by Stacy Monson
Every employee she encountered at the Loveland resort seemed younger than her, so it wasn’t a surprise no one remembered Kenny. After a quick hike with Lula dancing along beside her, she drove to Arapahoe Basin, where she encountered a young employee on one of the trails who didn’t remember Kenny but thought some of the other crew might. He made a call on his radio, then told her an employee named Squinty remembered Kenny and would meet her at the base of the chair lift.
Mikayla stopped short of hugging the unsuspecting young man as she thanked him. Nerves tingling, she kept her steps slow and steady, though she ached to race down the slope. She still had no plan for how she’d approach Kenny, but this conversation might give her an idea.
Reaching the bottom, she perched atop a boulder and snapped photos of Lula exploring the wildflowers and scrub under the chair lift. When her head popped up from behind a patch of black-eyed Susan, Mikayla laughed and took another photo.
“Well, ain’t that a tiny dog,” came a male voice, and Mikayla turned as Lula bounded forward, barking fiercely where she stood between them. “It is a dog, right?”
Mikayla slid off the boulder. “Don’t let her hear you say that,” she admonished with a smile. “She thinks she’s part German shepherd, part mastiff.”
He laughed and extended a meaty, calloused hand to Mikayla, towering over her like the pines. His wide grin was missing a tooth. “I’m Bob, better known as Squinty.”
“Mikayla. And that”—she gestured toward Lula who had apparently decided he was a friend and now stood with her paws on his leg—“is my ferocious guard dog, Lula.”
He reached down and greeted her with a surprisingly gentle touch. “You do jus’ fine as a guard dog, Little Lula. Don’ let anyone tell you different.” Years of being outdoors had darkened his skin and carved squint lines, or perhaps laugh lines, in his face. “So I hear you’re askin’ about Kenny Johnson. That’s a name from the past.”
“Did you know him?”
“Skied the circuit with him for years.”
She couldn’t picture his massive frame, solid as an oak, barreling down the slopes. “Did you work with him too?” Hope danced in her chest.
“Yup. How come you’re looking for him?”
She handed him her business card as the magazine line slid off her tongue. Maybe she would write about him someday. Or maybe not.
Squinty studied it and nodded. “Okay, then. How ’bout we grab some food from the cafeteria, and I can tell you what I remember.”
Mikayla forced down a rush of excitement as she followed his lengthy stride toward the lodge. With Lula tucked in her pack, they waited at an outdoor picnic table while Squinty retrieved lunch. Over hotdogs, chips, and sodas, he shared what life had been like on the ski circuit decades ago.
“These kids nowadays,” he said, “they don’t know how easy they got it. Back then, a lot of these resorts were still small scale. The racers had to set up the course and do all the race day prep work, as well as get in time to practice, and get our regular work done. Now they jus’ show up, ski, collect their money, and move on.”
He shook his head of shaggy salt-and-pepper hair and chewed thoughtfully. “It was a good life. We worked hard and played harder. We knew how lucky we were to get to live this way. But”—he turned his squint to her—“it wasn’t a good life for having a family. Too much moving around, goin’ where the work was in the off-season. We didn’t make much money and drank away a lot of it.”
Or used it for bail. “So how did you meet Kenny?”
He finished his hotdog. “On the circuit. He was from Montana and showed up at a race in Jackson Hole. Just a kid, cocky son of a gun,” he added with a snort, “but he was good. Real good. On the course, we were competitors, but when the race was over, we were friends.”
“I know he worked in Jackson Hole for a while.” Mikayla crumpled her empty chip bag. “When did he move to Denver?”
“Like I said, we played hard. Sometimes Kenny played a little too hard. After his last stint in jail there, he got fired from his job so he moved here to start fresh.”
Inwardly she flinched. “What did he go to jail for?”
“Stupid sh—” He glanced at her and corrected his language. “Stupid stuff. Drinkin’ and fightin’. A lot of fightin’ because he wasn’t good at keeping his mouth shut. Thick-headed kid. Couldn’t tell him anything.”
