The Right Mr. Wrong

“Some people believe confronting fear makes them stronger.” Hagan’s softly accented voice cut through the barroom chatter. Maddie looked over to find his gaze on her, intense but unreadable.

“Some people say a lot of things that don’t make sense,” she said. She leaned toward him, refusing to look away or let him think he could intimidate her. “What about you? What fears do you confront?”

The creases fanning out from the corners of his eyes sharpened, then he looked away. “I did not say facing fears was always a good idea. Sometimes it is better to avoid the situation altogether.”

She had expected him to say he wasn’t afraid of anything. His answer intrigued her—what did a man like Hagan have to fear? Then she was annoyed with herself. What did she care what Mr. Handsome Hagan thought or did?

She turned and grabbed Scott’s arm. “Let’s dance.”

“Uh…okay.” He let her pull him onto the minuscule dance floor and began to move, a little stiffly. “Just so you know, Lisa and I are kind of an item.” He nodded toward a curvy redhead who worked in the resort ticket office.

She hadn’t realized, and felt a little foolish. “It’s only a dance,” she said. All she’d really wanted was to get away from the table for a while.

“Right. Just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

She’d hoped getting up and moving around would help her feel better and keep her mind out of the downward spiral that thoughts of skiing and her fears could bring on. Instead her knee hurt and a different kind of pain had settled in her stomach. Coming here was a mistake—not only coming to the Eldo tonight, but moving to Crested Butte and joining the ski patrol. She’d picked Crested Butte because it was far from a city, off the racing circuit and offered the opportunity to ski. Skiing was what she knew. What she was good at. But she didn’t really belong here, in this town where everyone knew everyone and all got along so well. Traveling, competing and training was the life she knew—nothing else felt right.

As soon as the song ended, she mumbled her thanks to Scott, then grabbed her coat and slipped out the door. The others at the table were focused on Zephyr and his friend Bryan’s arm-wrestling match; the loser would have to wax the winner’s snowboard.

Maddie hurried down the stairs into night air so cold it felt like breathing ice. She stood on the sidewalk in front of the bar and stared up at a sky studded with stars like silver glitter on black glass. Get a grip, she scolded herself. She had a good life. She needed to focus on all the great things ahead instead of what she’d lost.

But what was ahead for her? For the previous decade she’d had a clear goal—to get to the Olympics. To be recognized as one of the top ski racers in the world.

All that was gone now, and she had nothing to replace it. The knowledge made her feel empty and lost.

“If you want to look at stars, there are better places than on the street in front of the Eldo.” Hagan came to stand beside her. He was wearing a red and black parka, but his head was bare, the night breeze ruffling his white-blond hair.

“You’re going to freeze without a hat,” she said.

He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “Where I grew up, it is colder than this.”

She went back to looking at the stars. It was either that or keep staring at him. Whether it was his good looks, or the quiet strength that radiated from him, or the solid confidence she envied, being with Hagan made her hyperaware of every one of her own flaws.

“Are you all right?” he asked after a moment.

“I’m fine.” Freezing, but fine. She hugged her parka closer around her body. “I’m going to catch a bus back up to the mountain and turn in early.”

This was his cue to go back into the bar, but he fell in step beside her as she began walking toward the bus stop. She glared at him. “Why did you follow me out here?”

“You interest me.”

The idea made her catch her breath. She’d heard all about Hagan’s rule about not dating locals. “Why? You have a thing for washed-up athletes?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Do you have something against Norsemen? Or men in general? Why are you so prickly?”

Her shoulders sagged. He was right. She was being a witch with a capital B, taking her bad mood out on him. Yes, he was a player and his confidence—which bordered on arrogance—annoyed her. But so far he hadn’t made any moves on her or done anything to warrant her hostility. And he was her coworker on patrol, someone she’d be seeing a lot of in the coming weeks and months. She needed to learn to get along with him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Why don’t we start over?” At the bus stop in front of the Chamber of Commerce, she stopped and offered him her hand. “Hi, I’m Maddie Alexander. I’m new here.”

A hint of a smile formed on his lips. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Alexander. I am Hagan Ansdar.” He took her hand in his and fixed her with his clear blue eyes. His clasp was firm, his gaze steady, and his soft accent made every word smooth and exotic. No wonder he had women falling at his feet. She pulled her hand away before she melted right there in the snow, shocked by her reaction. So much for thinking her cynicism about men like Hagan made her immune to his charms.

“What brings you to Crested Butte, Ms. Alexander?” he asked, continuing the charade that they had just met.

