as we only have two weeks to build up a good base before the campers arrive.”
“What’s a tube run?” she asked, wiping the fog off her side window to see out.
“Are you saying you’ve never snow-tubed? Aw, lass,” he said when she shook her head, “ye haven’t lived until you’ve shot down a mountain on an inner tube. It’s way more exciting than a roller coaster, as the speed and trajectory and bumps are different on every trip.”
She smiled. “I’ve sledded down small hills in Central Park when I was a kid, but are you saying you actually have a trail dedicated to just sliding?”
He nodded, finding her smile as beautiful as her anger, even or maybe especially because she looked as if she’d just gotten out of bed. “If you’d like, I’ll take you up the mountain later today, and you can help us test out the tube run.”
“I, um, I don’t know if I should be doing that sort of thing,” she said, glancing back at her dog before suddenly giving Ian a cocky grin. “Toby would probably smell my fear and chase after me and bite the tube.”
Oh, but he liked her sassiness. “Then we’ll bring him on the tube with us.” He chuckled at her surprise. “There’s a less steep section for toddlers and chickens, Jessie. And if you don’t have the physical strength to hold on, I’ll do the holding on so you can enjoy the ride.” He shrugged when the dial lights showed her blush. “That’s what we do with a good many of the campers.”
“You mentioned campers before and that you only have two weeks to get the trails ready. Is that why TarStone is closed for the middle week of December? You rent out the entire resort to some sort of camp?”
Ian lifted the hydraulic drag to turn onto the cutting that ran between trails and nodded. “In the summer my parents run a camp on the other side of the mountain for disabled and disfigured children, and every year they invite the kids and their families to TarStone for a snow vacation. They’ve had the camp going for nearly thirty years now, but only started the December session . . . oh, about fifteen years ago, I believe.”
“Dis-disfigured . . . how?” she asked, having gone perfectly still.
He shrugged again. “They have physical impairments or disabling diseases, mostly; some have lost a limb, others are badly scarred.” He smiled over at her. “But all that disappears for a week, because they’re so busy having fun that they forget to be self-conscious.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but each year a bunch of us sneak the more daring boys down to the pool to go skinny-dipping. And the next night our female cousins do the same with the girls.”
“You take them skinny-dipping? Of all the things to—Why?”
He turned the snowcat down the lift path. “For the simple pleasure of swimming in their birthday suits, little miss Goody Two-shoes,” he said, laughing at her scandalized expression. But then he sobered. “Those children spend every day of their young lives hiding their scars and imperfections from the world, Jessie. But when they’re here, none of it matters, because every one of them has learned that it’s what’s inside a person that counts.” He leaned closer again. “And there’s nothing as liberating as splashing around naked in a pool with your friends.”
“But are you telling me you’re doing this without the parents knowing?”
“No, they know.”
“And they don’t care?” she asked, incredulous. “It doesn’t worry them that not only are their children sneaking behind their backs, but that they’re skinny-dipping? With adults?”
“Of course they care, Jessie. That’s why the parents then sneak down to watch their children being children .” He blew out a sigh. “Skinny-dipping in a moonlit solarium or lake with a bunch of your friends isn’t a crime, lass; it’s a childhood memory in the making—which, I might add, nicely sums up Camp Come-As-You-Are’s
“What’s a tube run?” she asked, wiping the fog off her side window to see out.
“Are you saying you’ve never snow-tubed? Aw, lass,” he said when she shook her head, “ye haven’t lived until you’ve shot down a mountain on an inner tube. It’s way more exciting than a roller coaster, as the speed and trajectory and bumps are different on every trip.”
She smiled. “I’ve sledded down small hills in Central Park when I was a kid, but are you saying you actually have a trail dedicated to just sliding?”
He nodded, finding her smile as beautiful as her anger, even or maybe especially because she looked as if she’d just gotten out of bed. “If you’d like, I’ll take you up the mountain later today, and you can help us test out the tube run.”
“I, um, I don’t know if I should be doing that sort of thing,” she said, glancing back at her dog before suddenly giving Ian a cocky grin. “Toby would probably smell my fear and chase after me and bite the tube.”
Oh, but he liked her sassiness. “Then we’ll bring him on the tube with us.” He chuckled at her surprise. “There’s a less steep section for toddlers and chickens, Jessie. And if you don’t have the physical strength to hold on, I’ll do the holding on so you can enjoy the ride.” He shrugged when the dial lights showed her blush. “That’s what we do with a good many of the campers.”
“You mentioned campers before and that you only have two weeks to get the trails ready. Is that why TarStone is closed for the middle week of December? You rent out the entire resort to some sort of camp?”
Ian lifted the hydraulic drag to turn onto the cutting that ran between trails and nodded. “In the summer my parents run a camp on the other side of the mountain for disabled and disfigured children, and every year they invite the kids and their families to TarStone for a snow vacation. They’ve had the camp going for nearly thirty years now, but only started the December session . . . oh, about fifteen years ago, I believe.”
“Dis-disfigured . . . how?” she asked, having gone perfectly still.
He shrugged again. “They have physical impairments or disabling diseases, mostly; some have lost a limb, others are badly scarred.” He smiled over at her. “But all that disappears for a week, because they’re so busy having fun that they forget to be self-conscious.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but each year a bunch of us sneak the more daring boys down to the pool to go skinny-dipping. And the next night our female cousins do the same with the girls.”
“You take them skinny-dipping? Of all the things to—Why?”
He turned the snowcat down the lift path. “For the simple pleasure of swimming in their birthday suits, little miss Goody Two-shoes,” he said, laughing at her scandalized expression. But then he sobered. “Those children spend every day of their young lives hiding their scars and imperfections from the world, Jessie. But when they’re here, none of it matters, because every one of them has learned that it’s what’s inside a person that counts.” He leaned closer again. “And there’s nothing as liberating as splashing around naked in a pool with your friends.”
“But are you telling me you’re doing this without the parents knowing?”
“No, they know.”
“And they don’t care?” she asked, incredulous. “It doesn’t worry them that not only are their children sneaking behind their backs, but that they’re skinny-dipping? With adults?”
“Of course they care, Jessie. That’s why the parents then sneak down to watch their children being children .” He blew out a sigh. “Skinny-dipping in a moonlit solarium or lake with a bunch of your friends isn’t a crime, lass; it’s a childhood memory in the making—which, I might add, nicely sums up Camp Come-As-You-Are’s
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