Holding On

by Pamela Clare

  “Just keep your eyes open.” Taylor stood again. “They still haven’t found those two guys who robbed the armored vehicle. Some people think they’ve moved on, but a camper thought she spotted one of them a few days ago. He started to approach her, and when he saw she was with friends, he took off.”

  Conrad wished he’d brought his revolver. “Is anyone actively hunting for them?”

  Before Taylor could answer, a woman’s angry voice cut him off.

  “What the hell? I didn’t see any ‘No Parking’ signs.” A woman in leggings and a fleece jacket stared at her ticket in indignation.

  “Have a good hike.” Taylor walked over to the woman. “There’s a sign right next to your vehicle, ma’am. In fact, to get out of your car, you would have almost hit it with your driver’s side door.”

  “Well, I didn’t see it, and I’m not going to pay this.”

  Conrad wasn’t sure how Taylor could stand dealing with these idiots.

  He followed Kenzie up the trail, Gabby running along beside him, stopping every few feet to sniff. His cellphone buzzed, but he ignored it.

  They hiked until they came to the trail that circled the lake. Then Kenzie put Gabby in her tiny little harness.

  “I’m going to run pretty far this time—far out of sight. Hopefully, she’ll follow her nose this time. If she gets distracted by something, say ‘Leave it,’ and praise her when she gets back on track.”

  “Got it.” Conrad stroked the puppy’s fur. “You can do it, Gabby.”

  “Sweet, sweet doggy.” Kenzie hugged the puppy, tousled her ears, kissed her—then stood and hurried away with Gizmo.

  When she had disappeared from view, Conrad let Gabby go. “Gabby, go find!”

  The creamy furball took off running down the trail, still on leash, with Conrad walking behind her. She seemed to know she was looking for Kenzie, but there were so many new and fun things to distract her—a patch of kinnikinnick, a bird, a tree root. “Leave it. Good girl! Gabby, go find!”

  It took almost ten minutes, but Gabby eventually veered off the trail and ran behind a large boulder—and into Kenzie’s arms.

  “Good girl! Good girl!” Kenzie let her play with her favorite toy.

  Conrad praised her, too, and gave her a few treats. “Who’s the smartest puppy ever? No offense, Gizmo.”

  But Gizmo seemed to be excited by Gabby’s triumph, too, his tail wagging as he walked circles around her, tangling all of them in his leash.

  Conrad gave him a treat, too. “Way to be a good big brother.”

  His cellphone buzzed again. He drew it out of his pocket, checked the caller ID. It was his agent. She was probably pissed off about the article. Well, let her stew.

  Kenzie looked over at him. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket.

  Candace would have to wait.

  Kenzie stopped by the kennel to welcome a new boarder—a St. Bernard named Tiny—whose people were heading to Wyoming for their annual elk hunting trip. Tiny was a gentle giant who quickly warmed up to the other dogs and Inéz.

  While Inéz played with Tiny and got him settled, Kenzie took care of Tiny’s paperwork, still unable to do some of the physical work because of her wrist.

  “I know you must miss poop-scooping the play yard,” Inéz joked.

  Kenzie held up her splinted wrist. “I’ll trade if you want.”

  “No thanks. I’ll take dog poop over a dog bite any day.”

  When Kenzie stepped through her back door, she heard Harrison shouting.

  “You had no right to do that! I don’t give a goddamn what the contract says!”

  His agent.

  It had to be.

  Kenzie already despised the woman. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but it seemed to her that this Candace person had no compassion for what Harrison had gone through and was only interested in money.

  “I told you I would pick the publication. It’s not just some small town. It’s my home! It’s where I’ve lived for the past ten years.”

  Kenzie tried not to overhear, taking the dogs out for a break, sitting on the back deck to give Harrison privacy.

  After ten minutes, he stepped outside, anger rolling off him. He stood near the door, arms crossed over his chest. “My agent has arranged for me to be interviewed on the Good Day Show. I don’t seem to have a choice.”