“Did he get in trouble once he moved here?”
Chuckling, Squinty nodded. “Kenny was pretty much always in trouble for somethin’ or other. The ladies loved him. Actually, most people did. He could charm the socks off a shoe salesman. And though most of the racers thought he was a pain in the…uh…neck, they knew he could kick their butt on and off the slopes.”
“Did he ever get married?”
“Kenny? Married?” His laugh echoed up the mountain. “No way. He wasn’t afraid of nothin’ except commitment. He was the poster boy for livin’ the bachelor life. Most of us, once we were done racing, ended up getting married, but not him. Not that I knew of, anyway.”
“He’s not still living around here?”
The smile on his broad face faded. “He got injured real bad in a race. Goin’ stupid fast in a storm just to win. After that he had an attitude and got in lots of trouble. Last I heard, he took off for parts unknown to get away from some guy he’d crossed—mean character who’d told people he was gonna take Kenny out. He meant it too.” He rubbed his broad nose, frowning. “Might’ve been a gambling debt or somethin’. I tried to find Kenny a couple times, but he just vanished.”
Mikayla pushed back against a surge of disappointment. Her search couldn’t end here. Not without knowing what happened to him. “When was his injury?”
“Boy, that was a while back. Let’s see…” He rubbed his forehead slowly. “Prob’ly twenty years now. All these memories make me want to check up on him again.” He studied her until she squirmed. “You sorta look like him.”
She forced a laugh. “People say all blondes look alike.”
“Not the hair. Well, that’s sorta like his. But more your eyes. A couple times as we’ve been talking it’s felt like I’m lookin’ at him.”
“Well, that’s certainly interesting.” She gathered the remains of their lunch and stuffed them in the trash can. “Squinty, I really appreciate you letting me use up your lunchtime. I’ve learned a lot.”
“Happy for a chance to talk about the ol’ days. Kids don’t want to hear about ’em now, so I was glad to share. You got any other questions?”
“Not right now. You have my card, so please call if you think of anything else, or someone gives you a clue about where Mr. Johnson ended up.” She offered her hand. “Thanks again. It was fun hearing about your racing days.”
“You be careful out there.” He kept hold of her hand. “A pretty gal like you shouldn’t be wanderin’ the mountains on her own.”
“I’m tougher than I look,” she assured him, then whistled for Lula who came running. “And remember, I have my guard dog.”
They parted on a laugh. Standing beside her jeep in the parking lot, Mikayla watched the large man amble back toward the slopes. When he paused to look back, she raised a hand. Frustration blurred her gaze as she and Lula climbed into the car. After all this, Kenny Johnson’s trail couldn’t disappear. There had to be a way to track him down.
He might have gone into hiding, but she had a lot more on the line than some big bully from twenty years ago. She’d find him one way or another.
~ 17 ~
The winding drive up to Winter Park kept her attention focused on the road, leaving little time to think about her conversation with Squinty. Though she was anxious to continue the search, she took pity on Lula’s sweet, miserable face and stopped often to let her out to explore and restore her equilibrium. Pausing at the continental divide, Mikayla took photos, romped with Lula in the patches of snow, and chatted with a Japanese family visiting the U.S. for the first time.
When she pu
lled into the Winter Park campground, she finally acknowledged the nervous energy that had her stomach in knots. The information Squinty shared affirmed some of her assumptions about Kenny, but also raised more questions. She had to find him so they’d all get answered. She was tired of him taking up space in her brain.
Once camp was set up, she and Lula meandered through the pretty town looking for lunch and Kenny Johnson. Any man who appeared to be her parents’ age received extra scrutiny. Several times she pulled out the tattered papers to study his features and compare them to men she passed. Tempted to inquire about him at every store, she held back. If he were indeed hiding out here, it might spook him to hear that someone was looking for him. Blindsiding him, as discovering her parentage had blindsided her, was how she preferred to meet him.
