“Move on to what?”
She shrugged. “Different company. It’s what I do.”
“Ever wanted to do anything else?”
“Like what?”
“If you’re going to work that hard, you could start your own company.”
“I’ve thought about it. I suppose most people do at some point or another. You did.”
“That’s right. I did.”
“It must have felt good—creating something from the ground up. What made you decide to do that and not just work here?”
“Mixture of things.” He hauled her out of range as a branch deposited its mantle of snow on the ground. “Ambition. Curiosity. Ideas. I had so many ideas I didn’t know what to do with them all. There was no space for them here.” Still wasn’t. “Frustration.”
“And rebellion? A desire to show Walter and your father that anything they could do you could do better?”
“Yeah, there was that, too.” He acknowledged it and felt the guilt kick. “I should have come back sooner. Should have asked more questions. My father hated it, you know.”
“Snow Crystal?”
“Not the place. The business. He felt the business stopped him from enjoying the place. He resented the time it took to run it when he could have just been ripping up the slopes.”
“So why didn’t he do something else?”
Jackson had asked himself the same question repeatedly. “Only son. I suppose people just assumed he’d go into the family business. But he spent almost all his time skiing.” Pain punched him beneath the ribs. “He was in New Zealand when he crashed the car. You could ask what he was do
ing in New Zealand when this place was in so much trouble, but that was my dad. He went where the snow was. I got the call in the middle of the night and flew back as soon as I could. Arrived back in time to collect his body from the airport.” He felt her hand curl into his and squeeze.
“I’m sorry.”
“It was tough. Still is, particularly on my mother. But the cooking was an inspired idea. Just the prospect of it has lifted her mood.”
“I’m pleased.” She tilted her head and looked at the trees. “It’s so beautiful here.” She was wearing the hat he’d given her, but beneath it her hair was loose. He noticed she’d stopped pinning it up. Sleek and smooth had given way to soft waves.
“You’re only a couple of miles from The Long Trail, the oldest hiking trail in the U.S. It follows the main ridge of the Green Mountains from the Massachusetts-Vermont line all the way to Canada.”
“I’ve always lived in cities. The nearest I got to hiking was walking through Hyde Park in London and Central Park in New York. This is—” She breathed deeply and gasped as the cold air tickled her lungs. “This feels like a snowy wilderness.”
“Not exactly wilderness. Backcountry.” Jackson stopped. “I know you’re not a lover of Christmas trees, but does that one look all right to you?”
She followed his gaze. “Looks fine to me.”
He cut it down, secured it to the sledge and then dragged it home, taking each turn carefully as they followed the trail back to the resort.
A large SUV was parked outside the cabin and several sleds and boots lay abandoned by the entrance.
Jackson untied the tree and dragged it to the door. Then he picked up the chain saw, shaped the trunk and pushed it into a stand.
“Is that ours?” A young girl stood on the doorstep, watching as Jackson and Kayla hefted the tree up the steps.
“Yes. Do you like it?” He rested the tree and glanced at Kayla. Snow and pine needles clung to her hair and her cheeks were rosy from the cold. In his opinion she looked a million times better than she had in her office in New York.
“I love it.” The little girl stared at it in wonder just as the door opened and a young woman appeared, a toddler in her arms.
“Sophie, what— Oh—” She paused, enchanted. “It’s like a fairy tale tree.”