A Long Way to Fall, page 2
She ignored the soft knock on the door. Whoever it was could wait a few more seconds. The snowplow’s flashing lights came into view, but she couldn’t make out if anyone was behind it.
Another knock. “Bridge? I come bearing a gift from Chef.”
“Hold on!” Bridget needed the plow to make it to the slight curve in the road so she could see what was behind it, and sure enough, the truck she’d been looking for was there. “Thank God,” she whispered. And then she shouted, “Coming.”
Normally, she’d ask her employee to leave her breakfast outside the door, but since it was Harriet, the lodge’s longtime manager and her father’s right-hand woman, Bridget went to the door and looked through the peephole. “Are you alone?”
Harriet looked to her left, then her right and nodded. “All clear.”
Bridget opened the door. “I asked because I’m still in my pajamas.”
“Who did you think I’d have with me, the mayor of Elk Mountain?”
Bridget pulled her into the room. “No, but a guest could’ve been walking by.”
“That wouldn’t be a problem if you’d stayed where you were,” Harriet said. “I still don’t understand why you insist on being in this tiny room when you have your dad’s penthouse suite. It isn’t right, Bridge. He wouldn’t like where you are now. And neither would your mom.”
It didn’t make sense for Bridget to stay in her dad’s suite during the ski season. Not when she could rent it out at a hefty price. It hadn’t ever been done before, but unlike her father, she didn’t need a large suite for entertaining VIP guests. Or even friends, for that matter. So why not rent it out?
“I don’t need that much space,” she said. “Besides, it’s a piece of history. People will fall all over themselves to stay in Dad’s suite once the renovation is finished.”
Bridget told herself she didn’t have the luxury of sentimentality, and the guest room was plenty big enough for her, even if the view out her window wasn’t quite as stunning. Besides, she’d rather watch the traffic out front than sit in that huge suite surrounded by memories.
“You’re probably right about that,” Harriet said. “It’s a good business decision. Tell your mom that next time you talk to her.”
Bridget’s mom, Ingrid, hadn’t lasted on the mountain. It was too isolated for her. Too far away from her family back in New York. She was a city girl through and through.
When Ingrid had left the mountain, Bridget was only ten years old, but her mom had given her what she still considered to be the best gift she could’ve ever received: to choose who she wanted to live with for most of the year. Bridget had chosen her dad. She’d chosen Elk Mountain. It was home, and she had no interest in city life. She’d always be grateful to her mom for not dragging her away out of a sense of motherly duty.
It was for the best that Bridget had stayed on the mountain because her mom had gone through two more marriages and was most likely working on a third. Her dad had stayed single, which was also for the best since women loved him, and he loved them right back. Bridget often teased him about being a chick magnet, and when she came out to him at twenty-one, he said, “Well, look who’s going to be the chick magnet now.”
He wasn’t off base. In the last ten years, Bridget had been in a few relationships. None with any sort of staying power due to her hectic training and travel schedule as a competitive skier. That was what she blamed it on anyway. The truth was more complicated, but admitting to anyone that she feared commitment because of her parents’ divorce would surely seem like a cop-out. It was easier to blame it on her quest for Olympic Gold. And now she could blame it on her dad for dying and giving her the lodge that, for the most part, took up all her time and energy. There. Problem solved.
“Mom’s too busy with future husband number four to worry about me,” Bridget said. “I always tell her everything is fine and not to worry about me, and I expect you to do the same.” She raised an eyebrow and waited for a response from Harriet, who suddenly seemed to find the ceiling of great interest.
Every time they talked, Bridget’s mom seemed to know more than Bridget had told her, so she’d assumed the information was coming from Harriet, who’d taken it upon herself to play a surrogate parent role in Bridget’s life since her dad’s death. She loved Harriet for it, but sometimes it felt intrusive. They hadn’t found that fine line between friend and employee, but she had faith that they would eventually.
She gave Harriet a quick once over. “What’s different? Did you change your hair?”
