Chapter 3

Laura jogged in place and clapped her gloved hands together, trying to get warm. How long can it take a man to eat breakfast?, she groused to herself.

She'd arrived just after midnight, mountain time, the evening before. Requesting a five-thirty wake-up call at the front desk, she hadn't even bothered unpacking more than her toothbrush, before tumbling into bed. Sleep had been elusive, however, as she'd found herself imagining any number of versions of how Mr. Steele might react to her appearance. When sleep had arrived, it had been brief, but still she'd awakened with a smile on her face. Dialing room service, she'd ordered breakfast, then had showered and dressed for the day. Fifteen minutes after she'd heard Mr. Steele's door open and shut, she'd taken the elevator to the second floor, the staircase to the lobby, then had slipped outside to wait for him, unseen.

Finally!, she celebrated, when she finally saw her target moving towards the lobby doors. She took the position she'd identified when she'd first come outside. One, two, three. She free-fell, landing on her in the snow, and began fanning her arms and legs while keeping her eyes on the twin lobby doors.

Remington stepped outside, while pulling on his gloves and quickly scanned the area, seeking the shuttle which would carry him and his equipment to the lifts. Spying it, he began walking towards it, only for his long stride to stutter to a stop when a glimpse of blue and pink caught his eyes. Slowly, he turned, convinced his imagination was playing tricks on him. A slow grin, lit his face.

"It seems an angel has fallen from the heavens," he commented, as Laura, from where she lay in the snow, smiled up at him with a jaunty quirk of her brow.

"You did say you wouldn't be convinced until you saw me making snow angels," she quipped. His grin widened, his pearly whites flashing, as he chuckled.

"So I did," he confirmed. Bending over, he offered her a hand and hauled her to her feet. "And if I do say so myself, this particular snow angel is a true masterpiece." He watched as she cleaned the snow off her backside, desperately wishing it were his hands doing the deed instead of her own. He gave his head a mental shake. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Miss Holt, but last I recall you were looking forward to a… stimulating… week of filing."

"I wouldn't exactly say looking forward to," she answered, elongating the last three words. "More like, resigned to," she corrected.

"Care to tell me what inspired this sudden change of mind?" he wondered, while Laura collected her skis and poles from the ski rack.

"Simple logic," she shrugged. "I've twisted my ankle half dozen time. More often than not, it was nothing more than an annoyance the next day. So, since a few hours had passed and it was barely bothering me any longer, I figured 'What the hell… Go for it.'"

"A bit of the old Laura Holt at work? Hmmmm?" She flashed him a dimpled smile and shrugged a casual shoulder.

"No," she replied, then drew in a breath before lifting her eyes to meet his. "I was looking forward to this trip, so, here I am." Leaning down, he touched his lips to her cheek.

"And I'm so happy that you are," he whispered next to her ear before standing to his full height. He gave her ankle a pointed look. "Are you certain it can withstand the rigors of the slopes?" She held up her foot and tried to wriggle the ankle.

"Good ankle brace, coupled with the ski boot, seems to be more than adequate support," she answered, seeming unconcerned. "The only way to know will be to give it a try. What do you say?" With another smile, he held out his arm towards the shuttle.

"After you, Miss Holt."

Laura collapsed on a couch in the gathering room, a smile lighting her face – a smile that she'd seemed incapable of erasing all morning. She may have felt foolish, if not for the fact Remington appeared to suffer from the same affliction, as well - grinning at her even now, as he took a close to the opposite end of the couch from her.

"Let's have a look at the ankle, shall we?" he suggested, already lifting her foot into his lap.

They'd spent the morning skiing the green slopes, only tackling a blue run right before they broke for lunch. To say he'd been impressed with her skill was an understatement. Depending on how her ankle held up, he decided, he might try to sway her to tackle a combination cross country and downhill course he'd heard about not an hour away from the Aspen Chalet. It had been years since he'd put on a pair of skis, but there was a long period in his life when he'd take the time for a bit of schussing a few times a year. Granted, those holidays were often as much about the sheer number of available women as they had been about the powder, but skiing had always been a sport he'd truly enjoyed. The rush of adrenaline, the feeling of accomplishment, after navigating a particularly tricky black diamond run, was nearly as satisfying as sex. He suspected the same might be said about the course he had in mind.

He dropped her boot to the floor, before his hands returned to her foot, searching for any tenderness. She hummed, then adjusted herself until she reclined on the couch, her head laying against the armrest.

"That feels wonderful," she praised, closing her eyes and slinging an arm over them.

"Glad to be of help," he murmured, smiling at her, unseen, before looking downwards to concentrate on the task at hand.

"Boss?!" Mildred called, her voice filled with disappointment, a look of dejection on her face as she hustled across the room. "We haven't even been here twenty-four hours and here you are with another woman!" His brows raised, eyes rounded in surprise as she spoke, while Laura tried not to laugh. "What about poor Miss Holt?" She turned her head towards Laura, just as Laura dropped her arm from over her face. "Miss Holt!" Mildred exclaimed, voice raised in surprise. "When did you get here?"

"Around midnight," she answered, a bemused smile on her face. She wasn't quite sure which she'd enjoyed more: Mildred's attempt to defend her honor, so to speak, or the look of insult on his face right now.

"But… I thought… you said… your ankle!" Mildred's head swung in the direction of her foot.

"It had stopped bothering me, for the most part, a few hours you left," she explained even as she winced when Remington's fingers found a tender spot in said ankle. "So, here I am."

"With the Boss taking good care of you, I see," Mildred noted, reaching out to squeeze Remington's chin fondly, an apology offered for what she'd believed was happening.

"How were the lessons, Mildred?" he questioned, blithely moving past the accusation and apology.

"Most of me survived," she answered ruefully, dramatically reaching back and rubbing her amble bottom, drawing laughter from them both. With a couple of pats to the bottom of Laura's foot, he reached for her boot.

"Care to join us for lunch?" he invited.

"Sure. My next lesson is in an hour," she agreed. "But I don't want to be late. I may have my eye on someone," she shared with a wink.

"Really?" Laura drew out the word, as she took Remington's hand and allowed him to help her to her feet.

"I might. Oh, Miss Holt, who'd have ever thought skiing lessons were a better place to meet single men my own age than the bowling alley? And I gotta tell you…"

The pair followed Mildred to the dining room, as she prattled on, Remington's hand resting lightly at the small of Laura's back. Glancing down at her, he couldn't help but acknowledge how much the day had turned around for him when first caught sight of her lying in the snow.