“How are you guys doing back there?” he yelled over his shoulder, slowing up the mobile and curving around in a smooth about-face. The couple leveled off the gas to ease up in front of him, and even though obscured under the dark visors on their helmets, Holden could see the twin smiles plastered to their faces. “You ready to head on in?”
“I could do this every day,” the man confessed, chest heaving.
“Well, you’re in luck because we’re open every day except Christmas. How long did you say you were in town?”
“Only until tomorrow, but our son would never forgive us if we came out here without him again.”
Holden gave a nod of recognition. “He’ll forgive you next year when he gets his license and he’ll be able to drive one of these all on his own.”
“I don’t think we’d ever get him off of it!” the woman proclaimed.
Holden understood. That had been the case when he was a teenager. He knew the first time he sat on that snowmobile that it was the only mode of transportation he would ever care to use. It had never occurred to him that just ten years later, he would own and operate a winter excursion company with his best buddy, Lance Major. If realized dreams were made of snowflakes, he’d collected an entire mountainside of them.
He took his time leading the couple back to the rental shop, allowing them the opportunity to absorb the scenery previously blurring past their periphery in a wash of trees, logs, and blankets of white. Navigating the High Sierra was a rush, but it also offered a calm that couldn’t be duplicated anywhere else. In fact, Holden was pretty convinced the term ‘white noise’ originated in these very hills. That wind-blown whir of the resting mountain, doing nothing more than existing, and yet providing a soundtrack of tranquility all the same. With the thready hum of the quieting snowmobile engine to accompany it, it was the most beautiful, peaceful sound.
The laughter back at the snowmobile rental shop as his customers shed their borrowed gear and recalled their favorite aspects of the guided tour was also music to Holden’s ears. And to his heart.
“What’s the verdict?” Lance cuffed a hand onto Holden’s broad shoulder and squeezed. “Should I keep this guy on staff?” he asked the customers pointedly. “Or send him on down the hill?”
Lance had a handful of zingers and this was his favorite go-to. He got more mileage out of the tired joke than they had racked up on their snowmobiles. Each time he recited it, Holden gladly played along.
Major Hart Mountain Sports was a fifty-fifty venture. While Holden was competitive at the core, in business, he knew it was best to play fair. Sometimes, he even wondered if that competitive spirit had died out in recent years, a dwindling fire without the motivation of an opponent to stoke the flames.
In his youth, he’d had his rivals: the snowboarding team from the neighboring high school or the kids he’d played ice hockey with on Lake Pinewood when it had frozen over. But those challengers rotated in and out with the sports calendar, and every year there seemed to be a new contender climbing up the ranks to take him on. A new candidate to beat.
The only person to ever consistently challenge Holden and give him a run for his money in practically all aspects of his life had been Rachel Joy.
The name was a complete misnomer. Holden didn’t feel a single ounce of joy when he thought back to the determined, if not entirely pretentious, teen girl. Her off-putting confidence had Holden grinding his teeth, even ten years later when he got lost in the frustrating memories.
“Earth to Holden.” Lance flapped an empty glove in front of his face. “Where’d you go, buddy?”
Somewhere he didn’t want to. Sinking into a past he’d done everything to forget.
“Sorry. Got lost in la-la land for a minute there.”
The customers retreated out the door with an enthusiastic wave of thanks, and Holden unzipped his subzero jacket to fold over the bench near the cash wrap counter. He took a seat next to it. He’d worked up a sweat out on that mountain, but unwarranted thoughts of Rachel Joy now had him heated for an entirely different reason. How many years had it been since he’d let her get under his skin like this? He scratched at his arms, the memories crawling over him like a pile of fire ants.
“You’ve got another group arriving in about a half hour and you shouldn’t be out on that mountain unless your head is screwed on completely straight. You sure you’re good, buddy?”
At the present moment, Holden couldn’t give Lance the answer he needed to hear.
His business partner leaned his elbows onto the counter between them and lowered his chin to a fist. “Alright, man. Fess up. What’s got you all distracted in that head of yours?”
Shoving off one boot, then the other, Holden sat back and wiggled his toes within his wool socks. “You remember Rachel Joy from high school?”
Lance’s narrowed gaze indicated he did. “Yeah.”
“Do you have any idea what she’s up to?”
“Last I heard, she worked for some big holiday décor company out of the city. Why?”
“No reason.” Jaw tensing, Holden took a tight breath.
Of course she would work for a Christmas company. Back in the day, the girl had turned everything into a competition, including the entire holiday season. It made sense that she’d figured out how to monetize that now—how to win over the entire month of December in the form of dollars and cents.
One year, she even had their sophomore class vote on the best holiday light display, with their respective houses as the only entrants. She had wanted to beat Holden in everything, and she’d nearly succeeded. Last he’d checked, the score was tied, twelve to twelve. Why did he even remember that?
“You hear from her or something?” Lance pushed back from the counter and fixed a look on Holden that made him wish he’d never brought it up.
