A Matter of Trust

by Susan May Warren

  He glanced over at her, offered a wry smile. “Sorry, I’m not sure where that came from.”

  But she wasn’t going to let him go, this glimpse of the Gage she’d known. “I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe until they found you.”

  He met her eyes, nodded, his mouth a tight line. “That’s pretty much how I felt, except my world was black and frozen. And brutally quiet. I tried yelling but it just bounced back at me.” He blew out a breath. “And the cold . . . I’ve been cold before, but this cold—there was no escape. At least it helped mask my dislocated shoulder.”

  “I remember the rescue team pulling you out. I wanted to go to the hospital, but . . .”

  “Dylan.” He was quiet for so long she wasn’t sure he wasn’t done. Then . . . “I had something, you know? A life I loved, respect, a future. And you took that away—or at least I blamed you. I’ve spent the last three years, however, taking it apart. Replaying what people said in the hearing. Thinking about that night when Dylan and I fought. The fact is, I did tell Ramon that Dylan wasn’t good enough. And I realize that to you, it looked like I’d been reckless with Dylan’s life. But Dylan had already paid the chopper pilot, and he was going to ride Terminator Wall. I thought I could keep him from killing himself, and maybe that was arrogant, but the truth is, I was trying to help.”

  “I know that now.”

  His mouth tightened. “But I do know that I screwed everything up. I thought by doing the right thing, it would protect me, and him. But life doesn’t work that way. Doing what’s right comes at a cost. I just wasn’t ready for it.”

  He looked at her then, and she had the unsettled feeling that he didn’t just mean his career.

  As if he could read her mind, he swallowed, kept his gaze in hers. “Sometimes I go back to that night and think, what if I hadn’t gotten into that fight with Dylan? What if when I came back you were still there, and we had talked . . . I don’t know. Maybe it would have turned out differently.”

  Huh? She stared at him in the light of his head lamp. “What are you talking about?”

  He was sitting there, not looking at her, closing up his pack. “I’m not blaming anyone but myself, but I was a mess that night, and I thought we were friends.”

  She couldn’t move. Hardly breathe. “Gage—I waited for you, but you’re the one who didn’t come back. We were friends,” she said softly. We could be again. Please.

  His chest rose and fell. “Well, anyway. Just so you know, I didn’t leave you at the restaurant. I went back for you. I’m sorry it was too late.”

  It’s not too late. The thought rose, filled her head, her chest. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t up to her anymore.

  “Get some sleep. Tomorrow we have to take Weeping Wall, then the Great White Throne. If we get up early enough—”

  A great screech tore through the tent as the wind sheared down from the peak. It caught their enclave, shuddering the walls with gale-force winds. Ella screamed and hit the floor of the tent.

  It began to slide.

  She only barely sensed Gage rolling over, on top of her, pinning her down, his sleeping bag covering hers as he dug his knees into the snow foundation alongside of her. The wind roared, but his head came close to hers, his voice in her ear. “Shh. We’re fine. The tent will hold. Trust me.”

  She did trust him. It was the world outside that had her coming unglued. She closed her eyes and didn’t even hesitate as she reached out and wrapped her hands around his wrists, burying her face in her jacket as the tent shuddered around them.

  10

  NO CALL FROM GAGE OR ELLA had Ty and the entire team on edge. Especially as the storm closed in around Mercy Falls and blew through the Flathead Valley just west of the park. And not just the team, but Brette, too, who curled up on the sofa, her hands around her waist, as if holding herself together.

  Ty couldn’t help but feel sorry for her as the evening drew out. She watched the weather reports and jumped at every squawk of the EMS box that kept the team rotating out to help drivers out of ditches.

  Kacey and Ben were still out on a call, this one involving a semi that had slid off the road. Pete had returned earlier, grabbed some soup, then headed back out to help his brother, Sam, on another call.

  Only Jess had returned and stayed, joining Sierra and Chet, who were manning dispatch and occasionally trying to connect with Gage and Ella.

  The storm howled around them outside, as well as in Ty’s head as he watched Jess talking to Brette, answering questions about the team.

