by Stacy Monson
His gaze moved from her to the chalet as if debating his answer, then he turned and pointed toward the chair lift. “Probably the fastest way is to follow the chair lift line. That’s the area that’s been cleared the most.” He looked down at her sandals again. “But it’s not an easy climb, so I’d recommend decent hiking shoes.”
Mikayla smiled past an eye roll. “That’s the first order of business. Along with dry shorts.”
“And remember, the sun sets quickly so you won’t want to get stranded up there in the dark.”
Or worse, have to ride the chair lift down. “Thanks for the reminder. You’ve been a lot of help”—she glanced at his nametag—“Bryan.”
He beamed. “Anytime.”
After a quick change of clothes and shoes, Mikayla settled Lula into the front carrier, thanking the vet tech yet again for suggesting it. She swung her backpack of hiking essentials over one shoulder, her camera over the other, and headed toward the chair lift, energy in her stride. This was the first step toward locating Kenny and letting him know what she thought of him and the mess he’d created. Hopefully today she’d get a solid lead on where to find him.
Lula peeked over the edge of the carrier, ears up. Mikayla patted her rear through the canvas. “Always looking for the next adventure, aren’t you, Lu? Thanks for doing this with me.”
The dog looked up and licked her chin before returning her focus to their upward trek. The difference from eight hundred or so feet above sea level in Minneapolis to several thousand feet set Mikayla’s lungs burning as she climbed. Several water and rest breaks later, it seemed they’d reached the halfway point. Maybe. Hard to tell where the top was now that she was on the slope.
Settled on a boulder, she lifted her face to the sun and sighed. What could be better than being outdoors in refreshingly crisp air, listening to birdsong in tall pines that reached up to a breathtakingly blue sky? Life held such potential when she was out in the open. “This is heaven, Lu,” she murmured.
Male voices from above yanked her attention back, and she scrambled off the rock, nearly dumping Lula out of the carrier. In yellow hard hats and reflector vests, the men carried axes, rope, and shovels. Yes!
As she approached, their conversation stopped. “You lost, ma’am?” the taller one asked.
“Not at all.” She smiled. “Enjoying the view. But I’m glad I ran into you. Do either of you remember an employee named Kenny Johnson? I think he was also a skier a while back. Not sure where he’s working now.”
“Kenny,” the older man repeated. They looked at each other, then shook their heads. “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Did he ski around here?” the redhead asked.
“I’m pretty sure he did. I’m guessing he’s moved on, but I hope to catch up to him somewhere.”
“He in trouble or something?”
Not the kind he was probably referring to. “Not that I know of,” she said pleasantly. “Tracking him down for a friend of mine.”
The older man shrugged. “If he was on the circuit at some point, he’d probably be in the local papers. You could try the library.”
Why hadn’t that occurred to her? “That’s a great idea.”
“No address or cell number for him? Email?”
Plenty of info on the thousands of Kenny Johnsons out there. “Not that I’ve been able to find. I’ll check out the library. Thanks for your time.”
The men moved on, and she continued the hike upward. Her steps slowed as she reached a plateau, and she settled against a tree to think. Now out of the carrier, Lula dashed from tree to rock to scrubby brush sniffing and exploring, checking back on Mikayla before prancing off again.
Far below, the resort and chalet looked like children’s toys, nestled at the base of the chair lift. She pointed her camera to catch the beauty of the view, thankful her fear of heights didn’t extend to being on the ground. Feet were meant to be on terra firma, she’d told Dad numerous times when he’d suggested a zip line or parasailing.
Nope. She was game for most adventures, but there was an immovable line in the sand when it came to heights. If her feet couldn’t touch solid ground, she didn’t partake. When she and Lula finished their snacks, she started down. Checking the library seemed a better use of her time and energy than chasing around a mountain trying to find other people. If it looked like Kenny was still here, she’d do more canvassing. Otherwise she’d follow the leads.
