Chandler turned toward her. “What is it, sweetie?”
“I need you!”
Chandler glanced back at Welch, who stood with one hand on the boy’s shoulder, then he moved to kneel beside Stella. “It’s okay, honey,” he said. “It’s going to be all right.”
Renee wrapped the arm with a minimum of tears, and they arranged Stella comfortably in the sled. “I’ll take her down,” Renee volunteered. She stepped between the handles of the sled.
“Let me get my skis back on,” Chandler said and hurried to follow his daughter.
Connor moved over to Aiden and his dad. “It might be a good idea to call it a day,” he said.
“Are you taking my pass?” the boy asked.
“No. I’m just saying take it easy the rest of the day.” Connor nodded to the dad. “Get some ice on that nose.”
Welch looked sheepish. “Yeah.”
By the time Connor made his way slowly to the base area, the lifts were shutting down for the day. He released Farley from his kennel, and the dog ran circles around him. The patrollers gathered for their final sweep of the runs.
“Stella’s arm is in a splint, and she’ll probably get a cast from the orthopedist in the morning,” Renee reported. “It’s a greenstick fracture, should heal fine.” She grinned. “And Dad has a broken nose and two black eyes.”
“I guess when your kid is hurt it’s natural to see red,” Connor said. “Hopefully he’ll think twice before taking a swing if it happens again.”
Darkness was descending by the time Connor and Farley headed home. He had just enough time to grab a bite to eat, shower and change before he picked up Stacy. Whatever happened at the bar, it would be nothing compared to the day he’d had.
When the condo’sdoorbell sounded, Stacy raced into the living room. “I’ll get it!” she shouted, then forced herself to slow to a walk. Where had that flashback to a teenager come from? She blamed it on living with her father again.
She checked the security peephole and found Connor looking back at her. She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Hey.”
“Hey.” This was a different Connor on her doorstep—black slacks and an Irish fisherman’s sweater, freshly shaved and haircombed and styled. He even smelled good—something spicy. “You look great,” he said.
She resisted the urge to smooth the black knit dress over her black tights and short boots. “Thanks. Um, come in. I’ll just get my purse.”
He stepped inside, and she closed the door and went in search of her black cross-body bag.
Her father emerged from the kitchen and watched Stacy hurry past. “Hello, Connor,” he said.
“How are you, George?”
“I’ve skied so much I can hardly walk, but I’m telling myself it’s good for me.”
Stacy rejoined them. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”
George assumed a stern expression. “Now, son, I have to ask what your intentions are toward my daughter.”
“Dad!” She swatted his shoulder.
George laughed. “Just remember,” he told Connor. “She’s armed and dangerous.”
Connor put his hand at her back once they were out the door and leaned close. “You’re not concealing a weapon in that dress,” he murmured.
A pleasant shiver shimmied down her spine. “That’s what the purse is for,” she answered.
The Trail’s End was busy, as usual, but Connor and Stacy found a table at the back with a view of the rest of the room. “See anyone you recognize?” she asked.
“No. Do you?”
She studied the crowd. “That couple by the pool table.” The man was burly, with short dark hair and full-sleeve tattoos. The woman had short red hair and wore knee-high, tooled leather cowboy boots. “Let’s go say hi.” Stacy took Connor’s hand. The sensation of his warm, calloused fingers sent sharp awarenessthrough her. She quickly moved away from him.Focus!She was here to work.