  No, she was mostly talking about Pete and his epic saves this summer.

  The woman fairly glowed when she talked about Pete Brooks. Jess’s blue eyes alight, her entire body animated as she gestured with her hands. Ty didn’t have to be the team psychologist to see that away from Pete Brooks’s presence, Jess had no problem waxing glorious about him.

  Not that Ty was jealous, but . . .

  She should just tell Pete about her connection to the Great Scandal and the fact she wasn’t who she claimed to be. Stop using Ty as the defensive line to keep Pete away from her.

  Judging from Pete’s glacial shoulder toward him—especially tonight—he’d probably be so relieved that Jess and Ty weren’t dating he wouldn’t care that she was the daughter of the most notorious white-collar thief in recent decades.

  Most of all, Jess should stop talking to Brette. Because Ty, again, didn’t have to be that intuitive to see Brette’s wheels turning. “No one hides from me.”

  He got up from where he sat at the computer watching the weather report, intending to run interference of some kind, when Sierra did an end run and sat down beside Jess.

  “It’s getting late, and my guess is that Gage and Ella are holed up somewhere, probably getting warm and strategizing about how they’re going to get down the mountain tomorrow. They’re probably drinking hot cocoa right now, right, Jess?”

  Jess nodded. “I packed them a few packs, along with some chili mac, and Gage knows what he’s doing. Don’t worry.” She glanced at Sierra, then back to Brette. “In fact, I think you should come home with us. I have real beds at my place now, and—”

  “I think she should stay here.”

  Ty didn’t know why those words emerged from his mouth, but he blamed his “protect Jess” reflex, the one he had seemed to be honing for the past five months.

  All three women looked at him as if surprised he was still in the room. Yeah, well, Pete hadn’t assigned him to any impromptu callouts. In fact, if they had a real callout, their official incident commander, Miles Dafoe, would be here, taking the helm. Pete wasn’t even in charge.

  “What if Gage calls in—Brette will want to know, right?” he added, for logical reinforcement.

  Brette looked at him, nodded.

  “She can stay in the bunkhouse,” he said, seeing Brette warm to the idea. “Kacey is staying too—she mentioned it to me earlier. Just in case the storm abates and she needs to take the chopper out early. And Ben will probably stay too, then. I’ll stick around . . .”

  Jess was frowning at him, and he wanted to send her a silent message. Trust me. After Brette’s initial introduction, it seemed that Jess had shrugged off any danger.

  In fact, she turned back to Brette. “We’re about fifteen minutes from here, and they can call us if Gage calls in . . .”

  Sheesh, he wanted to wave semaphores. Did she not hear the word journalist earlier? See the way Brette probed her about Pete? The woman was just warming up for the kill.

  Thankfully, Brette shook her head. “I guess if there’s a place for me to sleep here, I’ll stay. Especially if Ty is staying.”

  Huh. He didn’t know why, but those words sent warmth through him.

  “I’m staying.”

  She smiled up at him, and for a second, he didn’t care that Pete had sideswiped his offer to go out tonight.

  Apparently, tonight, the pretty girl chose Ty. Take that, Pete I-own-the-world Brooks.

  “Okay, but
if you need to escape, you know who to call,” Jess said. She got up and grabbed her coat from the hook, and Sierra followed her.

  Chet walked back to his office.

  “C’mon,” Ty said. “I’ll show you the bunk rooms.” He led the way upstairs to the two rooms—one for women, one for men. Tiny rooms, with four bunk beds in each, along with their own bathrooms. “It’s cozy but warm.”

  Brette sank down on one of the beds. “Thanks, Ty. I’m feeling a little nauseous, so I think I’ll lie down.”

  Oh. He didn’t know why he expected . . . apparently he’d read too much into her statement, “especially if Ty is staying,” like she might want to spend time with him. He gave her a smile. “Let me know if you need anything.” He closed the door behind her, tiptoed down the stairs.

  The room was quiet, empty, only the occasional noise from the squawk box. He fished a cookie from the jar, went to sit down at the computer.

  C’mon, Gage, call in.

