Her Mountain Man

by Cindi Myers

Much as he aggravated her at times, Paul was impossible not to like. She might as well enjoy his company, as long as they had to spend so much time together.

  There was nothing wrong with liking him. The trick was not to forget herself and like him too much. It had been a long time since she’d fallen for a man, but she remembered the feeling—the rush of fascination, the sense of danger, the exhilaration even of arguing with him. Paul kindled all these things in her. It was a heady combination, but one she wasn’t interested in pursuing. Not now. Not with Paul.

  SIERRA WOKE THE NEXT morning to bright sunlight. Why is it, she wondered, that hotel-room curtains always have a gap that focuses the morning sun directly onto the face of anyone trying to sleep in? Was it a required design element, like the television that can’t be comfortably viewed from any of the room’s furnishings?

  Pondering such trivia kept her from thinking about the kiss she’d shared with Paul the night before, though she’d fallen asleep remembering the feel of his lips on her cheek. Did he romance every new woman in town this way, or did she, as a visiting journalist, get special treatment?

  The blare of “New York, New York” roused her from her reverie. She grabbed her cell phone and shoved herself into a sitting position. “Hello?”

  “Good morning.” Mark’s voice was entirely too cheerful for seven in the morning. Though of course it was nine in New York. “How are the mountains?”

  “The mountains are fine,” she said.

  “And how’s our mountain man? Are you getting a lot of great material for your article?”

  “Lots of great stuff.” She suffered only a twinge of guilt as she thought of the single page of notes she’d collected. Though she and Paul had spent quite a bit of time together, he’d successfully avoided answering most of her questions. “It’s going to be a great story,” she said to Mark, with forced cheerfulness.

  “You okay?” he asked. “You sound funny.”

  “It’s only seven here. I’m still in bed.”

  “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not, um, interrupting anything, am I?”

  “Mark!”

  “Sorry. I mean, it’s none of my business.”

  “I came here to work, not to pick up men.”

  “Forget I mentioned it. I know you’re not like that. I just…listen, you’re okay with this, right?”

  “Okay with what?” She rubbed her right temple, fighting the beginning of a headache.

  “I mean, dredging up the past isn’t too painful for you, is it?”

  “No, of course not.” Before leaving New York, she would have said her father was a part of her past she’d dealt with long ago. But being here with Paul, unearthing memories of her dad—both pleasant and not so pleasant—made her realize the pain she’d locked away was still there.

  “It isn’t the easiest subject in the world for me,” she admitted. “But I think you were right. I needed to come here and hear Paul’s story, for closure.” When she left Ouray, maybe she’d have a more complete picture of Victor Winston, and a glimmer of understanding about what drove him.

  “I started feeling guilty as soon as you left,” Mark said. “I really do appreciate this.”

  “I’ll make sure you show that appreciation when I get home. Speaking of which, what was the big idea of exiling me to this place for a whole week? Do you really think it’s going to take me that long to do an interview?”

  “I thought you could use the time off.”

  “Seven days?”

  “You’re entitled to four days bereavement leave for the death of a parent. I thought you might like to use it.”

  “Mark, that was way out of line.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I told you I felt guilty about all this. But I hear Ouray’s beautiful—take some time off and enjoy yourself.”

  “I’m coming home as soon as I’ve gotten all the information I need.”

  “Be that way, then. I really do appreciate you taking the assignment. The publisher saw me in the elevator yesterday and he congratulated me on landing this story. Before last week, I don’t think he even knew my name.”

  “That’s great. I’m happy to hear it. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m counting on you to turn in a killer story. It’s going to be the lead for the November issue, did I tell you?”

  “No, you didn’t.” A shiver of excitement swept through her at the idea of a cover story—followed closely by apprehension. She’d have to work harder to pin down Paul and get him to tell her his whole story—not just what had happened on McKinley, but all that had led to that moment.