“I had no choice. My regular hairdresser left town, and the new one told me he wouldn’t let me stay stuck in the eighties. He cut my bangs so I can’t curl them in what he called a ‘sausage roll’ anymore. She patted her hair. “I kinda like the way it turned out.”
Her style had always been a short bob with bangs with the same bottled shade of reddish brown. Now the bangs fell more naturally over her eyebrows, giving her a softer look. “I like it too,” Bridget said. “Now, about that gift from the chef.” She lifted the plate to her nose and inhaled the sweet scent of cinnamon. “Sorry, Harriet. You’ll have to order your own because this one is all mine.”
Bridget had given up one of the lodge’s top floor rooms for the entire season so she could hire an onsite chef. But not just any chef. Chef Lawrence was known for his decadent breakfasts, social-media-worthy sack lunches, and an inventive dinner menu. She’d lured him up the mountain with the promise of autonomy and creative control. The menu was his creation. The kitchen staff were his selection, and as far as Bridget was concerned, it helped that Chef was a non-skier. It meant he wasn’t working on the mountain because he loved to ski. He was there because he loved his work, and that spelled success for everyone.
Bridget was especially fond of his homemade English muffins served with a delicious cinnamon crème schmear, but her dessert-for-breakfast euphoria was interrupted by the sound of a helicopter. She set the plate down. “VIP?”
Harriet moved to the window. “Not that I’m aware of. We didn’t book anything from the airport, and no one else has requested authorization to land.”
Bridget joined her at the window. Harriet’s answer could only mean one thing. Most skiing accidents were minor enough that the skier could be taken down the mountain on a sled. But every once in a while, they would hear the Life Flight helicopter, and everyone would hold their breath while they watched the sky.
Bridget opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the small balcony. A sleek helicopter with a large cabin made almost entirely of windows came into view. It wasn’t Life Flight. It was the second worst-case scenario, right after a life-threatening injury.
“It’s him,” Bridget announced. She might have inherited a one-of-a-kind resort lodge, but she was also the heiress to a years-long fight over property lines with their obnoxious neighbor, Jerry Fleming, better known in Bridget’s head as JJ, for Jackass Jerry.
Harriet stepped up next to her and gripped the balcony. “He hasn’t shown his face since early last season, and God knows we’re not ready for his idiotic shenanigans. Not with Boden out of the picture.”
Bridget hoped he wouldn’t show up until after Christmas, but here he was on their first big weekend. Jackass. “I guess he’s mine to deal with now.”
“Kill him for me, would ya?” Harriet gave Bridget a side glance. “You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. I always told your father he went too easy on Jerry.” She put her hands on Bridget’s shoulders. “This is your chance to set the tone. Let him know up front that you won’t tolerate his disruptive pettiness. I’ll back you up, and so will everyone down mountain. There isn’t a soul in town who likes the man. Now, come back inside. We want hypothermia to get him, not us.”
As far as Bridget knew, Harriet didn’t have a mean bone in her body, so her suggestions came as a surprise. Especially the part about killing him. Bridget wasn’t willing to go to prison for the jerk. She refused to give him that kind of satisfaction. Even so, Harriet was the only other person at the lodge who’d had a front-row seat to the crazy neighbor sideshow. Sure, everyone knew he was caustic and mean, but only Harriet had been privy to the full scope of his batshittery. She slid the door closed. “Warn the employees. Same rule as always: if he approaches, call for backup. Oh, and tell Seth to make sure the warning signs along the trail haven’t been covered in snow. And for God’s sake, make sure nothing is blocking the entrance to the man’s driveway.”
“The only thing blocking that steep driveway is three feet of snow,” Harriet said. “He usually has it plowed before he gets here. I can only assume the plow guys have finally declined the pleasure of serving him.”
Bridget pushed her chin out and folded her arms. Harriet was right. She’d need to take a tougher stance than her father ever did. Zero tolerance. “His driveway is not our problem.”
“Oh, honey,” Harriet said. “He’ll make it our problem. In fact, he’ll probably pay off some new snowplow company to dump it all in our parking lot again.”
Bridget’s eyes widened. “Dad never told me about that.”