  Ty sat listening to the computers hum, the static on the box, the wind rattling the windows.

  And for a second, he imagined it had been exactly this way the night he’d crashed. The team on edge, not knowing where to look, how to help. And Ty alone, on the other end of the static, knowing he and Chet would freeze to death if he didn’t get help.

  He reached out, rubbed his knee, kneading the swollen ligaments. He probably needed some ice.

  The door opened, and snow swished in on the tail of Pete, who closed it fast, then stamped out his boots on the mat. “It’s cold out there,” he said as he pulled off his gloves. He looked up, around the room, back to Ty. “Where is everyone?”

  “If by everyone you mean Jess, she went home with Sierra.”

  Pete just looked at him, a muscle pulling in his jaw. Then he sighed, sat on a nearby stool, and pulled off his boots. “Is there any coffee left?”

  “Yeah,” Ty said and got up, almost on reflex, to fetch it.

  “I got it, Ty.” Pete beat him to the counter and poured himself a cup, then stuck it in the microwave to warm.

  “There’s some soup too,” Ty said.

  “Listen,” Pete said as he stared at the microwave. “We need to just . . .” He turned and pinned Ty with a look, something of desperation in it. “What’s the deal between you and Jess? I’ve sat back for five months, watching, wondering if you were going to make a move, and every time I think you’re not dating, every time I think maybe I could get close enough to talk to her, suddenly you show up at her house, or offer to drive her home, or even volunteer to team up with her on a callout, and frankly, I’m starting to think it’s not that you like Jess, it’s just—you don’t want me to date her.”

  Ty looked at him, kept his voice casual. “You want to date Jess?”

  Pete stared at him. “Oh, c’mon. Are you kidding me? What do I have to do—wear a sign? Yes! With everything inside me. Jess and I—we had this thing this summer, and it was great. And then suddenly, she just blew up at me and ran into your arms. And I wasn’t in the least okay with that, but you’re my teammate and I’m not going to call you out. I figured this thing between you two would blow over, or if it didn’t, then, well—okay. But I can’t figure it out . . .”

  Ty closed his eyes, ran a hand along his forehead. “Pete, listen, you and Jess have to talk. I can’t tell you what’s going on in her head—”

  The microwave beeped, and Ty looked up. Pete was just staring at him, his jaw tight.

  “She won’t talk to me. Every time I try, she dodges me. Runs to you.”

  Yeah, she did. Because in her head, telling Pete who she really was felt akin to standing naked in the middle of Times Square.

  “She has her reasons.”

  “Tell me what they are!” Pete ignored the beep of his coffee, palming the counter. “It’s about Tallie, isn’t it? Jess thinks I’m still dating that reporter, but I’m not—and I wasn’t. And that’s the old me. The new me—”

  The microwave beeped again. Pete turned and hit the open button with more force than necessary. He yanked out his coffee and it splashed over him. He stifled a word, set the coffee down, and grabbed the paper towels.

  Ty didn’t move to help him, pretty sure he didn’t want to get in Pete’s way. But apparently, Pete wasn’t finished, because as he attacked the stain on his thermal shirt, he looked up at Ty.

  “So, are you in or are you going to get out of the way?”

  So what, Pete could trample over Jess’s feelings? Because Ty agreed with her—Pete could be unpredictable, and the fewer people who knew her secret, the better.

  “No,” Ty said quietly. “I’m not getting out of the way.”

  Pete’s jaw tightened, and he drew in a breath. “Fine.” He glanced at the weather report on the screen behind Ty. “Any news of Gage?”

  Ty shook his head. Pete threw the paper towels in the garbage. “Let me know if any calls come in. I’m going to get some shut-eye.”

  He didn’t look behind him as he climbed the stairs.

  Ty got up, drained the coffee cup, rinsed it, and loaded it in the dishwasher. Braced his hands on the counter.

  He didn’t like lying to Pete. Or pretending in front of the team. But if it meant giving Jess some time to figure out how to tell Pete the truth . . .

  Ty picked up a towel, started wiping his hands. If only he had feelings for Jess, then maybe this wouldn’t be so awkward.

