Winter Fire
by Laurie Dubay
Copyright 2013 Laurie Dubay
Cover Art: Copyright 2013 Kathleen Wadiak
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination, and used fictitiously.
Winter Fire
Chapter 1
I should have seen Bren for what he was right away.
I watched the red-gold glint rise over the crest of Lenape Mountain - a tiny point of flame growing larger against the snowline - and at first thought it was the sun. But I knew I was facing west. I was good with direction.
I squinted as the spark morphed into a figure, still on fire and moving fast down the slope. As it got closer, I heard the hard scrawl of a board against the untouched groom, registered the yellow jacket of a resort employee, saw the broad, relaxed shoulders and sleepy stance of a male rider, copper hair flying as he carved a fast, tight scallop into the snow. The sun was just now turning the sky to ash, paling the moon, extinguishing the stars. But it had not quite risen…except to light the rider.
He hit a swell about two-thirds of the way down and I heard his board spring off the snow as he coasted into the air. He seemed to hang there, his gloved hand gripping the board between his feet, his hair streaming out against the hill, and I had just enough time to wonder how a person could fall asleep in the sky like that before he stomped down and took what was left of his run at such high speed that I couldn’t make out another detail until he plowed to a stop in the snow.
He rocked back and forth a little to plant himself, then put his hands on his hips, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. After a minute, he dropped his head and spit.
“Ech.” I said. He glanced up. I stiffened. He was far enough away so I could pretend I was staring straight ahead and see him from the corner of my eye. He didn’t move, just stood there with his fists pressed into his hips and stared. I noticed now that his hair was shorter than I thought, and darker. It swung across his face in razor wedges and was the deep, rusty bark of a cinnamon stick.
Stop looking at me, I thought, and closed my eyes, the way little kids do thinking it’s going to make them invisible. But when I opened them, he was still staring, so I huffed out an annoyed white cloud, took too big a gulp of my coffee, and burned the roof of my mouth. When I parted my lips to suck in some cooling air, I choked instead and felt a dribble down my chin. I had to lean over the deck railing to spit out the rest. As I wiped my mouth with my sleeve, I watched the coffee melt little grooves into the ice below.
I heard him chuckle, the sound deep and sarcastic enough to make me want to throw my full cup at him, but by the time I mustered the courage to raise my head, he had already stepped out of his board and was carrying it away. Laughing.
I stormed back across the deck in a ridiculous lurch, my stomps jerky and small to avoid slippage, one hand fisted and pumping, the other gingerly balancing my coffee, my jaw half open to cool my burnt mouth. Sydney, the night manager, was bent and gathering her things behind the desk when I stumbled in, a spill of red ringlets tumbling down her narrow back the only glimpse I got of her as I bristled past.
My mother was in the shower when I returned to our room. I opened the bathroom door and called to her through the steam.
“You’re going to be late. Sydney’s already packing up.”
“Thanks. Be right out.” Her voice was different lately. Sing-songy, as if her wedding ring had been strangling her vocal cords.
In reality, it didn’t matter if she was late. Since we lived in the hotel she was never really off-duty, but I wanted her to come out and get ready, drink her coffee, distract me from my humiliation. Moving over Christmas break meant I would have nothing to do until I started school, so I found myself following her around, helping her with paperwork, taking her calls. She didn’t seem to mind, liked to keep me close to her lately, but I was annoyed with my own neediness.
I sat on the counter and watched her stroll back and forth between her bedroom and our little kitchenette. She had traded her track clothes and sneakers for suits and heels and was growing her hair out, but she still moved and chatted like a soccer mom. Ironic, since the last time I played soccer was the sixth grade. By the time I hit high school, I think they were actually considering euthanizing me for my lack of athletic ability.
I wasn’t as talkative as I’d anticipated, so I didn’t go downstairs with her when she left. Instead, I poured another cup of coffee and stared out our picture window overlooking the mountain, the snow now a harsh dazzle of jewels. But there were no more traces of red.
Chapter 2