She slanted Gallagher a look to see if he was watching Cherry. He was, but his face was impassive. Charlie was fascinated by their interactions—or rather, their lack of them. Their relationship struck her as being oddly without sizzle, like that of an older brother and a younger sister. If Gallagher felt any passion for the younger woman, he masked it well behind his professionalism. Could a man like Gallagher mask passion? She doubted it.

  'It's not just a thrill,' he said suddenly.

  'No?' Charlie arched an eyebrow at him. 'I can't think of a more dangerous sport. It encompasses too many variables—weather conditions, snow-packs, human and technical limitations. A lot of our best runs are located in avalanche chutes, for pete's sake. I think, in the end, sometimes these mountains can't be tamed. People get hurt. People die. And for what, if not that thrill of looking death in the face?'

  'From the lady who flies helicopters for a living,' Gallagher said drily..

  'A helicopter's a machine. It runs by precise and predictable rules. I'm the one who controls the machine and, if I do my job right, chances of things going wrong are very slim. You can't tell me a mountain is like that.'

  'You'll have to ski it with me one day.' It sounded more like an order than an invitation. But then, practically everything he said sounded that way. Then his tone softened, as it unexpectedly did sometimes. '1 want you to feel it so you'll know it's so much more than a thrill. It's being more fully alive than a man can ever hope to be. It's being entirely sensitised to your environment, to how you fit into the universe, to your capabilities, to the strength of the mountain. Worth dying for? I guess it is, because in some way the mountain allows a glimpse of what life is all about. I think people are a little more accepting of the concept of death if they've felt the full glory of life.

  'It's true that death might be waiting in the next moment, but it's hard to care when you're totally engrossed in this moment. I like the way the Indians used to put it. They used to say "it's a good day to die". But not on a rotten day when they felt down, no, only on the best of days, when it felt so incredibly good to be alive.'

  'I wonder how a philosophy like that holds up to reality?' Charlie asked, her dubious note intentional. She did not want Gallagher to know that he was capable of moving her on rare occasions. He would see that as feminine and weak, and probably start a campaign to get himself a bed-warmer ... or get rid of her. 'I'm sure you'd feel differently if it were a close friend buried under sixteen tons of snow.'

  'It was,' he said quietly, unconsciously stroking the jagged scar on his face. 'It was.'

  'You were in it, too, weren't you?' she asked softly. 'An avalanche?'

  'Yes.'

  In that moment, she knew she would try the deep-powder experience, when he asked her. He had paid so much, and still found it worth the price. She suddenly had to know what was up here that could inspire such courage ... or such bull-headed stupidity.

  'White-out.' Charlie's voice sounded calm. She realised that she felt calm. Detached. In control. It just went to show that you never really knew—even yourself. She had thought she would feel blind terror if she ever encountered this most dreaded of flying conditions.

  'Would you wipe that look off your face?' Gallagher's voice crackled through her headphone.

  She spared him the briefest of glances. He was obviously feeling enough terror for both of them.

  'What look?' Her eyes were narrow, scanning for the ground, for the briefest break in the sudden weather that had wrapped itself around them like a white blanket.

  'That look of grim fatalism. Hell, I can tell by the set of your mouth, we're in trouble.'

  'We are. Watch for the ground.'

  'Which direction might that be?' he asked sarcastically.

  'You won't be able to see it with your eyes closed.'

  'Shut up, and drive.'

  She saw it then. Thought she did. A brief break in the swirling snow, just enough that she could make out a faint line of dimension that she hoped was land. She took a chance. Lightly, lightly, lightly. Praying that she wasn't already so disorientated that she might be going sideways instead of down.

  A comforting thud. They were down. On solid, level ground. She closed her eyes, let her head loll forward, and rubbed the knotted muscles in her neck.

  'Thank heaven,' Gallagher murmured tersely.

  'Unless we're sitting on an ice-shelf or the edge of a cliff.'