  Or if she had feelings for him. But any idea that she might harbor a spark for him had died tonight listening to her extol Pete’s accomplishments.

  Maybe he should have told Pete the truth—he did seem different over the past five months. The old Pete would still be here, arguing. This Pete seemed kinder. Gentler.

  As if he really had feelings for Jess, the kind that went beyond the usual Pete Brooks charmer persona.

  A creak on the stairs made him look up. Brette appeared, looking pale. Ty met her on the landing. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. My stomach is upset. I think it’s just worry, but . . .” She made a face.

  “How about some hot cocoa?”

  She nodded and walked over to the counter, then slid onto a stool. “I’ll be fine. I’ve always had a weak stomach. I had a tradition—I’d go out for pizza late Friday night, then be up in the wee hours of the morning with a twisted stomach.”

  He turned on the kettle to boil. “That doesn’t sound like a very awesome tradition.”

  “I couldn’t help it. I liked hanging around Ella and her friends, and one of her friends, Greg, ran a pizza joint just off campus. We’d show up after hours, ready to study, and he’d give us all the unsold pizzas. I was so poor, I needed the food.”

  “Where did you go to college?”

  “Middlebury, with Ella. I was on a scholarship, however. Didn’t even have enough money to live in the dorm. I answered an ad on campus to rent a room, and it was in Ella’s house. But when I didn’t make rent the third month, Ella figured it out. I paid her back, but she never raised my rent, and covered for me when I was late. She would have probably let me live rent free.”

  “Wow.” Ty fixed her cup of cocoa, pouring out the chocolate from the package, adding a few mini marshmallows from the supply. “That was nice of her.”

  “Ella’s like that. Always looking out for the people around her. She defies every stereotype about the rich.”

  “Which are?” The kettle whistled, and he poured the boiling water into the mug.

  She lifted a shoulder. “Oh, you know. Entitled. Selfish. The world revolves around them, and they’ll take anyone down to keep it that way.”

  “Ouch.”

  She grinned at him. “Oh, c’mon. You live with Gage. He drives that fancy Mustang. Don’t tell me that he isn’t just a little about himself? After all that fame? And how about Ian Shaw? He started an entire rescue team to search for his niece.”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Maybe. I can’t even contemplate that kind of wealth. I’m here on Ella’s dime,
and frankly I’m not sure I’ll be able to pay the rent on my tiny one-bedroom when I get home.”

  He handed her the cocoa. “Why?”

  “Oh, I had a contract to write a book on this senator who wanted to run for president. Turns out she was dirty and she dropped out of the race, and I lost my contract.”

  “You didn’t expose her?”

  She looked up at him. Brought the mug to her mouth. “I write inspiring pieces, not dirt. Although, right now, I might be desperate enough to print an exposé on a Kardashian if I got wind of it.” She winked at him and took a sip.

  Oh. He managed a smile, but . . .

  “Thankfully, I met you guys. And I’m thinking there are plenty of feel-good stories here. My agent says she thinks a positive story, with pictures of heroes skiing down mountainsides, might land me a delicious spread in Nat Geo or even their online mag. That will generate enough cash to keep me out of sleeping in my car for at least a month.”

  He was afraid to ask if she was serious. “Unfortunately, you just missed Pete—”

  “Actually”—she put her mug down—“I’m more interested in your story, Ty.”

  He stilled. “My story? I don’t have a story.”

  But her eyebrow quirked up. “Really. The ‘main pilot, before Kacey got here’? Why aren’t you the main pilot now?”

  He considered her. Pretty, and too smart, really. She had pulled out her blonde hair, and it cascaded down in pale gold strands around her face. She smiled at him, as if she hadn’t just tried to blow his world apart.

  But he had her number. “Did I mention that Kacey won a bronze star? In Afghanistan?”

  She frowned, one quick draw of her eyebrow, then set her cocoa down. “Really?”

  “Yep. Saved a unit of rangers or something. You should ask her about it.”

  “Just like I should ask Pete about his exploits, and Ian, and Ben, and probably Gage, but definitely not you, huh, Ty?”