Excerpt

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Through driving snow Isabella Clemens sees the man at the head of the tow queue. She’s struck by his stillness; she feels the presence of a panther. He looks straight at her, calls ‘single’ – etiquette for finding a partner to ride the lift. He beckons her towards him.

An unseen hand of fate pushes her forward. Her skis hiss in the fresh snow as she crosses the open area between the queue and the lift. As she slides to a halt beside him for the lift take off, she sees he is tall and broad shouldered; dressed in a stylish ski suit and hat. Dark-lensed snow goggles hide his eyes. She can only see his wide, rather sensuous mouth that greets her with a smile.

They ride the lift in silence; it would be useless to speak. As soon as words leave her lips, they would fly away in the wind to land in a snowdrift with piles of other lost words. At the top of the slope, the gale is ferocious. She slides off the lift turning her face away from the sleet rattling against her goggles and stinging her cheeks. He skis to her side and leans in close to speak to her; the colour of his voice is of a foreign country. She looks up startled, she’s so intent on placing the accent, she doesn’t hear the question.

He repeats. ‘Will you ski with me? I ski alone this afternoon.’ He adds, ‘My name is Eli.’ The smile follows.

Her brain tries to sort the messages – why is her heart tumbling like this? All she can say is, ‘Isabella … I’m called Bella.’

From the lift station, they ski across the plateau toward the lee side of the mountain. As they push across the empty space, a horizontal blast of wind knocks Bella sideways. Ahead of her, the swirling cloud is about to swallow Eli. She pushes harder, she doesn’t want him to disappear. They ski over to the lip of the ridge into the large bowl called Federation.

Down, down they ski. In the shelter of the bluff, the wind drops, and they are skiing in a white and silver world. A still, silent world except for the sound of their skis whispering on the untracked powder snow. Down, down, down. He skis with a lazy ease; she keeps up. Bella follows him turn for turn; their pace is good; they’re well matched. She feels in tune with this stranger. Small bumps give them jumps to perform. He’s making very short turns down the fall line now. She finds his rhythm; it suits her style. She follows him closer, and closer.

He leads her over to the far side of the run, close to the trees. Ah, she thinks, he knows where to find the best snow. He turns to see if she’s following. He smiles again. She hopes she’ll see that smile a lot more often. Away from the power of the tearing blizzard Bella enjoys the duet they’re performing. They ski like violin and bow. Eli turns left towards one of her favourite trails, a white ribbon winding through the canopy of tall trees.

The trail enters a wide bowl, like an amphitheatre draped in white velvet. They are alone on the slope. Large moguls carved by skiers, slice and dice the snow. With a complete lack of caution, they bounce from mogul to mogul. Bella’s knees and thighs scream stop! But she can’t stop now. They reach the bottom lift station and slide onto the take-off off area after a greeting from the lift operator who tells them they’re mad to be out in this weather.

They smile at each other; if this is madness, she hopes it continues. She knows nothing about this man, only his name, Eli; sounds very biblical. How does one know anything about someone you’ve just met? He’s a blank screen that waits for the images and sound to move across it, to tell her his story. Until then, she feels the mystery of him.