by Pamela Clare
What the hell was he going to do with his life now?
He gave up trying to sleep at 4 a.m. and joined the monks again for morning prayers and meditation, then walked through the rain to Megs’ lodge for breakfast.
“Did you have to come for me in monsoon season?” He wiped the rain out of his eyes.
She grinned. “Poor baby. How will you cope?”
After breakfast, they worked with Tenzing Dorje Sherpa to load supplies onto the yaks. Most of it was firewood the Sherpa was bringing back to his family, but the yaks were also able to bear their backpacks.
“This is going to be a walk in the park.” Conrad was used to carrying sixty to eighty pounds on his back.
Then it was time to leave.
“I want to say goodbye.”
Megs nodded. “We’ll meet you in the camping area.”
He started toward the monastery building, stopping when he rounded the corner.
There on the front steps stood the Lama and all sixty monks with umbrellas.
Conrad drew a breath, fighting to control his emotions, and walked to the base of the stairs. “I came to say thank you—and goodbye.”
The monk who’d served the tea last night stepped out, white scarf in his hand. He offered it to Conrad, then stepped back.
Conrad presented the scarf to the Lama, bowing low.
The Lama took the scarf and draped it around his neck. “Have a safe journey, Harrison Conrad. May you find peace.”
Conrad stood upright again. “Thank you—for everything.”
The Lama gave him a gentle smile, then turned and walked back up the stairs.
Conrad watched while the monks retreated to the shelter of the monastery, then joined Megs, who stood nearby.
“For a moment, I thought I might get a tear in my eye.” Megs watched him. “Ready to go?”
Conrad turned to look at Everest, emotions tangling in his chest. Sixteen months ago, he’d passed through Tengboche with Bruce, Luka, and Felix. The summit of Everest had been hidden then, too, crowned in clouds. The two younger men hadn’t been able to talk about anything but the mountain. Now it was their tomb—and Bruce’s, too.
Conrad was going home alone.
Nearby, one of the yaks grunted.
No, not alone.
He turned his back to the mountain. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 2
Scarlet Springs, Colorado
September 6
Kenzie Morgan hurried through the dairy section of Food Mart, trying to remember what she’d written on her shopping list. Naturally, she’d left the list at home on her table where it would do her no good. This was her second trip to the store in as many days because she’d forgotten the list yesterday, too.
Eggs and toothpaste.
What else had she forgotten?
Mustard. Salt! God, yes, salt.
She made her way through the aisles, tossing things into her shopping cart, aware that she needed to get home. Gabby, her eight-week-old golden retriever puppy, was at home in her crate and would need to go potty soon.
Kenzie had gotten the puppy just yesterday from the same breeder who’d sold her Gizmo. This breeder was the only one in Colorado who bred dogs specifically with SAR skills in mind, selecting dogs for their health, curiosity, and fearlessness. Though Gizmo probably had a few good working years left, it usually took a couple of years to get a dog fully trained and certified. Kenzie was doing her best to be prepared so there wouldn’t be any break in the availability of an SAR dog here in Scarlet.
That’s what she told herself.
The truth was that she’d gotten one look at little Gabby, with her fluffy, cream-colored fur and big brown eyes, and hadn’t been able to walk away without her.
If only puppies weren’t so damned cute.
She set a box of salt in her cart, added a bag of chocolate chips for eating in front of the TV, then rounded the aisle, nearly running into someone. “Oh, sorry.”
She glanced up—and froze, her pulse tripping. “Harrison?”
Without thinking, she left her cart and jumped up to wrap her arms around him. “Oh, my God! It’s so good to see you!”
He hugged her back. “It’s good to see you, too.”
She stepped away, embarrassed, and took a good look at him. His brown hair now hung down to his shoulders and had a little wave to it. But he had the same ridiculously handsome face—square jaw, firm mouth, proud nose, dark brows, gorgeous gray eyes. But something was different, something in his eyes …
She cleared her throat. “When did you get back?”
“Yesterday.”
“You must be jet lagged. That’s a long trip.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be turned around for a while.”
“I’ve been really worried about you.”
“You have?”
Was he surprised?
“Of course. We all have. We were all there in the Ops Room listening when it happened. I don’t think I’ve ever been more afraid for anyone in my life.” The tension on his face told Kenzie not to say more—or to ask questions about that terrible day. “Where are you staying?”
“Remember the old English teacher?”
“Mrs. Beech? Yes. She passed on in January.”
“Her son is trying to sell her old place. I’m renting it while I sort things out.”
“Oh. Good. You’re here in town, then?”
“For now.” He changed the subject. “How’s Gizmo?”
“He’s great. He’s still healthy and working. You should stop by and see him sometime. I’m sure he’ll remember you.” When Harrison gave no sign that the idea appealed to him, she added, “You’ll run into us at The Cave sooner or later.”
He shook his head. “I left the Team. I’m done climbing.”
That news made her stare. “Truly?”
“Yeah. I’m looking for a job. If you hear of something…”
She started to object, to remind him that he lived to climb, but stopped herself. The tragedy on Everest had changed him.
Of course, it had. How could it not?
