Carrie's skis sliced through the snow with a satisfying swish. What could be better than the wind in her hair, the sun on her face, and the crisp air of the Rocky Mountains? Maybe sharing the rush with that cute ski patrol, Brad, but hey, she couldn't have everything.
Singing to herself, she maneuvered into the moguls, thighs burning as she navigated the large white mounds that were as big as her car. This was living. Nothing on Earth could beat the– oof! Carrie hit a patch of ice and lost her balance as her skis slid out from beneath her.
She tried to right herself, but caught an edge and stepped right out of one ski, flipping forward onto her back and sliding head first into the deep snow at the tree line. She couldn't breathe, and her knee was on fire. Stunned, she stared at the treetops and fought the panic. The wind had been knocked out of her, but she'd be okay. If she could just relax and take a breath.
Red crowded her vision and she squeezed her eyes shut. Had she hit her head?
“Carrie?” The man's Texas drawl seemed out of place on the frozen slopes of Telluride. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes snapped open and she finally sucked in a breath. Brad stood over her in his crimson ski patrol jacket, his blue eyes full of concern.
Oh yeah. She was definitely okay.
Thanks to my writing friend Sybir St. John for today's prompt topic!
Sybir St. John