Cowboys & Angels (5 page)

Alex nodded. “I remember that much, at least. And something about a pizza wedge and a French fry.”

Jeb peered at him. “Are we skiing or eating lunch?”

“Skiing,” Alex said. “You’ll get it when we start out. I just remember you never want to French fry when you should pizza wedge.”

“Very good advice, Alex.” Elle wondered if Trey would follow her as she walked over to retrieve her skis. She was grateful when he didn’t. She wouldn’t mind giving him a private ski lesson, but that would be flaunting their connection, and she didn’t want that.

Once her cowboys were lined up with their skis and goggles on, she wished she could take a picture. She doubted Serenity had ever seen anything like it. Amazingly, they had managed to get in line without whacking each other’s shins, but it was early yet. “Have any of you gone snowshoeing?” she asked.

Several nodded, including Trey. She filed that away for later. He might not be ready to ski with her by the end of the weekend, but they could take some snowshoes and trek to a private clearing for some quiet time together.

“This isn’t like snowshoeing,” she said. “Your skis are waxed on the bottom so they slide over the snow, which can be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on whether you’re in control.”

“That’s what we’re here to learn,” Gabe said.

“It’s the most important thing to learn.” Elle positioned her goggles on top of her head. “Alex is right about the pizza slice and the French fry position. To slow down, put the tips of your skis together and the tails apart. The larger the pizza slice, the slower you’ll go.”

They all nodded.

“French fry position means your skis are parallel so you’ll go faster. Keep your knees apart at all times. Pretend you’re holding a basketball between them.”

“Or a flake of hay,” Jeb said. “I never played basketball, but I’ve tossed around plenty of hay.”

“A flake of hay, then.” Elle got into a basic skiing position. “And keep your knees slightly bent, like I’m doing now, and lean forward a bit. This is not a time to stand tall.”

“Can we give it a try?” Nick seemed eager to get started. “The women have started up already.”

“So they have.” Elle noticed that Jared’s group was on the towline headed for the top of the bunny slope. “Any questions before we follow them up there?”

Jeb raised his hand. “What about the falling down part? I know Jack doesn’t plan to, but I might.”

“Excellent question. If you fall, get your skis parallel to each other and below your body. Also, stay sideways to the hill. Use the slope to push yourself up. I’ll be there to help you, so don’t worry too much about it. You’ll be fine.”

“Count on it.” Jack led off, and as he did, he called out, “Wagons, ho!”

On cue, the rest started singing the theme song from
Rawhide
as they marched in single file over to the towrope. Elle wished to God she had a video camera. Those cowboys were too cute for words. And one of them, the one she’d had naked in her bed last night, was the cutest of them all.

5

T
REY
COULDN
’
T
SAY
he was the worst skier in the bunch, but he wasn’t the best, either. Alex had done this before, so he didn’t count, but Jack Chance surprised them all. He took to skiing as if he’d been born with a ski pole in each hand. His jeans stayed dry. Figured. After all, this was Jack they were talking about.

Trey didn’t have much natural ability for the sport, apparently, and on top of that, he spent more time watching Elle than practicing his pizza wedge and French fry moves. Clad in black ski pants and jacket, her sleek body was poetry in motion as she swerved among her students, giving tips and helping those who’d fallen.

He and the others, including Alex, had gone down at least once. Trey had landed in the snow twice so far, and both times, just his luck, Alex had come over to help him and make suggestions before Elle could. The third time, though, Elle happened to be closer to him than Alex was. She skied in his direction, moving with grace and efficiency.

About a yard away, she made what he’d learned was a hockey stop—a quick shift sideways with parallel skis. It created a little spray of snow and looked impressive. He wanted to learn that, but he needed to master the pizza wedge first.

“Uncross your skis and scoot around so they’re downhill from you,” she said.

His goggles were bugging the hell out of him, so he shoved them in his jacket pocket. Then he untangled his skis and repositioned his legs downhill of his body. In the process some snow worked its way under the hem of his jacket. Damn, that was cold. She’d been right about wet denim, too. Ski pants were looking better every second.

Gliding toward him, she swooped down and plucked his hat out of the snow. “I’m sure you want this.”

“I do.” He abandoned both poles so he could take it from her and brush the snow off. “Thanks.”

“I have to admit the hats aren’t the worst idea in the world.” She pushed her goggles up and gazed at him. “They stand up to the snow and they shade your eyes.”

“Yeah, but we’re all losing them like crazy.” He put on his hat and tugged on the brim. “The bunny slope is littered with Stetsons.”

Her laughter made her eyes sparkle. “Next time you can tie them on.”

“Next time I’ll wear something else.”

“Does that mean you’re willing to try this again?” Still balanced on her skis, she crouched down beside him.

If he attempted to do that, he would topple over. She was a superb athlete, and that turned him on. “Sure, I’ll try again. So far I pretty much suck at this, but the company’s great.”

“What a nice thing to say.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been told I’m—” He paused and drew in a sharp breath as the sun emerged from behind a cloud.

