quick, that absolute. Not after the way he’d hesitated—she hadn’t imagined that. “What do you mean, no?”

“No, thank you.
Nein, non, nyet
. See ya around.”

She frowned. “Why?”

He gave her a look of disbelief. “Do you always have to know why? You must have been one of those kids who drive their mothers crazy, asking why all the time.”

“I was, so you might as well answer or I’ll have to keep asking. How can I convince you to sell if I don’t know what you want?”