On the pink leash Mikayla had bought from the vet, Lula trotted beside her, ears up, eyes alert for another friend to meet along the sidewalk. Her enthusiasm for life cooled Mikayla’s ire. She needed to take a page from her tiny friend’s book—see the best in everyone, look forward to the next adventure around the corner or down the street. Expect good things. A little hard to do right now, but she’d work on it. Right after she found coffee.
Tucked down a side street, she discovered The Wildflower Café and Bakery, a charming coffee shop with window boxes overflowing with color, and wrought iron bistro tables under bright umbrellas. Mikayla chatted with the owner, Violet, as she waited for a latte and sandwich at the pickup window.
“That’s my husband’s handiwork,” Violet said with a smile. “He’s an iron worker, so he agreed to try making bistro tables when I opened the shop.”
“He made those? They’re wonderful. Does he sell them?”
“He does now.” Violet handed her a steaming white mug. “Here you go, hon. I’ll bring your sandwich out in just a minute.”
True to her word, Violet appeared moments later with a plate heaped with chips and a panini that made Mikayla’s mouth water. “Would you like some company while you eat?”
“I’d love some. Mmm, this sandwich is delicious.”
While Mikayla devoured her lunch, Violet told her about her beloved adopted home of Winter Park. Her Southern twang was evident as she shared funny stories and information about the town, the people, the weather. Drawn into an effortless conversation, Mikayla soon revealed a few details about her journey.
“So you headed out here all on your lonesome to look for someone you’ve never met?”
Mikayla nodded.
“That’s pretty brave, darlin’.”
“More like determined,” Mikayla said with a shrug. “I feel like I can’t move forward until I get answers. All I have to go on is a name and a few older photos.” She stopped her reach for the backpack she’d left at the campsite. The photos were in there. “His name is Kenny Johnson. Does that sound familiar to you?”
“Kenny Johnson.” Violet’s orange-hued hair lifted in the breeze as she frowned. “Sounds a bit familiar, but I can’t think of anyone named Kenny, sorry. I’ll think on it some more. Maybe it will come to me.”
“Thanks.” The photos might jog her memory. She’d have to remember to bring them the next time she came into town. “I found someone who remembered him but that didn’t pan out.” She released a tiny breath. “I’ll just have to keep at it until I have the answers I need.”
A sympathetic light glowed in Violet’s green eyes. “Good for you. I don’t do so well myself with questions hanging over me. My poor husband ends up getting the brunt of it when I’m trying to work something out. Sometimes I think he makes up an appointment just to get away from me and all my questions.”
Mikayla laughed.
“Speak of the devil.” Violet waved an arm in invitation, bracelets jangling. “Abe, honey, come over here and meet my new friend, Mikayla.”
A lanky man in overalls, with a neatly trimmed reddish beard and a shy smile approached from the side of the building.
“Mikayla Gordon, this is the nicest man in Winter Park, Abraham Meehan.”
He offered his hand, long, calloused fingers enveloping hers. “Good to meet you,” he said in a surprisingly cultured tone. “Any friend of Vi’s is part of our family.”
“Thanks. It’s nice to meet you too. Your wife is such a delight.”
Violet hooted with laughter. “Not sure Abe would use that word, but I’ll take it.”
“How long are you in Winter Park?” he asked.
“Just passing through so probably not long, although I’m tempted to stay a bit and enjoy the scenery and the wonderful people.”
“Lookin’ for a lost relative,” Violet told him, then pushed to her feet. “The regulars are starting to mosey over, so I’d better get inside. Mikayla, darlin’, you stay put as long as you like. And make sure you come back to see me before you leave town, you hear?”
“Definitely. Thanks, Violet.”
Bracelets jangled again as she dismissed Mikayla’s comment. “I’m just Vi to my friends.”
She returned to the coffee shop and Abe smiled at Mikayla. “If you have any questions about our town, be sure to ask. Vi knows everyone and everything.” He leaned toward her, hand at his mouth as if sharing a secret. “Even things she shouldn’t know.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” Since she didn’t know Kenny, he must not have settled in the area. He’d probably passed through on his way to hiding somewhere else.
