Her Mountain Man

by Cindi Myers

  PAUL HAD KNOWN THIS MOMENT was coming, though he’d wanted to put it off as long as possible. He hated the thought of causing Sierra a single moment’s pain, but then again, maybe the pain had been inflicted long ago. Maybe telling what he knew would somehow help her heal.

  He leaned back against the sofa and began as he’d been told to begin all stories, at the beginning.

  “I told you Victor Winston was my idol, so I followed his career the way some kids follow baseball players or race-car drivers. I read everything I could find about him and I even had a map where I marked all the peaks he’d summited.”

  “You really were a geek,” she said, almost smiling.

  He nodded. “I was pathetic. Anyway, when it was announced that he was going to make a solo climb of McKinley, on a new route that had never been climbed before, I was excited about it. I searched the papers every day for reports of his progress.”

  “You were what—sixteen then?”

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “What were you like?” she asked. “What was your life like?”

  He’d been a skinny kid with a geeky obsession none of his classmates shared. He’d been through an ordeal they couldn’t begin to understand and all those things made him an outsider. “It had been two years since my bone-marrow transplant,” he said. “My hair had grown back and I’d started lifting weights, trying to catch up with my classmates, who hadn’t spent two years in and out of the hospital.” He’d had friends, but always felt a bit separate from them, like someone from another country trying to fit it with the natives. Maybe it was because he couldn’t share their teenage sense of invulnerability. His battle with death had shown him how precarious life could be.

  “I bet you were cute,” Sierra said.

  “No. I was definitely a late bloomer.” He cringed at the memory of his awkwardness.

  He knew what she would have been like: she’d have been the beautiful girl he wanted so badly to notice him—the smart, confident, almost magical creature who didn’t even know he was alive. She would have been the girl he could never have, so he’d have convinced himself there was no sense even wanting her. Such perverse logic had worked when he was sixteen, but he had no hope of fooling himself that way now.

  “So you followed my father’s expedition to McKinley.” She brought them back to the subject at hand.

  “Yes. I gave a report for social studies about your father’s proposed climb, and three days later the story broke that he was stranded on the mountain in a blizzard.”

  The way he remembered it, the whole world had been focused on the battle to try to save the lone climber. “I listened to all the television reports. I thought it was so amazing that even though his life was in danger, your father continued to radio updates. Even when the news was grim, he sounded so strong and positive.” The way Paul wanted to be.

  “My mother and I listened to those reports, too,” Sierra said. “I was fourteen and I still remember how unreal it felt. My father was huddled in a sleeping bag on the side of a mountain in a blizzard, yet in those dispatches he sounded almost like he did when he called to wish me a happy birthday. I even thought for a while it might be some kind of publicity stunt.”

  “But it wasn’t,” Paul said.

  “No. It wasn’t. But still, I could hardly believe it was happening to him—to my father.”

  “That last day, when the dispatches ended and the weather worsened, was wrenching,” Paul said. “It must have been a hundred times worse for you.”

  She rested her chin on her knees and stared across the room, though he had a feeling she wasn’t seeing his plastered walls or heavy curtains. “I was so afraid for him,” she said. “My thoughts just kept alternating between hoping he was alive and imagining him dying alone up there. But mostly, I was angry.”

  “I’ve always heard anger is part of grief.”

  “Why was he even up there?” she asked. “It seemed like such a waste.”

  “He was doing what he loved,” Paul said. “Is that ever a waste?”

  “Yes. In this case, I think it was. But tell me how you ended up finding his body. I never understood why the search parties that went up after the storm cleared couldn’t find him.”

  “Part of the difficulty was that your father had kept parts of his route secret, afraid someone else might beat him as the first to climb that part of McKinley,” Paul said. “And there was speculation that when the weather turned nasty he may have gotten off course and not been in the location where he told rescuers he was.”

  “Why was he up there by himself?” she asked. “Doesn’t that make it that much more dangerous?”

  “He wanted to do a solo climb—something no one had done in that area before. It’s something climbers do, always challenging themselves, setting new goals.”

  “Were you looking for his body?” she asked. “Did you think you might find it?”

  “I knew it was a possibility, but I never thought it would really happen. I assumed he had been buried by an avalanche or swept into a crevasse years ago.”

  “But he hadn’t.”

  “No.” He fell silent, gathering his thoughts, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know what made me look in that direction, but I had a feeling—call it an instinct or hunch or whatever—that something wasn’t right about what I was seeing, so I hiked over to take a look.”

  It had been a precarious location, on a steep slope, and he’d told himself he was being foolish to veer off course that way, but he was drawn to the area as if by a magnet.

  “I saw the sleeping bag first,” he said. “It had faded a lot, but I could still see a bit of the blue. Then I saw the…the hand sticking out of it.” It had looked like a leather glove, dried and withered as a mummy by the arid, cold temperatures. It clutched at the faded blue cloth, the glove that had once covered it in shreds around the wrist.

  “Did you know it was my father?” Sierra asked. “I mean, I guess you weren’t expecting anyone else up there…”

  “He wore a watch. His name was engraved on the back.” He’d hesitated to examine the body, but told himself he had to be sure. He had never felt more alone than in that moment, the only sounds that of the wind and his own harsh breathing. He had the eerie feeling of being close to death, as if Victor had expired only moments ago, instead of more than a decade before.

