The truth was, Ty stood on the outskirts of the team since the accident. And if they really knew the details, he’d probably be booted off the crew altogether.
He should probably thank Chet for keeping that part secret. But it was starting to raise eyebrows that the old chief wasn’t hassling him about getting back in the cockpit.
Instead, Ty honed his pizza-ordering talents. A skill met with cheers as he came in and found the team gathered in the kitchen of the small main room, watching the flat screen on the wall. Miles and Ben sat on the sofa in the middle of the room; Ben held a harmonica and was showing his daughter, Audrey, how to cup it in her hand. Miles bounced Huck, his two-year-old, on his knee, and his wife, Jenni, held their baby girl in a front pack, a seven-pound, one-month-old bundle of time-to-get-serious for Miles. He’d hung up his bull-riding spurs for Jenni and little Gracie May.
Ty slid the boxes of pizza onto the counter. “Two large pepperoni and sausage pizzas, no mushrooms.”
Gage had walked in behind him, slid onto a stool at the counter.
Sierra stood in the kitchen, opening a bag of plastic cups. She was dressed in a pair of track pants and a sweatshirt, her short dark hair tucked behind her ears. “Awesome. I was hoping someone would bring pizza.”
Kacey Fairing, with her wild red hair held back in a ponytail, was cutting up a pan of lasagna, something that looked homemade. Probably Sierra’s doing. Or Willow’s, Sierra’s younger sister, who was taking a batch of chocolate chip cookies from the stove. She wore her long brown hair in two braids.
“Thanks for sending the chopper today, Chet,” Gage said as he reached for a red Solo cup and filled it with cola.
Chet King, their former chopper pilot. The guy who still hobbled around on two crutches as his hips mended from the crash that had nearly ended their lives last spring.
The crash Ty had caused. He still couldn’t look at Chet without wincing.
“Did your dad patch the kid up?” Chet asked.
“Yeah,” Gage said to him. “My mom saw him in recovery, said he was doing okay.”
“My favorite surgeon,” Chet said.
Ty picked up the remote. “What channel is this thing on?”
“Channel eleven.” The voice came from the man seated at the computer. Ian Shaw. “But it’s going to run numerous times over the weekend, so hopefully we’ll get the right leads.”
Next to Ian sat Sam Brooks, deputy sheriff and liaison to the PEAK team from the Mercy Falls EMS department, headphones around his neck. He was out of uniform tonight in a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. “The call center will route all calls here, allow us to vet the callers, interview them, and piece together leads.”
Ty still couldn’t quite figure out why Ian had spent the past eight months, and who knew how much money, helping to identify the remains of the woman who’d been found by their team in the Avalanche River last summer. Clearly, it wasn’t his niece, but the man could spend his billions how he wanted.
“Shh, the show is coming on,” Ben said.
Ty popped up the volume with the remote. Only then did he realize that Pete and Jess were missing.
Pete and Jess. Who had nearly become a couple last summer. And, except for Jess’s secrets, might be living happily ever after today.
A concept Ty still had to get his brain around, because Pete had never-settle-down written all over him. Until Jess, apparently.
However, their romance was a well-kept secret, as were all things Jess.
Including the reason she went running into Ty’s embrace when Pete tried to turn the limelight on her after their recovery of a group of missing kids last summer.
Only Ty knew why she’d dodged the interview with Tallie Kennedy and channel 11, a secret he couldn’t share with anyone, not if he didn’t want to betray Jess and her painful secret.
Besides, Ty wasn’t all that sure that Jess didn’t have feelings for him lately. Not with the way she sat next to him during team muster or occasionally called him up, asking him over to her fixer-upper. Sure, usually the invitation accompanied a request to sand or paint something, but still. She didn’t seem in any rush to clear up the rumors . . . which meant what? That she wanted him to go from showing up at her house with his DYI tool belt on to asking her out on a real date?
Sure, she was pretty, with her long blonde hair, and around her he almost felt normal, as if he wasn’t the team joke. But he wasn’t a fool.