  'Did you have to say that?'

  She glanced at him. His face was white, strained.

  'It's like being dropped into the centre of a milk bottle and given a good shake, isn't it?'

  'Exactly like that,' he agreed, his voice totally lacking its normal confidence.

  Charlie looked out. It was still exactly like that. Walls of impenetrable white all around them. Reaction began to set in. She closed her eyes again, the consequences of one false move playing out in her mind, now that none of them had happened. She began to shake.

  'You did magnificently,' Gallagher said, his tone gentle for once. Strong hands took up the massage of her neck.

  She didn't want him touching her. It would be too easy to creep into his arms like a frightened child and weep. But his hands felt so good, she couldn't stop him.

  Instead, she tried to construct a barrier of words. 'Gallagher, if you still want to fire me, now you have reason.' She had meant to sound calm. Her voice quivered.

  'Are you kidding? We're alive! Consider yourself signed on for life.'

  She smiled feebly. 'I made a mistake, Gallagher. I shouldn't have suggested hopping.' It was their final day of preparation before skiers arrived. The cloud had come in, but she had decided that she and Gallagher could safely 'hop', fly below the cloud following sheltered ravines and valleys, to get a feel for both the flying conditions and the skiing beneath the cloud. Then, in one of the valleys, the weather had thickened with impossible swiftness, accompanied by a swirling wind.

  'Charlie, I know you're good, but you couldn't have predicted this. Nobody could have. So forget it.'

  She smiled gratefully. 'OK, but you had your chance.' She knitted her brow, looking out into the white again. 'I wonder how long we're going to be here?'

  'Who cares? We're alive.'

  She laughed. 'You're remarkably amicable when you've had a close call. I'll have to remember that.'

  'Are you threatening me with a scare every time I get a little nasty? I'm going to have enough trouble getting back into one of these contraptions, without having to wonder about that.'

  'Gallagher, after seeing you ski, I really believed you were a man without fear. But you were really terrified. What happened to "it's a good day to die"?'

  'Today isn't,' he said emphatically. 'Besides, when I ski, I'm so focused on life. A few minutes ago, I was focused on death. Didn't you think we were going to die?'

  'I didn't think about it while we were up,' she said honestly. 'I'm thinking about it now that we're down.'

  'I hope you appreciate the irony of this, I hesitated to hire you because I thought you might panic under pressure. And who panicked? Certainly not old stone-face James.'

  '"Stone-face"?' she echoed grimly.

  'It was just your expression.' He took in the wounded look that she was too exhausted to try and hide, and sighed. 'You don't need me to tell you you're a beautiful woman.'

  'No, I don't,' she agreed woodenly. Especially not now. She was alone with him in isolation as intense as it got. She was feeling the after-effects of both adrenalin and relief. It would be too easy to give into a purely physical celebration of this moment. To seek the warmth, the strength, the comfort, of his arms, his lips . . . She forced her eyes away from those lips.

  She had Just seen a vulnerable side to Gallagher. For the first time, probably for the only time. It was compelling. She slid away from the hands that still rested on her neck, suddenly too aware of how they offered not only comfort, but electrical promise ...

  'I think it's lifting.'

  'Think? You make bloody well sure. And another thing --'

  She was relieved that, with the lifting of the snow, he was returning to his ordinary autocratic self.

  'Never mind, Gallagher. I won't breathe a word.'

  He glared at her. 'How did you know?'

  'A lucky guess,' she said drily.

  'Hell, you're cheeky. I might fire you after all.'

  He was teasing her. She didn't like it. It made her feel oddly warm. Oddly close to him. Well, things would be back to normal soon enough. Or would they?

  Once you had seen the sun streaking through the clouds, did you ever really stop looking for it again?

  Charlie watched Gallagher closely the next morning as he gave a polished orientations presentation to their first group of skiers. He seemed none the worse for their little adventure. He seemed as magnetic, as powerful—as fearless—as ever.

