4. Sunny Has A Temper

4

Sunny Has A Temper

Zane

“Ivy!” I yell, skiing up beside her before dragging her off to the side. Shane stopped the lift, but he was a few seconds too late.

“Are you okay?” I ask, sitting next to her. My heart races in my chest. It hasn’t pounded like this since last summer, when I was chasing my dog Burger who ran away.

She flashes a side grin. “Now I know why the helmet is mandatory.”

My tightened muscles relax. Thank heavens. The last thing I need is a client getting injured. Darwin would have my skin. “Exactly,” I say, heaving out a sigh. “Come on.” Standing up, and I stick my hand out to help her to her feet, then hand her the ends of my poles. “Hold on.”

I hoist her up, guide her across the path of the lift, and give a thumbs-up to Shane to indicate he can start it back up.

“What now?” she asks, a hand propped on her small hip.

I blink back at her, surprised that she recovered from that fall so quickly. Sure, she wasn’t injured, but it was kind of scary, especially for a first-timer. But here she is, a smile plastered on her face, ready to go.

“Well, we’ll have to start the lesson from here.” It’s not ideal to begin in the middle of the slope, but we’ll have to go down one way or another. “Rule one, always bend your knees. Your ankles should be pressed against the cuff as much as possible.”

She does as I say, and surprisingly, her posture isn’t too bad.

“Okay. Now, place your hands on your knees—It’ll help with your balance—and try to form a V shape with your skis. That’s the snowplow position.”

“Like I did earlier? ”

“No, the opposite. This time, the tips of your skis have to be close together, and the backs further apart. Like this.”

I demonstrate the form. She tries, but being halfway down the “hill” isn’t helping. Now that I think about it, Darwin probably shows them how to do the snowplow before going up. Something I should have done. But this isn’t my job, after all!

She keeps trying and manages to get the ski tips close, but it’s not good enough.

Sighing, I situate myself with my back to the slope, facing her. I hold my poles horizontally in front of us. “Hold onto these and let yourself slide. Try to do the snowplow as much as you can.”

I start to glide back down, and she lets out a loud gasp. I glance around. “What?”

“We’re going downhill, and you’re not looking.”

“Relax. Nothing’s going to happen. And anyway, I am looking,” I say, stealing a glance to see that the path is still clear. “When you ski, you have to pay attention to your environment. That’s why you always look straight ahead and not at your skis.”

I start sliding again, and her gaze falls to the ground. I grumble, “What did I just say? ”

“But—”

“Eyes up here.”

She gives me a lopsided grin, and I feel her relaxing on the other end of the poles as we glide down. She manages to hold her position, and I’m impressed at her fast learning.

“I did it!” she chirps loudly as we reach the bottom of the slope. “I skied.”

A snort escapes me. “ I skied. You slid.”

She pouts. “So, what do we do now?” She looks eager to go back up again. Why? It’s a mystery to me. The girl got decked by a lift perch twenty minutes ago, and she’s still as excited as my dogs when they’re about to pull a sled.

“We’re done for today.” Bending down, I free her from her skis.

Her arms drop to her sides as she takes a small step back. “Already?”

“Oh yes.” I nod. “You’re not ready to go up again. I think that was enough excitement for one day.” As much for her as for me. I’ve reached my limit of human interaction for one day. She’s sucking my energy. And besides, I really don’t want to get her killed on the slopes.

Her shoulders slump. “But I want to learn to ski. That’s why I came all the way here.”

“And I’ll teach you. As much as I can, anyway. I won’t be turning you into a gold medalist anytime soon, but hopefully, you’ll be skiing on your own on a green run by the end of the week. A blue, if we’re lucky. ”

She places a hand on her hip, pinning me with a pointed look. “Well, can you at least show me the proper posture for skiing down? It’ll be easier on flat ground.”

I sigh. Though I’m eager to get back to my actual job, she has a point. “Fine. Here.”

I demonstrate the different moves and positions.

“Wait, you’re going too fast. I don’t have time to—”

I release a growl, then repeat the moves again, this time at an excruciatingly slow pace. “Did you get everything?”

Her face falls. “I did. But you don’t have to be so mean all the time, you know. It’s not my fault your brother’s injured and you have to teach me. I’m going through some stuff right now, and I would appreciate it if you could cut me some slack, okay?” she says, her lips wobbling.

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you going to cry?”

“Shut up,” she yells, then storms away—or at least, she tries to. Every step is a struggle with ski boots when you’re not used to wearing them.

She lets out a frustrated scream. “Argh!” Bending down, she unstraps her boots and whips them off. Then , she storms away.

What the heck is this woman doing? I hear people whispering around me, but that’s the least of my concerns. She’ll get frostbite if she keeps trudging through the snow in her socks. Her hotel is almost a mile away.

Taking my skis off, I hurry after her, but the heavy boots slow me down. Dammit. It really is hard to run in these stupid boots. I pick up my pace until finally, she’s at arm’s length. I wrap my arms around her, pick her up, and throw her over my shoulder. Even with all that ski gear on, she’s light as a feather.

She releases a loud scream. “Put me down,” she yells, hitting me on the back.

Looks like Sunny has a temper after all. I just growl, ignoring her as I haul her down the sidewalk to her hotel.

Once inside the lobby, I put her down.

She stumbles a couple of steps back, her flushed face boiling with rage. “I am not a toy! Why does everyone think they can just pick me up, then throw me away?”

“I didn’t throw you away,” I say, shaking my head. Well, I might have put her down a little harshly. I don’t always feel my strength sometimes. Plus, I work with huskies all day long, and they’re incredibly tough. “I just didn’t want you to freeze,” I add in my defense. “That’s real snow on the ground, you know.”

She blows out a puff of air, then crosses her arms. “Thanks for the fun fact. Now you can go.”

“Gladly,” I bark, turning away. But something prevents me from moving, and this time, it’s not my ski boots. I actually feel bad for her. I know, shocking. I don’t often experience empathy for other human beings. On top of that, my brother will skin me alive if I blow this. Turning back around, I lower my voice. “Look, I’m sorry, okay?” I release a sharp breath. “I lost my patience and was a bit harsh with you. It won’t happen again.”

Just then, a little kid scampers into the lobby with a loud giggle. He’s holding the hand of who I assume to be his mother and pointing to Ivy with his free hand. “Look, Mommy. The lady doesn’t have shoes on! That’s bananas.”

I direct my attention back to Ivy, but to my utmost surprise, she just starts laughing, hard. Her small body shakes uncontrollably with fits of laughter.

She drops her head in her hands. “Gah. I’m sorry too. I’m turning into a crazy person.” Her hands fall to her sides. “This is not me. Let’s just pretend this whole thing didn’t happen, okay?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She opens her mouth to retort, but then it catches up with her. Cocking her head to one side, she breaks into a smile—and damn, it’s so beautiful I almost lose my balance. Her grin is so big, it makes her entire face sparkle.

Darwin was right. Maybe I’ve been cooped up on my farm for too long.

I stuff my hands in my pockets. “I’ll go get your boots. Stay here . ”

She sits down on a decadent-looking armchair and starts rubbing her feet, which I’m guessing are half-way frozen. “Trust me, I learned my lesson.”

Well, at least I taught her something today. I’m not that terrible of a teacher after all.

Darwin would be proud. I think.