by Lisa Jackson
“Amy,” Travis said, but she ran away, the puppy yipping wildly. Travis turned on his son. “What were you thinking?” he demanded.
“You wanted to know,” his son said. “I just told you what I thought.”
“You hurt her feelings!”
“Yeah, well, you hurt mine.” Bryan tossed another rail into the rapidly growing pile, and Travis, muttering under his breath, hurried into the house.
“Amy! Amy!” he called, walking through the lower level and up the stairs. If it weren’t for the barking on the upper floor and the sound of dog toenails digging into wood, he might not have found her huddled in some old blankets on the floor of a closet in the attic.
“He hates me!” she said when Travis located her and the two dogs.
“He’s just confused. Come here.”
“Bryan,” she said, her little jaw quivering. “He hates me.”
“He’s just not used to things the way they are right now.”
“He’s mean!”
“He’s not trying to be.” Travis gathered her into his arms and held her close. The dogs scrambled out of the closet and ran in circles through the pine-walled room. “This is hard for Bryan, too, honey. Being a new family isn’t easy.”
“I thought we were supposed to love each other.” Crystal-like tears tracked down her face. She began to sob.
“We do all love each other, but sometimes...sometimes people inadvertently hurt the ones they love. They don’t mean to, they’re just shortsighted.”
She sniffed loudly and the smallest dog bounded onto her lap to wash her face with her long tongue. Amy couldn’t resist and giggled wildly. Travis’s heart warmed at the sound and he wondered how he’d lived his life without hearing the happy ring of her childish laughter. One step at a time, he told himself, one step and one day at a time. “Come on, short stuff, let’s take the mutts outside.”
The lights flickered and Amy let out a whimper.
Travis hugged her. “Don’t worry.”
“Ghosts,” she said, shivering.
“Just the wind, honey. Let’s find some candles and kerosene lanterns in case the electricity decides to give out.”
She carried the small puppy, he carried her and Rex bounded along behind as they made their way down to the main floor. Bryan, flopped on the couch and staring at the television, glanced their way and his eyes darkened in silent fury.
“I think we’d better scrounge up some flashlights,” Travis suggested, but his son didn’t budge. “Bryan?”
“Yeah?”
“You know where the flashlights are?”
“Yeah.”
“Then find one before we lose power.”
Bryan rolled his eyes, shot Amy a look that could kill and sauntered to his bedroom. Whistling to the dogs, Travis carried Amy outside and into the garage where Vic was just putting away his tools.
“Better get home,” he said half-apologetically. “Shelly isn’t happy when we don’t have power.”
“Don’t blame her.”
“But I’m leavin’ early—”
“Doesn’t matter. The weather service seems to think we’re in for the storm of all storms, so you’d better get home before it breaks.”
“Kind of ya,” Victor said. “I’ll be in early tomorrow.” He unbuckled his tool belt and rumpled Amy’s hair.
“Don’t worry about it.” Travis slid a glance to the slate-colored sky. Dark clouds skudded over the tops of the highest trees and snow had begun to fall in tiny, hard flakes. Victor turned his collar against the wind and strode to his truck. Still holding Amy, Travis watched him leave and hoped that Ronni would return home soon.
Thank God she wasn’t on ski-patrol duty today. Against the horizon and through the thickening snowflakes, Mount Echo loomed like a specter, tall and dark and threatening. “Come on, let’s get you inside,” he said, bundling Amy into the kitchen and calling for the dogs. The puppy, scared of the rising wind, didn’t need any encouragement. She dashed through the drifting snow and scurried up the slick steps.
Rex, still sniffing trees in the forest, was more difficult to corral, but eventually he followed.
Bryan had found a couple of flashlights and Travis gathered an old oil lantern, matches and a few candles. He couldn’t help glancing at his watch and then peering through the windows, all the while hoping Ronni would return soon.