  'OK?' she asked in a low voice into her headset when they were finally ready to go, and he was settled beside her.

  He gave her a disparaging look. 'Any reason I wouldn't be?'

  'It would be entirely human to be a little nervous.'

  'Are you?'

  'No.'

  'Then I'm not, either.' There was a long silence. 'But if I were,' his voice crackled softly in her ear, 'you can bet your bottom dollar that I wouldn't let it show in front of the clients. They'd probably start bailing out.'

  'In that case, don't you so much as sweat, Gallagher Cole!'

  Their eyes met for a moment. Charlie looked for the sunshine, found it. They shared something now. A strange intimacy came out of the power of a crisis experience. She sensed that he had tried to break that bond, to deny it, and couldn't. But she also sensed that he would try again.

  It was an exciting day. The high spirits of the skiers were remarkably contagious. Their faces, as they reboarded the helicopter after each run, were beautiful to see. Their eyes held a quality very close to ecstasy. Charlie knew they had just enjoyed one of the most unique experiences in the world, as different as night from day from what they would encounter on commercial ski-slopes that were groomed and peppered with people, and had short runs interspersed with long queues at the chair-lifts. Being around these people reinforced Charlie's decision to try skiing the high powder at the first opportunity. That decision had nothing to do with an appetite that had been whetted to share more experiences with Gallagher Cole!

  Finally, all three groups were back at the airport, chattering excitedly, reluctant to say goodbye to the experience by boarding the buses. This despite the cold and their obvious weariness.

  'Opening night is usually pretty special,' Gallagher said non-committally. 'Why don't you try and join us for this one?'

  'I can't tonight,' she said, and he turned from her abruptly. She wondered at his abruptness. Had their experience in the white-out left him with the beginnings of a frightening thirst, too? A thirst to share more experiences? Did he feel he had allowed himself to be vulnerable, and been rejected for his efforts? She was sorry if he was feeling those things, but she had other responsibilities, and she couldn't just duck out on them at a moment's notice.

  'Maybe tomorrow?' This was from a young man who had been listening--and ogling her all day—and his voice was eager.

  'Probably not tomorrow, either.' She caught a glimpse of Gallagher's profile. Did he look so thunderous because of the young man's interest, or because of her own lack of involvement in the social side, even though he had said once that he understood?

  No, she decided firmly, he looked that way because that was what he was—a thunderous tyrant, and she would do well not to forget it.

  Still, she felt disappointed. Though she hadn't been skiing, she had shared much of the exhilaration of the day, and she knew that she was unquestioningly accepted as part of the group.

  'Gallagher,' she said, touching his arm, 'I'll talk to my sitter. Maybe she'll agree to come in one night a week as well.'

  'Don't put yourself out,' he said indifferently.

  There, she thought, it was over. The tenuous bond between them had lasted less than twenty-four hours. Too bad. It might have helped them work together more harmoniously. Then again, all day long she'd been finding the firm line of his lips distracting, so maybe it wouldn't have at all.

  'Fine,' she said coolly, 'I won't put myself out.'

  He shrugged, and for a reason she couldn't fathom she felt an uncharacteristic desire to hit him. Instead, she turned on her heel, her spine straight, and walked away.

  'You' re in a bad mood,' Kenny announced to her over dinner.

  His observation startled her. She was trying very hard to be in a good mood. The fact that it wasn't working was unsettling. Was there a possibility that she had more invested in what Gallagher thought of her than she was prepared to admit? Thankfully, Kenny did not give her time to dwell on it.

  'I'm in a good mood. I met Tanya's brother today. He's neat, Chuck. We're going to be friends.'

  Charlie was regaled with tales of Mike for the remainder of their meal. It became apparent that he shared Kenny's handicap, but still had a job. Mike had a girlfriend. Mike was going to get his own apartment soon. Charlie felt her head beginning to ache. Because, in each recounting of what Mike did, despite the bubbling voice, she sensed something like reproach in Kenny's eyes, something that asked, How come I'm not doing everything Mike's doing?

