Free Crazy Blood by T. Jefferson Parker Page A

Diane. “Don’t buy it.”
    â€œGargantua has more than enough streetlamp banners, Jacobie,” said Adam. “And you also have the start and finish signage for the half-pipe, the slopestyle, and X Course.”
    Jacobie sighed and shook his head. “What did I do?”
    Adam lifted his binoculars and watched a very aggressive skier fly down Dragon’s Back. Adam liked the straightforward power of the woman, the assured turns, the absence of hotdogging. Honest speed. “Brandon? What’s this about Wylie Welborn wanting to join our Mammoth freeski team?”
    â€œHe’s got it in his thick head to win the Mammoth Cup. Him and Sky are hating on each other again. It’s become some kind of loyalty thing to Robert. Like whoever wins the cup loves Robert more. But Wylie withdrew his app—snatched the money right off my desk.”
    â€œWylie Welborn?” asked Claude Favier. “He won the Mammoth Cup ski cross very impressively five years ago. On Chamonix Saber Three skis!”
    â€œHe’s older and fatter now,” said Brandon. “I don’t need him on the team. He probably couldn’t afford it anyway.”
    Adam caught Diane and Jacobie trying to read his mind—not easy, he knew, given Wylie’s divisive relationship with the Carson family proper. Adam understood that Jacobie wouldn’t want Wylie on the team, given Gargantua’s not-so-secret desire to claim pretty much all of Let It Bean’s market share. Brandon was against Wylie because Brandon had never liked the Welborns and they had never liked him, and that was that. “Put him on the team, Brandon. I’ll cover his fees.”
    â€œWhy, Grandpa?”
    â€œBecause he’s one of the best ski crossers I’ve ever seen.” Adam raised his binoculars again. He hated committees, bureaucracies, democracies. Squabbles, strife, opinions. Peering through the glasses, he watched some speed demon slicing down the black-diamond Head Chutes run. The equipment is so much better now than back in the old days, he thought. He remembered those heavy wooden skis, the bindings with minds of their own, the monstrous boots. Not a helmet in sight. Suddenly, Adam was sixty years back, helping his friend Dave McCoy build that first Mammoth Mountain rope tow—using a car engine and old tires! It was summer on the mountain and unusually hot, and they worked in jeans and boots. Dave’s wife, Roma, was there, and Adam’s beloved Sandrine, both so beautifully young and tan-armed in sleeveless blouses and shorts, and many others sweating and grunting and trying to get that damned V-8 rope tow to work without dragging them up the mountain at thirty miles an hour.
    Adam could see Sandrine turn and smile at him. What a lucky man I was.
    Now he watched the skier tearing down the mountain in a flurry of powder. And listened to the Racing Committee blather on.
    Jacobie was agreeing with Brandon that Wylie should not be a part of the free-ski team. Who could know better what the team needed than its coach?
    â€œAnd if Wylie is on the team, think of those last few loyal customers who might stay with Let It Bean,” said Diane.
    â€œJesus, Diane.”
    â€œBut I agree with you. It’s Brandon’s team and Brandon’s call.”
    â€œI believe we all would be fortunate to have Wylie Welborn on this team,” said Claude Favier. “It would be good for Mammoth Lakes and the sport of ski cross.”
    â€œAnd you hope he rides Chamonix skis again,” said Diane.
    â€œYes, I passionately hope for this,” said Claude.
    â€œBut I win,” said Brandon. “Three votes against Wylie. Only two votes in favor.”
    Then came a silence, during which Adam gazed down at the town of Mammoth Lakes.
    â€œWait,” said Diane. “There are lots of moving parts here. So, yes, Adam, I’d be willing to give Wylie a chance on the team, if you would suggest to