Jess pined for Pete so much that any other man would have to pry his way into her heart and jockey for space. Thankfully, Ty had never seen Jess as more than a sister.
Still, as a pseudo brother to her, he had a responsibility to keep her secrets—and according to Jess, that meant keeping her away from Pete. Which meant playing the game, for now.
“Do you know where Pete and Jess are?” Ty asked, keeping it casual as he dished himself up a piece of pizza.
“I dropped her at her house.”
The voice came from behind him, and Ty turned and caught sight of Pete coming in the door. He wore his blond hair pulled back in a man bun, and he eyed Ty as he shucked off his jacket. “Why?”
Pete put just a little too much snap in his voice, and Ty chose to ignore it. “Is she coming over?”
Pete’s eyes glinted, his mouth tight as he considered Ty. “I don’t know. She didn’t tell me.” He brushed past him and headed for a plate of lasagna.
Ty couldn’t exactly blame him. All of Pete’s efforts to patch his mistakes with Jess fell on deaf ears. According to Jess, she simply couldn’t risk Pete finding out what had happened back in New York.
Then again, given Pete’s history with betrayal, yeah, maybe Jess had a point.
Leave well enough alone.
Ty walked over to the sofa, stood behind it, and folded his pizza in half like a sandwich as he ate it.
The show had started, and the host was giving a rundown of the facts of the case. The girl found in the creek, her approximate age, estimated date of death, and then, the likeness of her created by the forensic artist.
For a second, the room went quiet, perfectly still.
Long dark hair, a regal nose, high cheekbones, the woman looked almost European, maybe Spanish or Portuguese. Dark brown eyes and full lips, although that was just the sketcher’s interpretation.
“She was pretty,” Pete said.
The announcer gave her height, weight, and what she’d been wearing the day of her disappearance. Shorts, hiking boots, a T-shirt.
She’d also been found wearing a gold necklace, identical to the one Ian gave his niece Esme on her eighteenth birthday.
Either that, or somehow the woman ended up with Esme’s necklace in her possession. That mystery, perhaps, was the precise thing that fueled Ian’s search. The gut feeling that the necklace connected the two, something that would lead to Esme’s return.
Hence deputy Sam, listening for calls on his headset.
A number flashed on the screen, and everyone jumped when a phone buzzed.
“It’s mine,” Gage said and pulled it out. “Sorry.”
He got up from the stool and walked over to the window, cutting his voice low, under the volume of the television.
Still, Ty could hear him, especially as his voice raised.
“Are you kidding me? Oliver—no. It’s not safe!”
Ty glanced at Gage. He had his eyes closed, his finger and thumb rubbing the stress—or perhaps disbelief—out of them.
Ty perked up, listening.
“Listen—people get killed trying to ski down Heaven’s Peak. It’s not—yeah, I know I did it but—what? No, that’s insane. It’s a two-day trip at best and—”
Ty wasn’t sure when he’d taken the step toward Gage, but he found himself near the counter, standing closer to Gage than the group.
Which meant he heard him loud and clear when Gage’s voice dropped. “Please don’t do this. There’s a weather front coming in tomorrow, and with the recent snowfall, the avalanche danger is ex
treme, plus—I’m sure you’re an amazing boarder, but—”
And then Gage let out a word of frustration between his teeth, pulling the phone from his ear. “What an idiot.” He set the phone down on the table and then reached out as if to strangle someone.
“Who was that?”
Gage looked at him, shaking his head. “Oliver Blair.”
Ty frowned, lifted a shoulder.
“The T. rex guy.”
Oh. He didn’t exactly understand Gage’s ire over the kid in a dinosaur suit who’d broken the rules and skied down the back bowl in an undesignated area. It wasn’t like Gage hadn’t done that plenty of times. Practically made a career out of it.
“How’d he get your number? And why would this guy call you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe from dispatch—I’ll have to talk to them about giving out my number. I tracked him down during the last run of the day and chased him into the lodge. I took his ski pass—and all the time he’s saying”—Gage changed his voice, turned it incredulous, even silly—“‘Are you Gage Watson, dude? Like, the super awesome snowboarder?’”