  “If you need anything from this end, research or anything, let me know,” Mark said.

  “I will.” They said goodbye and she slid her phone shut and stared through the gap in the curtains at the snowcapped mountains. Most people probably saw tremendous beauty or awe-inspiring majesty when they looked at those peaks. Sierra remembered her mother helping pack her father’s climbing gear as he prepared to leave on yet another expedition. Tears streamed down her mother’s face as she worked, and her father pretended not to notice.

  Once, when eight-year-old Sierra had begged her father to stay home, he’d patted her shoulder and smiled. “This is what Daddy has to do,” he’d said, as if he was a coal miner who was forced to risk death to feed his family.

  But what was it about mountain climbing that he “had” to do? As she’d grown older, Sierra had decided her father used climbing to avoid his other responsibilities, including taking care of his family. After all, who could be expected to remember to change the oil in the car or renew the insurance policy when there was an expedition to Everest to plan?

  Was Paul as irresponsible? He’d mentioned being so involved in his work he’d stood up Kelly on dates. Maybe he wasn’t really a “new breed” of climber at all—just the same fanatic in different clothes.

  The idea focused her determination. No more wasting time with Paul Teasdale. She was going to pin him down and make him answer her questions. Then she’d write a story the readers of Great Outdoors would never forget.

  She was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when someone knocked on her door. Had Paul come looking for her?

  Her visitor wasn’t Paul, but Kelly, red high heels in hand. “Thanks for the loan,” Kelly said, handing over the shoes. “They were a big hit.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Sierra glanced from the glamorous shoes in her hand to the hiking boots on her feet. “I guess I should buy some boots of my own.”

  “Just borrow those for the week.” Kelly gave the boots a dismissive wave. “I have others.” She sat on the edge of the unmade bed. “How’d it go with Paul yesterday?” she asked.

  The chance to discuss the situation with another woman, especially one who knew Paul, was too good to pass up. Sierra set the shoes on the dresser and pulled up a chair across from Kelly. “Yesterday was interesting,” she said. “I’m supposed to be interviewing Paul, but he doesn’t talk much about himself.”

  “Yeah. Unusual in a guy, right?”

  “Right. So, how long have you known him?”

  “Since he moved to town five years ago.”

  “And you know him pretty well?”

  “I can tell you he has a pretty nasty scar on his chest.”

  “Oh?” Sierra grabbed her notebook and jotted this down. “Was he injured in a climbing accident?”

  “I don’t know. Like you said, he doesn’t talk much about himself.”

  “What about his family? Do they get along? Does he have brothers and sisters?”

  Kelly frowned. “Are you asking me to dish dirt on my friend?”

  “No!” Sierra set aside the notebook. “I’m simply trying to get some background on him.”

  Kelly relaxed a little. “I’m sorry. I really can’t help you, though—I don’t know anything.”

  “And I’m sorry if you thought I was out of line. I promise, I’m not writing a negative piece. It’s just he
lpful to have input from other people who know the subject of a profile like this, especially if the subject is as modest as Paul.” And as closemouthed.

  “If I think of anything interesting, I’ll let you know,” Kelly said.

  “Thanks for the tip about the private swimming hole story.”

  “You asked him?”

  “I did!” Sierra laughed. “Though he made me promise not to use the story in my article. Did you see him when he hiked back into town?”

  “Oh, yeah. People lined the streets to get a look. We could have sold tickets.”

  “He seemed to be a pretty good sport about it.”

  “That’s Paul. He never gets too worked up about anything.”

  Sierra thought of his patience while she shopped yesterday, and his calm as he navigated the steep, winding road. Was he really so Zen—or merely emotionally detached? What would it take to set him off? “Have you ever seen him lose his temper?” she asked.

  Kelly shook her head. “Never. He’s just not that type of guy.”

  Levelheadedness was certainly a good quality, but weren’t there times when being more emotional was appropriate? How could a man who professed to be so passionate about mountains be so even-keeled about the rest of his life?

