Dancing in the Dark

“Yeah,” Seth said, “I get the idea.”

He dumped his jacket on a chair in the storeroom. Then, like Sisyphus endlessly rolling that dumb rock up that even dumber hill, he shifted boxes from one end of the room to the other.

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There was nothing like mindless physical labor for working out frustration. For thinking and coming to some sort of a decision.

He was finished letting Wendy push him away. He’d let it happen last time because he was a kid, and what did a kid know about women? Okay. He didn’t know much more about them now—what man did? But at least he wasn’t nineteen anymore. And maybe, just maybe, the reason she’d been able to do it so easily was because, in his heart, he’d never really felt worthy of her.

Seth paused, wiped the back of his hand across his forehead.

No. That was the wrong word. What he’d felt was amazed that a guy like him could have touched the heart of a girl like Wendy.

She’d grown up in a picture-postcard town. She had people who loved her, friends who cared about her. And by the time they met, she’d been surrounded by guys who thought skiing was life.

Well, skiing was fun, but Seth skied for sport. For the rush that came of knowing he could control what was actually a dangerous skid down a mountain, making it into an exhilarating ride. Though he’d never say it out loud because it sounded so corny, he skied for the communion he felt with the snow and the mountains.

Wendy skied for those things, too. The trouble was, she also skied for a medal.

There was nothing wrong with that, if a medal was what she really wanted. But after he’d known her a few months, he’d become convinced it was her old man who wanted the medal a lot more than she did.

Seth grunted as he lifted another box. It was marked Fax Paper, but it felt more like bowling balls. He carried it across the storeroom and eased it down on the floor.

Maybe there was nothing wrong with that, either. Her father had turned her on to Alpine racing because he loved it. So what? Lots of parents introduced their kids to sports for the same reason.

The trouble was, somewhere along the way, winning had become all that mattered. Seth would never forget Wendy’s exhaustion those last weeks before Lillehammer. Her pallor, her nerves—nerves so bad she’d lost her appetite and even thrown up a couple of times.

“Don’t go to Norway,” he’d said. “Stay here. Marry me.” He’d spoken on impulse. He had no real way to support a wife. He was living in a furnished room, working at the ski run, taking a handful of college classes he didn’t much enjoy. But if she’d said yes, he’d have taken a second job, done anything just to make it possible.

But she didn’t say yes.

“I have to go to Norway,” she’d told him, and he’d convinced himself to let her go and get this out of her system.

Except she’d gone to Norway and damn near gotten herself killed. And somehow the fact that she’d lived, that she’d gotten out of a wheelchair when nobody thought she would—somehow none of that mattered once she’d heard there was an operation that might let her get back to chasing that damn medal.

That they’d found each other again didn’t seem to matter, either. Nothing did but that medal.

Seth sat down on a box, reached for a can of Diet Coke that somebody had left in the storeroom, and popped the tab. He tilted the can to his lips and took a long, thirsty swallow.

Wendy had come out with one great truth earlier this evening. It was her life. If she wanted another shot at that medal, he had to introduce her to Rod Pommier. He had no choice.

If the operation was a failure, she’d want no part of him because of the way she felt about her disability. If it was a success, she’d have no room in her life for anything but competitive skiing. She was lost to Seth no matter what he did. He had to accept that, and forget about the foolish dreams he’d thought they’d once shared.

The hell he did.

He had one day before Pommier came back, one day to convince her that she was perfect just the way she was, that he loved her....

That she loved him.

Seth tossed the empty can aside, grabbed his jacket and hurried into the gathering room. The lights were dimmed and the room was empty except for Beth and Clint, seated on the piano bench.

Wendy was just heading toward the main door. Seth ran after her, caught her by the arm as she reached the porch, and turned her toward him.

“Wendy!”

What he felt must have been in his eyes, because she gasped when she saw him. “Wait,” she said, “Seth—”

“The hell I will,” he muttered as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She made a little sound as his mouth came down on hers, and he felt her raise her hands between them. He was beyond thought, beyond anything but fearing he might have lost her for whatever time they’d have together. He clasped her wrists, figuring she was going to try and shove him away, but she didn’t.

God, she didn’t.

She burned in his arms, instead.

“Seth,” she whispered. “Oh, Seth. I thought you’d left.”

