that morning, Sharon noticed. She was much more confident, more relaxed as they skied down Linton’s Loop, a nice easy, relaxed run.
They had just reached the bottom and were taking a breather when a skier in a red and navy suit caught Sharon’s eye. He came tearing down the face of the hill, over the steepest, most lumpy run, attacking the mountain as if it were an enemy, like a man possessed. Or a man in a great hurry. She frowned, wondering why so many men skied like that, and decided it was a male aggression thing, something they had to do. She had noticed signs of it in Jason.
The red and navy skier came directly toward them and swirled to a stop, lifting his goggles up over his headband, his tawny eyes laughing at her surprise. She did not feel nearly as surprised as she should, she realized, but instead felt a lot happier than was wise.
She knew he had seen her putting skis on the car earlier that morning. He had waved, and she had waved back. Then he’d gone inside, and she’d tried as usual to put him out of her mind.
“Hey, Marc!” Jason’s gladness showed as he slid over to stand close to the man.
“Hey, yourself.” Stabbing his poles into the snow to free his hands, Marc tugged Jason’s hat down over his eyes. “Having a good time?”
Jason pushed his hat up onto his forehead again, his grin fading. “Okay, I suppose, but Mom won’t let me ski the face like you just did. That was excellent! I didn’t even know it was you, and I thought the guy was great. Have you been down the Westerly yet? I can’t wait to go, but Roxy’s too little for it.”
“No. That was only my second run. I spotted you guys going up in the chair so I came down in a hurry to link up with you. Shall we take a run together?”
“Nah,” Jason said disgustedly. “I gotta stick to the loop this year. “Cause of my leg. The one I broke. The doctor said not to put too much strain on it or somethin’.”
“That makes good sense, son. Anyway, I meant all of us together. The four of us. I don’t suppose Roxy’s ready yet for any of the more advanced runs.” He grinned at the little girl who beamed back at him.
“But I will be next year. Mommy says I’m getting better all the time.”
“And mommys are usually right, but let’s see, shall we?” With that, he led the way to the line-up for the chair lift, maneuvering it somehow so the kids took the chair ahead of him and Sharon.
“You look like a leprechaun in that green suit,” he said.
She lifted an eyebrow. “I’m surprised a Frenchman knows about leprechauns.”
“Ahh, but don’t forget, I’m a widely traveled and very experienced Frenchman.”
How experienced? Very, she was certain, didn’t come close to covering it. She didn’t want to think about that, though, about what he might know, things he might do, the way he so easily turned her inside out. “A Frenchman who learned to ski in Ireland, perhaps, where there are leprechauns?” she asked quickly.
“No, who learned to ski at Mont Ste.-Anne, in Quebec, where they do not have leprechauns.”
“So how would you know one if you saw one?”
“I’ve been to Ireland.”
“Skiing?”
He laughed with her. “From what I saw, they don’t even have any decent-sized mountains, though they do have some pretty craggy hills.” He looked at her intently. “You’re not Irish, are you?”
She laughed. “Heavens, no! My father’s family came from Gypsy stock, and my mother’s family are very staid and proper British people. In fact, my maternal grandfather was born in London, and my grandmother in Coventry. My mother was born on this side of the Atlantic, though, and while they tried very hard to make her into a proper little English girl, they had a hard row to hoe.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know if it was called peer pressure in those days, but she wanted to be just like the other kids on the block. She was a grave disappointment to them, just as Jeanie and I are.”
“And
They had just reached the bottom and were taking a breather when a skier in a red and navy suit caught Sharon’s eye. He came tearing down the face of the hill, over the steepest, most lumpy run, attacking the mountain as if it were an enemy, like a man possessed. Or a man in a great hurry. She frowned, wondering why so many men skied like that, and decided it was a male aggression thing, something they had to do. She had noticed signs of it in Jason.
The red and navy skier came directly toward them and swirled to a stop, lifting his goggles up over his headband, his tawny eyes laughing at her surprise. She did not feel nearly as surprised as she should, she realized, but instead felt a lot happier than was wise.
She knew he had seen her putting skis on the car earlier that morning. He had waved, and she had waved back. Then he’d gone inside, and she’d tried as usual to put him out of her mind.
“Hey, Marc!” Jason’s gladness showed as he slid over to stand close to the man.
“Hey, yourself.” Stabbing his poles into the snow to free his hands, Marc tugged Jason’s hat down over his eyes. “Having a good time?”
Jason pushed his hat up onto his forehead again, his grin fading. “Okay, I suppose, but Mom won’t let me ski the face like you just did. That was excellent! I didn’t even know it was you, and I thought the guy was great. Have you been down the Westerly yet? I can’t wait to go, but Roxy’s too little for it.”
“No. That was only my second run. I spotted you guys going up in the chair so I came down in a hurry to link up with you. Shall we take a run together?”
“Nah,” Jason said disgustedly. “I gotta stick to the loop this year. “Cause of my leg. The one I broke. The doctor said not to put too much strain on it or somethin’.”
“That makes good sense, son. Anyway, I meant all of us together. The four of us. I don’t suppose Roxy’s ready yet for any of the more advanced runs.” He grinned at the little girl who beamed back at him.
“But I will be next year. Mommy says I’m getting better all the time.”
“And mommys are usually right, but let’s see, shall we?” With that, he led the way to the line-up for the chair lift, maneuvering it somehow so the kids took the chair ahead of him and Sharon.
“You look like a leprechaun in that green suit,” he said.
She lifted an eyebrow. “I’m surprised a Frenchman knows about leprechauns.”
“Ahh, but don’t forget, I’m a widely traveled and very experienced Frenchman.”
How experienced? Very, she was certain, didn’t come close to covering it. She didn’t want to think about that, though, about what he might know, things he might do, the way he so easily turned her inside out. “A Frenchman who learned to ski in Ireland, perhaps, where there are leprechauns?” she asked quickly.
“No, who learned to ski at Mont Ste.-Anne, in Quebec, where they do not have leprechauns.”
“So how would you know one if you saw one?”
“I’ve been to Ireland.”
“Skiing?”
He laughed with her. “From what I saw, they don’t even have any decent-sized mountains, though they do have some pretty craggy hills.” He looked at her intently. “You’re not Irish, are you?”
She laughed. “Heavens, no! My father’s family came from Gypsy stock, and my mother’s family are very staid and proper British people. In fact, my maternal grandfather was born in London, and my grandmother in Coventry. My mother was born on this side of the Atlantic, though, and while they tried very hard to make her into a proper little English girl, they had a hard row to hoe.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know if it was called peer pressure in those days, but she wanted to be just like the other kids on the block. She was a grave disappointment to them, just as Jeanie and I are.”
“And
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