“It’s beautiful country. And I thought ski patrol would be interesting.”

“I would have thought after your career as a racer ended you would have had your choice of jobs,” he said. “Representing a ski equipment or clothing manufacturer, or skiing as the pro at a high-profile resort.”

“Those jobs go to the medal winners.”

“But ski patrol—” he glanced at her “—it doesn’t pay much.”

No, but she’d made some money in her racing career and managed to save a portion of it. What she’d needed more than money was a place to lay low and figure out what to do with the rest of her life.

“I really appreciated the patrollers who helped me when I was injured,” she said. “The doctors and nurses, too, but I don’t have a medical degree and I wanted a job that would allow me to ski every day. I may not be able to race anymore, but I still love skiing.”

“You are a beautiful skier. You have a natural grace.”

She didn’t know which unnerved her more—the unexpected compliment or the knowledge that he’d been watching her.

She changed the subject. “How did a man from Norway end up in Crested Butte, Colorado?” she asked.

When he didn’t answer right away, she glanced at him again. His mouth was compressed into a thin line, his brow furrowed in thought. “I think for many people Crested Butte is a good place to escape. To hide out, even.”

The words sent a sudden shiver up her spine. Was he accusing her of running away? Or was he answering her question in an oblique way?

The bus arrived, filled with rowdy tourists. She and Hagan were forced to take seats at opposite ends of the vehicle. But from her position at the back of the bus, she studied his profile and wondered if she’d been wrong to dismiss him as merely a player.

HAGAN STARED STRAIGHT ahead as the bus made its way up the mountain road to the resort. He was glad the crowd had separated him from Maddie. He needed the distance. Standing in the cold with her just now, watching the play of emotion on her face, he had been surprised by how much he wanted to kiss her.

He had kissed a lot of women in the past few years, slept with almost as many. The experiences had been pleasurable pastimes, things he had wanted to do. But never had he felt the need to reach out to someone that he felt with Maddie.

The idea disturbed him. He was not a man who needed other people. He enjoyed being with friends, and he liked the women he dated, but he didn’t depend on them to make him happy. Investing too much of oneself in another person was a sure road to disappointment.

He got off the bus at the first stop and walked past rows of condos to the parking lot where he kept his truck. From there it was another five miles up winding roads to his cabin on forest service land. It was a rustic two-room affair originally designed as a summer retreat, but he had added a woodstove and insulation, a king-size bed and new appliances, turning it into comfortable bachelor quarters.

He shoved open the door he seldom bothered to lock and was greeted by a fat gray striped tomcat, who wove around his ankles and demanded supper in a loud voice. “Hush,” Hagan said with no malice in his voice. The cat, dubbed Fafner after a dragon in Norse legend, had showed up two years ago and refused to leave.

Hagan opened a can of the gourmet food the feline preferred, then turned on the computer that sat on a fold-down desk in one corner of the main room. A galley kitchen and a loft bedroom and bath completed the living quarters. He added wood to the stove and shed his coat, then poured a beer, made a plate of cheese, sausage and crackers and carried them to the desk.

Moments later, he was engrossed in the software program he had been tinkering with. Occupying his free time with software design was a holdover from his previous life. But where once it had been his passion, now it was merely a hobby no one knew about. A thing he did only for himself.

When he was satisfied he could do no more with the program for now, he sat back and sipped the beer and studied the cabin. Over the door was a pair of old-fashioned wooden skis, the kind they had still used when he was a boy, skiing to school in Fredrikstad. On a shelf by the stove was a Norwegian ceramic stein his sister had sent him two Christmases ago.

He liked this place. It was his alone, a sanctuary where his friends seldom visited and he never brought women. It was orderly and comfortable, like his life. He had work he enjoyed, and though he was not prosperous financially, he had savings put away. He had good friends in town and never had to sleep alone unless he wanted to. He was satisfied.

But lately he had been restless. When Maddie had left the Eldo this evening, he had been ready to depart himself. He had decided to call the number on the slip of paper Julie had handed him that afternoon to see how she was doing. Maybe offer to stop by her place and bring a bottle of wine.

Instead he had found himself distracted by this newcomer to town, this graceful, intense young woman who fairly burned with some unnamed anger and passion. He was drawn to her, curious and more than a little wary.

Something about Maddie Alexander affected him in a way no woman had in a long time. He did not necessarily like it, but he wanted to understand it. If he could figure out why she made him feel this way, he would know better how to handle it—and better how to avoid allowing this fascination with her to turn into something more.