11
MICK READ THE entire manuscript in one day. Other than an extremely quick lunch with Raine that had ended with a brief and unsatisfying goodbye peck on the cheek because she was in a hurry and they were in a public place, he’d spent the rest of the time reading in his room. Dinner was room service, eaten almost absently as he read.
It was an indulgence for him and the unfinished work was fantastic.
No pressure.
It brought him back to his childhood when he’d read those first Matthew Brighton books. Being reminded of his father was welcome when he was now committed to changing his life.
Loyalty. Fidelity. Integrity.
He’d absorbed those lessons without need of a lecture. He’d bet most people thought his parents were frivolous due to their wealth, but they absolutely were not. His father had been demonstratively diligent as a family man, and as a businessman. Both he and Ran had learned a lot from him. Their father wasn’t successful because it came naturally, it was because he worked at it, and his example had stuck.
Don’t ever screw someone over and think that’s okay.
They didn’t.
When it goes south, regroup and think about how to fix it. It might seem like the end of the world, but it isn’t.
Deal with hard guidelines but make them fair. No one loses that way.
Take time every single day to make sure you appreciate what you have. Ambition is fine, but avarice is not.
Raine was 100 percent on that one. It was clear she liked her life. Mick liked his, too, but recognized that the missing elements had nothing to do with money and everything to do with taking more time to simply enjoy himself. He didn’t like busy airports and congested freeways yet had to put up with both on an almost daily basis and both of his houses were nice by any standard and luxurious by most, but a waste since he didn’t use even half the space.
It was time to just sell them and move on. He realized now he’d been thinking about it for some time, even before his keen interest in this part of Wyoming had arisen. Maybe ever since he’d picked up his first Matthew Brighton novel and sat down to read.
His father would no doubt approve.
The last paragraph of the manuscript was: He was a man of action and it wasn’t in his nature to sit idly by and just let things happen. They happened on his terms and that was that.
Mick dealt with talented people on a constant basis. That was his job, to win sponsors, to create backing for plays and films like the ones Slater did so well, to decide what was innovative and new, and what wasn’t going to go over with a large viewing audience.
Now the tables had turned and he was the one sitting there on the creative edge...
Tentatively he opened a document on his computer and began to type. He was daunted, yes, but it was out of the question to not at least give it a try. Two hours later he had some words down and wasn’t displeased with the result—not that he was impressed with himself, but it had come far easier than he imagined.
He sent Raine an email. Mission Aspen Trail conclusion has begun.
It was now after midnight, and of course she typed right back immediately. You’ve been busy.
How was the meeting?
It was good. We’re all pleased with the number of applicants. The scholarship is evolving into more than we imagined. There are a lot of good students out there who deserve the chance to make their dreams come true.
A very Raine sort of sentiment. The woman who preferred to give away an expensive piece of property.
Good cause, he typed back. I’ll help, of course. You should get my mother involved.
Had he really just said that, in writing, no less?
Instantly he recanted. He loved his mother but she had a tendency to take charge and definite ideas on how things should be done. Or maybe not. She might take over.
We were talking about how we need someone to maybe run a foundation. Do you think she would?
Oh, I think you’d maybe raise a monster from the depths, but if you want meticulous management, she’s your woman. That was honest.
Monster or not, she could be just what we need.
I can obviously get you in touch with her. Can we have dinner tomorrow?
We can but I have something else in mind. Call me in the morning.
Like?
Just call. And sweet dreams.
She didn’t write anything further.
If he knew Raine she’d gone right back to work. He did the same, not returning to the manuscript but instead answering emails and checking his messages since he’d basically taken the day off. No news, no stock market updates, none of his usual routine, just moonlight on the snow and a sense of personal well-being.
He had no illusions that this was all going to be simple. Making a major change never was an easy process, but if he trusted his instincts at all, he had to accept that it was time.
* * *
Occasionally she got some pretty harebrained ideas.
Raine had to admit this could be one of them. She strapped the toboggan to the top of her SUV and Daisy clapped, her eyes shining. She was going to be taller than her mother, Raine had already figured out, taking more after Slater in that regard, and had that coltish lack of grace that would change as she matured. In any case, she was young enough to still think sledding was big fun, and maybe Raine was too, since she agreed. Samson seemed just as excited, romping through the snow.
Some kids never grew up.
Some grown-ups—namely her—just wanted to see Mick Branson rocket down a wicked hill on a toboggan. She could probably sell pictures of that. She knew the steep hill, and since she doubted he had a proper coat for this experience, had asked Slater if she could borrow one. They were very close to the same build. Of course the answer had been an amused yes once she explained why she was asking. He even said he’d love to film it, but his crew was all off on Christmas break.
“That’s what my phone is for,” she’d assured him. She could catch a short video of the urbane Mr. Branson careening down the slope if he had the fortitude to accept the challenge.
She somehow thought he would. So far he’d proven to be unshakable, even in the face of the entire Carson family, Jangles and his sneak attacks, talking to her grandmother, whipping up a dinner extraordinaire...
She’d see if those nerves of steel held up.
