'You've changed your mind,' he said flatly.

  She nodded miserably. 'Gallagher, I'm sorry. But I can't. I just can't.' Her gaze shifted to Kenny, and then back to him, prepared for rage, beseeching him to understand.

  He came and sat beside her. 'You're right,' he said reluctantly. 'It's neither the time nor the place. We deserve more. I don't ever want you to feel guilty about anything that happens between us. I don't ever want it to be tainted by anything that could make it ugly. The time and the place will come, Charlie.' His voice was low, intense, and so firm.

  She stared at her hands, not daring to look in those eyes for fear that reason would once again abandon her. Reason that calmly ticked off point after point why hope could be such a dangerous thing. His words tonight had been compelling but, by his own admission, he wasn't quite sure what he felt, or where it would lead them, or what he wanted.

  'I think maybe I'll go home after all,' she said. She reached over and gave Kenny's shoulder a firm shake.

  Getting a sleepy Kenny ready to go took a miserably long time, particularly with Gallagher watching silently. Disapprovingly.

  Finally, they were ready to go. Gallagher handed Kenny a brightly wrapped package. He had nothing for her. For as little as he had really said tonight, had she even read too much into that? Surely, if he cared about her at all, he would have managed some sort of little gift?

  'I have got something for you,' he told her softly. 'Next week.'

  She cringed, wondering if her doubts and her childish disappointment had shown in her face. But the look he was giving her very foolishly made both her doubts and her disappointment fade.

  He leaned forward and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

  Kenny snickered.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Charlie finished her schedule without the promised Christmas gift being produced. She knew it was childish to care. She knew it was puerile to feel put out every time Cherry and Rob flounced by in the bright red toques and scarves with 'High Heaven' embroidered on them. Presents from Gallagher, just like the set he'd given Kenny.

  She didn't care about the gift, per se, she told herself fiercely. She cared about broken promises. This was broken promise number two for Gallagher Cole. He'd promised to include her on a ski trip, and never mentioned it again; he'd promised her a Christmas gift and never produced it. He seemed so damned reliable about everything else, to everyone else.

  'Your face will freeze like that.'

  She finished securing the tail rotor with a tie-down strap, refusing to look at his impudent grin.

  'You're off for a while now, aren't you?' he asked casually.

  Broken promise number three, if the words he had spoken on Christmas Eve could be looked at as a promise. She was beginning to feel as if she had misconstrued what he had said, made it up, imagined it.

  Though things had been better between them. No, not just better. Like night to day. He'd been wonderful to be with this last couple of weeks. Gentler. More vulnerable. Good-humoured. Caring. She had really felt she was beginning to see the authentic Gallagher. And she liked him. No, that was an understatement—so much of an understatement that it bordered on being a lie.

  But now he was casually wishing her goodbye, as if it didn't matter to him that he wouldn't see her for two weeks. What had happened to 'Will you let me get to know you?' It wounded her pride, and raised her caution, that she seemed to be feeling more—much more—than he was.

  'Why don't you join us for dinner tonight?' Gallagher asked. That look was in his eyes. That look that made her believe in him all over again.

  'That sounds good,' she said, hoping her voice sounded faintly cool, and not at all shaky with anticipation. 'Of course, I'll have to check with Tanya and see if she wants to come over tonight.'

  'Charlie, don't do that. Let Ken stay by himself.'

  She felt her heart fall. She didn't want his guidance on matters concerning Kenny. His implication that she was overly protective. Not doing things right. It threatened all her hopes and dreams for them.

  'We'll see,' she said, aware that her voice held a frigid note that warned he was in territory where he was not welcome.

  He ignored the frigid note. 'For heaven's sake, Charlie, give him some credit. He's not going to burn the house down, or have a wild party.'

  How do you know? she wanted to shout. 'We'll see,' she said again, coldly.

  Gallagher sighed. 'Well, call me when you're done "seeing".'

  She surprised herself when she got home. 'How would you feel about staying home alone tonight, Kenny?'

  'OK,' he said, not turning from the TV.