In the Friday morning quiet of the library, Mikayla scoured local papers from previous decades. Kenny Johnson, local ski racer and instructor. Numerous photos showed a cocky, broad smile as he posed with his arms around what were no doubt his fans and groupies. Grudgingly she acknowledged he was sort of cute with his longish blond hair, Ray-Bans, and engaging smile. Obviously her mother had fallen for that look too.
He’d had some success on the local circuit. Photos showed him on podiums, medals around his neck. Speeding down mountain runs. Celebrations. Champagne spraying over a group of partiers. It seemed he’d skied in Jackson Hole for about five seasons.
A title stopped her scrolling. Local ski hero arrested for drug possession. Then another—Brawl between ski teams results in property damage, jail time. She scanned both articles, then dropped back in the chair. Great. A troublemaking womanizer. Maybe she didn’t want to know more about him if the news continued to go south.
“Finding the information you were looking for?” inquired the young librarian who’d gotten her set up.
And then some. “Yes, thanks. I’m wondering—can I print any of these? And the photos?”
“Certainly. There’s a five-cent charge per page.”
“Okay.” She indicated those with the most information and photos about Kenny. “And I have another question. Do you know how I can find out if he’s still living here? I write for an outdoor magazine and I’d like to do a story on him.” That could be true. She wouldn’t want to, but she could.
“Hmm. I’d suggest the general 411.com site which gives the most current info and past living locations.”
Tried that. “Okay, thanks.”
“You can pay for the copies at the front desk. Anything else I can help with?”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Settled back at the campsite, Lula in her lap, Mikayla searched the articles for clues about where he went after Jackson Hole. Denver looked like the best option. He’d apparently done some racing there as well.
Running her fingers over Lula’s fur, she rested her head back and sighed. Tomorrow she’d check a few other resorts in the area, then head to Denver. She’d started this adventure with one goal—find the man who’d messed up her life. Now it seemed there’d been something hidden. She’d wanted to find a decent guy who would explain what happened in a way that would somehow make it palatable. Make her feel less illegitimate. Instead, her parentage was becoming even more embarrassing.
“Maybe I should give it up before it gets worse, Lu,” she mused.
Lula lifted her head, feathery ears perked up as their eyes met.
“You’re right. If I don’t follow this through, I’ll always wonder. Fine.” She released a sharp exhale. “We’ll do some more exploring and then get back on the road tomorrow. Happy?”
Her riding companion licked her hand and snuggled back in. If only her life was as uncomplicated as this dog’s.
~ 16 ~
As Mikayla packed the car for Denver, her phone pinged. Lindy again? Her heart leaped. Dad. She settled on the edge of the open hatch and read.
Hey Kid. Yup, its the old man again. I think I could get used to talking without you interrupting. Ha ha. I was fishing this morning. Its not the same alone. I always knew youd get married someday and have a new fishing partner but I thought we had more time. Makes me think about how we take things and people for granted. And how that can make us do stupid stuff and not let people know how much we appreciate them.
Theres so much I want to tell you but Im sure talking about family is h
ard for you right now. I hope youll let your old man share some things over the next few days in emails that might help. And I hope youre coming home soon.
Missing my fishing buddy.
Dad
Oh. Almost forgot. I thought you’d like this photo of todays catch. Would have been easier to get it in the boat if you’d been there, but I managed.
She opened the attachment and burst into laughter. A swordfish had been photoshopped into Dad’s hands where he sat in the fishing boat. No doubt his idea but Beau’s handiwork. Such a goofy grin on Dad’s beloved face. So ridiculous, so him to send her something like that.
She studied the photo—his dark tousled hair, the camo jacket he wore every time so the fish wouldn’t see him coming. A flash of pain creased her heart, then burning resentment heated her from within. How could Mom have done that to him? Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he was as close as it got. He’d been the best dad, and a solid husband who’d provided a great life for his family. After sending back a laughing emoji, she forwarded the photo to Lindy and Maggie, knowing they’d get a giggle out of it.