Ty couldn’t help a smile at Gage’s surfer impression. “Ah. That was what tonight’s sour mood was really about. This guy recognized you—”
“And announced it to the entire bar.”
Oh. That was rough.
“And now, this idiot wants to ski down Heaven’s Peak. Follow my line.” Gage winced, then shook his head and looked away. “He’s going to get himself killed.”
“Why? You did it, right? And you said he’s a great boarder.”
“You have to be more than great for Heaven’s Peak. I planned that route for months. And practiced. There’s a sixty-foot stomp off a waterfall on the way down that, if you don’t take it right, will get you killed. And, a couloir that is nearly straight down. Not to mention the fact that it can’t be run in one day. You have to take it in spurts. It took me two days—which meant I had to camp on the mountain . . .”
“And there’s a storm front heading toward Montana.”
“Exactly.” Gage reached for his phone. Pressed redial. Made a face. “Voicemail.” He sighed, looked at Ty, then at the team. Pocketed his phone.
“I gotta go over to the resort and see if I can find him. Talk some sense into him.”
Ty put his hand on his shoulder.
Gage stopped. “Don’t try and talk me out of it, Ty. I know it’s not my responsibility, but really, it sort of is. It always will be, as long as my name is associated with freeriding.”
“I was going to say that I’m going with you.”
Gage led the way out the door. He said nothing as Ty climbed into the Mustang.
They were halfway back to the ski hill when, “Sorry for what I said about the sim, bro. This has been a . . . well, not my favorite day.”
Ty lifted a shoulder. “So, how are you going to find this guy?”
“I have his ski pass. I’ll ask the lift office for his lodging information.”
The place was closed when Gage arrived, but Ty found the resort manager and they dug around in the computer files and found Oliver’s name and his local lodging information.
Thirty minutes later, Ty and Gage drove through the snowy drifts to one of the grand lodge-style four-plexes that edged Moose Run. Cedar siding, a thick layer of snow frosting the roof, pine trees flanking the walkway. The place had money embedded in every cranny.
Ty’s parents owned two, which they rented out all year long.
He didn’t mention that as Gage parked, got out, and crunched up to the front door. A front porch hosted Adirondack chairs, and a porch light glimmered out welcome.
Gage knocked on the door. “If I have to, I’ll call Sam, tell him that this kid is drinking underage, get him thrown into the Mercy Falls drunk tank—”
The door opened.
And for a second, Ty’s world stopped, stilled on the sight of the woman in the doorway. She wore a pair of baggy gray sweat pants, a tank top, and a pair of fuzzy UGG slippers. With her long blonde hair, gray-green eyes, all curves and a sweet smile, she looked the girl next door. The lilt to her smile suggested curiosity at the two men on her front porch.
“Gentlemen? Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Oliver Blair,” Gage said darkly, clearly not as taken with the woman as Ty.
Then again, Gage was apparently immune to women—hadn’t had a date since he moved back to Mercy Falls, it seemed. Definitely not as long as Ty had lived with him.
“I’m not sure if he’s back yet.” She ducked her head inside. “Ella! Um . . . you’d better come here. Someone is here to see your brother!”
Weird, the way she said that. As if, oddly, they were expected.
It was then he felt something shift in Gage. A flushing of the anger, just for a moment, a capture of breath, a quick glance at Ty.
It had Ty frowning. What . . . ?
And then the door opened wide and a second woman appeared. Ella, he supposed.
He wouldn’t necessarily call her breathtaking, but she had a unique beauty about her. Pale blue eyes, copper red hair. She wore a pair of pink pajama bottoms printed with penguins and an oversized sweatshirt and was carrying a half pint of ice cream, the spoon just sliding out of her mouth.
Her gaze fixed on Gage, and her spoon stilled mid-escape.
“You,” Gage said quietly, his voice almost strained.
Ty looked at him, the way Gage’s chest rose and fell, the way his hands curled tight at his sides. Okay, this was weird.