  Sierra was aware of Kelly studying her. Did she think Sierra was a little too interested in Paul? Time to change the subject. “How was your date?” she asked.

  “Oh, it was great.” Kelly crossed, then uncrossed her legs, her expression somber. “Were you serious the other day, when you said you could put me in touch with some people in New York who could help me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “My boyfriend is talking about paying my way, so I might be moving out there sooner than I thought.”

  “Generous boyfriend,” Sierra said.

  “Yeah, he really is.”

  “Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll give you a list of names and numbers,” she said.

  “Thanks.” Kelly stood. “And thanks again for the shoes.” She grinned. “You should have seen my boyfriend’s eyes pop when I walked in wearing them.”

  “Thank you for the boots. I’d probably be crippled now without them.” Sierra followed Kelly to the door. “Have you seen Paul this morning?” she asked.

  “No. He’s probably still repairing his roof. If he’s not at his house, you might try the hot springs. Or he could be hiking one of the trails around town.”

  “All right. Where is the hot springs?”

  “Just as you come into town, on the right side of the highway. But this early in the day, he probably won’t be in the pool. He goes there to climb.”

  “To climb? At the hot-springs pool?”

  “There’s a rock wall that’s popular with local climbers. They can climb in the morning, and hit the pool in the afternoon.”

  Of course. Some people drank coffee to get going in the morning, Paul climbed rock cliffs. He was one of that breed of men who seem to think something isn’t worth doing unless it’s difficult, painful and carries the risk of serious injury or death.

  Her mother had once said that if she could have figured out a way to make it more dangerous, she wouldn’t have had to nag her father about mowing the lawn. Apparently Paul had found a way to make even a relaxing trip to hot springs risky.

  SOME PEOPLE RELAXED by doing yoga or jogging. Paul preferred climbing. Scaling a wall of rock or ice forced him to focus on precisely where to place his hands and feet and when to shift his weight. When he was climbing, there wasn’t a lot of room in his head for other things.

  But this morning, even climbing couldn’t keep out thoughts of a certain shapely journalist who pretended to be cool and aloof, but who had shown signs yesterday of unexpected warmth. After she’d left him last night, Paul had wondered if he should have kissed her lips instead of her cheek. The thought of how she might have reacted had kept him awake for hours.

  His climbing partner today, Josh Merton, didn’t help keep Paul’s mind off Sierra. “What’s the story with you and that hot brunette?” he asked, as he and Paul prepared to set anchors for a new route up the pool wall.

  “She’s a reporter interviewing me for a magazine article,” Paul said.

  “I thought you didn’t talk to reporters.”

  “She’s not just any reporter.”

  Josh laughed. “I can see that. I guess for a woman who looked like that I might sacrifice my principles, too.”

  “It’s not like that.” Paul stepped onto a jutting chunk of rock and found a handhold in a crevice overhead. He began to climb.

  “Don’t make the route too tough,” Josh said. “Remember, this is for kids. Some of them have been pretty sick, I guess, so the idea is to challenge them, but not freak them out.” Josh had volunteered to help with several groups of kids from The Children’s Hospital in Denver who were participating in four-day vacations in the San Juan Mountains sponsored by the local Elks Lodge.

  “Right.” Paul looked up the slope, studying his options.

  “You ought to come help with the climb,” Josh said. “There’s supposed to be seven kids and their families participating. We could always use more volunteers.”

  “No, thanks,” Paul said. Josh was the kind of guy who was at ease with anyone and everyone, but Paul wasn’t so comfortable around crowds of strangers, especially a bunch of critically ill children and their families. He wouldn’t know what to say to them, and he didn’t think he’d be able to hide his emotions.

  “Will you be too busy romancing your reporter friend to help me out?” Josh persisted, beginning a route parallel to Paul’s.