And this Kenny guy. Sleeping with another man’s wife! What kind of person did that? Even in the moral chaos of the twenty-first century it was still wrong. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to find him. She had plenty to say, and he wouldn’t like any of it. Wrestling the anger back into its corner, she tucked the phone into her pocket. She had to stay focused. Letting her emotions run wild wouldn’t help. Denver was calling. She slammed the hatch shut and whistled. Lula dashed around the car and flew into the passenger seat, planting dainty paws on the dash, tiny pink tongue hanging out.
Mikayla giggled. “All right, Lu. Let’s head out. Denver, here we come.”
The uneventful ride passed quickly as they left Wyoming behind and headed toward what she hoped was their final destination. Crossing the plains of eastern Colorado, the distant mountains of Denver grew larger, and her heart beat faster. She checked the GPS, relieved the campground was only twenty minutes farther. She needed a good hike to shake off the building adrenaline.
Standing in the campground office, Lula in her arms, she stared at the manager. “The website didn’t say anything about no dogs.”
He shrugged, working around her to help two kids with their soda purchase. “I don’t work on the website, lady. I just enforce the rules. And it says right there”—he pointed over his shoulder at the posted guidelines—“no pets. That’s a poor excuse for a dog, but it’s still a pet.”
Mikayla’s arms tightened. “The size of something doesn’t guarantee quality,” she replied, glancing at the man’s protruding tummy. Her parents had taught her better than that, but a flood of frustration overrode common sense. Insulting the manager wouldn’t get her a spot in the campground.
The young man behind her snickered while the man at the counter ignored the comment. “Look, I can’t help you. No pets means no pets. Not even if you keep it in the car. We get way too many complaints about barking dogs, and a yipper like that could get me fired. Sorry. Next.”
“Do you have a supervisor?”
He brushed unruly bangs from his forehead and resettled his knit cap. “I am the supervisor. And the trash collector, and the guy who tells people to shut off their blasting music in the middle of the night.”
Teeth clamped, she spun and flung open the screen door. There’d be no headway with him. In the car, she tried to pull up the confirmation email from the camp, then banged her head against the headrest. Of course—no connection. She was halfway up a mountain.
She climbed back out. “C’mon, Lula. I can’t drive when I’m this mad.” She’d learned that the hard way when she was younger. A lesson that had resulted in losing car privileges for a month. “Let’s go for a hike.”
Fastening the front pack, she settled her companion into it, filled her water bottle at the spigot by the campground map, and chose a light, short path. She also knew better than to hike into the mountains unprepared.
Once they left the paved sidewalk, the path meandered in and out of the woods, offering glimpses of snow-capped mountains of varying hues in the distance. A gentle breeze set yellow, white, and purple wildflowers dancing along the path. She soaked in the view from a rocky ridge, snapping photos.
She’d have to start journaling so she could remember the details—the variety of colors, fresh aromas, and peaceful sounds. Column ideas piled in her head. Maybe she’d start a blog about the trip, under a pseudonym to protect the innocent. And the guilty, unfortunately.
With the distant laughter of other hikers, the strength of towering trees and the call of a nearby stream, her heart swelled, the earlier frustration forgotten. Her shoulders lowered, muscles unknotted. This was her life, at least for now.
Lula growled as a squirrel raced up a nearby tree, and Mikayla laughed. “You tell him, Lu. Okay, let’s go find a place to stay tonight.”
“Can I get you a refill?”
Mikayla looked up from the map on her phone and nodded at the coffee shop barista with the pink-tinged hair. “Yes, please. I’m in desperate need of more caffeine.”
The young woman’s hand-written nametag was written in curly swirls—Jill. “Some mornings are like that,” she said, refilling Mikayla’s cup. “Our coffee will get you up and running. Have you had anything to eat? We have award-winning, homemade cinnamon rolls.”
Mikayla’s stomach growled in response to the aroma of fresh-baked pastries. “I was so focused on getting coffee, I didn’t eat. A cinnamon roll sounds great.”