She didn’t want to hurt him by saying something stupid. “Well, the invitation to stop by the house or the kennel is open-ended. I’m so glad you’re home.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t the megawatt smile she remembered, the smile that had left her weak in the knees. “It’s good to see you, too, Kenzie.”
Then he walked away, leaving Kenzie to stare after him.
Conrad drove home from Food Mart, groceries in the back seat. He’d picked up his 4Runner from Megs and Ahearn’s place yesterday when they’d gotten back to Scarlet. It felt strange to be behind the wheel again. He parked in the garage, carried his groceries inside, and put them away, sticking dry goods in cupboards and perishable items in the mint-green 1950s fridge.
Mrs. Beech clearly hadn’t wasted a dime modernizing. Her son had left most of her furniture in place. An old red Formica table with chrome accents and matching red-and-white vinyl chairs. A big console TV that still worked but couldn’t handle broadband. An end table with a built-in lamp. A mint-green stove that matched the fridge.
This shit was probably worth a fortune to someone.
Conrad folded the paper bags and tucked them between the fridge and the counter to use again on his next trip to the store. Then he made himself a sandwich for lunch, and sat at the table to eat, trying not to think about her—and failing.
Kenzie looked just like he’d remembered her—lush in the right places, her blue eyes bright, her face beautiful. His heart had given a hard knock the moment he’d seen her, and he’d been hit by an overpowering jolt of lust, probably setting a world record for going hard.
How long has it been since you’ve gotten laid, man?
He hadn’t hooked up with anyone in Nepal, and he hadn’t been in a relationship before he’d left. That meant it had been almost … two years?
What the hell?
The realization left him stunned—and a li
ttle depressed. Then again, he’d spent most of those two years in a monastery.
He finished his sandwich, put the plate in the kitchen sink next to his cereal bowl, and stretched out on the sofa.
Well, here he was, back in Scarlet.
He stared at the ceiling. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
He needed to call his agent. That wouldn’t be fun.
He should get his stuff out of storage. He had packed it away in the attic at The Cave. Going to get it would mean running into his fellow Team members, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.
He also needed to look for a place to live long term. Before that, he had to find out how much he still had in the bank—he’d had almost two million in assets when he’d headed off to Nepal—and start applying for jobs.
Did he need to make a resume, too? Shit. What would that say?
Profession: Climber.
Education: School of Hard Knocks.
Career goals: Just a paycheck, thanks.
Yeah, he could see that going well.
His mind drifted back to Kenzie. She had invited him to stop by her house or the kennel. It was the only idea that held any appeal. He’d be able to see her again and Gizmo, too.
I’ve been really worried about you.
He’d been able to see in her eyes that she’d meant what she’d said, and it touched him to know she cared about him. Now that he wasn’t on the Team, that barrier between them was gone. But it didn’t change the fact that the two of them had little in common. She had a college education, a couple of successful businesses, and a life here in Scarlet. Conrad was unemployed with a high school diploma, a climbing resume, a good chunk of money in savings—but no idea what to do with his future.
Outside of the climbing world, what was he good for? He could be a handyman. His father had taught him how to do most anything. Or he could work in a climbing gym or a gear shop selling shit to climbers who would look at him and see a has-been.
Despair settled in his chest like a lead weight, and for a time, he didn’t budge.
Get off your ass, man.
He couldn’t rebuild his life like this.
He glanced at his watch. It was almost midnight in Tengboche.
It seemed to take every ounce of will he possessed just to get up and go in search of his cellphone. He found it, dialed Candace’s number, and drew a breath.
She wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
She answered on the second ring. “Oh, my God. You’re back!”
“I got back to Colorado last night.”
“Finally! Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been trying to hold things together for you? Fifteen months is a long time to go AWOL.” Then she got down to business, seeming not to take a breath as she brought him up to speed. “You lost your sponsorship with Earth Bars, but the big gear companies have been patient. I’ve got interest from a couple New York publishers if you want to write a book about what happened. I think that’s a great idea, by the way. Write a book, do a tour, get back on your feet. There might even be film interest. People are going to want to know what happened up—”
“Candace, stop.” Had she always rattled on like this? “I’m not writing a book. I don’t care about the sponsorships. I’m done climbing.”
There. He’d said it.
Silence.
She cleared her throat. “You don’t really mean that.”
He’d known she’d say that. To be fair, this represented a significant loss of income for her. “I’m done. Finished. No more climbing. No more sponsorships. You should drop me from your client list.”
“But you’re the best alpine climber in the world.”
“I was the best alpine climber in the world. That was a long time ago. Now I’m just some fucking guy.”
Thursday, September 20
Kenzie sat in the Ops Room, Gizmo curled up at her feet, Gabby exploring as far as her leash allowed her. Kenzie had been talking with Megs about Harrison when Esri had walked in to see Megs about something else. Now Megs and Kenzie had pulled Esri into their conversation.
“I ran into Harrison two weeks ago at Food Mart,” Kenzie told her. “He didn’t seem like himself. No one has seen him leave his house since. He hasn’t been to Knockers even once—or the climbing gym. Something is wrong.”
