Page 16 of Cold and Bitter Snow

“Something else you and Monsieur Montgomery disagree about?” Conor asked.

“Why does everybody call him Monsieur Montgomery? He has a first name, like the rest of us,” she huffed.

“If he does, he hasn’t shared it with the night shift crew,” Conor said.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him how he’d ended up in Switzerland, why he’d become a snow groomer, but she didn’t see how to have the conversation without offending him.

“I’m sorry. I know we’re not here to talk about work.”

“Come on, follow me,” he said, skiing off towards a blue run. Just by the way he turned his head to make sure she was following, Siena could tell he was a proficient skier. But then he started really skiing, executing turns with a precision she could never hope to attain, and she realized he was much better than proficient. It would have been a pleasure to watch him, had she not been so busy trying to keep up.

She followed him all the way to the next chairlift. It was a four-seater but nobody sat with them. Siena suddenly felt shy—there was something intimate about sitting with someone for five or ten minutes with no distractions or excuses.

“Where the hell did you learn to ski?” she asked curiously.

He barked out a laugh. “I told you I could ski. Not much merit to it, though—I learned to ski before I could walk.” He had the grace to look sheepish. “Was I going too fast? We can go slower.”

She shook her head. “It’s fine. I’m just embarrassed now. You probably think I ski like shit.”

His voice went quiet. “I’m not going to assess your ski level. I just want to ski with you.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Do all your siblings ski like you?”

“I only have one older brother. He’s a senator, so I don’t think he gets to go skiing much anymore, but he used to be much better than me.”

“Well I’d hate to ski with him,” she muttered, preparing as they reached the top of the chairlift. As they got close to the off ramp Conor raised the bar and pulled it above their heads.

“Ready?” he asked. She realized he was waiting for her to push off before letting go of the chair and gliding out of the way smoothly. She recovered her flailing poles just in time to avoid hitting him in the face.

He took off at an easy pace, trusting her to follow him across to a small side path that couldn’t be seen from the lift.

Siena thought she’d done most of the runs in the resort, but had never thought of coming this way.

He led them all the way to the bottom, getting to a steep T-Bar lift.

“Bonjour, Jacques,” he said to the lift attendant who was shoveling snow out of the way. The older man waved then went back to shoveling. “Wow, I wouldn’t have found this lift in a million years.”

“Almost nobody knows it. One of the perks of my job. It’s Le Miroir’s most coveted lift attendant shift.”

He stood on her left side, grabbing the T-Bar easily with his right hand and pulling it back under their legs. Siena concentrated on getting it in the right place under her butt. Her ski hit a small pocket of snow and she almost lost her balance but righted herself at the last moment.

Please don’t let me faceplant right now.

“It’s really steep.”

“There’s a red run at the end and two blacks,” he said easily.

“Let’s take the red, shall we,” she muttered.

They rode in silence until the top of the mountain. At the top Conor got rid of the T—Bar, sending it flying back over their heads.

“This way,” he said. “I’ll follow you.”

“You’ll get bored,” she argued.

“I doubt that very much,” he said. The ghost of a smile played on his lips.

She concentrated on her short turns, leaning her hips into each turn to put pressure on the inside edge of her downhill ski. The snow was soft and powdery—it must have snowed last night while she was trying to sleep—and she found herself really enjoying the run.