The girl winked, her eyebrow piercing catching the overhead light. “I’ll grab one.” A moment later she returned with a four-inch square, sweetly fragrant roll.
“Wow! That’s enormous.” Mikayla breathed deeply, mouth watering. “And it smells amazing.”
“Taste’s even better,” came the assurance. “The owner’s secret recipe. Enjoy!”
“Wait. How much do I owe you?” Ten dollars based on the size of it.
“It’s on the house.” Jill grinned. “We get to pick one person each day for a free treat and you’re mine.”
The unexpected kindness stung the back of Mikayla’s eyes. “Really? That’s so nice.”
“So are you. Oops, there’s a customer.” Moving toward the register, she waved ring-lined fingers. “Enjoy every bite.”
Before digging in, Mikayla took a picture and sent it to her sisters. After the first bite, she had to force herself not to stuff the rest in her mouth. She closed her eyes in delight.
“Was I right?”
Mikayla grinned, licking her fingers. “I can see why they’ve won awards. If I lived here, I’d gain ten pounds just coming to your shop.”
“Where are you from?”
“Minnesota. I’m just passing through looking for someone. Sort of like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
Jill dropped into the opposite chair. “Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t have a lot to go on—just a name and a few facts about him being a skier.”
The girl’s pencil-thin eyebrows quirked. “That sort of describes everyone here.”
Mikayla laughed. “I suppose it does. He was in Jackson Hole for a few years and skied on the circuit, but then he came this direction.”
“Recently?”
“That’s what makes it so difficult. It was twenty-five years ago. There are so many ski resorts and towns around here, I’m not sure where to start.”
Jill’s breath set her pinkish bangs fluttering. “You’re right. This is a tough one. Have you got photos or anything?”
Mikayla pulled out the copies from the library and slid them across the table. Showing his picture stirred a strange sense of vulnerability, like she was airing her family’s dirty laundry. Which she was.
After studying them a moment, Jill lifted her gaze. “Cute guy.” She cocked her head, eyes narrowing. “You look like him. This a relative?”
She shrugged. “I think so. That’s why I’m trying to find him. An
y guesses where I should start looking first? He’s nowhere online.”
“Hmm. A man off the grid. Have you tried the jails around here?”
Her breath caught. “Uh…no. I hadn’t thought of that.” Not so far-fetched based on the Jackson Hole articles. Do I even want to know if that’s true?
“Maybe try that last,” Jill said, handing the papers back. “I’d suggest checking out a few resorts close by. Start with Loveland and Arapahoe Basin. Then I’d say head to Winter Park. He’d probably have skied all of those places at least for a while on the circuit. My dad has said lots of the old skiers settled up in Winter Park.”
Mikayla bobbed her head. The prison search would be last. “Hopefully somebody at one of them will remember him. Thanks.”
“I’m sure they’ll have other ideas if you don’t find him there. And when you head home, be sure to stop by here if you come through Denver. I’ll be wondering if you found him.” She leaned forward. “Can I pray for you before you go?”
Nobody had ever asked that before. And she’d never have guessed a tatted barrista with pink hair would be the first to offer. “Oh. I… Sure.”
Closing her eyes, Jill offered a simple prayer for safety and answers. Then she reached over and squeezed Mikayla’s forearm lightly before getting to her feet. She slid the chair in and offered an encouraging smile. “I’ll be praying that God keeps you on the right path, so you find the guy soon.”
“Thank you.” The words forced their way past the lump in her throat.
Jill returned to the register, and Mikayla ambled out to the jeep and climbed in, absently petting Lula as the prayer tumbled around in her head. Did God really care if she found Kenny? And if He did, then couldn’t He have prevented the event in the first place? Maybe then she’d have been born as Mitch’s daughter, not an imposter of thirty years.
“Don’t go there,” she said firmly. It was good for Jill if she believed God would help, but Mikayla knew better. She’d find Kenny on her own, and not waste energy being angry at God. It was enough to be angry with her mother.