“That you’re what?”

“It’s not important.” He gazed at her, entranced by the image that had haunted him for eight months. “You look exactly the way you did when you pulled me out of that snowdrift, except it’s the sun making the halo instead of your truck’s headlights.”

“At least this time you don’t have a concussion.”

“At least this time I know your name.”

“You know a lot more than that about me, cowboy.”

He looked into her eyes, and his pulse hammered in response to the desire he saw shining in those blue depths. “And I plan to learn a whole lot more.” He was also becoming aroused. His swelling cock pushed painfully against a layer of cold, wet cotton followed by a thicker layer of cold, wet denim. “This isn’t the best time to be having this conversation, is it?”

Her mouth curved and she glanced down at his crotch. “Probably not. I can imagine what those wet jeans must feel like.”

“They’re all that and worse. Any chance you’ll come by and help peel them off when this is over?”

“Tempting as that sounds, it’s not a good idea.” She straightened and pulled her goggles down.

He spoke quickly, wanting to get vital information to her. “Incidentally, your manager, Carl, came looking for me during breakfast in the restaurant.”

She lifted the goggles again. “He did?”

“Yeah. Someone told him the story about you rescuing me last spring, and he thought that was kind of cool.” Tired of sitting in the snow, he used the slope as leverage and pushed himself upright. He wasn’t totally steady, but he was standing. “He wanted to set my mind at ease. He doesn’t see a problem with us socializing when you’re off duty.”

“Socializing.” She smiled. “I guess that covers all sorts of things.”

“Yes, ma’am, it does.”

She held his gaze for a beat. “At the end of the lesson, you should soak in the tub for a while. Your muscles aren’t used to this.”

“Sounds like you want me to get naked.”

Her eyes sparked with mischief. “It’s not a bad idea.”

“Got any more ideas?”

“I happen to have a two-hour break after this.”

That news helped him generate a considerable amount of body heat. “I’m in room 124.”

“Okay.” Repositioning her goggles, she dug her poles into the snow. “See you then.” She sped off to help another fallen cowboy.

He stood there wondering how in hell he was supposed to practice pizza and French fry when his cock was as rigid as a ski pole.

“Trey!”

He recognized Watkins’s voice, although he couldn’t see the guy. Using his poles to balance himself and wincing at the discomfort in his crotch, he turned cautiously to his right, where Jared’s group had been practicing.

So far, the groups hadn’t mingled. Trey suspected male pride was involved. The five married guys wanted to perfect their technique before they joined their wives, who had been working with Jared.

Watkins looked pretty damned confident as he stood on the slope in his peacock-blue ski pants and jacket. He’d opted for a matching knit cap, and though Trey could see the sense in that kind of headgear now, it still looked dorky, especially paired with the goggles. Maybe a different color would help.

“Check this out, my friend!” Watkins’s grin made his handlebar mustache wiggle. He pushed off, his knees bent as they’d been taught. First he sashayed left, and then he sashayed right, followed by a perfect, snow-spewing hockey stop.

“That’s great!” Trey was jealous, but he had no right to be. He’d been lusting after his ski instructor instead of focusing on the task at hand. “Would you be willing to show me how you did that?”

“Absolutely.” Watkins used his poles to good effect as he skied toward Trey.

“Wait for me! I’m right behind you!” Mary Lou called out. Sailing over in their direction, she seemed as much at home on her skis as her husband. “Isn’t this fun?”

“I’m not sure I’d use that word,” Trey said.

Mary Lou looked him up and down. “Of course you wouldn’t, dressed like you’re heading down to the corral. Why didn’t you wear the right stuff?”

“We all thought—”

“Never mind. I had the same argument with Watkins. He couldn’t picture himself in ski pants, either.”

“But you were right to talk me into it, Lou-Lou. I can move a hundred times better in these.” He surveyed Trey’s wet jeans. “That denim looks mighty soggy and uncomfortable.”

“You have no idea.”

“I have some idea. I fell in an icy river once. But maybe you can still learn, even wearing jeans.”

“He can,” Mary Lou said. “He’s young and agile. If old codgers like us can pick it up, so can Trey, despite his wardrobe choices. Come on, son. Show us what you’ve learned so far.”

Trey moved his skis into a good-sized pizza wedge and gradually narrowed it. He began to move slowly down the hill.

“That’s it!” Watkins called out. “Good job! Now use your thighs to turn yourself slightly to the left.”

“Knees apart!” Mary Lou yelled. “Butt tucked in!”

Trey wished they weren’t making so much noise with this instruction, but he had asked them to help, so he’d endure the humiliation. And he actually made a turn.

“Now go the other way!” Being a singer, Watkins knew how to project, so the entire hillside of skiers was probably listening.

“Butt tucked!” Mary Lou wasn’t a singer, but she had a good set of vocal cords on her, too.

Trey managed to change course without falling down, while Watkins and Mary Lou cheered. That would have been okay, except that others had joined in, which led Trey to believe he had collected an audience. Not his goal.