  “How can she force you to go on television?”

  “Doing the interview with the Scarlet Gazette just pissed off Extreme Exposure, my major sponsor, who sees it as a potential breach of contract. As long as I wasn’t doing interviews, they were willing to wait. But now they’re insisting I do the TV interview, wear their logo, and smile.”

  Okay, that sucked.

  “Can’t you walk away from the contract?

  He shook his head, looking beaten down and weary. “They stood by me the whole time I was away. I owe them. Besides, if I ever climb again and need sponsors, I’d be screwed.”

  So, he truly hadn’t made up his mind about whether he was done with climbing. Was she surprised? Climbing had been his passion and his livelihood. How could she have expected he would give it up entirely?

  “I guess you don’t have a choice, do you? When do you leave?”

  “I fly out tomorrow. I’ll be home the day after.” He sat down in the chair beside hers, took her right hand, kissed it. “Do you want to come with me, see a little of New York City? We can fly out tomorrow morning and be home late the day after. You’d be gone two days total.”

  Her first impulse was to tell him that she couldn’t go. She’d already missed too many days at the kennel. She would have to cancel her private lesson with little Prince. She’d also have to find someone to take her class on Tuesday evening.

  But then she saw the hope in his eyes. “That could be fun.”

  Some of the weariness left his face. “Pack that dress—the shiny red one.”

  “We won’t make it out of the hotel room if I bring that dress.”

  He grinned. “Exactly.”

  He handled the plane tickets, ground transportation, and hotel, leaving her time to pack and to arrange for Sasha to watch Gizmo and Gabby.

  Early the next morning, they handed the dogs over to a very excited Sasha, who kissed them each on the cheek. “Don’t worry about the dogs. We’re going to have so much fun. And don’t worry about the interview. You’ll crush it.”

  Harrison drove them to the airport, parked in the valet parking, and carried her bag and his duffel to the check-in counter. It was the first time Kenzie had traveled without a carry-on, and that made getting through security a breeze.

  “You do realize this is the line for first class?” she whispered.

  “We’re flying first class.”

  “Really?” This was going to be an adventure.

  He chuckled. “When you’re my height, traveling economy is hell.”

  Kenzie hadn’t traveled a lot, and when she had, it had always been economy. She’d stood there while people with first-class tickets had boarded ahead of everyone else. Now, she was one of those people—and she was boarding with a man who was so good looking that women stared.

  Enjoy it while you can.

  They found their first-class seats, Kenzie buckling her seatbelt just as a pretty flight attendant offered them glasses of champagne.

  “How much did you earn from these sponsorships?” Kenzie meant the question as a joke, so she wasn’t ready for the answer.

  “Before my last climb, I was making a combined total of about a million a year pre-tax, not including gear and travel. I set a lot of it aside for retirement—or to help in case I had a catastrophic accident.”

  She stared at Harrison, speechless.

  An announcement came over the PA system. “Ladies and gentlemen, please stow your carry-on bags in the overhead compartment wheels first. If you’re having trouble finding space, please ask a flight attendant for help.”

  Harrison took
her hand, caressed it with his thumb. “You seriously had no idea that I made good money?”

  “How could I? You live in a small rental house with mint-green appliances that date to the Fifties.”

  For the first time since his agent’s call yesterday, Harrison laughed. “I can’t wait to see what you think of our hotel.”

  Kenzie couldn’t wait either. “What’s the name of it?”

  “The Conrad New York.” He shrugged. “I figured it had my name on it.”

  Conrad had never cared much for big cities. Maybe it was the homesteader in him, but he didn’t see the point of living crowded together with so many other people. There was too much noise, too much trash and pollution, too many assholes. But seeing the city through Kenzie’s eyes made it fun.

  She squealed at the hotel room with its view of the Hudson River, gaped wide-eyed up at the skyscrapers, moaned at the taste of the New York-style pizza slices they had for lunch sitting on a bench in Central Park, and wept as her fingers traced the names of the dead at the 9/11 memorial.

