A Matter of Trust

by Susan May Warren

  Brette glanced out the window and noticed the beginning of flurries. The sky had turned a dark pewter. “That was fast.”

  “Weather moves in quickly in the valley. It’ll take a little longer once it hits the mountains, but still, my guess is that by late this afternoon, they’ll be battling some winds and snow.”

  She pressed a hand to her stomach.

  “Worried?”

  She sighed. Nodded. “Ella is a good snowboarder, there’s no doubt. She and her family used to come out West every year. They bought a place here at Blackbear just a few years ago, and she’s skied all the big mountain country—even went off Corbet’s Couloir at Jackson Hole. If anybody can keep up with Gage, it’s Ella. But . . .” She looked out the window. “I should call their parents.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Ty said.

  “Yeah, maybe, except . . . this could go south, fast.”

  “They’re going to be okay. Gage is a good skier, and he prepared for a storm.”

  “I was more talking about . . .” She sighed. “Well, Gage has a reputation, and if her parents find out she’s with him . . . well, not to mention that Gage and Ella have a past. And then Ella did something that really hurt Gage—”

  “I know about their past. They’ll work it out. Gage isn’t going to let his mistakes—or his wounds—stand in the way of saving Ella’s brother.”

  She might have given him a dubious look, because he frowned. “What?”

  “He won’t let her get physically hurt, if he can, but Ella still holds a little torch for him, and . . . well, I just don’t want her getting her heart broken. She’s my best friend—probably only friend, actually—and she hasn’t exactly dated a plethora of men. None, actually, since Gage, I think. So . . .”

  Ty set a glass of water in front of her. She reached for it, touched his fingers. He had nice hands, strong, long fingers. In fact, all of Ty Remington seemed sturdy and solid, from his wry smile and pale green eyes to his wide shoulders, firm torso, and fit legs. She had the sense that there was much more to know about Ty than he suggested.

  Backup chopper pilot. From her perspective, the guy seemed more like the hero behind the lines, keeping everything running.

  “So, I just hope they all come home in one piece,” she finished softly.

  To her surprise, Ty reached over and cupped his hand over hers. Gave a little squeeze.

  When he let go, little eddies of warmth sank into her skin.

  Yeah, he had nice hands.

  “So, you mentioned that billionaire Ian Shaw started PEAK Rescue?”

  Ty nodded, wiping the outside of the soup container. He put it back in the fridge. “When his niece went missing in the park, he discovered that Mercy Falls just didn’t have the resources it needed to wage a full-scale search. So he invested in our first chopper and used it to search the park, and then later let the local Mercy Falls EMS department use it for their needs. He funded the entire thing until last summer, when he handed it over to Mercy Falls.”

  “Wow, that’s generous.”

  “That’s Ian,” said Sierra, who came up beside her and slid onto a stool. “He doesn’t want anyone else to go through what he did, searching for Esme.” She reached for the cookie jar. Pulled out a cookie. “Thankfully, she’s alive, although we still don’t know where she is.”

  “Really?” And Brette thought of her editor’s reply text to her suggestion of writing a story of these local heroes. Dig around, work it up. Could be a good human interest piece.

  “Yeah,” Sierra was saying, “she called about five months ago and left a message on Ian’s cell phone. Told him to stop looking for her. Which, of course, he can’t.”

  “Is it because of his wife and son—and the fact they went missing and died in Katrina?”

  The room went silent, and Brette looked at Ty, then back to Sierra.

  Sierra had gone a little white. “How did you know that?”

  “Uh, because Ian is . . . well, he’s on the board of a charity I did a profile on not long ago. He had a terrible allergic attack last summer that put him in the hospital—”

  “I know,” Sierra said. She slid off the stool. “I was there.”

  She didn’t offer more, just walked away, and Brette looked at Ty. He pursed his lips, then leaned down, pitching his voice low. “Sierra used to be his personal assistant.”

  Oh. Interesting. Brette turned back to her soup. “So, besides the flood rescue, the grizzly attacks, and the search for lost kids in the park, what other epic adventures has this team had?”

