Nobody's Business (Nobody Romances) Read Online Free

ski instructor, then turned a furious gaze toward Ace. "Is this a joke?"
    Kerri-Sue Parker looked exactly the way Doug would expect a Kerri-Sue Parker to look. Perky, blond, blue-eyed, no
older than twenty-five, tops. Jeez, he probably owned clothes
older than this kid.
    Despite her youth, or maybe because of it, she flashed him
a blinding smile. "You've got a problem with me, Doug?"
    "Yeah," Ace replied with an amused snort. "You're not
Brooklyn Raine."
    "Who?" Her expression blanked.
    Good God, was she younger than he thought? How could
anyone even remotely linked to the skiing industry not know
the name Brooklyn Raine? Not that there was any truth to Ace's
comment. The kid had harped on Doug's teenage crush since
the night he'd first learned about it.
    "Brooklyn Raine was a slalom skier from the eighties and
nineties," Ace told Kerri-Sue with an exaggerated sneer. "You
know. The old days. When snowboarding was reserved for the
far side of the mountain."
    When Ace pointed past the tree line, Kerri-Sue's gaze naturally followed. "Oh. Right." She gave him a thumbs-up. "Got it
now."
    Thwap! Thwap! Ace bounced on his purple and green board,
a subtle hint he was bored and eager to hit whatever challenging slope he could find far from the beginner's area.
    "You may not believe this, Doug," he said between bounces,
"but you got the best instructor in the program. Kerri-Sue gets
results from the troops the other guys can't."
    Flashing another dazzling smile, Kerri-Sue shrugged. "It's
a gift."
    The dawn of understanding illuminated Doug's brain. Of
course Kerri-Sue got results. No red-blooded American male would risk disappointing this beautiful snow angel. Except
him.

    "I want someone else." The meanest, ugliest bulldog on the
instructional team. Someone who wouldn't giggle every time
he lost his balance and fell on his face.
    "Too bad." Kerri-Sue knocked bits of errant snow from her
bindings by tapping her pole against her ski. The slow precision in the motion made him think she wished she was pounding his head. "You're stuck with me today. Don't make me
knock you on your butt in front of all these Marines."
    He took a look around, at the wounded men and women, all
struggling to adapt to a new normal. How in God's name had
he arrived here? A year ago, he'd had a successful career, a
modicum of celebrity in New York journalistic circles, and two
working, matching arms. Now he was just another freak in
this snow circus.
    "You're all in the same boat, Doug," Kerri-Sue added, as if
she'd read his thoughts. "We tend to group our students by category. So everyone here this week is a two-tracker with upper
torso issues."
    "Two-tracker?"
    "Yeah," Ace replied from his left. "That means you'll use two
skis." He grinned, no doubt proud to show what he'd learned
while serving his public penance here.
    Kerri-Sue shooed Ace toward the main chairlifts. "Go play,
Ace. Doug and I will be fine without you."
    Ace turned toward the larger part of the mountain, then
back to Doug. "You're sure?"
    "Go," Doug replied. One know-it-all youth watching his
every move would be all his cracked pride could take during
this debacle.
    Lucky for him, the kid needed no further prodding. With a
whoop of delight, he picked up his board and raced to the
main lift line.
    Kerri-Sue sighed dramatically. "Alone, at last." She stepped
into her skis with a click-click. "Basically, we handle five different types of skiers here: two-trackers like you; three-trackers are one-leg amputees who use one ski but two outriggers. An
outrigger's that long-handled thing-kinda looks like a pole
with the front piece of a ski tacked on."

    Doug nodded. He'd seen them before in competition use at
the Special Olympics and Disabled Sports games.
    "Four-trackers use two skis and two outriggers. Then there's
the sit-trackers who work a sit-ski. And visually impaired skiers use a guide. We've got one guy, Max, suffers from some rare
vision disorder-he