  Conrad wondered what it must be like to live with such an open heart. Had he ever been that untouched, that innocent?

  They went back to the hotel and changed for dinner, he into his old, wrinkled tux, which the hotel staff had pressed into a respectable state, and she into that sexy red dress.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.” He’d bought VIP passes for dinner with a view at the State Bar and Grill in the Empire State Building so that she could see the sunset.

  She stared down from the observation deck. “It’s beautiful—like a forest of buildings and fairy lights.”

  He’d never thought of it that way before. He’d only ever seen the steel and concrete, the asphalt, the traffic, the crowds.

  “Have you ever climbed anything this tall from bottom to top?”

  “El Capitan is more than twice this height. So is the Dawn Wall.”

  “No way!”

  “Way.”

  The food was fantastic, but Conrad could barely taste it, his senses focus on the beautiful woman who sat across from him—the sparkle in her blue eyes, her luminous skin, the sweetness of her laugh. He wasn’t the only one staring. The server was so fixed on her cleavage that Conrad was afraid he’d miss their champagne glasses altogether.

  Yeah. Been there. Done that.

  They took a cab back to their hotel, Conrad’s fingers twined with hers, champagne warming his blood. Back in their room, he undressed her, kissed every inch of her, lost himself inside her.

  She fell asleep in his arms, but Conrad couldn’t sleep at all.

  Her stomach swarming with butterflies, Kenzie sat in a chair just off the set, watching while the hosts of the Good Day Show talked about the weather. They had taken Harrison backstage the moment they had arrived and given Kenzie a tour of the studio before offering her a cup of coffee and seat where she’d be able to watch Harrison’s interview.

  Kenzie was afraid for him. She knew him well enough now to see what a strain this was on him emotionally. He hadn’t said a word in the cab all the way here, his body radiating tension, lines of fatigue on his face. He was going to have to tell the entire story again, which meant he would have to relive all of it—the horror, the grief, the guilt.

  God, how she wished he had opened up to Esri and let her help. His nightmares had gotten worse after the interview with Wendy. What would this interview do to him?

  Even the strongest person could take only so much.

  “Coming up next, a story of courage, loss, and heroism on Mount Everest. Celebrated mountain climber Harrison Conrad is here to talk about the catastrophe that claimed the lives of his friends and almost killed him.”

  Pablo, the young man who’d given her a tour of the studio, hurried over to her. “Can I get you more coffee?”

  “That would be great. Thanks.” She handed him her empty cup.

  “If there’s one thing we never run out of in this studio, it’s coffee.”

  She could believe that. She and Harrison had gotten up at five a.m.—three in the morning Colorado time—to get here by seven. For the staff, getting up early was just part of their job.

  The hosts bantered with each other through the commercial break, amusing the live studio audience. And then they were back.

  “Harrison Conrad has been called the world’s greatest alpine climber,” said Corinne Roberts, the only host Kenzie recognized. “He’s part of an elite group of climbers who have conquered all fourteen of the world’s eight-thousand-meter peaks, including Mount Everest, which he has summited twice.

  “But a year and a half ago, a tragic accident killed his climbing team and almost ended his life. He’s here today to share his story for the first time with a national audience. Please welcome Harrison Conrad.”

  The audience applauded, and Kenzie clapped with them, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering with renewed vigor.

  Conrad walked out onto the set wearing a fleece jacket with the Extreme Exposure logo, a forced smile on his face. He acknowledged the studio audience with a wave and sat beside Ms. Roberts.

  Kenzie found it hard to breathe while Ms. Roberts asked question after question. What drew you into climbing? What qualities does it take to be a world-class mountaineer? Aren’t you afraid when you’re up there? What happened on Everest?

  Harrison stayed outwardly calm and professional, his gaze seeking Kenzie out as he repeated the story he’d told Wendy. Being on belay while Luka Stenger crossed the ladder. Bruce joking about death. Stepping onto the ladder himself. The crack. The rumble. Falling. Coming back to consciousness hanging over an abyss, not knowing where he was. Climbing with injuries. Trying to dig out his friends with ice tools. The climb down to Base Camp. Fifteen months of at the monastery.