“Oh, it’s been five years now. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Forget I said anything. Your job is to handle him in the future, not worry about the past.”
The feud had been going on for a long time, but in the last few years before her father’s death, Bridget hadn’t been at the lodge for more than a few days at a time during the ski season. Not long enough to catch up on all the latest gossip. “What did my dad do about it?”
Harriet’s expression softened. “Most of the time, Boden’s easygoing attitude played in my favor. He let me do most things my way, but he insisted on handling Jerry all on his own, and let’s just say, there were times when I wished he’d been more inclined to lay down the law.”
Bridget hadn’t inherited her dad’s easy demeanor. She worried about everything, had a quick temper, and a sharp tongue, as her mother would say. The confusing part was that her dad had raised her to not take crap from anyone. So why had he taken JJ’s crap for so long?
It was a question she might never get an answer to, but Harriet didn’t need to worry about Bridget’s backbone. She stood and went back to the window. “Why is the pilot hovering? Can’t they just land already?”
Harriet patted her shoulder. “It’s Jerry’s thing, honey. If he can find a way to disturb our guests, he’ll do it. See you downstairs.”
Harriet left, but Bridget watched the helicopter hover over the incoming guests. She knew he couldn’t see her, but she refused to look away. Enough of hiding in the shadows. She stepped back out so the petulant little prick could get a good look at her. Turning the other cheek, rising above the pettiness…those were no longer viable options. Her dad might have grown weary of the fight, but Bridget was just getting started.
* * *
Helicopters were not Kennedy’s favorite mode of transportation. She adjusted her headset and shouted, “Can you just land already?” Why in the world did they have to hover twenty feet when there was literally nothing but snow for miles around?
“Sorry, Ms. Fleming. Mr. Fleming preferred it if I hovered. In fact, he tipped extra if I circled for a few minutes. Should I circle, ma’am?”
“Just land before I throw up all over your back seat.” She took off the headset and tossed it on the seat next to her. After a five-hour flight from Miami, an hour delay in the Salt Lake City airport while they looked for but never found two pieces of her luggage, and then a rough helicopter ride, she had no patience left. “Please,” she added much too late, especially since she’d already removed her headset.
It looked cold outside. Bitter cold. If she was lucky, she’d be done and out of there in a few days. Once the blades stopped and she had both feet on the ground, she scanned the area. She stopped short when she noticed a woman standing on the balcony of a building, her red hair blowing in the wind. “And who might you be?” she muttered.
The pilot appeared out of nowhere with her carry-on bag. “Oh, that’s Bridget Berg. She runs her dad’s lodge now. Nice girl.”
Kennedy didn’t realize she’d said it loud enough for him to hear. She continued to scan the area, but there really wasn’t much to see. “Where’s the town? I thought Elk Mountain was a town or a village or whatever.”
“Technically, yes. But we’re at the top of the mountain. You’ll have to ski or drive back down to town.”
She hadn’t noticed the elevation when she’d looked up the address of her dad’s cabin on a map. And Michael certainly hadn’t mentioned that it was at the top of the mountain. He probably left that minor detail out on purpose when he’d begged her to fly to Utah in the dead of winter. And then she remembered another not-so-minor detail. “Are you sure the airline can get my lost luggage to me up here?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” he said. “But here’s the good news. You have your gear, so what else do you need?”
He took her ski and boot bags out of the helicopter and set them by her feet. She’d only brought them to pass the time until she went to the meeting she’d been sent here for. And what else could she possibly need up there? Oh, maybe every single thing she’d packed in her luggage. Warm pajamas, clean underwear, clothes, makeup. She didn’t consider herself to be high maintenance, but she liked to look and smell good, unlike the pilot, who apparently thought she’d be fine to ski in street clothes. The thought made Kennedy cringe. In related news, she wished she’d thought to buy a toothbrush at the airport.