  He obviously did not grasp the import of what she was asking. She turned off the TV.

  'What would you do if there was a fire?'

  Kenny rolled his eyes., 'Phone the fire department, course.'

  'Where would you find the number?'

  He looked at her as if she were a child. It was insulting. She wondered how often she looked at him like that.

  'The number's in the phone.'

  'In the phone?' she asked, her heart sinking.

  "Member? When we moved here, we bought the phone that remembers numbers. Tanya and me put in a bunch. Fire is the red button.'

  Charlie stared at Kenny, and then began to smile.

  '... if there had been a fire,' she told Gallagher a little while later, taking a sip of her white wine, 'I would have been the one racing around frantically to find the phone book. Kenny would have calmly pushed the red button on the phone.'

  She had terrific fun that night. They had a sumptuous dinner, and then went and listened to a comedian, and played some pool. But most of the fun, she knew, was being with Gallagher. Though they were with a group of people, he had a way of looking at her and laughing with her that made it feel as though they were alone in the world. He listened to her. Really listened. And talked to her. Really talked. They were discovering ever so slowly that they shared a depth of feeling that set them aside from the rest of the world. It made their earlier differences seem shallow and superficial, so strong was this thing they shared.

  It was an early evening, as Gallagher and the skiers had to be up at the crack of dawn the following day. Gallagher drove her home and walked her to the door. He did not attempt to kiss her, only watched until her key was inserted safely in the door, and then gave her a jaunty wave and went back down the path.

  She slipped inside, closed the door and leaned on it, admitting that she was a bit dismayed at the lack of a kiss. It was true that the passion that she and Gallagher felt had a way of igniting, and might prove an obstacle to them getting to know each other on other levels, but certainly it was acceptable for even the most platonic to say farewell with something! A harmless peck on the cheek, or a lingering handshake.

  She sighed, then realised that she was standing there with her eyes shut for more reason than the fact that she hadn't been kissed. She was actually afraid to open them and see what mischief Kenny had wreaked upon the house. For that matter, where was Kenny? He never went to bed on his own.

  She opened her eyes. The house was immaculate. In far better shape than when she had left. She could smell popcorn, and went into the kitchen, bracing herself to find burned pots and melted butter all over. The kitchen, too, was immaculate, the clean popcorn pot left upside-down in the sink to dry. She realised that she hadn't even known that Kenny knew how to make popcorn.

  She went upstairs. Kenny was in bed, fast asleep, his clothes folded neatly on the chair beside him. Even the bathroom had been left tidy, without the usual toothpaste smears on the mirror and the sink.

  She contemplated all this as she got ready for bed. She knew that Kenny had left her a message—rewarded her for trusting him, tried to tell her he was ready and able to be more independent. For some reason it depressed her. He was ready. Was she? And she couldn't even bring herself to dwell on that question long enough for an answer to come.

  On her second day off, the phone rang. She recognised the deep baritone of Gallagher's voice immediately, and her heart did a joyous little jig.

  But Gallagher had not called to ask her out, hadn't remembered that long ago promise to take her skiing, wasn't checking for a convenient time to drop off her Christmas present.

  'Could you come to work tomorrow?' he asked brusquely.

  'Sure. I guess so.'

  'Great. See you then.'

  'I'm fine,' she muttered to the dead receiver. 'And you?'

  The next morning, when she pulled up to the hangar, there was no sign of Gallagher and no sign of the ski-buses. What there was was Leon, the other pilot, doing checks on her helicopter.

  She got out of the car, and walked slowly over to him. She had assumed he was ill.

  Leon turned and looked at her, gave her a winning grin.

  'So you're the big date.' He studied her with embarrassing interest, and then let out a low whistle. 'This is probably going to cost Gallagher a couple of thousand. I'd say you're worth every penny of it.'

  'I don't know what you're talking about. I'm nobody's date. Gallagher asked me to come to work today. Obviously he's got a mix-up on his hands. But, since you're the one scheduled, I'm going home.'

