Page 1 of A Runaway Bride For Christmas
PROLOGUE
ALLIE
Snow sprays up behind me as I slice fresh tracks into the trail. I pass so close through the trees that my ski pole clips one of the pines, sending a shower of fresh powder falling off its branches. The man behind me gives a shout as it rains down on him. I turn my head and laugh in his direction, the sound muffled by the thick snow around us.
“I’ll get you for that,” Hans teases, and I hear the swish of his skis as he speeds up behind me.
I dig my poles into the ground and push myself forward, squealing as he chases me through the snow.
Luckily the trail we’re on is narrow, winding through tall pine trees, and it’s not until we come to a flat area that he’s able to get alongside me.
I turn to him, giggling, but at that moment he falls back, leaving me to wonder what he’s doing. A moment later, something cold hits the back of my head.
“Hey!”
I cut sideways, bringing my skis to a halt and kicking up snow. Hans already has another snowball in his hand, and I duck down as it flies over my head.
“You missed.”
My heart’s racing from the trail and I’m breathing hard, but the sight of the ski instructor has my breath catching. Blond hair peeks out from under his beanie, and large orange-tinted ski goggles can’t hide the mischievous grin on his wide, stubble-brushed face.
I gather snow in my gloved hands and roll it into a ball. It gets him in the shoulder, and he lunges forward. I squeal and take off on my skis. But we’re both laughing as his hand closes over my leg, and I tumble to the snow.
Hans throws a snowball at close range, and it smashes against my chest. I’m laughing so hard that some of it flies into my mouth and straight down my throat.
The laughs turn to coughs, and Hans’s expression turns serious, which makes me laugh even more. Now I’m laughing and coughing at the same time, which makes for an unattractive splutter.
“Are you okay?”
There’s a Swedish lilt to his accent. Hans has been in the States for a long time, but I’m glad he hasn’t lost his sexy accent entirely.
We’ve both got our skis on, but somehow he manages to pull me to a sitting position until my coughing fit is over.
“I swallowed some snow,” I rasp out when I can talk again.
His expression is unreadable under the goggles, and I long to take them off to see his bright blue eyes.
“Come.” He gets to his feet and offers a hand to pull me up. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
The ground is a gentle slope here and then flattens out to a plateau. I follow him, using my poles to get traction on the flat surface.
We’re really off-piste now, and Hans stops a few yards from the edge of a sheer drop. Which is why this trail is untouched. If you weren’t paying attention, you could ski right over the edge. The only barrier is a cluster of boulders, and that’s where we head to.
Hans unclips his skis and steps out of them, and I do the same. He climbs onto the boulders and holds out his hand to help me up.
Even through the thick snow gloves, his touch makes my blood heat. Everything about this man makes my blood heat.
Mother insisted I get a daily ski lesson even though we’ve been coming to the Emerald Heart Resort every year since before I could walk.
“It’s not enough just to get down the mountain, Allie,” she said, “You need to ski with elegance.” Which is typical of my mother. It’s not enough just to enjoy something. You’ve got to be graceful while doing it.
She looked me up and down, her brow knitted with disappointment. “Especially for a girl your size. You need a certain deportment on the ski field. You never know who’s watching.”
I tried to give her a bright smile, ignoring the dig at my size. It’s a constant disappointment to my mother that she produced a daughter who doesn’t conform to her idea of what a woman should look like. I take after my father, a six foot something giant who passed his big frame on to his daughter, and I love the cake our housekeeper makes too much. But Mom blames it all on my dad. Just another point to argue over with him every time they’re forced to see each other.
Although if Mom hadn’t insisted I have ski lessons every morning, then I wouldn’t have met Hans, the easygoing ski instructor who’s spent the week teaching me to go faster and do jumps.
Mom was furious when she came to watch a lesson this morning. I’m not sure if it was because I was having too much fun, or because being able to ride a half pipe isn’t going to attract the right kind of man, which is what she’s always on about now that I’ve turned eighteen.