  Ty just kept wiping the counter and didn’t answer her.

  “Ty?”

  He glanced over at her, shook his head. “I can’t think of any more.”

  She frowned. His tone was just . . . off.

  And that’s when the door opened, sweeping the weather into the room along with a wide-shouldered blond, his hair in strings around his face. He wore a gray jacket, a pair of snow-crusted pants.

  “Hey, guys. I just got a call from Jess. We have a family whose Caravan went off the road. She was driving by when she saw it and is wondering if we can get them out of the ditch. Jess is already there—it’s not far from the ski hill.”

  He stood in the doorway, just a little larger than life. Thor, in the flesh. And he had the grim, one-sided smile to go with it.

  “That’s Pete Brooks,” Ty said quietly.

  Pete Brooks. The guy who had rescued the kids from a grizzly bear—she remembered Ty mentioning that.

  Here, maybe, was a man with a story.

  “I’ll go. We can take my truck,” Ben offered and got up and pushed past Pete, heading outside.

  “You need more help?” Ty asked.

  “We got this,” Pete said, glancing at him. Something in his expression . . . Brette couldn’t read it, but it was definitely there. A chill, perhaps. A glancing blow of dismissal.

  “Stay here and wait to hear from Gage,” Kacey said to Ty. She got up and followed Ben out.

  Ty nodded, glanced away. And something in his expression definitely said he’d been benched.

  “I was the main pilot before Kacey got here.”

  She couldn’t erase the sense that the greatest story of all had something to do with handsome yet quiet Ty Remington. The only question was . . . how to get him to tell it.

  The sky had turned pewter gray, and the clouds were low and oppressive as icy snow flew from the sky and whirled into the back of Ella’s jacket and down her neck as she fought to stay in Gage’s line.

  Two hard hours of skiing and she wanted to weep with the pain in her legs, the way they trembled. Sweat lined her helmet, and when she spied Gage waiting for her in the alcove of a wall of granite, she wanted to cry out in relief.

  Collapse in a heap.

  She’d never skied so hard in her entire life. She couldn’t bear to ask if Gage was pulling back or going easy on her.

  She pulled up to him, breathing hard, the snow falling so thick around him that it accumulated on his jacket collar, turning his dark whiskers into a fine film of ice.

  “The tracks are disappearing and it’s starting to get dangerous,” he said as he pulled off his goggles. Snowflakes caught in his lashes. “Even if I flick on my head lamp, I can’t find a good line. I need to see farther down the hill. I think we need to stop.”

  “But we’re not at the cave.”

  “I know. We’re still a good hour away, probably. And between us and the cave is the Weeping Wall. We can’t take that in the dead of night. The day is dropping away fast—I need to set up camp.”

  She looked at him, then around. “Where, here?”

  “We’re on a little ledge, protected from the wind. This is a good place.”

  “Did you bring a tent?”

  “I have a two-man bivvy. It’ll be cozy, but it’s an expedition tent, made for high-altitude camping. And I’ll anchor us into the rock.”

  She’d promised to trust him, but oh, how she’d hoped to spend the night
in a cozy cave instead of anchored to the side of a cliff. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Hold my pack while I pitch camp.” Gage took it off as she clicked out of her bindings, set up her board, and hunkered down to hold his pack. He put on a headlamp and shined light on his progress as he used her shovel to dig out a foundation for them. Then he pulled out the tent contained in a tiny five-pound pack. It snapped open as he released it, and he set it in to the area, tacking down the snow stakes deep into the pack. Then he zipped open the door.

  “I’ll secure our boards and the tent, you get inside, unpack, and get some snow melting. There’s a stove in my pack.”

  She threw his pack in, then sat at the edge of the tent and pulled off her boots, bringing them inside with her. Her feet ached, and she rubbed them as he closed the door.

  The wind shook the tent, and she tried not to think of where they were perched, the flimsy fabric and thin Kevlar wires that anchored them to the rock and ice. She found a Maglite and held it in her mouth between her teeth as she unlatched his sleeping bag, then rolled it out. She did the same with hers.

