by Ann Gimpel
“Huh?”
“You heard me. Something...strange happened last time I was here.” She laughed. It sounded hollow—and haunted.
Craig reached for her, but she shook her head. “I haven’t lost my mind. And I can’t tell you anything else. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll put you at risk. Shouldn’t have said what I did. Uh, I really need to get back to my patients.” She turned on her heel, her boots making a squeaky sound in the snow, and strode toward camp.
He stared after her retreating back. What the hell? Tina was the most level-headed person he’d ever known. Quick and sure, her decision-making was impeccable in life and death situations. It was what made her a good doctor. The Tina he knew would never have made a blanket statement that something was wrong with the mountain.
They’d met when they were twenty and undergraduates at Colorado State, drawn together by a mutual love for the outdoor life. Their love for one another sort of crept up on them. She’d started medical school two years later, and he’d thrown his full energies into building credibility as a guide.
He still wasn’t certain what went wrong between them. He’d been so sure she wanted to spend her life with him...
A familiar sadness washed over him. He’d married on the rebound after Tina dumped him. Predictably, it hadn’t even lasted a year. He winced. He still remembered Jessica screaming at him, “I’m not Tina, goddammit,” just before she slammed out the door for the last time. Since then, he’d kept his heart to himself. It wasn’t fair to offer such a damaged item to another woman. He’d had his share of one-night stands, but they’d been sex, pure and simple. And only when his balls ached so badly he had to have the feel of a woman around him again.
Craig kicked at the snow. He needed to get his head out of his ass. Emotions had no place in the mountains. He’d always prided himself on being cool and calm when things were going to hell. Gunter’s unauthorized solo trip nagged him. He’d never hire the German again. Craig only gave assistants one chance. If they proved untrustworthy, that was it. He blew out a breath, and then another, seeking a calm center as he jogged back to camp.
Once there, he made the rounds, chatting with the six men, or trying to. Ted had very little to say. Brice seemed better, but he said he wanted to go down. The specter of cerebral edema had scared the crap out of him. Craig found Tina in the larger mess tent. “Joe and Brice seem well enough to wait until daylight. Do you agree?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I’m thinking Brice just had a really severe headache, exacerbated by altitude. He lives in Seattle—sea level. Joe’s lungs are sounding a little clearer. I gave him some more Dex. He should be able to walk out of here tomorrow. Speaking of which—”
Craig held up a hand. “Hold on to that thought. I need to see to the mules. Gunter usually does that. Wouldn’t do to have one wander off and get stolen by the locals. Keep some water hot for me.”
She smiled. “Sure. Not sleepy, anyway.”
“You still don’t sleep well?”
Tina shook her head. “Nope. Collateral damage.” She made shooing motions with her hands. “Doesn’t matter. You probably still sleep like a stone. Better get moving so you can get some rest. Stove’s going, so leave the door cracked.”
He stepped back into the night and went to hunt down the mules. Like horses, they’d scratch through snow to get to the grass beneath. But they also carried a couple days’ worth of feed for themselves in their packs. Normally, that’s all it would take to climb Illimani. One day to get to high camp, five or six hours to summit and then back to Estancia Una the same day.
Craig thought about the conversations he’d just had with his clients. Only two, Robert and Peter, felt strongly about going on. Red-haired twin brothers from Colorado Springs, they were fit and well-acclimatized. Both admitted they’d stayed with the other four because they didn’t trust Gunter to take care of them. Craig hobbled another mule and did a nose count. Yup, all five present and accounted for.
He considered what to do. If Gunter returned, it was simple. He’d send the German back to La Paz with Ted, Joe, Brice, and maybe Sam, depending on what the retired attorney decided in the morning. If Gunter didn’t come back, his options thinned dramatically. He’d have to escort the clients to Estancia Una, radio for transportation for them, and then go back up the mountain to find out what happened to Gunter.
Craig walked slowly back to camp. Tina was waiting. For a moment, his spirits lifted, then reality took over. “Yeah, she may be waiting,” he muttered, “but not that way.”
