From the Top Read online

  From the Top

  A Blue Spruce Lodge Romance

  Dani Collins

  From the Top

  Copyright © 2018 Dani Collins

  EPUB Edition

  The Tule Publishing Group, LLC

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  First Publication by Tule Publishing Group 2018

  Second Edition

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-948342-29-2

  Keep Up with your Favorite Authors and their New Releases

  For the latest news from Tule Publishing authors, sign up for our newsletter here or check out our website at TulePublishing.com

  Stay social! For new release updates, behind-the-scenes sneak peeks, and reader giveaways:

  Like us on

  Follow us on

  Follow us on

  See you online!

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Jane, Sinclair, Meghan, Michelle, Sarah and the rest of the Tule team. Writing is a solitary occupation until the time comes to bring the story to readers. Then you hope desperately for someone to have your back and Tule is an amazing force to have in your corner. I’m deeply grateful for their wonderful support.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  The Blue Spruce Lodge series

  About the Author

  Dear Reader,

  When Ilke first made an appearance in On The Edge, she was that frosty, clichéd ‘other woman’ character we often see in romance. By the time Ilke sat down with Glory, however, and revealed she was a fan of romance, I knew there was a deeper character here who deserved her own story.

  Nate also started out in my earliest drafts as a background character. Someone needs to be in charge of actually building the ski resort so I brought him aboard. He had such a great sense of humor, though, and a son. I wanted to get to know him better.

  I started playing the ‘what if’ game. What if Nate and Ilke got together one night? It’s only supposed to be one night because they both lead very full lives. They don’t have room for a romantic relationship, but what if they suddenly have a very serious and binding connection, one that demands they realign their priorities?

  Then some other ‘what ifs’ happened that I’ll let you discover for yourself, but they turn everything on its ear. In fact, you may want a box of tissues handy.

  How do you find happily ever after when your version of it changes? That’s what I asked myself as I wrote Ilke and Nate’s story. I hope you enjoy finding out how they reach theirs.

  Thanks for visiting Blue Spruce Lodge,

  Dani

  Chapter One

  Secretly, deep down, Ilke Lundquist was a romantic.

  Not that she could afford to be. She had tried at every turn to curtail it and, God knows, the world had certainly done its best to beat that streak out of her. She possessed classic Nordic beauty, which should have been an asset, but in reality, it meant she was treated like a dumb blonde or as if she was easy—most often both. Women in sports were taken almost as seriously as pigtails on a goat, especially when they were pretty, and her mother’s example of happily ever after was an abomination of the phrase.

  Out of self-preservation, Ilke had put away childish dreams that included knights on white chargers. She had pushed herself to become resourceful, disciplined, and logical. A realist. A cold bitch, some called her, which didn’t bother her. Much. She made sure no one knew it bothered her. Besides, it meant less was expected of her and it allowed her to focus on her goals. The one dream she did allow herself to have.

  And yes, living that way was lonely as hell, but she didn’t want to need anyone. That was her mother’s way—financially dependent, afraid to be alone, seeing what she wanted to see so she could believe she had everything.

  Every woman’s marrow-deep fear was to turn out like her mother so, no. Ilke wasn’t going to be that. She allotted herself one passion, one crazy aspiration that crowded out everything else. The podium was her happily ever after. All the moves she made were aimed at standing there. If an action didn’t serve that dream, it didn’t need to be taken.

  So why was she overcome by a swell of hot emotion when she arrived at Blue Spruce Lodge? Not misery at this detour, either. Her eyes stung with something like homecoming. She was here. She hadn’t cried in years, even in the last few weeks as her life crashed and spilled itself in pieces across media outlets around the world.

  She turned off the engine of her rented SUV, squeezing the wheel as she tamped down on the swell of anxiety that lurked beneath her carefully restrained surface.

  Maybe the way the feathery flakes swirled rather than fell was affecting her. If she did have a home, that’s where it was—in the snow. Not inside some throwback lodge glowing like a scene in a child’s snow globe.

  She leaned forward, taking in the low, flat ceiling of dull gray and what looked like a cut-out of snow-covered peaks forming a backdrop behind the lodge’s blue roof. Floodlights tucked into the landscape at the front of the building cast pale funnels of light upward, bathing the laden branches of the shrubs in hints of gold, warming the creamy daffodil-color of the building’s walls. With the amber glow through the yellowed glass on either side of the door, the lodge was a beacon of welcome on this gloomy March morning.

  Not much had changed since she’d been here at the turn of the year, but it was significantly improved from the eyesore she’d seen last July. At that time, she had privately wondered what the Johanssons were thinking.

  For decades, this had been a family-run lodge on the Whiskey Jack ski hill. The resort was off the beaten track and only had a handful of day buildings and a chalet for overnighters. Oskar Johansson, founder of Wikinger Sports, had seen a diamond in the rough and bought it to develop as a training facility for his sons.