Obviously still miffed at her stepbrother’s unkind remarks, Amy stayed close to Travis and he was just about to break down and call Shelly, interrupt his wife’s sister-to-sister talk when he spied Ronni’s van rolling slowly down the driveway.
Relief swept through him and he was at the front door, holding it open, drinking in the sight of her running up the broken path in the snow, her hat pulled low, snowflakes catching on the tips of her eyelashes, when he noticed something different about her. Gone was her easy smile and the twinkle in her warm eyes. Her mouth was pulled tight, her nostrils flared, her expression grim as death.
Because of Shelly and her loss of the baby.
“I take it things didn’t go well,” he said, trying to reach for her, but she stepped quickly out of his arms.
“Shelly’s upset,” she said, rubbing her arms. “I’m upset. It’s...it’s not right.”
Knowing instinctively that she didn’t want to be placated, he held his tongue and didn’t say that things would turn out, that her sister would have more babies, that it just took time to get over these things. She and Shelly had to grieve.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly and she stared up at him with eyes that seemed to glisten in the night. Somewhere far away a horn honked and a lonesome dog barked. Closer to the house, the wind picked up, starting to whistle through the trees.
Again the lights flickered, this time causing darkness for a few seconds as the string of Christmas bulbs and the porch lamp died before blinking back on.
“There’s a big one brewing,” he said, reaching for her again as the lights winked again. “I’ve got a fire started, candles and flashlights ready. Come on in, I’ll buy you a drink.” Smiling, he touched her lightly on the shoulders, but she drew away and reached for the doorknob. Before shoving against the panels, she paused, her shoulders bunched tight, and she hung her head for a second, as if gathering the strength to fight a new battle.
“Ronni?”
“Wendall Holmes.”
“What about him?”
She closed her eyes for a second. “He’s worked for you for a long time, hasn’t he?”
“Nearly twelve years.” Was it his imagination or did her face wash of its usual color?
“I thought so.”
“He’s buying me out—”
Holding up a gloved hand, she nodded. “I know.” Slowly she turned, and when she stared up at him, he felt something wither in his soul. “Then you were the owner and president of SkiWest Company?”
“Still am.” Why did he feel as if he were signing his death warrant? Her eyes were full of silent condemnation and her lips were white as the snow that was blowing across the porch.
“I was afraid of this.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“SkiWest bindings—450’s were the kind that Hank was using—compliments of the company—when he was killed. The bindings didn’t release.” She reached for the door again but this time he caught her and grabbed her shoulders.
“You blame the bindings?” he demanded. “You think faulty equipment was the reason that your husband was killed?”
Sighing, she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted and his heart felt as if it might crack. How much she’d loved Amy’s father, how deeply she’d cared. He could never hope to fill the huge shoes left by Saint Hank and she’d never love him with the same fervor. “No...not really...but I just needed
someone, something to blame.”
“It was an accident. You said so yourself. The mountain reacted before they could make it avalanche-proof. He was unlucky, so were you. Even if his bindings had released, even if his skis had been stronger, even if he were the fastest skier in the world, he couldn’t have outrun that wall of snow.” Travis’s throat twisted into a painful knot and his voice was strangled when he spoke. “Let it go, Ronni.” He folded her into his arms and she shivered, burying her face in his neck, holding him, letting out the dry, wracking sobs that tore at her soul. “If I could change the past for you I would, but it’s just not possible.”
“I know,” she said and it was as if the starch slipped away from her, as if an old dam she’d constructed had cracked and a tide of emotion swept through her. “I do know.”
He kissed her hair. “I’m not the man he was, Ronni,” he said and she let out a choked sound. “But I swear to you, I’ll be the best husband and father I can be. I’ll never leave you, never let you down.” His arms tightened around her. “No one can bring Hank back.”
“I know.”
“He’s gone and so is Shelly’s baby. It’s not fair, it’s not right, but there it is. I can’t promise you to be like Hank—I wouldn’t even try.”