“I should have guessed that the idiot in the bar was the brother of Ella Blair. And now I know how he got my number. You just can’t stop wrecking my life, can you?”
Huh? As Ty watched, the spoon slid out of her mouth, and for a long moment, she stared at him, her jaw tight.
While Gage could be abrupt, even a jerk, Ty had never seen him quite so rude.
Especially to a woman.
Quietly, Ella spoke. “Nice to see you too, Gage.”
Her words, her soft tone, didn’t seem to dent his ire. “Is your brother here? Because he’s about to do something stupid, and I’m going to have to stop him.”
5
OH, ELLA TURNED INTO SUCH A MESS when Gage Watson entered her airspace. What was it about him that even three years later, and with the advance warning of seeing him earlier in the day, the sight of the amazing “Watts” Watson standing on her doorstep still turned her nearly mute.
Nice to see you too, Gage? What was she thinking? That he might, after three years, have forgotten the way they parted?
Clearly not, given the grim slash of his mouth, the pulsing of muscle in his jaw.
It didn’t help that she could still so easily remember the sweet Gage Watson, the one who’d spent three glorious days snowboarding with her. He’d been a gentleman, too, not even trying to make a pass at her until she began to wonder if he liked her at all or if she’d simply wished it into her vivid imagination.
Then, on day three, it all changed. Dinner, candlelight . . . the most romantic evening she’d ever experienced.
And the darkest heartbreak.
Now, Mr. Heartbreak stood on her doorstep. Up close and personal, he looked every inch the sizzling hot snowboarder she remembered. Maybe more, because age had filled out his shoulders, broadened them. He hadn’t lost any of his stun power either, with that long curly hair now held back with a stocking cap, enough grizzle on his chin to turn his whiskers dark and tempting, his eyes just as deep, dark chocolate brown.
He wore his black snowboard pants, the suspenders hanging down to his knees, and a silver fleece that clung to his lean torso and his muscled arms.
How she remembered those arms.
She’d sort of dreamed of this moment, really, for three years. That second—or rather third—chance to talk to him, preferably privately, and apologize.
Tell him that things had simply spiraled out of control. Or, perhaps, dig deeper and admit the truth.
H
e’d broken her heart when he took Dylan up to Terminator Wall. And that feeling had darkened all her decisions right up to nearly the end. When it became too late to pull back, change the outcome.
“My brother isn’t here.”
“Are you sure?” Gage snapped.
Another man stood beside him. Taller than Gage, he had shorter dark hair and was attempting a sort of crooked smile, as if to ease the tension stringing out between them. He wore ski pants also, as well as a pullover and open-zipped jacket. She recognized him as the other ski patrol who’d joined Gage in the Saloon.
“Hey, back off, dude.” This from Brette, who’d suddenly come alive after Gage’s retort. “He’s not here, okay?”
“What stupid thing?” Ella asked, referring to his statement. She settled her spoon back into her ice cream. The carton froze her fingers, and she set it down and wiped her hand on her pajama pants. Oh, so sexy, Ella. Worse, she remembered the pattern of her pajamas featured tiny penguins in stocking caps.
“He called me and sounded drunk,” Gage was saying.
Or maybe high. Ella tightened her lips against the addition.
“And told me he was going to ski down Heaven’s Peak tomorrow, following my route.”
He didn’t need to elaborate. She knew exactly what he meant.
He’d only traced the route from her fingers down to her open palm, telling her in exquisite, perfect detail every moment of the run, how he’d chosen his line, the perilous moments when he thought he’d skim over the edge, the burn in his legs right before he did a flip off the Weeping Wall.
He’d kissed her palm where he’d spent the night in the cave and then finished the route, curling over her hand, and up her arm until he reached the inside of her upper wrist.
Kissed her there too, and now heat flooded her face, a repeat from when she’d pulled her arm away in the middle of the restaurant, too aware that people might be watching. With their phone cameras.
He probably saw her embarrassment, maybe even remembered the past, because he swallowed and looked away.
A Matter of Trust Page 6