  For a long moment she considered just what her mother would say about sharing her tent with Gage. But they’d sleep fully clothed, and, well . . .

  Gage Watson was so angry at her, he was probably the last person who would entertain thoughts of romance.

  Although, today, for a moment after she’d dropped off the cliff, he’d almost seemed . . . well, had seemed actually friendly. “Why don’t we just forget the past and ride?”

  Wouldn’t that be nice? To just start over, meet each other anew? Discover the people they’d been before the accident, the civil suit, the betrayal.

  Before her secrets.

  Ella unzipped her jacket and pulled off her helmet. Then she slid into her sleeping bag as she rooted around in his pack for the stove. She found the attachable mug and unzipped the tent and packed the mug with snow. Gage had secured the snowboards to the rock and brought them up under the vestibule that he’d attached to the entrance. He then followed her into the tent and closed the door behind him, leaving on his headlamp for illumination.

  “The sun is dropping like a rock—it’s getting black out there. And the snow is really coming down,” he said. He’d taken off his gloves and now blew on his reddened hands. “Must be twenty below out there.”

  “And in here,” she said, lighting the stove.

  “Not for long. The tent will warm up with our body heat.”

  She didn’t look at him, not sure exactly what he meant. But she shouldn’t have worried, because Gage took off his boots, then climbed into his sleeping bag fully clothed. He worked off his helmet and his wet gaiter and clipped them to a hanging loft loop. Then he pulled out his walkie and stored it in a pocket on the wall.

  The snow began to melt.

  “I think Jess packed a dehydrated meal or two in there,” he said.

  Ella dug through the pack and unearthed two meals.

  “Beef stroganoff or chili mac?”

  “Stroganoff. Hopefully we’ll get back before we have to dig into the chili mac. It’s more like chili paste.” He unzipped his jacket, pulled it off, and wadded it behind him for a pillow.

  Underneath he wore a gray fleece pullover that shaped to his wide shoulders, his thick arms. He’d captured his trademark shoulder-length brown hair back into a low bun and now freed it, ran his fingers fast through it to untangle the snarls.

  Then he pulled out his walkie and tried to call in to base. “Watson to PEAK, come back.”

  He’d placed a call earlier today, shortly after they’d tracked Ollie’s trail off the cliff. Ella couldn’t help but wonder how Brette was faring with his PEAK friends. She had no doubt that within twenty-four hours, she’d have some brilliant story dug up about a daring rescue.

  Brette did that—found the stories hidden inside people, dragged them out into the light.

  Static answered Gage, and he tried a few more times to no avail.

  “Probably the weather.”

  “They’ll be worried,” Ella said as the water came to a boil. She poured it into the open pouch of stroganoff. Then she stirred the meal with a plastic spoon she’d found in a bag of essentials—salt, pepper, wipes. Thoughtful, that Jess.

  “Maybe. We’ll get ahold of them first thing in the morning.”

  “I hope Ollie’s found the cave.” She glanced at Gage, hoping for some reassurance.

  “From his tracks, he’s handling the mountain better than I thought. If he’s following my line, he’ll be in the cave. He had a five-hour start on us. My guess is that they’re already hunkered down, asleep.”

  Ella nodded, wishing she had his confidence. “I can’t help but feel like this is my fault. I came out here hoping to talk him into going back to school. Maybe he’s trying to prove something to me.” She handed the pouch to Gage. “There’s no plates.”

  He took the pouch and the proffered spoon and dug in. “It’s good.”

  “That’s my specialty—adding water to food. You should taste my hot cocoa.”

  “Yes, please,” he said and grinned at her.

  Yeah, he was right. The temperature in the tent had warmed.

  She opened the door again, retrieved more snow in the mug, and set it on the stove to melt.

  He passed the pouch over to her, keeping his spoon, and she dug in with a fresh utensil. “Thanks.”

  “You did well today. I . . . I’d forgotten how well you handle the powder, Ella.”

  She couldn’t look at him. “I’m pretty sore.”

  “Well, me too. I haven’t been freeriding . . . well, not since Outlaw, really.”