Red called it Dead Man’s Hill and it was certainly a wild ride. He was the first person to point her in that direction with the admonishment it was not for the faint of heart. He was right. But the snow was perfect and it wouldn’t be winter if she didn’t at least go down that hill once a week, and Daisy loved it. Mick could decline if he wanted, but she had a feeling he would be game.
Raine doubted anything tripped him up, but she had to admit she was eager to see the look on his face when he first saw that slope. If a person didn’t have a moment of doubt, then they just weren’t sensible. What they decided after they stared down that 45 degree angle and thought it was maybe a bad decision but looked like it might be really fun, well, that was up to them.
Red had wisely counseled that if you didn’t panic like a sheep that had eaten loco weed then you would be fine. Raine was uncertain how a sheep that had ingested that plant did act, but it sounded like solid advice to just enjoy the experience.
Mick pulled up, right on time as usual, and got out of his fancy rental, eyeing the contraptions strapped to the top of her car. “You’ve been out sledding?”
“No. Not yet.”
“I’m beginning to see the light. This is why you told me to wear jeans.”
“Yep,” she responded cheerfully. “Hop in. I have the right kind of coat for you and Mace offered up a spare pair of snow boots since some hiking is involved. The good news for you is you get to carry the big toboggan. Don’t worry, I have a thermos of hot cocoa.”
“It had better have some whiskey in it,” he said darkly, but gamely climbed in the passenger side on the car.
She jumped in and started the vehicle. “Has Mr. Boardroom ever been sledding?”
“Maybe when I was about thirty years younger. Are you sure my feeble body can take this?” He buckled his seat belt.
She eyed his muscular frame and broad shoulders with true appreciation. “I think you’ll survive.”
“I guess I have no choice but to find out. I’m being...what’s the expression out here in the wilds? Railroaded?”
“That’s the one.” She pulled out onto the street, which was clearing nicely after being plowed. The abundant sunshine helped, too, even though the temps were still below freezing.
Samson woofed from his spot next to Daisy in the back seat. “We’re bringing the dog?”
“He loves it. I think he can ride down the slopes with you. At the bottom you get a special bonus since he always licks your face in exuberant gratitude.”
“That takes dogsledding to an interesting level.” He looked resigned. “This just gets better all the time. I was thinking a fire and maybe a glass of wine.”
“We’ll get to that. I’m making homemade pizza, by the way.”
“That sounds fabulous.” Mick scooted his seat back a few inches, careful not to jar Samson, who was curled up on the seat behind him. “Let me guess—smoked salmon and caviar on crème fraîche.”
“This isn’t Beverly Hills, hotshot. How about sausage, pepperoni, onion and green pepper.”
“Or sardines, Gouda and watermelon.” His tone was so serious she heard Daisy draw in a disbelieving breath from the back seat. “It’s my favorite.”
“Be careful,” she said as she turned onto main street. “Or I’ll get Stephano to fix that just for you.”
“You guys are joking, right?” Daisy asked suspiciously from behind them. “Sardines are fish. That doesn’t go with watermelon. And I’ve never had watermelon on pizza. It sounds gross.”
“We’re definitely joking.” Mick gave a mock shudder. “I tried sardines once in college. I still have nightmares about it. Cans of sardines are following me around on tiptoe, begging me to give them a second chance.”
“You’re funny,” Daisy informed him with the giggle Raine never got enough of hearing.
He did have a good sense of humor once a person caught on to the droll delivery. Raine was happy about that. Raine was...happy, she realized. Before he’d come breezing back into town she’d been very content. After all, she had a wonderful daughter, friends, a satisfying career...but this was different. She had to tamp down the hope that maybe Hadleigh the Wizard was right, and try to stay practical.
Even with the property and cabin he wouldn’t be around much because he was a busy man. For that matter, she was pretty busy, too. So did their lives collide in the right way?
They might.
Let’s see how he handles Dead Man’s Hill.
“We’re getting close.” She headed for the road opposite the ski slopes. “You might want to try on the boots.”
He toed off the loafers and picked up the boots she’d left on the floor on the passenger side. “I take it this will be an Olympic event of some kind. Call it a hunch.”
“Depends on the snow. There’s fast snow and slow snow.”
“You’ll have to teach me the difference.”
“One will cause a sardine-like experience and the other is just fun.”
“More nightmares?”
“Only if it’s the fast snow.”
He sent her a keen glare. “You’re deliberately trying to scare me, aren’t you?”
“Shoot, you found me out. Let’s see if you’re up for it.”
The drive was scenic by any standards, and right there it was an especially high bar. The curvy road wound up toward the mountains and was crowded by trees, and for most people that alone was harrowing. Luckily she’d driven it enough times to know just when to slow down and take it easy. Some kindly good-old boy had plowed one lane with the blade on his truck and she hoped they wouldn’t meet a car coming the other direction, but otherwise the climb was breathtaking. They parked at a scenic outlook the state had put there years ago, and turned to Mick. “Here’s the hard part. It’s easy to walk to the hill, but we have to hike back up towing the toboggans.”
“It seems to me you’ve done this before, so we can certainly handle it together. I don’t really see a hill though.”
She sent him a mischievous grin. “You will.”