A gust of wind reminded her how she’d too easily acquiesced to her stylist’s burning desire to give her a shorter hairstyle the day before. Oh, and he was so damned proud of himself after he’d styled it too. She had to admit that the textured pixie suited her angular face, but announcing to the entire salon that he’d just created the next big trend for dark hair seemed like overkill. Besides, she could’ve really used those extra seven inches of hair to keep her warm right about now.
The pilot handed her a business card. “Call this number to schedule a return flight to the airport.” They stood awkwardly for a moment before he turned back toward his “rig,” as he called it.
“Clint?” She pulled up the collar on her wool coat.
He turned around. “Yes, Ms. Fleming?”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been great company. I’ve had a pretty rotten day, but I had no business taking it out on you.”
“I appreciate you saying that, ma’am. Don’t give it another thought. I know you’ve lost a lot more than your luggage.”
“Thanks, Clint. And enough of this ma’am business. Call me Kennedy.” She took a hundred-dollar bill from her wallet and handed it to him. “Just one other thing. Did my brother happen to schedule a car to take me to our father’s cabin?”
“You won’t need one.” Clint pointed just to the side of the lodge. “It’s right there.”
Kennedy looked in the direction he’d pointed to. The cabin didn’t look at all familiar to her. Michael said that she’d been there when she was a child, but she had no memory of it. And surely, she’d remember such an atrocity.
He’d also said that their mother hated the place, but their dad went to Elk Mountain quite a bit on his own to work on the cabin in the summer and ski in the winter. Thinking back on it, Kennedy had always assumed that her parents divorced because her dad was a workaholic. She wasn’t close enough to her mom to call and ask if she’d been wrong all these years and maybe find out that it had really been because he spent too much time in this place, of all places on earth.
Their relationship was complicated, and Kennedy didn’t have time to ask a question and then argue for two hours about why she didn’t visit her mom more often. That call would have to wait for a time when she wasn’t standing on a helipad in the dead of winter, ten thousand feet above sea level. That was an altitude estimate that she’d have to corroborate later over a hot cup of coffee.
Kennedy told herself it would be fine. Really. She’d be fine. She was practically sure of it. Like Clint said, she had her gear, and she could ski down the mountain if she needed to. It had been a few years since she’d clicked into a pair of skis, but it was just like riding a bike, right? The kind of bike that had no brakes and she could easily wrap herself around a tree on. Sure. Everything would be fine.
The helipad was well-sanded and thoroughly plowed, but that was the end of the easy terrain. Kennedy slung her ski bag over her shoulder and picked up her carry-on and boot bag. She took a step off the helipad and realized her suede ankle boots weren’t the best choice, considering where she was. The last thing she needed to do was break an ankle and get frostbite on her extremities before someone found her. Since birth, she’d grown rather fond of her fingers and toes. Evidently, she’d also developed a fear of freezing to death alone when she was maybe a football field away from the valet entrance of…what the hell was that place called?
She carefully navigated each step. After a good distance—approximately six feet—she looked up to see a short, snow-packed trail with a wooden arrow-shaped sign that pointed to the Boden Berg Lodge. Her dad’s house was in the other direction with no trail leading to it. Just snow. Deep snow. At least it was slightly downhill from the helipad. If only she had snowshoes.
She damned the airlines for losing her luggage. Not that she had snowshoes in them, but still. Damn them. Maybe she could ski to it. Her skis and boots were the only checked luggage that had made it from Miami. It’d be a hell of a lot better than trudging in suede boots. God, she loved these boots. So fine, she’d be in street clothes, but it’d be such a short trip, who would even see her? And who even cared?
She bent down and unzipped the ski bag. “Hello, pretty skis. I know, I know. It’s been a while, but could you do me a solid and get me from here to that house down there?” She set them on the ground and unzipped the boot bag. “You too, boots. The sooner we get to that house, the sooner we can all sit in front of a nice fire and warm up. What do you say?” She was almost certain she heard the boots respond. So she answered, “Fine. Yes, I said, ‘do me a solid.’ Yes, I know that’s, like, from the year two-thousand-nothing, and no one says that anymore. Sue me. Could you please just keep me from breaking a bone? Any bone? Thank you.”