  Oh. She didn’t know where to go with that. “You came home, though, and started working on the rescue team?”

  “No. I came home and my dad wanted me to go to college. I think he thought that snowboarding was a well-funded hobby. But I never wanted what he saw for me—medicine. Becoming a doctor. It was his fault—he started me snowboarding when I was three. I was never meant for college.” He shook his head, reached for the pack, and rummaged around.

  “I hooked up with PEAK Rescue about two years ago because of Ty. He was flying the chopper for them at the time and told me they needed an EMT. I went to classes at the local community college, got my basic EMT, and started working rescues. The ski patrol was an easy jump from there.”

  He’d found the cocoa and now poured two packets into the hot water, stirred it with a knife. “Sorry, only one mug.” He turned off the stove.

  “It’s fine,” she said and handed him back the pouch, now empty. The stroganoff had heated her core, and when she chased it with the hot cocoa, yeah, she might live.

  Especially with her and Gage finding new footing. Maybe he was right—they should put the past behind them, just stay focused on their goal.

  “How about you? Still working at your law firm?”

  She shook her head. “No. I resigned, nearly right after . . .”

  He looked up at her, frowned. “Why?”

  He had such pretty eyes, the kind that could hold her fast, drag truths from her. She looked away. “Uh, well, my mom got sick.”

  “Oh, Ella, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks. Breast cancer. She’s doing okay now, but she was a state senator, in our Vermont congress.”

  “I remember that.” He took the cocoa she offered and took a sip. “Mmm.”

  “I know, right?” She folded up the garbage, put it in the plastic bag. “Anyway, Mom suggested I fill her shoes, so I stepped in, got elected by a special call election, and served out her term. It ends this year.”

  “Seriously? You’re a state senator?”

  “It’s not that exciting. I mostly give speeches and sit in meetings.” She made a face. “Actually, I’m trying to decide if I want to run for reelection. I don’t know.”

  “But you always wanted to do something to help people—I remember that part. You were going to defend the weak and save the world.”


  “Yeah. Well, the world doesn’t want to be saved, I don’t think. I recently tried to filibuster to block a bill vote on the recreational use of marijuana, but it didn’t work.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sometimes I feel like I’m spinning my wheels, working hard for something that doesn’t matter. No one is listening, no one cares.”

  He handed her the cocoa. “Finish it.”

  She took it, and felt the heat of his hand lingering on the container.

  “Sort of like your brother?” Gage said softly.

  She looked up at him. “Yeah. I can’t believe he would do this—risk lives. Ours, his, Bradley’s. But now I’m wondering if I worried for nothing—he’s clearly fine. I shouldn’t have dragged you out here.”

  “You were worried. I get that—we panic when we’re worried. And that emotion clouds our judgment.” He dismantled the stove. “Like when I saw Dylan go off that cliff—I couldn’t think of anything but getting to him. I’d seen other people live, despite the fall, landing in thirty feet of spongy powder. So I cleared the cliff as fast as I could, saw where Dylan landed, and then . . . that’s when I heard it. The thunder of the avalanche that Dylan had dragged from the cornice when he went off. It unlatched and then . . .”

  “I know. I watched it on live feed,” she said quietly.

  He looked up, met her eyes, and for a second, silence fell between them.

  “Yeah. Right, well . . .” He shoved the stove into his pack.

  “I watched you try to out-ski it, and you were amazing. The way you kept riding it, even when it caught you . . . and then you vanished.” She pressed her hand to her mouth.

  “It was pretty terrifying,” he said, drawing in a breath. “It just swept me up like a wave, and I was just . . . helpless. The snow washed over me, and I couldn’t breathe. And then, just like that, it stopped. Everything went eerily quiet. And that’s when I realized I was stuck. Entombed.”

  She held her breath. Entombed.

  He wasn’t looking at her now; he was someplace distant even as he spoke. “I’ve never been so alone as I was then. Truly buried alive.” He drew in a shuddered breath. “Even though I wore an avalanche detector, I had to tell myself not to panic, to slow my breathing. Had to believe that they would find me.”