  “Why did you decide to bring the body down?” she asked. “It must have made your climb much more difficult and dangerous. You could have used GPS to mark the spot for rescuers to retrieve later. Or you could have left him where he was. No one would have known.”

  “I’d have known.” He shook his head. “Maybe it was foolish, but I couldn’t bear to leave him alone again after all this time.” Carrying the body, still wrapped in the sleeping bag, had been awkward, but it was lighter than he’d expected and he’d felt humbled by the task of doing something for the man who had inspired him for so many years.

  He glanced at Sierra, trying to read the emotions in her face. “Are you sorry I recovered his body?” he asked. “Would it have been better for you if you hadn’t had to go through burying him and mourning him all over again?”

  “Easier maybe, but not better.” She sighed. “I’ve lived my whole life with the feeling that there was unfinished business between us.”

  “I suppose it often feels like that when someone we’re close to dies unexpectedly,” Paul said.

  “That’s part of the problem. We weren’t close, though. Not the way we had been. After he and my mother split up, I didn’t see him that often. He could have seen me anytime he’d wanted. My mother wouldn’t have stopped him. But he was always away on an expedition or filming a television show or scouting a new location. He didn’t have time for me anymore.”

  The thing that had saved Paul’s life had stolen her father from her. “That must have been hard,” he said. Lame words that offered little comfort, but he could think of nothing else to say.

  “I resen
ted him for never saying goodbye,” she said. “He could have sent word to me and my mom—instead he chose to speak to the media. But he must have known we were listening.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to upset you.”

  “As if watching him die on television wasn’t worse?”

  Her voice didn’t waver, and her eyes were dry, but he heard the pain in her words, and felt her suffering as keenly as if it was his own.

  “Come here,” he said, and held out his arms.

  She came to him, and he did his best to comfort her, the only way he knew. Kisses and caresses turned to lovemaking. Paul wanted to protect Sierra. To be with her now, and maybe forever. But what did he have to offer her but more pain?

  She’d asked if he’d consider doing something else with his life besides climbing. But what?

  The truth was, he was afraid. Afraid that if he stopped challenging himself, stopped pushing his limits, stopped fighting to stay aware of the gift of life every minute, then death, which should have overtaken him years ago, would finally catch up.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IF THEIR FIRST LOVEMAKING had been the wild, inevitable collision of two bodies drawn together by a powerful attraction, their second coupling was gentler and more intense—the union of two souls who needed each other.

  Sierra sensed the difference. After years of grieving alone for her father, Paul had mourned with her, and in doing so, had taken some of her pain away.

  He lay beside her now, sleeping, half out of the covers, mouth open, snoring softly. She didn’t consider it a good sign that she found this absolutely adorable.

  She lay on her back again and stared at the ceiling as the first pale streaks of sun stretched across the white plaster. What had she gotten herself into? She wasn’t like this—she didn’t have sex with men she’d been assigned to write about. She didn’t have sex with men she’d only known a few days. She didn’t have sex with men she’d never see again after this week.

  She’d thrown out all the rules when it came to Paul. Such freedom was exhilarating—and very scary.

  “Hey, beautiful.” He stirred, then snuggled close, one arm draped across her stomach. He kissed her neck, sending a current of awareness down her body. His hand slid up to cradle her breast and she moved away.

  “I can’t believe how sore I am this morning,” she said.

  His grin was positively wicked. “I’d say I was sorry, but I hate to lie,” he said.

  Her face burned. “I’m sore from the climb,” she said. “Not from anything else.”

  “I know just the cure for that. You need a soak in the hot springs.” He threw off the covers and stood.

  “I need a what?”

  “A soak in the hot springs.” He pulled her up beside him. “It’ll loosen up those stiff muscles and have you feeling better in no time. Did you bring a swimsuit?”

  She kept her eyes on his face, trying to ignore the fact that they were both naked. “Yes. It’s back at my hotel.” As if that wasn’t perfectly obvious.

  “We’ll stop there on the way. I’ll take a quick shower, then we can go.” He slid his hands to her hips. “Care to join me?”

  She pulled away. “I don’t think so. I’ll just, um, straighten up in here.”

  “Suit yourself.” Whistling, he sauntered toward the bathroom.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Sierra snatched up her clothes and began dressing. Paul had the power to make her forget herself. She’d never felt so vulnerable with a man before.

  Having her clothes back on helped, as did venturing into his kitchen and raiding the refrigerator for breakfast. Not that being waited on hand and foot hadn’t been nice, but she was a woman who was used to looking after herself and she needed to stay in practice. If Paul decided to whip up a gourmet brunch it might weaken her resolve even further.

  Coffee and food would help clear her head and settle her shaky nerves. She’d take advantage of these moments alone to remind herself who she was—and who Paul was—and all the reasons why there was no future for them together.