“I wouldn’t want you to.”
“Are you sure?” He held her at arm’s length and stared deep into her eyes.
“Yes.”
The door opened. “Mommy?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Ronni dragged her gaze away and reached for her daughter who was still holding the pup.
Extracting herself from his embrace, she picked up Amy. In the semidarkness, she transformed from a grieving, unhappy woman to a concerned mother. “Let’s go inside and light all the candles and have a party.”
“A party?” Instantly Amy grinned, her fears forgotten as she squirmed to the floor and raced into the house.
Ronni stomped the snow from her boots and shook her hair out of her stocking cap. Travis was right, life marched on, and though she still grieved for Shelly’s loss, there was nothing she could do but help her sister get well, both mentally and physically. As for Hank, she would always love him, there would always be a special spot in her heart for him and his family, but she was married to Travis now, her life was with him, and though she hated to admit it, she felt as if her love for him was deeper than it had been for Hank. Maybe because she was older and more mature, perhaps because her memories had faded over time. Whatever the reason, she loved Travis and, in his own way, he loved her.
She filled several kettles and the bathtubs with water as the pump for their well was electric and without power they’d have no water source for drinking, washing or flushing the toilets. Travis understood the problem, but Bryan, the city kid, lying on the couch and fiddling with an old Rubic’s cube as he watched television, didn’t pay much attention when she described what it was like in the mountains without any energy.
She heated soup and bread while Travis found down-filled sleeping bags that he brought into their bedroom, which had a lower ceiling than the living room and a huge fireplace for warmth. They’d just finished eating when it happened, the lights didn’t even wink, just went dark. Amy whimpered, Ronni held her close and the wind howled around the house, rattling the window panes and screaming through the trees.
Travis snapped on a flashlight. “I think we’d better move into our room,” he suggested.
“Why?” Bryan asked.
“To keep warm.”
Bryan made a sound of disgust. “I’m not moving into your bedroom.”
“Just until the lights go on.”
“No way, Travis,” he said, no longer calling him anything but his given name.
“Listen, we should stick together.”
“Forget it. I’ll hang out in my own room.”
“There’s no fireplace,” Travis argued, but his son had already grabbed one of the flashlights, his blankets and headed off to his bedroom.
Ronni was about to protest, but Travis grabbed her arm. “He’ll be all right. We’ll check on him later.” They gathered the candles, lantern and flashlights and, after locking the dogs in their pen in a room off the kitchen, they headed for the bedroom. Amy, wrapped in her thick sleeping bag, her ratty stuffed tiger tucked under her chin, was asleep within minutes and Travis and Ronni snuggled close together, watching the fire cast warm golden light around the walls and on their faces. She sighed against his chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck, and they couldn’t resist kissing and whispering to each other as the flames crackled and hissed against the dry oak logs.
Outside, the wind moaned and snow fell in a blizzard. Inside, the old lodge was warm and dry and cozy.
They fell asleep as the fire died, and over the howl of the wind, they didn’t hear the footsteps in the hall, didn’t realize their door was pushed open, didn’t know they were watched for a few long minutes.
They slept on, uninterrupted as the front door opened and closed. And Bryan escaped into the night.
Chapter Twelve
“BRYAN’S GONE.”
Travis’s voice, deep and urgent, permeated her brain and Ronni roused herself from a deep sleep. Blinking, she found her husband dressing rapidly, stepping into ski pants and sweater, jacket and boots.
“What do you mean he’s gone?” she asked, her mind still blurry with the soft cobwebs of sleep.
“Just that. He left sometime last night.”
“Left? As in left the house?” Suddenly, she was instantly awake.
“I’ve looked everywhere from the attic to the cellar, even the out buildings and his backpack is missing along with his portable CD player. I think he took off.”
“But how? Why?” she asked, throwing off the pile of covers that had been tossed over their king-size bed. But before he could speak, she knew the answer. “This is because of me, isn’t it? He’s run away because you and I got married and he feels like he doesn’t have a place in the family anymore.”
