02 Avalanche Pass Read Free

of snow below them. His eyes darted from side to side, looking for the trees that framed the narrow, steep run, the rocks that he knew must lie hidden in the soft, inviting snow, just as they had that last time. He felt an electric thrill of pain jangle in his shin—a reminder of the agony that had been his constant companion throughout the previous summer. He licked his lips, noticing that the instructor was studying him intently.
    “Problem?” Larry asked. He watched as Jesse hesitated, then shook his head.
    “No,” he replied quietly. “Everything’s fine.”
    Larry called, “Follow me,” and dropped off the edge of The Wall.
    It was virtually sheer for the first twenty feet or so. Larry plummeted down, then gracefully poled and thrust into his first turn asthe gradient lessened, almost imperceptibly, and he felt the first hint of resistance under his skis. He let go a rebel yell of delight and began a series of short, high-speed turns, sending immense clouds of the light, air-filled powder snow exploding from his skis with each one. For a few moments, he forgot the client waiting at the top of The Wall, watching him disappear down the mountain. For just a brief period, he was free and filled with the swooping, indescribable joy of movement and speed that was as near to flying free as anything he’d ever felt in his life.
    Then, reluctantly, a hundred yards down the slope, he broadsided to a halt and looked back up to the crest. The blue-clad figure was still there, stark against the brilliance of the sky behind him. Larry waved one pole above his head in an unmistakable signal.
    There was a moment’s hesitation—a moment that spoke volumes. Then Jesse dropped off The Wall, following as close to the instructor’s pattern of turns as he could. Larry watched, eyes slitted against the glare, nodding to himself.
    Not bad. A little tension there, but he’d kind of expected that. The frown returned momentarily as Jesse poled for his turn, slamming the stock into the light snow as if he had a grudge against the mountain.
    “Too hard, boy,” Larry muttered aloud. Then he nodded approval again as he noted the correct knee action—the high, springing turn that brought both skis clear of the snow so they could rotate easily in free air. But the violence behind that pole plant had him worried. Too often, people used anger as a crutch against fear when skiing. It might work with a beginner but for someone of Jesse’s ability it was a retrograde step.
    On his fourth turn, Jesse felt himself come down slightly out of balance. The wall of snow behind him seemed to brush his shoulder as he turned. His heart leapt into his mouth as he remembered the last time—the sudden loss of equilibrium and grace as the concealed rock bit into the soft base of his ski, stopping him as effectively as a trip rope would have. Then came the fall, the snow smothering him as he tumbled uncontrollably, then the blinding shock of agony in his leg as he slammed into the young pine. The memories were allthere in a rush—not sequentially, but all crowding for his attention at the same time. And, irresistibly, he leaned back—just for a fraction of a second.
    On that steep, unforgiving slope, it was enough. The skis slid out from under him, losing their grip on the thin, powdery snow and he was over, rolling helplessly onto his right shoulder, tumbling in the sudden frigid cold.
    He felt the icy shock of the snow close over his face as he tumbled uncontrollably. Then he was in the clear again, sailing through the air for a few moments before he came facedown into the snow again. Rolling, falling, rolling: going with it as he felt himself gradually losing momentum. Praying that this time there would be no tree. Telling himself that there was no point in trying to force it. He would slide and roll to a stop when the mountain felt it was ready to let him.
    Finally, sensing that the slope was beginning to lessen, he rolled his legs under him,