  'Whoa there, Charlie,' Leon said, grabbing her arm when she turned away. 'Gallagher would kill me if I let you get away. He's probably going to kill me, anyway.' He pointed to a mess of ribbon and wrapping paper just inside the door. 'I was supposed to gift-wrap the interior.'

  'Whatever for?'

  'I think it's your Christmas present.'

  'The helicopter?' she asked incredulously. 'A day in it, anyway.'

  Charlie sighed. 'Would you please tell me what you're talking about?' Some gift. As if she didn't already spend every day in the helicopter as it was!

  'Gallagher cancelled his skiers this morning. We only had one group. He found room for them with another company.' Leon looked over her shoulder. 'Here's the man of the hour, now.'

  She turned to see Gallagher getting out of a bus. His arms were loaded with ski equipment and packages.

  'Gallagher,' she implored him as he came up and dumped his load at her feet, 'what is going on?'

  He picked up a pair of boots. 'Seven and a half. Your size?' She nodded mutely.

  He threw her a pair of ski-pants. 'Eight. Your size?'

  She nodded again. Skis, poles, gloves, a toque, and sun-glasses were loaded into her arms. 'Gallagher --'

  'Merry Christmas, Charlie. Ken conspired with me. He found your sizes in some stuff of yours at home.'

  'I'm still not quite following. What . . .'

  He paused, and looked at her, a slow smile spreading across his features. 'This is part one of a two-part Christmas present. I'm taking you skiing.'

  Emotion rose in her throat so rapidly, she was sure she was going to shame herself by bursting into tears. Quickly, she marched by Gallagher, and into the hangar to change into her gear.

  Within minutes they had arrived at a gentle bowl that she recognised as a beginner-to-intermediate slope. They were dropped off, and she put on her skis, allowing memory to flood her. It had been so long. She wondered if she could really even manage in the deep powder. The helicopter departed. So did her doubts. This day, this experience, was brand new. Nothing could have ever been like this, and nothing would ever be like this again.

  She and Gallagher stood shoulder to shoulder in the awesome silence, lost in a place without time, surrounded by diamond-crusted snow, by mountains, by endless blue sky. She lifted her face and felt the sun breathe its healing warmth into her, warm her through to her soul.

  Gallagher suddenly pushed off, leaping forward, cutting smooth 'S's in the snow, leaving foaming powder in his wake. He stopped, waved at her. His smile was warmer than the sunshine—and had the same effect on her soul.

  Tentatively, she shoved off, made a few experimental turns. Her knowledge came back to her slowly, even if it had to be applied differently to waist-high powder. By the middle of the first run, she was able to sail down to Gallagher, and cut a clean stop that left him doused in snow. He was off again, before she had time to catch her breath.

  By their final run of the morning she was feeling confident. She ski'd slightly behind Gallagher, just over his right shoulder. They swept down the mountain like powerful birds in graceful flight.

  She could feel something building in her as the wind tousled her hair and touched her cheeks, as the sun warmed her, as the snow shot out from under the sharp edges of her skis. Her legs burned from the unfamiliar exertion, but the burn was far away, overpowered by that something that built and built and built within her.

  She became an eagle, soaring and swooping, doing a joyous dance with the earth, the elements, the sky. She was not a passive observer in a beauty so wild and untamed that it seemed to surpass anything a mere mortal was capable of longing for. She was a part of it. She was free. As free as the mountain, the wind, the sun, the snow. She was an equal partner with all these things. The world was a playground designed only for her delight.

  They came over the final rise, saw the helicopter waiting in a hollow far below them, and raced towards it. She heard a sound. At first she thought it was a variation of the melody of the breeze. But it wasn't. It was laughter. Her laughter, spilling out of her, joining the symphony of the mountain. A whoop rose from within her, a shout of joy and exhilaration She heard Gallagher's answering shout, his laughter. She knew joy. She knew joy as she had never, ever known it. It raced around her, like wind, teased her, settled in her heart and her soul, enveloped her completely in its tender wings.

  They stopped, breathless, at the helicopter.

  Her laughter-filled eyes met Gallagher's. 'It's a good day to die,' she intoned solemnly.

