"What's your name?" Ellen asked, realizing she had never asked properly, only been carried and set down and wrapped. "I mean—fully."
"Ray Callahan. Ski patrol out of Silverton. You've got the white cross to prove it if the badge is under the ice." He gestured at his parka hanging by the door, still dripping a dark circle onto the floorboards. "And you're—"
"Ellen Whitmore. I write for a magazine that pays me to get lost in interesting places and then describe the getting found. Or I did. The describing part is being relocated to a desk in Manhattan whether I like the furniture or not."