“So, she’s not a tour guide…” The father narrowed down possible professions.
“She’s in training to be an Avalanche Rescue Dog.”
Both parents bristled in unison.
“And to put you at ease, it’s likely she’ll never even need to be used as one,” Holden reassured. “Avalanches are incredibly rare on this particular terrain. But if there everisone anywhere on this mountain or the ones surrounding us, having a dog like Scout who knows how to find and dig out survivors is like having another tool in our rescue toolbox. She’s a tremendous asset.”
“You say ‘our’. Does that mean you’re part of Search and Rescue too?” The man rose to his feet and brushed the dog hair from his wool sweater.
“A volunteer,” Holden said. “Both Lance and I are. We’ve got the snowmobiles, the mountain knowledge, and a good dog. All of that can be really beneficial in the off chance something goes sideways up here in the High Sierra.” Holden clapped his hands together. “But that’s not happening today. The only thing we’re going to do today is to have an awesome time carving up that fresh powder. Who’s in?”
* * *
As promised,the tour was a hit. And as predicted, Scout stole the show. She’d caught snowballs launched into her slobbery mouth, donned a beanie and a scarf for family pictures, and ended the adventure with an epic game of tug-o-war. It was the best day for the best girl.
Lance took out the next group of five that arrived at noon, and Holden manned the shop while a few of their employees tuned up the mobiles in the garage in the back, their music cranking over the speakers in a muffled hum that shook the store’s walls. Major Hart Mountain Sports was a well-oiled machine, and Holden was grateful for the faithful employees and consistent customers that kept everything running. There was an energy to the place that kept him feeling young.
Not that he was old by any means. His thirtieth birthday was still a couple of years away, but his employees—most of them fresh out of high school—reminded Holden daily that he wasn’t a kid anymore with their music, their energy drinks that left him dizzied from the extreme amounts of sugar and caffeine, and their talk of all things related to good-looking girls and Friday night plans.
Holden had aged out of that long ago. A Friday night now consisted of a single cold beer, a game on the television, and a blonde curled up at his side. A furry, golden blonde.
Sure, at one point in his life, he’d figured he’d be settled with a family by now. That house, wife, and two point five kids sort of thing. But relationships never seemed to last longer than the first few dates before they went downhill faster than a skier in the Super-G competition.
Holden was easily bored with casual dating. Bored with obligatory small-talk and introductions. None of the women he met were good matches for him. It was as though they were all cookie-cutter versions of the same person: a nice woman who liked the snow but didn’t like to be out in it, liked snowmobiling but only at ten miles-per-hour, liked Holden but not the amount of hours he spent at the shop.
That last one was the typical deal breaker.
Holidays were often spent decorating or watching a marathon of festive movies. Wrapping gifts or addressing holiday cards. The season was one of making Christmas memories, but Holden just couldn’t provide that.
It wasn’t as though he didn’t like Christmas. He was no Scrooge. But somewhere along the line, Christmas had lost its magic. Might’ve had a little to do with the way it had morphed into a competition back in his high school years.
Instead of paper rings counting down to the beloved holiday, he had a paper chain of wins against Rachel, each victory written on a strip of construction paper and linked in a trivial tally of successes.
Why had he let her steal so much of his joy back then? And why did that still bother him, even now?
The phone vibrating in his shirt pocket rattled Holden out of his reverie. Scout’s ears perked up at the soft sound.
“Hey, Mom,” Holden greeted. He lowered onto the swiveling bar stool behind the cash register to take the call. “Still on for dinner tonight?”
“I’ve got the roast in the crockpot as we speak. And I just heard from Sarah. She and the baby are stuck in traffic on Highway 80, but should be in town in time to join us.”
Holden hadn’t seen his older sister in months, but it was the thought of squeezing his sweet little niece, Laney, that had him grinning ear to ear. “Scout and I will be there at six. Can I grab anything at the store on my way? Drinks? Dessert?”
“Probably nothing from the store, but that’s actually why I’m calling.” Holden could hear his mother moving about her cabin kitchen, the open and shut of cabinet doors following her words. “Dad wanted me to ask you if you’ve got some PVC pipes hanging around the shop. Something we can use to measure Sir Noble Fir.”
“So you’ve officially named him, huh?”
“That’s all your father. He’s really getting into it, Holden. Likereallyinto it,” Jill Hart said. “We ran into the Joys at the hardware store the other day and you should’ve seen your father and Stewart. The glare they exchanged could’ve cut glass. I’ve never seen him like this.”
“Really? You’veneverseen him like this?”
“Okay, I’ve seen him like this a time or two,” his mother conceded. “But not in years. What is it with those guys?”
The rivalry wasn’t confined to the two patriarchs and Jill knew that, but Holden opted not to remind her.
“They’re getting a little senile in their old age,” Holden chided.
“Something.” Jill huffed her annoyance. “Anyway, your father is convinced our tree is finally tall enough to enter this year.”