“I don’t know why he left, I’m just sure he’s gone.”
Sick inside, Ronni threw on her ski jumpsuit and found her goggles. She glanced outside and saw that the storm was still in full force, snow blowing against the windowpanes, the wind screaming wildly. The power was still off and the temperature in the house had dropped, the fires mere embers. Fortunately, the phones still worked and Travis was able to get through to the sheriff’s department. Every deputy was already on duty, trying to help people stranded in vehicles that couldn’t get through the snow-covered roads and shut-ins without electricity.
“They’ll start looking for him,” he said as she lit the gas stove with a match and warmed water for instant coffee. He glared outside to the beauty and treachery of the storm. “What the hell was he thinking?”
“He wasn’t.”
The phone rang and Travis nearly jumped out of his skin. “Keegan,” he answered curtly and Ronni watched as he steeled himself for bad news. The lines near the corners of his mouth and eyes deepened to crevices and his lips flattened into a worried scowl. “Just a minute.” He handed her the phone. “It’s your sister.”
“Shelly! How are you?” Ronni asked, crossing her fingers and hoping beyond hope that there was word of Bryan. Maybe he’d made a friend of Victor and had walked the two miles into town. But when she asked about Travis’s son, Shelly knew nothing.
“I was just calling to see if your power was out,” Shelly explained, “and to tell you that I’m feeling better, but, no, we haven’t heard from Bryan.”
“I was afraid of that,” Ronni said, her eyes meeting the distress in Travis’s. “Look, we’re worried sick and don’t want to tie up the phone lines so that if there’s any news, the sheriff’s department can get through.”
“Okay, but if you want a place for Amy to stay, bring her ov
er and I’ll watch her. Believe me, I need some distraction. Of course, Vic will help with the search. Oh, Lord, I hope that boy wasn’t so stupid as to take off in this weather.”
“Me, too,” Ronni replied as she hung up and tried to ignore the horrid feeling of desperation that burrowed deep in her heart.
While Travis searched the buildings outside again, Ronni started in the basement and looked in every nook and cranny in the old lodge, hoping Travis had missed a hiding spot during his first search. Closets, laundry chutes, cupboards, crawl spaces, stairwells, coal bins, every inch of floor space was inspected. But by the time she reached the attic, she was as certain as Travis that Bryan was gone.
She returned to the kitchen where Travis had poured himself a cup of coffee. His face was red from the cold, his hair wet with melting snow. “Nothing?” he asked and she shook her head.
“I found footsteps near the garage that look fresh, but they disappeared so quickly where the snow has fallen there’s no way to know which way he went.”
“I’ll call the search-and-rescue team,” she volunteered just as Amy, dragging her tattered blanket and stuffed tiger, bounced into the room.
“It’s cold,” she complained.
“That it is. How about a cup of hot cocoa?” Ronni offered and in silent agreement with Travis didn’t mention that Bryan was missing. There wasn’t any need to worry her. “I thought maybe you’d like to go visit your cousins this afternoon.”
“Can I take the puppies?” Amy dashed to the pen where the dogs were playing with each other, growling and knocking over their water dish.
“Aunt Shelly can’t have them at the duplex, honey, but another time the boys can come here and play with them.”
Amy’s face twisted into a knot of frustration and she appeared about to argue, but Ronni handed her a cup of dog food and more water and, for the moment, Amy was distracted.
Travis was fit to be tied, pacing and glaring at the phone as if by staring at it long and hard enough, the telephone would ring. Ronni could barely think straight, her mind racing with images of Bryan in the snow, hitchhiking back to Seattle, walking through knee-high drifts, alone, cold, miserable. Please keep him safe, she silently prayed while going through the motions of fixing Amy breakfast and locating her clothes. Even though she’d been trained to deal with emergencies on and off the mountain, her calm fled when it came to her own family.