  That had been fifteen years ago and an avalanche had promptly wiped out everything except this old lodge, which had been shuttered until last year.

  That was when Rolf and Trigg Johansson took up the challenge of resurrecting the resort. They had the pockets, the passion, and the capacity to build a world-class winter destination from near-scratch, but they had left the refurbishing of the only on-site accommodation in the hands of an ex-professor from Seattle and his romance author daughter, Glory.

  Progress was being made, Ilke supposed. She folded her hands on the wheel, noting that since last summer, all the broken uprights in the exterior balcony had been repaired. The rails and shutters had been painted Bavarian-blue to match the roof. With the muted light turning all the colors mellow and quaint, Blue Spruce Lodge looked like an enchanted place straight from a fairy tale.

  But fairy tales weren’t real. She knew that better than ever
now. The ones where children were eaten? Those were legit. In the last few weeks, her hopes and dreams had been spat out like broken bones and wasted years, completely without regard.

  Just when she had begun to believe she was done with rundown chalets and clawing her way into better circumstances, here she was all over again.

  Because of one stupid night.

  It was supposed to be a virus. That’s what she had told herself, trying to explain why she was sluggish and nauseated and forgetful. That’s why she had had so many slow starts and fudged a gate, getting herself disqualified from one event. Once she had started second-guessing herself, the whole thing had gone to hell and her finish times had sucked balls.

  This was supposed to be her year. Her arrival on the podium.

  Instead, she’d come away fifth and seventh and nineteenth. They’d scratched her from a team event because she’d been performing so poorly.

  How was she pregnant? How? She barely even had sex. People whispered that she was a closet lesbian, she turned men down so consistently.

  Yet the stars had aligned two months ago. She had impulsively shared her bed with a man who had—apparently—worn a faulty condom while the prescription she’d started as a travel precaution had rendered her birth control patch useless.

  She had fallen twice since then. Not bad falls, but she could have miscarried any time over the last weeks, maybe without even knowing she was pregnant. Instead, she’d hung on to that baby and embarrassed herself in front of the world, lost the backers who would have given her a full ride if she had medaled—and soon, the entire Alpine racing world would know why she had choked.

  Still time to end it, she kept thinking, but what was the point? This baby had already cost her the most important four years of her life.

  And she wanted to have it, which didn’t make sense to her at all. This wasn’t a book where everything worked out in the end. It was real life. From the day she had become sexually active, she had always believed she would terminate an unplanned pregnancy. Her goals were too important, her trajectory impossible to interrupt. Not to mention there was no such thing as a man good enough with whom to procreate.

  Even so, after the team doctor had quizzed her with routine questions and she had assured him that, no, she couldn’t be pregnant, she had taken a test on the sly. She had then skipped the closing ceremonies, too chagrined by her failure, too astounded she was expecting, to stay in Korea. She hadn’t even considered going to see her mother in New Zealand, which was far closer than Stockholm or the Montana Rockies.

  No, she had bolted on the first available flight, taking her gear back to Sweden and leaving it in storage with the club that would likely expel her for someone who knew how to ski. Then she had declined to renew the lease on her furnished apartment, since her income was dropping like a barometer before a hurricane.

  In a move that had truly gutted her, she had flushed her season down the toilet by pulling out of the World Cup finals, to which she’d been invited. Until the games, her point standings had put her in a contender’s position for overall champion. If she had done what she was supposed to do in Korea, she would have pulled herself into the lead in the rankings and finished the season with precious medals around her neck and a crystal globe in her hands.

  Instead, she had to set all of that aside and talk to the father of her baby. That was the only decision she had been able to make.

  Two days and three stopovers later, she felt like hell and not just from the travel. She had woken with morning sickness after a restless night in a cheap motel in Kalispell. She was feeling trapped in a way she hadn’t felt in a long, long time and hated it.

  At least she was surrounded by her true friends now. Tall, jagged peaks and clean, pure snow. Snow was nature’s miracle, whitewashing imperfections and providing a clean start to a new day. Watching it calmed her. It always did. She only wished she could snap on her skis and lose herself in its glittering powder.

  A streaking pang of loss hit her as she realized she wouldn’t be allowed that vital meditation for a year.

  She worked her hands on the steering wheel, trying to believe gold would be hers in another four years—when she would be pushing thirty and the upstart eighteen-year-olds with uninjured knees who had surpassed her this year would be reaching the top of their game.

  What was she doing here?

  Every single day she battled toward the top, training through hardship, qualifying, beating her last time and beating her competitors. Winning this race, then going after the next one. She couldn’t put her conditioning on hold for a year. She would lose too much ground.

  But what was her alternative? Fly to Queenstown and ask her mother for help?