  He nodded his agreement, his eyes drinking in her face with wonder. 'A very good day to live,' he added softly.

  Leon brought piping-hot lunch out of the helicopter, then set it, a blanket, and a bottle of wine in the snow. He waved at them and took off. Gallagher and Charlie planted their skis in the snow, spread the blanket at the base of them to sit on, and then used the skis as back-rests.

  They tucked into barbecued chicken and sipped chilled white wine.

  'I want to tell you about Syn,' Gallagher finally said quietly.

  'Sin?' Charlie nearly choked on a chicken-bone.

  'Synthia. The woman I was engaged to.'

  Charlie nodded. 'I'd like to hear about her.'

  'She left me the helicopter. Did you know that?'

  'No,' Charlie responded softly, noting the faraway look in his eyes.

  'Her family was in the business. They did heli-skiing as a winter sideline. That's how I met her. When she died, her dad told me that he'd named each of his helicopters after one of his kids, and Syn had specifically requested that, if anything ever happened to her, she wanted hers given to me. That's what I meant a long time ago when I told you there was more than one way to beat death.'

  Charlie felt a painful fist squeeze her heart. 'You meant that Syn is still alive for you, up here? That you still have a dream together, even if you're doing it alone?'

  He shook his head slowly. 'I think that's what she wanted, Charlie. To stay alive for me, to still be responsible for my every happiness. When I think about her now, it makes me sad. Really, all we had in common was a passion for the deep powder. I think it filled a lot of gaps in our relationship. I don't know if it would have been enough to sustain a marriage.

  'Syn liked making other people happy. Especially me. Her happiness, depended on my being happy. I liked it at the time. Loved it. Being adored, pandered to. But, in retrospect, I see a twist in it.

  'People can't really give you happiness. You own your own joy. It's inside you, or it's not real. Syn's wasn't real, because it relied totally on me. I think that would have caused some problems for us.

  'I guess what I'm saying is this—that I can't make you responsible for how I feel, for my happiness or my unhappiness. I'm responsible for myself. Knowing that is what makes me healthy enough and whole enough to think about getting into a relationship. A relationship based on freedom. Freedom to never have to try too hard. Freedom to be ourselves, to enjoy each other as people, rather than crippling each other with price-tags and expectations.'

  Charlie gazed at him, startled and warmed by his depth, his unexpected wisdom, his insight into life. 'I agree,' was all she said.

  He returned her gaze, took her hand and gave it a hard squeeze. 'This day is yours and mine. Nobody else's. Maybe this life is yours and mine, Charlie. Nobody else's.'

  The chopper was above them, and would have drowned out her answer, if she had had one. Her heart was in her throat. She loved this man. But hadn't he forgotten something? Forgotten that there was somebody else?

  They ski'd only a few runs in the afternoon. Charlie was worn out. But the magic had faded, too. Because, she acknowledged, that had been inside her. And now what was inside her was a nameless dread. He had insinuated there might be a future. But for them. Nobody else. Had he forgotten Kenny? Or dismissed him?

  She thought he must have. But then he leaned in her car window, after practically carrying her soaked and aching body to her car. He kissed her on the nose, a tenderness in his eyes that she had been dying to see, and yet now felt as though it were indeed killing her softly.

  'Part two of the present,' he reminded her.

  'What's that?'

  'We've only got one group in right now. Nothing that Rob and Cherry can't handle. When's the last time you had a few days all to yourself? To sleep in, or sit on the couch all day and read, or to sip wine in the bathtub?'

  She laughed tiredly. 'I don't think I've ever had a few days like that.'

  That's my gift. I'm going to take Ken out to my place for a few days. He can help me replenish the wood-pile. And you are going to treat yourself to a few wonderful, carefree days on your own.'

  'No!' she said sharply and instinctively.

  Gallagher regarded her with unsettling intensity. 'What are you afraid of?' he asked softly.

  'Nothing,' she responded emphatically, but it wasn't true. She was afraid. She was foggily aware of a dragon lurking in the shadows of her mind.