“I’d best get back to my workshop. You have a good day, ma’am.”
As he strolled away, Mikayla smiled. Had she ever been called ma’am in her life? It was sweet. As much as she preferred making her own way in the world, she still enjoyed the chivalry of nice men like Abe. And Dad.
“Let’s head back to camp, Lu. I’d better catch up on Lin’s wedding report.” Lindy’s emails had stacked up the past few days, which wasn’t fair. Mikayla had promised to stay involved in the wedding, so she’d make responding to the bride a priority. And then she’d consider responding to Dad’s with at least a full sentence. That he insisted she was still his daughter brought a tearful smile every time she thought of him. Maybe their relationship would be okay.
Mikayla studied the hiking map she picked up at the grocery store the next morning. Five miles up the Lone Pine Lake trail would help her acclimate to the altitude and allow her to mentally prepare for the next step in her search.
Parked in the trailhead lot, she settled Lula in the front pack, then hooked the hydration pack onto her backpack and shrugged it into place. While families and hikers meandered around the trailhead, she glanced at her watch and started up the mountain. She should be able to complete the hike in five or six hours, with breaks sprinkled along the way.
The dirt trail wound through a forest of lanky pines and up rock-hewn stairs, following a stream that dawdled at points and gushed over falls with a refreshing mist at others. Making better time than she’d anticipated, she settled on an expanse of rock worn smooth by decades of hiking boots and mountain weather and listened to the water dashing along below.
She shared bites of her lunch with her sweet traveling companion, laughing at Lula’s enthusiastic exploration after each mouthful. She couldn’t imagine being on this journey without her. She’d have abandoned the search several times if Lula’s bright-eyed expression hadn’t offered the encouragement she needed.
Back on the trail, they needed only one brief stop before reaching the top. Breathless, Mikayla stood, hands on her hips as she surveyed the beauty of the hidden lake surrounded by trees and craggy cliffs. Lula darted back and forth, sniffing, listening, peeking cautiously over the edge of the rocks.
“This is well worth the effort, wouldn’t you say, Lula?” Mikayla sat at the base of a gnarly old tree and opened her backpack. She filled a cup with water for Lula, then drank deeply from her hydration pack, leaning back with a contented sigh. From overhead came the sweet twitter of birds as they danced from branch to branch, and from below the splash of water that spilled i
nto the lake. The knots in her back had steadily loosened with each step upward, the stress of days in the car littering the path behind.
Lula climbed into her lap and licked her chin. Mikayla smiled, stroking her small frame. “I’d be happy to just stop time and spend a month or six in this very spot. I don’t really need to find that guy, do I? My life was just fine before…”
The words trailed. Before knowing she had a hole in her heart. Before DNA. Before everything blew up, and she was left with the shell of her life.
“I da winner! You da loser. Again.” The gloating male voice, accompanied by the scuffle of many feet, startled her from her musing. Lula shot off her lap and stood yipping protectively between her and the teen boys that emerged from the woods.
“Hey, look at Bigfoot over there.” One pointed at the fierce pixie.
Mikayla laughed and got to her feet, scooping Lula with one arm. “Watch it. Attitude counts for something. At least it does when you’re this small.”
The boys joined her, laughing and jostling each other to pet Lula, who now wagged her feathery tail, protectiveness forgotten under the attention.
“She’s definitely got attitude. What kind of dog is she?”
“A Chion, a mix of Chihuahua and Papillon. Tough, isn’t she?”
Three teen girls joined them, squealing with delight. “Oh, she’s so sweet! How cute is she? What’s her name? Can I hold her?”
The boys raced off to explore the area while the girls crowded around Mikayla. A bubbly brunette with a high ponytail coaxed Lula into her arms and snuggled her close. Mikayla told them what she knew about Lula, able to laugh now at her discovery that Lula got carsick.
“So what do we have here?” The male voice was older, tinged with laughter.
“Look, Daws. Isn’t she cute? She’s a...a...” The brunette glanced back at Mikayla.