Watch it. I have enough problems on this trip. I don’t need to add to them by pretending we could make a life together after all this time.
“Craig?” Tina’s voice carried through the still night air.
“Coming.” He hastened his steps and ducked into the mess tent. She had a lantern lit, so he doused his headlamp.
“I was getting worried about you. Thought you might need some help with the mules.”
His heart did a small flip flop. “Nope, just thinking.”
“You always were a planner.”
He snorted. “Me? You should talk, Miss Don’t-Let-Anything-Get-in-the-Way-of-My-Career.”
Tina laughed. “Guess I was pretty intense.”
He looked at her, surprised to see her blue gaze right on him. “I’m thinking was isn’t the proper verb tense.”
“Maybe not. I’ve been doing some thinking of my own. If Gunter doesn’t show up, you need to take everyone down.”
“I’d come to the same conclusion.” His lips twitched into a smile. He and Tina had always been on the same page when it came to mountain safety. “The twins can come back up the mountain with us if they want to try for the summit. You could take them while I see if Gunter had some sort of accident.”
His smile faded. “Not feeling terribly kindly disposed toward him at this point, but if he doesn’t come back, I have to try to help him if I can.”
“You don’t need me to take the group down the hill.”
“What? You’re going to stay here?”
She shook her head, looking grim. “No. I have business up there.” She gestured toward Illimani’s summit, hidden by darkness and the tent wall. “I suspect I’ll run across Gunter, so there’s no need for you to come back.”
He kicked a three-legged stool open with his boot and sat heavily. “You’re talking in riddles.”
“Here.” She handed him a mug of instant soup and a handful of crackers. Craig drank and ate. He was hungry and held out the mug for seconds.
“You could probably close the door if you’re done cooking. It will stay warmer in here. Anything sweet handy?”
She dug out a package of Mother’s Taffy cookies. “Your favorites.” At least the dour expression on her face softened a bit.
For a time, the only sound in the mess tent was his chewing. Something was wrong, and if he knew Tina, there was a whole lot she wasn’t saying. He looked right at her. “You used to trust me. Please tell me enough so I understand. I’m guessing you would’ve come here even if I hadn’t had an expedition on the books.”
She nodded and bit her lower lip. After a while, she seemed to come to an internal decision. He recognized it in the defiant tilt of her chin.
“Okay. I suppose someone ought to know since it’s not likely I’ll ever leave this mountain.” A hesitation. “I’m worried.” She blew out a tense breath. “More than worried. Scared shitless. If I tell you about him—or it—you might be in the same kettle of fish I’m in.” She stared hard at him through narrowed eyes. “Believe me, you do not want this kind of trouble.”
He came to his feet and held out his arms. To his amazement, she dove into them. Her body trembled. More than anything, her distress gave him pause. The Tina he knew wasn’t afraid of anything.
He tightened his hold on her. “I’ve been cheating death for years. Whatever’s eating at you, let me help. We made good partners once.”
He felt her nod against him where her head nestled in
the hollow between his shoulder and neck. Her scent, something uniquely Tina, with hints of cinnamon and vanilla, enveloped him. His cock hardened where their bodies pressed close. She must’ve felt it, because her hips pushed against him, and she threaded her arms around his back.
Craig moved away a little so he could look at her. Tina’s face was turned up, her lips parted.
“If I’m going to die here,” she murmured, “I’d like to make love one last time.” A half-smile flitted across her face. “We were always good together.”
A warm spark ignited in his belly and moved outward. “The best. But now’s not the time.” Reluctantly, he disentangled her arms from around him. He needed a clear head, not a sex-fuzzed brain. “Tell me what happened last time you were here. Between us, we’ll be able to beat whatever it is. I know we can.” He placed a gloved finger under her chin and tipped her head up to meet his gaze. “Once we’re safe, we can make love all you want.”
If she’s still interested then. He pushed back hope flaring painfully in his heart.