  Kenzie stood, moved to where he could see her more clearly—still off the set and out of sight of the studio audience. If it helped him to know she was here, then she would do all she could to support him.

  Ms. Roberts listened, offering a sympathetic word or two. “Now, I have to ask you what people at home are probably wondering. Why risk your life over and over again just to conquer a mountain?”

  “That’s just it—we’re not trying to conquer the mountains. When I climb, I’m trying to conquer myself, my human weakness. You fight the cold, exhaustion, pain, hunger, even despair. There are times you want to give up, go back to your tent, sleep, but you can’t. If I overcome myself, I’ve done what I set out to do.”

  “So it’s not man versus mountain,” Ms. Roberts said. “It’s man versus himself.”

  “Exactly.”

  “This morning backstage, you asked me not to call you a hero. You told me you don’t like it when people use that word to describe what you do. Why is that?”

  Harrison’s gaze shot to Kenzie’s, and she could see he was furious. Kenzie couldn’t blame him. By phrasing her question like that, Ms. Roberts was pretending to respect his boundaries while still forcing him onto a topic he’d hoped to avoid.

  Kenzie wanted to smack her.

  Still, Harrison kept his cool. “The word ‘hero’ should be used to describe the men and women who risk their lives in the service of others. I have friends who are heroes—firefighters, EMTs, law enforcement, combat veterans. They don’t run into burning buildings just to see whether they can. They do it to save lives.”

  “I know the women in the audience want to hear the answer to this question: Is there someone special in your life?”

  Harrison’s gaze met Kenzie’s again. “My private life is private.”

  And the interview was over.

  Chapter 20

  Conrad was so angry he could barely speak. He walked in silence with Kenzie toward the exit to meet their driver, ignoring the cheers and comments of people they passed along the way.

  “Well done, Conrad.”

  “I don’t care what you say. You’re my hero.”

  “Great interview.”

  Ou
tside, a light rain fell, the sky overcast, a cold wind blowing through the urban canyons. He opened the rear driver’s side door for Kenzie, shut it behind her, and then walked around to the rear passenger door and climbed in beside her.

  “I’m sorry.” She looked up at him through blue eyes filled with worry. “She was out of line.”

  “She gave me her word.” He leaned forward, spoke to their driver. “The Conrad New York, please.”

  He stared out the window unseeing, his gaze sliding over the blurred mass of humanity that made its way down wet sidewalks, crossed streets, dodged cars, cabs, and buses, street noises barely penetrating his thoughts.

  Kenzie’s small, cold fingers grasped his—a lifeline.

  Was he really so broken, so damned weak that he needed her like this?

  Back at the hotel, people now recognized him. Some applauded as he passed. Others simply stared. One kid hurried over and asked for his autograph, handing Conrad a notepad which he signed, teeth grinding.

  None of this is his fault.

  “Thanks, man. You’ve been my hero since I was a kid.”

  “Do you climb?” Kenzie asked the kid.

  “A little. I’ve done some bouldering, mostly in the gym.”

  “Keep it up.” Conrad took Kenzie’s hand and walked over to the elevator, turning his back on all of them.

  Kenzie waited until the door to their room closed behind them to speak. “They don’t mean to get on your nerves. I agree with what you told Ms. Roberts. But to that kid in the lobby, you’re a hero because you do things he can only dream of doing.”

  Conrad lifted his duffel onto the bed and started shoving things into it, anger like pressure in his chest. “You know who’s a hero? Hawke. He saves lives every day.”

  “You’re a hero, too, not because you climb, but because of your service on the Team. You’ve helped to save lives, too, and no one pays you a penny for it. You’re the only one on the Team who can—”

  “Stop. Just stop.” He closed his eyes, drew a breath. “I know you’re trying to help, but it’s not working.”