  “She’s only here until Monday,” Paul said. “And I’m talking to her because she’s Victor Winston’s daughter.”

  “Oh.” A shower of gravel bouncing down the slope emphasized the single syllable as Josh scrambled for a new foothold. “That’s heavy.”

  “Yeah.” When he’d agreed to talk with Sierra, he hadn’t thought much about the potential emotional impact of such a meeting. He’d been focused on the chance to learn more about his childhood hero—the chance to, in a way, bring the man whose body he’d hauled down the side of a mountain back to life.

  “So, is she glad you found her dad, or upset that you brought the whole story back into the open after so many years?” Josh asked. He stopped a little above Paul on the wall, flattened against the rock and looked back at his friend.

  “She hasn’t said.” Paul hammered an anchor into the wall. Though she’d relaxed a little around him yesterday, Sierra had been careful not to reveal too much of herself.

  He’d enjoyed hearing about her childhood with Victor, but when he’d pressed for more, she’d cut him off. Was it because her parents separated when she was so young?

  The idea that his hero had abandoned his wife and daughter bothered Paul. Wouldn’t Sierra have seen her dad on weekends and summer visits? Yet she hadn’t known about Victor’s netsuke collection. Paul wondered if it would be possible to find out when Victor had begun collecting. Had the gift to his daughter sparked his interest? If so, why hadn’t he shared that interest with his only child?

  The more time he spent with Sierra, the more questions he had. And he couldn’t say all his questions concerned her father. The woman herself drew him. He couldn’t remember when he’d enjoyed being with someone more. And that one kiss…

  “Are you going to lean there against the rock all morning, or are you going to climb?”

  He looked up and saw Josh several yards above him. Silently cursing his inability to concentrate, he quickly hauled himself up beside his friend.

  They made it to the top of the wall without further comment, setting anchors along the way, then hurried back down. Indy greeted them enthusiastically as they dropped to the ground, barking and licking Paul’s face. “Good boy,” Paul said, rubbing the dog’s ears.

  The two men rested a moment against the sun-warmed rock, enjoying the view of the hot-springs pool a short distance away. A few swi
mmers did laps in the lanes on one side of the steaming pool, while a trio of small children took turns on the water slide. The familiar sights made Paul feel more at home here than any place he’d lived since leaving his parents’ place for Everest the summer after he’d graduated from high school. Until he’d decided to move to Ouray, he’d drifted from place to place. Ouray was the first community where he’d felt like putting down roots.

  “Speaking of hot chicks, I saw Kelly at Smuggler’s last night.” Josh returned to his favorite subject—women.

  Paul began gathering his climbing gear. “Was she with that real-estate guy?”

  “I don’t know. She was on her way back from the ladies’ room when we passed in the hall. Then I lost her in the crowd.”

  “She was probably with him. Keith somebody or other. She seems really into him.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Josh shook his head. “How is it you stay friends with all the women you used to date? All my ex-girlfriends would just as soon cut out my liver and feed it to their dog.”

  “That’s because you let things get serious and then you break it off. They end up angry and hurt. The women I date are friends. I never let things get too deep. We have a good time, but keep it light.”

  “Yeah. And why is that?”

  “Why is what?” Paul took off his climbing helmet and added it to the pile of gear.

  “Why are you only out for a good time? Don’t you want to find someone to be with long-term?”

  Long-term? A word that meant commitment, even permanence. “I don’t live the kind of lifestyle that’s compatible with relationships,” he said. “My future’s too uncertain.”

  “Everyone’s future is uncertain,” Josh said. “As for your lifestyle—mountain climbing didn’t stop Victor Winston from having a family.”

  Paul remembered the hurt in Sierra’s expression when she’d talked about her father. “Maybe all that will happen for me later,” he said. “Right now I’m too busy to settle down.”

  The two friends carried their gear to Paul’s Jeep. “Where’s your next expedition?” Josh asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’m considering climbing in Nepal next summer.”