  PAUL DIDN’T CLAIM to be an expert on women, but it didn’t take a Casanova to see that something was bothering Sierra this morning. He emerged from the shower wide-awake and ready for a repeat of the previous night’s great sex and found her dressed and seated at his kitchen table, a notebook, file folders, index cards and pens arranged in front of her like land mines set out to thwart an enemy. One of the file folders from the carton his mother had sent was open in front of her. Standing in the doorway clad only in a towel, he felt decidedly underdressed and unwelcome.

  “Let me fix you some breakfast,” he offered.

  “No, thank you,” she said, not even glancing up from her notebook. “I already helped myself.”

  “Finding anything interesting?” he asked, nodding at the file folder. On closer inspection, he saw it was the one that contained articles about his early climbs.

  “A little,” she said, not looking up.

  Maybe it was from his years of hanging out with Sherpas, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut, so he retreated to his bedroom, dressed and grabbed his bathing suit. “The hot springs are going to feel great,” he said when he returned to the kitchen. “Let’s go.”

  Silently she packed up all the papers and they drove to the Western Hotel. This was a dangerous moment; Paul expected her to announce she’d changed her mind about coming with him to the pools, but maybe her sore muscles won out over any sudden objections she had to him. “I’ll be down in a minute,” she said.

  Paul went in search of coffee and found Kelly on duty in the dining room. “You’re looking grumpy this morning,” she said.

  He ignored the comment. “Can you get me a cup of coffee and a breakfast burrito?” he asked.

  “Sure.” She gave him a curious look, and retreated to the kitchen.

  He leaned back against the old wooden bar, and watched the stairs. Maybe he should have gone up to Sierra’s room with her. Alone up there, she might decide to ditch him.

  Kelly returned with a steaming mug of coffee. “I thought you’d be in a better mood this morning,” she said. “Word is Sierra hasn’t been back to her room since early yesterday—when she left with you.”

  He sipped the coffee and said nothing.

  Kelly put her hands on her hips. “Well? Do we need to send out a search party, or is she still with you?”

  “She was with me. Right now she’s up in her room, getting her bathing suit so we can go to the hot springs.”

  “Then why do you look so glum?”

  He studied Kelly, considering his options. For all her faults—she was vain, self-centered and single-minded in her determination to be an actress—she was also sweet, kind and levelheaded. And she was a woman, who might have some insight into what another woman was thinking. “Everything was going great,” he said. “We spent the day and the night together and had a terrific time. Then I woke up this morning and she won’t touch me, doesn’t want me to touch her. She hardly looks at me. She’s not unfriendly, but she’s not exactly friendly, either.”

  “If you want to know what’s going on with her, you should ask her,” Kelly said.

  If he asked her and she confirmed his worst fears—that she didn’t want anything more to do with him—what then? At least by avoiding the issue he could still be with her.

  “I thought maybe she was upset about her father,” he said. “I told her about finding his body last night.”

  Kelly made a face. “Aren’t you the romantic guy. What kind of pillow talk is that?”

  “She wanted to know.”

  “I guess it’s not all bad. You’re the hero who brought his body back so it could be buried properly.”

  “She’s not treating me like a hero.”

  “Oh, cheer up. She agreed to go to the hot springs with you, didn’t she? Maybe she’s just not a morning person.”

  Paul glanced toward the stairs. “She’s taking an awfully long time. Maybe she changed her min
d.”

  “Or maybe she decided to take a shower and put on some makeup. She wants to look gorgeous for her lover boy.” Kelly smirked. “I’ll be back in a minute with that burrito and some more coffee. You need to keep your strength up for later.”

  Maybe Kelly was right and he was making too much of this. Any minute now, Sierra would come down those stairs and everything would be fine.

  But if she didn’t, he’d go up after her. He hadn’t waited this long for a woman he could love only to let her get away so easily.

  SIERRA DEPOSITED her notebook and files on the desk next to her laptop, then dug her bathing suit from her suitcase. She debated taking another shower, but settled for changing clothes and brushing her hair. The longer she stayed in this room, the easier it would be to hide here from Paul for the rest of her stay.

  That was the coward’s way out, and she definitely wasn’t a coward. Whatever she was feeling for Paul, it obviously wasn’t love. Love was a pleasant emotion. Euphoric, even. People crossed continents, risked their safety, even turned their backs on everything they knew for the sake of love, so it couldn’t be like this.

  Being with Paul made her confused and angry and even afraid. She couldn’t think straight when she was with him, and the sooner she got away from him, the better off she’d be.

  But the thought of leaving him made her want to cry—and she never cried. It also made her want to scream, and she wasn’t much of a screamer, either. She was tempted to call the airport and change her reservations so that she could leave today and pretend that none of this had ever happened.

  But running away wouldn’t help her figure out why Paul made her feel this way. And it certainly wouldn’t get her article written. If her father could conquer remote, dangerous mountains year after year, she could face down one smiling mountain climber and live to tell the tale.

  Downstairs, she found Paul leaning against the bar, eating the most enormous breakfast burrito she’d ever seen. While she’d been so nervous and upset this morning she’d barely been able to eat a piece of toast, his appetite obviously hadn’t suffered at all. The sight of him devouring the burrito annoyed her. Why did he have to be such a…such a guy?