“No. Never. I’ll never leave you again.” He burrowed his fingers into her hair, tilted her head back, traced the elegant arcs of her cheekbones with his thumbs and kissed her again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Me, too. Please,” she said between kisses, “let’s not quarrel. Let’s not talk about skiing or my leg or what might happen tomorrow. Nobody can read the future. I know that better than anyone.”

She was wrong. He could read the future. Part of it, anyway. He knew he’d been wrong to keep his friendship with Rod Pommier from her. The only thing worse than not having told Wendy about Pommier would be if Pommier refused to see her.

Seth wouldn’t let that happen.

He’d set things up with Pommier, then tell Wendy. After that, whatever she decided, he’d accept. But the doctor wasn’t coming back until tomorrow night. Seth had that much time to make the woman he loved see reason.

For now, all that mattered was holding her in his arms, feeling her heart race against his, hearing the whisper of piano music drifting on the soft, silent winter night. Beth was playing an old standard meant for lovers and it took Seth back in time, to a night he’d never forgotten.

His arms tightened around Wendy.

“Remember that night we parked in our place up on the mountain?”

She gave a soft laugh and slipped her arms around his neck. “I remember a lot of nights on the mountain.”

“So do I.” Slowly, he began swaying to the music. “But I’m thinking about one night in particular.” Gently, he turned them in a little circle; Wendy sighed and laid her head against his shoulder. “It was summer. We drove up the mountain and parked. We had the radio playing and you said we’d never danced together. And I said—”

“And you said that we could.” She drew back just a little and tilted her face to his, the memory shining in her eyes. “So we got out of your truck and took off our shoes....”

“And danced in that little clearing, with the moon looking down and the stars lighting your face.”

“You kissed me,” Wendy murmured, “and we made love for the very first time.”

Their mouths met in a kiss as tender as the one they’d shared that night, and just for the moment, instead of dancing on the porch at Twin Oaks, with a slice of winter moon chilling the stars, they were dancing barefoot in the grass on top of Sawtooth Mountain, the night lit by a fat sum-mer moon.

They danced into the darkness, swaying slowly in each other’s arms, Seth framing her face with his hands, Wendy clutching his jacket in her fists, and their kisses changed from the sweetness of remembered love to the passion of love long denied.

Wendy began to tremble as Seth’s body hardened against hers.

“Seth,” she breathed when he swept his hands under her parka, down her spine, cupped her bottom and lifted her into him.

There was only one way for this night to end.

“Wendy.” He kissed her, groaned when her mouth opened to his and she drew his tongue between her

lips. He pulled back, knowing that he was close to the edge, knowing, too, that he could take her now but that he didn’t want to, that he needed to make this perfect. “Wendy. Sweetheart. Come with me.”

“Yes. Oh, yes. But where?”

“There’s only one place that’s right for us, darling.”

She looked up into his eyes. “Sawtooth Mountain?” He nodded and she smiled. “It’s the middle of winter.”

“Uh-huh.”

She laughed, and he thought he’d never heard a more wonderful sound.

“We’ll freeze.”

“I promise,” he said huskily, “we won’t.” He bent his head to hers, kissed her throat, felt the pulse leap beneath his mouth. “I love you, Wendy.”

“Oh, Seth.” She thrust her hands into his hair and tugged his face up to hers. “How can you? I’ve been so—”

“I’ve always loved you, sweetheart. I never stopped.”

There were times when lies were simpler and, in the long run, less painful, but this was a night for truth. Wendy drew a deep breath and said the words so long locked within her mind and heart.

“I love you, too, Seth. I always did.”

“Will you come with me?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

Seth kissed her again, then lifted her in his arms. She buried her face in his throat as he carried her from the porch to his truck, and they drove off into the night.

CHAPTER TWELVE

SETH FELL IN BEHIND a snowplow, its red taillights winking against the darkness. The plow made swift work of the heavy drifts ahead of them, leaving the road to snake like a black ribbon toward the mountain. Behind them, the asphalt quickly disappeared under its new covering of snow.

So did Wendy’s euphoria. Were they leaving the past behind and moving toward the future, or were they traveling through a landscape that was more dream than reality? She hoped it wasn’t a dream, because dreams never lasted.

Was she making a terrible mistake? Surely there’d be a price to pay for abandoning all these years of steely resolve. She shuddered, and Seth reached across the console and clasped her hand.

“Sweetheart? Are you cold?”

She looked at him and managed a little smile. “I guess I am.”