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gestured at the house, presenting it to her with a lift of his hand. ""Be it ever so humble.""
    "Not humble, John T.," Kit declared, her eyes alight with humor. "This house wouldn't know how to be humble."
    "You could be right." The cleft in his chin deepened with his answering smile.
    "I know I am." She turned back to the house. The land around it had a wild, natural look, the evergreens and shrubbery growing free, showing no traces of a gardener's shears--the sure sign of an expert's touch.
    "Look at this view." Paula stood on the other side of the limo, facing the view the house commanded of the Roaring Fork Valley, the town of Aspen, and the Elk Mountain range. "You should be shooting your movie now, Chip," she said to the man beside her. "Think what an opening shot it would make with all this spectacular color."
    "It wouldn't work," he said, not even trying to temper the curtness of his rejection. "White Lies needs the winter setting, Aspen blanketed in snow. I already know the opening shot I want." He held his hands, framing the shot for his mind's eye. "We'll be at the top of the ski run on that mountain overlooking Aspen. The focus will be on three gorgeous women, snowbunnies in tight, bright, spandex ski suits, their backs to the camera. We'll pull back a little." His voice had an intense pitch.
    "Then Eden will whoosh in from off camera, goggles covering her eyes, her blond hair loose and flying. Down the slope she'll go, the camera following her all the way to the bottom, where she'll spray to a stop and rip off her goggles.
    McCord's waiting for her." Chip paused, lowering his hands. "And there will be Aspen, all iced and glamorous," he ended softly in utter satisfaction.
    "Yes," Kit nodded. "It's perfect, Chip. I love it."
    He whirled to face her, his eyes round with sudden alarm. "I never asked--can you ski, Kit?"
    She was tempted to tease him and say that she couldn't, but Chip Freeman didn't have the greatest sense of humor; in fact, it was almost nonexistent.
    "It's been a few years since I spent much time on the slopes, but--yes, I can ski," she told him. "Although I'm better at crosscountry than downhill."
    "I planned on using a stunt double for the major portion of the run." Chip walked around the back of the car. "But I wanted you skiing into frame. The camera to see your face. If I have to splice something in the editing room, it would ruin the whole shot." Stopping beside her, he cocked his head to one side, the thick lenses in his glasses giving him an owlish look. "When you went in for your fittings last week, did Sofia show you her sketch for your ski outfit?"
    "Yes." Sofia DeWitt was the costume designer for the film, a woman on her way to becoming a Hollywood legend.
    "Forget what she showed you. I threw it out. The colors were all wrong." Chip took her by the arm and propelled her toward the series of steps leading to the front door. "I don't want Eden in blacks and yellows or those fake lizard-skin looks. She's too classy for that. But the outfit needs to be bright enough for her to stand out from the other skiers when she's going down the slope, yet unique. I see her in jewel tones. Sofia and I talked about using a rich shade of amethyst for the ski pants and a deep royal blue for the jacket ... with a little iridescence in it to give a hint of purple."
    "Sounds gorgeous." Kit stopped by the front door of hammered bronze, inset with swirled, opaque glass.
    Maury halted at the top of the steps, laboring to get his breath. "That was some climb."
    He mopped the perspiration from his forehead, careful not to dislodge his toupee. "I'm out of shape."
    "It's the altitude," Kit explained.
    "Aspen sits over eight thousand feet above sea level. Up here, it's probably closer to nine."
    "They should pass out oxygen tanks," Maury puffed.
    "You can say that again," Paula murmured.
    Maury weakly shook his head. "I don't have the breath."
    John made his way up to the front door and opened it. "Come on. You can