“It’s a deal.” Her blue eyes glowed tenderly. “Give me a few seconds. I need to think how to tell you this, so it doesn’t sound crazy and disjointed.”
Chapter Four
Tina cracked the door and busied herself with the small, white gas stove. Tea would go well with what she had to say. She wanted to burrow back into Craig’s arms. He felt so damned good against her, like coming home. He was right, though, to be strong enough to say no. They both needed to focus. Deep in her breast a stubborn burst of hope caught, blazing bright. Maybe there was still a chance for them after all—if she lived through the next forty-eight hours.
She glanced over a shoulder. “Do you still carry single malt scotch on these trips?”
“Um-hum. I’ll go get my flask. We can spike the tea you’re brewing.”
She listened to his footsteps fade, muffled by an inch of new snow. It had begun snowing lightly about an hour ago. Wind had picked up too. The canvas sides of the tent rattled, making a hell of a racket. Craig ducked back through the door and held out a flat, silver flask.
“Nah. Hang on to it. We’ll pour the scotch in once the tea’s done.” She quirked a brow. “Wouldn’t want to burn off any of its wonderful alcohol content.”
“Guess not.” He returned to his camp stool. “Weather seems to be turning to shit out there. I don’t get it. Forecast indicated clear for at least a week.”
She handed him a titanium mug, pulled her own camp stool close, and retrieved her mug from next to the stove. “Do we need anything else before I sit?”
He shook his head and poured a jot of liquor into his cup before holding it out to her.
Tina velcroed the door shut, settled herself, and took a sip of the steaming beverage. The scotch burned all the way to her stomach. One of life’s small pleasures, it felt lovely: rich and smooth. She took off her gloves and curled her fingers around the warm metal cup. “What do you know about Andean mythology?”
“Almost nothing. I know something about the Himalayan mountain gods, but I don’t suppose they count for much here.” He shot her a crooked smile. It lit his face from the inside out, and her heart skipped a beat.
“Well, I didn’t either. Know anything, that is. I studied up on it after the thing showed up...” She shook her head. “No. I need to tell this in some sort of order. Let me start with a local legend.”
He took a sip of tea and motioned with a hand for her to begin.
“Viracocha is sort of a god. He had four sons, each lords in their own right. Guess they fought like cats and dogs. I don’t think it’s accidental their names are local peaks.” She shut her eyes for a moment, opened them, and forged ahead. “Illampu was Lord of Light. Illimani, Lord of Water. Huayna Petosi, Lord of Stone. And Mururata was Lord of Air. Viracocha was sick of their perennial arguments, so he sent his deputy, Tunupa, to see what could be done. Long story short, Mururata was punished by beheading and isolation. His head became Sajama—”
“Which stands alone,” Craig finished for her. “So there’s the isolation part. How does this fit in with you feeling threatened? Sajama’s a long way from here.”
“Yes, but Mururata’s right next to Illimani. Nothing I could find in the library mentioned it, but I don’t think the Lord of Air ever gave up. Remember when I spent six weeks in the Andes during my second year of residency? We were still together then.”
“Of course. I was guiding in Antarctica while you were here.”
Tina took two large gulps of tea and then held her hand out for the scotch. She poured more into her cup and lifted it in a mock toast. “Here’s to liquid courage. I spent a couple of weeks in the small settlements between La Paz and the Cordillera Real. Every chance I got, I ran off and tackled a peak. Sort of like what Gunter just did.”
Craig nodded. “I can see where it could work. These are easy mountains.”
She grunted. “Yeah, I thought so too. Christmas day seven years ago, I finished with my patients in Estancia Una around the middle of the afternoon and took off at a jog for Nido de Condores. Figured I’d sleep for a couple of hours, start for the summit at one in the morning, and be back in Estancia by noon the next day.”
He dug into the cookies, dipped one into his tea, and waited.
She’d always appreciated Craig’s patience and was grateful he wasn’t pushing her now, mining for details before she was ready to spill them.