  That thought was so repulsive, she threw herself out of the car to get away from it. Not bothering with her luggage, she turned up the collar on her insulated jacket, tucked her chin against the wind and kicked her knee-high boots through the inches of snow that had accumulated since the last time the lot had been cleared.

  How was this place keeping the lights on? There were only two snow-covered vehicles in the far corner of the lot.

  Would they even give her a room? She planned to prevail on Vivien, a friend of her mother’s, kind of. Maybe she was Ilke’s friend, not that Ilke encouraged close relationships, but Vivien had reached out once, a long time ago, when Ilke’s mother had been turning a blind eye.

  Ilke had been too afraid to let Vivien interfere at the time, but a thread of something had remained between them. Trust? She wasn’t sure what it was, only that each time she crossed paths with the older woman, Vivien acted happy to see her. She made Ilke feel seen and valued. Even though Vivien was Vivien. She was entitled and demanding and overbearing. Not in a hurtful way. She simply made assumptions that she would get what she wanted and always did.

  Somehow Vivien had talked Ilke into bringing her here last summer, so Vivien could see what her ‘boys’ were up to. Then she had invited Ilke to join a heli-ski trip over the new year. Ilke didn’t know why Vivien was so nice to her, but Ilke was a slut for powder so she had accepted.

  Was Vivien even back from Korea? She’d been there to watch her son, Trigg, win a hat-trick of gold in his snowboard events along with two silvers. The bastard. Must be nice not to worry about a stowaway taking up residence in your uterus, throwing off not just your stamina and coordination, but your entire life.

  What if it wasn’t even open? The ski hill didn’t have any chairlifts yet and only a quarter of the rooms at the lodge had been guest-ready when she’d been here in January. Maybe it had gone belly-up?

  The door opened when she pulled.

  A cheerful gas fireplace with gorgeous stonework separated the lobby from the adjacent lounge. The mantel held a sweet cuckoo clock and comfortable-looking chairs were arranged to face the flames, but they were empty.

  Ilke paused to take in the staircase that rose on her right, fully restored with polished woodgrain and new carpet in a rich red with gold accents. A sparkling chandelier hung over it. On the far side of the lobby, paneled-glass doors formed a wall that closed off the dining room.

  She crossed to peek through.

  Her heart pounded the way it did when she was waiting for her name to be called before a race, but the dining room was empty. He wasn’t there. No tall frame with brawny shoulders. No lean face with smooth, brown skin, dark straight brows, and hair so closely trimmed it was more of a black cap, matching the neatly shaved stubble that framed his strong jaw. His irises were dark brown and somber, his lashes so ridiculously long, his eyes bordered on pretty. His mouth… If she were the type to objectify a man, she would call his mouth erotic. That night, she had thought she could feast on him for the rest of her life.

  Of course, her ovaries had been waking up from hibernation, starving and sending her libido on the hunt. Biology was a cruel mistress. Witness how her nerves were firing on all cylinders when she wasn’t planning for this to be a scene. Her emotions were still firmly packe
d in the suitcase she’d left in her rental. She was here to inform and plot a way forward. It would be very civilized.

  Pragmatic and dispassionate, even.

  Seriously, where was everybody? This was creepy.

  Glancing into the lounge behind the fireplace, she found it empty, too. There wasn’t anyone tending the bar or drinking at it.

  Nate was at the base, she supposed, working. It was only ten o’clock in the morning.

  Her palms were clammy and she shoved them into her pockets.

  This was eerie, finding the place so quiet when it had been a hive the other two times, especially on New Year’s Eve. With the arrival of winter, all the activity had moved inside. There’d been a cute brunette who’d called herself the lodge’s manager at the reception desk. She wasn’t there today, however. No staff was visible.

  Ilke pinched her lip, growing quite convinced they had either run out of money, or there was a carbon monoxide leak and her body would be found along with the rest.

  She glanced at the bell on the reception desk, but didn’t press it. She looked down the hall that led toward the kitchen and a suite that Marvin, the owner, lived in. Halfway along was his office.

  Starting down that way, she paused as she neared the cracked door, hearing voices as she came alongside it.

  “—going to kill him. In fact, you can tell him he can do this fucking job himself, since it’s his fault she quit. I don’t need this shit! What am I supposed to do now?”

  That sounded like Glory, Marvin’s daughter.

  Ilke wavered between knocking and going back to tap the bell.

  “You know my feelings on this, schatzi.”

  That was Rolf, Vivien’s stepson and owner of Whiskey Jack Resort, President of Wikinger Sports and self-appointed king of all he surveyed.

  His tone suggested disinterest. What did Glory even see in him? Beyond the physical, of course. Ilke couldn’t fault Glory’s taste since she’d had a brief fling with Rolf herself a few years ago. When Ilke did have sex, it tended to be hit and run so her thing with Rolf hadn’t lasted more than an hour from lobby to shower. Nate had been an exceptional—pun intended—all-nighter.