  And she didn't know why, and was reluctant to think about it. But, unwillingly, she remembered that at the special school Kenny had attended they had attempted to prepare Kenny for some kind of semi-independence. He had been taught a life-skills programme. He had some very rudimentary reading skills. He could find the men's toilet, and read 'Walk' and 'Don't Walk' signs. He had a cookbook that used pictures instead of words. He had learned how to work a washer and dryer. But, since he had finished school, she knew she was guilty of letting it all backslide. She did everything for him, generally because it was easier that way. And after one disastrous work experience, she'd decided never to put him through something like that again.

  She wondered why she suddenly felt guilty. Kenny's life was uncomplicated and problem-free. She protected him, she nurtured him. For heaven's sake, her whole life revolved around doing the best for him. She felt a vague and familiar uneasiness pressing the edges of her mind. She dismissed it sharply, realising how tired she was. She went to bed.

  Charlie worked fourteen days straight and, for the most part, enjoyed her job immensely. It was totally engrossing, and it was challenging. She liked the staff, and she liked the clients, despite the fact that Gallagher had been entirely correct in telling her that she would have to keep an eye on them all day, every day.

  Gallagher continued to be a problem. His attitude towards her was baffling. Annoying. Irritating. He treated her with a rather chilly professionalism. Nothing more. Nothing less. It had seemed for a short time, trapped on a snowbound mountain, that they might be able to see beyond their dislike of each other's views. But, if anything, that moment of vulnerability had made the wall go up higher, not provided the crack that would weaken it until it fell.

  His attitude shouldn't have irked her at all, she realised. She should have no investment in how Gallagher Cole chose to behave. And it was not as if he ever broke the bounds of propriety. It was not as if he was rude or snarling. It was just that his indifference was so exclusive to her. With everyone else he was on excellent terms. With the crew and the clients she saw him being encouraging. Charming. Courteous. Occasionally authoritative. And even occasionally playful. All were roles he stepped into with the equal ease of one totally at home with himself. With the masterful confidence of one who did not wear masks—and yet always, it seemed, his face wore a smooth mask when he dealt with her.

  Still, she refused to try and break through that mask. She did not suggest getting a sitter again. She didn't do it because the very fact that she did find him so intriguing posed a vague danger. He was the sort of man whom you could find you were in over your head with—before you were even aware that you had entered the water!

  And already, despite the fact that she knew Cherry would be his wife some day, despite the fact that he could be aggravating and irritating, she knew an outlaw part of herself liked being around him. She liked watching the way he interacted with others, interacted with rugged rock and snow. She was drawn to the energy and passion that burned in him like an inner light—a light she was sure had lured more than one on to the rocky shores of his intrigue.

  Her first two weeks of work ended. For all of the last week, she was aware of waiting to see if he would ask her skiing on one of her days off. He didn't mention it and, given his attitude, she should have been neither surprised nor hurt. In fact, she was both.

  Her two weeks off dragged. Revelstoke did not provide the same array of activities as the big city had, and it was more difficult to keep Kenny busy and entertained all day. He began to nag her about taking him up in the helicopter. If her relationship with Gallagher had been running more smoothly, she might have capitulated to the pressure. As it was, she doubted she would ever broach the subject of Kenny with Gallagher. Kenny was her soft underbelly, and somewhere along the way, she knew not where, she had given Gallagher the power to wound her. His opinion mattered to her. And over the two weeks off she found that her mind drifted to him, relived certain moments, certain words, the midnight-blue of those unfathomable eyes, the flash of white teeth against bronzed skin.

  Yes, her mind drifted to him in absolute and unconcerned defiance of the iron will she had always been able to exercise over restless thoughts and feelings. Why did it keep insisting on dredging up the deep blue of his steady gaze?