She started talking again. “I made Nido de Condores just fine and set up my tent. The wind was ripping.” She gestured toward the tent door. “Sort of like it is now, only worse. Figured I’d never get any sleep.”
Tina looked away. She hated to admit the next part because it had been foolhardy, but Craig would understand. Any mountaineer would.
He crossed one long leg over the other, set his cup down, and steepled his fingers together. “Let me guess,” he murmured, his lips twisted into a wry smile. “You said what the hell and went for the summit.”
“Yes, I did. I was well-acclimatized—”
He held up a hand. “Spare me your rationale. We’ve all made summit bids when common sense would’ve dictated otherwise.”
She smiled back. “I actually did fairly well. Wind was bad, but visibility didn’t really sock in until I was on my way down. I’ve never seen it drop so fast. One minute I could see. The next, it was like pea soup. I was close to that lip at the edge of the summit plateau right above the steep section, and believe me, I was barely crawling along. Tested every step with my axe to make certain I wasn’t going to step through the cornice.”
He offered the flask. She drank from it. Despite the liquor, her muscles felt tight. She’d avoided even thinking about that night since shortly after it happened. The impromptu rerun while out for her daily jog in Leadville had been damned unsettling. Talking about what happened—even with Craig who would never judge her—was hard. Tina stood and paced from one end of the very small space to the other. It took about three steps before she had to turn around.
More of her story unfolded. The words felt like bits of glass; they cut deep leaving the safety of her mouth.
“You must’ve been petrified.” Craig’s voice was warm and soothing. She’d just told him about falling from Illimani’s ridge.
She flashed him a grateful smile. “Only another climber would understand. I was scared and alone and fighting feeling hopeless. Once hopeless happens, we may as well cash in our chips. I wasn’t sure how far I’d fallen. It didn’t matter, really. I wasn’t climbing back up.”
A look of admiration crossed his face. “God, but you’re gutsy.”
Tina felt her face heat at the unexpected compliment. She kept pacing while she talked. Movement made things easier somehow. “Once I got off the cliffy part, I just sort of sank into the snow, put my head in my hands, and cried.”
“Was it dawn yet?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Not even close. Still dark as pitch—”
“I’m trying to pictu
re the glacier,” he broke in. “You were at what, about nineteen thousand feet?”
She nodded. “Something like that. Anyway, I started to pick my way down. The tracks in the snow I’d followed on the way up had been obliterated by the wind, and I hadn’t set wands. Didn’t even bring any.” Tina rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I don’t understand why every young mountain climber doesn’t end up dead.”
“You and me both,” he seconded. “But go on.”
“I’d just sidestepped a mother of a crevasse when a huge gust of wind knocked me to one side. My crampons skittered on ice and all hell broke loose. The snowfield disintegrated under my feet. It’s not the first crevasse I’ve fallen into, but it was the worst by a good big bunch.”
She looked at Craig. His forehead was creased; his hands had balled into fists. She’d just described a series of events, any one of which would’ve made the top ten hit parade in climbers’ worst nightmares.
“I figured I was as good as dead.”
“You tried to climb out, didn’t you?” Craig’s voice was terse, as if the words had been torn out of him. He leaned toward her.
“Of course. I tried until I was so winded I could barely breathe. It didn’t do any good. When I knew I’d never get my crampon points or axe into the ice, I started drilling in ice screws. Made it about twenty feet and my headlamp died.”
Craig’s breath rattled from between clenched teeth. “Shit!”
“Funny. Same thing I said, followed by fuck and a whole bunch of other useless cursing. I knew I’d have to wait until dawn. It was so cold, I was afraid I’d freeze to death if I wasn’t moving...”
Tina steeled herself. The next part was going to be hard. She lurched into a halting description of the thing that had visited her in the crevasse, led her to safety, and bound her with blood, ending with saying she thought it was likely Mururata.
She dragged her gaze upward to meet Craig’s. He shook his head and looked away. “Aw, come on, Tina. That’s not possible. You must’ve been hypoxic. I’ve had high altitude hallucinations before—”