But if he had one, he might as well do his best. He executed another turn, and another. At this rate he’d be at the bottom before long.

Behind him, somebody started up a chant—
Wheeler, Wheeler, Wheeler.
The volume grew as more people joined in. Damn it, this was plain embarrassing. He could fall down at any minute.

In spite of that fear, he was determined to finish with a hockey stop. A fellow couldn’t have people chanting his name and then have the performance peter out at the end. Besides, one of those people watching had to be Elle, although he doubted she was chanting. That was more the kind of thing a bunch of cowboys would do to one of their own.

His timing had to be right. One more turn and then the hockey stop. He swerved left, pivoted the way he’d seen Watkins do it, and sent up a decent spray of snow. Cheers erupted as he teetered there for one glorious moment. Then he fell.

The cheers turned into one unison groan. Trey started to chuckle, and the more he thought about that juvenile display of showmanship, the harder he laughed. Good thing he was already on the ground, because doubled over like this, he never would have been able to balance on the damned skis.

Elle got to him first. “Trey! Are you hurt? Can you get up? What’s wrong?”

He gulped for air. “I’m fine. Just...laughing my fool head off.”

“Oh, good.” She sighed in obvious relief. “When I saw you holding your stomach, I thought you’d done something to yourself, although I couldn’t imagine what.”

Grinning, Trey snapped the catch on his skis and took them off. “That was
almost
impressive.”

“I was impressed.”

“Glad to hear it. Is this lesson over yet?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. Your timing was perfect, even if your demonstration wasn’t. Let me help you up.”

“Thanks.” He should be embarrassed that a woman was pulling him to his feet, but he’d already made a fool of himself, and he was glad for the support. She’d once hauled him out of a snowdrift, so she certainly had the strength to help him up now.

Besides, this way he got to hold her hand, even if they both had on gloves and he couldn’t touch her soft skin. He would be doing that soon, though.

Eventually the rest of the skiers came down the bunny slope, all of them staying on their skis the whole way. They gathered at the spot where Elle and Trey stood. Trey accepted both congratulations and commiserations while they all divested themselves of their skis.

Jared made a megaphone of his hands and got everyone’s attention. “I realize everyone will be busy tomorrow with wedding activities, but we can schedule another session the morning after that. How many are in?”

All hands went up, including Trey’s.

“I’d advise the cowboys to acquire ski pants,” Jared said. “You’ll find them a lot more pleasant.”

“I’ll vouch for that,” Watkins said.

“I’ve got twenty bucks that says Jack won’t wear ’em,” Nash said.

“You’d lose that bet, my friend,” Jack said, “just like you lost the one today.”

Nash made a face. “Don’t remind me.”

“But, Jack, you’re the only one who didn’t fall down.” Jeb’s expression was filled with hero worship. “You don’t need to worry about ski pants.”

“I didn’t fall down, but I’m here to tell you that my boys are
not
happy.” Jack glanced around at his jeans-wearing companions. “The next time I come out here, my guys will be thermally protected and waterproofed. Count on it.”

After the laughter died down, the crowd dispersed with much joking about frosty denim and shrinkage. Trey would have liked to confirm with Elle that they’d meet in his room when she was free, but she was having a long conversation with Jared. Trey decided to go back to his room and get free of the cursed jeans.

Watkins called out as Trey started toward the lodge. The barrel-chested cowboy had his cell phone in his hand.

Trey paused. “What’s up?”

“I have a call from Pam.” He put the phone to his ear and continued to talk as he approached. “Let me check with him, Pam. Should be fine.” He put his thumb over the speaker and glanced at Trey. “As we might expect, Emmett’s freaking out a little about all the fuss surrounding the ceremony.”

“What fuss?”

“You and I haven’t been part of it, but Pam’s been in consultation with the chef about the menu because some items didn’t come in as expected, and the florist shipped the wrong arrangements and Emmett’s coat doesn’t fit quite right. You know, the usual wedding issues.”

“If you say so. I’ve only been involved in one wedding, and that was when Sarah and Pete got married last August. I’m not what you’d call an experienced wedding person.”

“The upshot is, Emmett is stressed. Pam thinks it’ll help if we meet in the room where the ceremony will be held and give them a little preview of the music we intend to play. She thinks just listening to those songs he loves, songs he helped choose, will remind him of how great the wedding is going to be.”

“I’m not sure that will work. It might make him more nervous than ever.”

Watkins nodded. “It could, but she’s running out of ideas short of plying him with whiskey.”

“Isn’t there a bachelor party for him tonight? We can get him toasted then.”

“And we will, but it’s quite a few hours between now and the bachelor party. Anyway, I think we should give it a shot.”

“You bet. After all, she’s rolled out the red carpet for all of us. Does she want us to do the preview now?”

“Yep. As soon as we can change out of our ski duds, or in your case, out of your wet jeans.”

“Oh.”

“You got something planned?”

“Not exactly, but...” Trey couldn’t very well explain to Watkins what he’d scheduled for the next couple of hours.

“Something to do with our ski instructor, maybe?”