Megs nodded. “He barely said a word on the flights home. He just stared out the window or slept. He seemed like himself in Tengboche, but once we got to the airport in Kathmandu, he shut down.”
Esri Tsering, who volunteered for the Team by offering free therapy to Team members, seemed to consider what they’d told her, pausing before she spoke. “I hear that you’re worried, and I get that. But unless he calls me and asks for my help, there’s really nothing I can do. I don’t feel comfortable talking about him behind his back like this. I know you want to help him but—”
Gabby latched onto Esri’s handbag and started to drag it, puppy-growling.
“Leave it!” Kenzie picked the puppy up. “Sorry.”
Esri smiled. “That’s okay. She’s adorable.”
Megs reached over to pet Gabby. “We’re not asking you to violate Conrad’s privacy or break any ethics rules—or we don’t mean to. We’d just like to have some idea what we can do to help.”
“Give him space. Give him time.”
Kenzie gaped at Esri. “But it’s been fifteen months.”
Esri nodded. “Fifteen months might seem like a long time to you and me, but for him, it probably feels like his friends died yesterday. He’s back home for the first time since then, and that means he has to process what happened all over again.”
Kenzie could understand that. As long as he’d stayed in Nepal, he was isolated. Now that he’d come back to Scarlet, he had to face what had happened in the context of the rest of his life. “There has to be something we can do.”
Gabby squirmed, insisting that Kenzie put her down. She climbed onto Gizmo, who patiently endured her playful attention, thumping his tail on the floor.
“He’d gotten into a routine with the monks.” Megs smiled at the puppy’s antics. “He joined them for meditation and prayers, shared some of their meals, and did handyman work for them. He talked and ate with the Lama sometimes, too.”
“Wow.” Esri seemed impressed. “I’ve always wanted to visit Tengboche. Maybe Conrad would be willing to tell me about it. My father was Tibetan. Some of his ancestors were monks there.”
Kenzie hadn’t known this. “I thought you were Jewish and Japanese or something.”
“Or something.” Esri didn’t seem offended. “My mother is Jewish, so according to Jewish law, I’m Jewish. My father was on the staff of the Rinpoche who helped start the Mahayana Buddhist school in Denver. That’s where he met my mom. I call myself a Jewdhist.”
Megs grinned. “I bet you have interesting holidays.”
“Oh, yes.” Esri got them back on topic. “A regular routine probably gave Conrad something solid to hold onto without making too many demands on his emotions or his time. It wouldn’t hurt him to build some kind of routine here, even if it’s just getting up at the same time every day and going for a hike.”
“If he refuses to leave his house, how can he build a routine?” Kenzie reached down to untangle the leash from around Gabby’s hind legs.
“She’s a real ball of energy, isn’t she?” Esri picked Gabby up and cuddled her. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”
“She definitely keeps me on my toes. If something awful happened in my life, I would still have to get up and feed these two, take them outside to go potty, and…” Kenzie’s voice trailed off, a crazy idea coming to her.
She met Esri’s gaze. “Pets can be therapeutic, right?”
Esri was caught up in Gabby, who had worn herself out and curled up on Esri’s lap for a nap. “Yes, very much so. They offer connection and affection, lower blood pressure, give people something to focus on besides themselves.”
Megs looked up at Ken
zie. “What are you thinking?”
Esri looked up, startled. “You can’t get a pet for Conrad.”
Kenzie smiled. “Of course, not. But I can ask him to babysit Gabby for a while, can’t I? He can always say no.”
She just had to find a compelling enough reason, one he couldn’t refuse.
Friday, September 21
Conrad was asleep when the knock came at his door. Who the hell would bother him so early in the morning? He raised his head, looked at the clock.
It was almost noon. “Shit.”
He shoved the blankets aside, stepped into the pair of jeans that lay on the floor, and strode out to the living room to open the door. “Kenzie.”
“Hey.” She stood on his porch looking beautiful in a peach V-neck T-shirt and jeans that made the most of her curves, her long hair drawn back in a ponytail. In her arms was a tiny, squirming puppy. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”
“Not at all. I was just … uh… ” He ran a hand through the tangled mess of hair on his head, wondering when he’d last had a shower and hoping he didn’t stink. “I was just about to jump in the shower. Come in.”
He glanced around at the mess—pizza boxes, beer bottles, piles of unopened mail from his PO box. “Sorry. I need to clean this place up.”
She stepped inside, set the puppy on the floor. It bounded over to a pizza box and sniffed. “I came to ask you a really big favor.”
It was then Conrad noticed the worry on her face. He gestured toward the sofa. “Have a seat. What’s wrong?”
Kenzie sat on the sofa. “It’s the puppy. Her name is Gabby.”
Conrad glanced down at the little thing. “Hey, Gabby.”
The puppy pawed at the pizza box, her little tail wagging.
“Gizmo is six now—that’s about forty-two in golden retriever years. He’s still healthy, but it takes a while to train a dog for SAR work. So, I got little Gabby here. She’s ten weeks old—the perfect age to start training—but Gizmo doesn’t want her around. She’s got so much energy. She’s always hopping on him and trying to play with him. She gets on his nerves.”