On the stage bedazzled with bouquets of peonies, irises, and lilies, the announcer took the podium and introduced the fun for the gala event.
Ian handed his empty appetizer plate—he’d loved the savory cheese puffs—to a waiter and let his gaze drift back to Sierra. He’d booked her into a suite down the hall from his, arranged for a personal hairdresser, and called in her measurements during the five-hour flight. He could admit fearing he’d stepped over the line again as he donned his tuxedo, but when she’d appeared in a dazzling white strapless Givenchy gown with a beaded bodice and a chiffon skirt, her hair pulled back and flowing down her back, yeah, he wanted to give himself a high five.
Yes, best assistant ever.
No. Best friend ever. Even he wasn’t so stupid as to not notice just how much he relied on her, for more than filing and arranging his appointments.
She knew him. Had seen him at his worst—and stuck by him as he’d bloodhounded every lead that might help him uncover the cold, dead trail left by a girl who clearly didn’t want to be found.
Unless, of course, Esme hadn’t run off with boyfriend Dante James and had instead been lost forever somewhere in the wilds of Glacier National Park.
Ian couldn’t shake the idea that he knew Esme—knew she had plans to attend college, pursue a medical degree.
She might have loved Dante, but Ian thought she was too smart to sacrifice her future for him.
Sierra, however, was convinced that Dante and Esme had run off together, and because of that, she never let Ian go down that dark road of despair and grief.
Yes, so much more than an assistant.
Sierra was looking at him from across the room, gesturing with her head. She’d caught him daydreaming again, thinking back to those early days after Esme’s disappearance when he barely slept, ate whatever food appeared in his fridge, and generally ran himself ragged on the desperate hope that he hadn’t lost the niece entrusted to his care.
He glanced at the announcer on stage and smiled, apparently the right reflex because the emcee of the event smiled back, stepping back to clap.
Oh. They must have announced his yearly donation to the charity. He wished they wouldn’t do that—it always dragged up questions, digging by reporters, and inevitably the story of his wife, his child, and a rehashing of the tragedies of Katrina.
But he lifted his hand, acknowledging the crowd’s applause.
Met Sierra’s eye, and she nodded. Good boy.
Strange how her smile could stir in him an unexpected warmth. Then again, of course he’d have affection for the one person who never gave up on him, never thought him crazy.
He didn’t deserve her, he knew it.
And now, true to form, she was going to save him from his own stupidity by agreeing to “buy” his dinner date. Her expression contained humor, her eyes shone. She held a glass of champagne, and now sipped it.
He should have taken Sierra along on his many events earlier, more often. But he’d been afraid to ask without making her feel, well, that he might be stomping over that line of boss-employee.
Which he’d promised himself he’d never do again.
But he couldn’t imagine moving to Dallas without her. Which was step three in his recovery plan—a relocation of his headquarters to Dallas. Step one was handing over PEAK Rescue to the EMS control of Mercy Falls. Namely, deputy sheriff and EMS liaison Sam Brooks.
He’d jumped right over step two—asking Sierra to join him—because, well . . .
Because he was batting at two strikes when it came to women wanting to be in his life. First his deceased wife, and then, maybe even Esme.
If Sierra was right about her running away.
Next to him, Mr. Football popped up, his name on the block. Ian moved chairs, one over, and watched as his cohort stood on stage, not a little uncomfortable, listening to the bidding rise for his seafood dinner at Le Bernardin, then box seats to a Yankees game.
The woman who bought him, a shapely redhead, came right up to the stage to help her “date” off, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, already possessive.
The emcee turned to Ian next and nodded at him to join her on stage. “We’re so excited for our next bachelor’s date. Ian Shaw is the founder of Shaw Oil and the head of Shaw Holdings. With holdings in petroleum, communication, and technology, Shaw Holdings is one of our biggest donors, and Ian Shaw serves on our board. We’re grateful Ian has agreed to join us on the platform tonight.”
Ian had the sense of standing naked before a room of gawkers. He wanted to bolt, and only Sierra’s firm gaze on him from the back of the room kept him planted.
The bids began. He waited for Sierra to add her bid, but she stood silent. He noticed a woman in her midforties, a little plump in her blue sequined dress, ardently driving the price up, fighting with a younger woman, probably the daughter of someone important. A third woman—oh shoot, he recognized her as the wife of Harry Waverly, a board member—began waving her paddle.
C’mon, Sierra, bid.
He looked at her, imploring, and she just smirked.
She wouldn’t.
“Okay, we’re at thirty thousand, from Mrs. Waverly.”
Thirty thousand?
Wait—weren’t the Waverlys in the middle of a divorce? His hands began to sweat.
Sierra!
“Okay, if there are no more bids—going once, twice—”
Sierra flicked her paddle. “Thirty-one!”
Finally. Sheesh.
“Thirty-two.” Waverly, shooting a glare at Sierra.
Sierra shrugged. “Forty.”
Forty? Forty thousand for—
“Forty-five.”
Had she lost her mind? He wanted to turn Waverly’s wife to ash, but he forced himself to smile.
Sierra was looking at him, an eyebrow raised. Apparently she could read his mind.
Except, wait, he’d told her not to go above forty, never dreaming the bidding could get over ten.
He gave her an imperceptible—maybe too imperceptible—nod.
“Going to—”
“Fifty thousand!” Sierra yelled.
He wanted to leap from the stage in joy as Sierra came forward, leveling an “I dare you” gaze at Mrs. Waverly. “I’m telling you, ma’am, I’ll keep outbidding you, because he’s mine.”
She had a little fire in her eyes, and he couldn’t help the strange quickening of his pulse.
Not that she meant anything by it, but—
“Sold! To . . . who are you, ma’am?”
She glanced at Ian, grinned. “I’m his date for the night.”
Right. He climbed off the stage as she came over and, just like the redhead, put her hand through his crooked arm.
He leaned down to her. “Way to make me sweat.”
She laughed, looked up at him, her eyes gleaming. “Oh, I could do worse than that if I wanted. But for now, I’m hungry.”
As if reading her mind, a waiter zipped by, and Ian snagged one last savory puff from the tray, this one different but just as tasty as the cheese version.
Sierra dropped her auction paddle off at the door, and he stopped by the cashier in the back, pulled out his card, wrote the amount on the back. “I’ll have my accountant send the money in on Monday.”
Then, before he got into any trouble, he led Sierra outside, to the lobby. “Dinner is at the Hotel Americana.”
“Oh, is it?” She looked at him, winked. “Right.”
Something about her seemed different. Delightful, almost giddy.
On the street, his driver got out and held open the door to the limousine. Ian took her hand, helped her in. She scooted to the far end of the couch. “There’s a moon roof!” She leaned up, moving the glass back. “Hello, New York!”
He got in, laughing.
She settled back, kicking off her shoes. “Oh, that was so much fun! I’ve never been to such a fancy event. Did you see the ice sculpture? In the shape of a unicorn?” She wrinkled her nose at him. �
��This is some shindig! And those appetizers—salmon puffs, and I don’t know what the other one was, but wow. I wanted to fill my dinky little purse with them.”
He laughed. She had pulled her legs up under her dress and now reached back as if to pull the pins out of her hair.
“What are you doing?” He caught her hand. “Don’t take your hair down.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Uh, why not?”
“Because the evening’s not done. We have dinner and . . . what?”
She was frowning then, moving very slowly as she pulled her hand away. “I don’t understand. I thought this was just for show. I didn’t think you really made reservations.”
Oh. His chest tightened. “I have something to ask you.”
He suddenly felt not so brilliant.
In fact, his words clogged, and for some reason he couldn’t push them out.
He leaned back in the seat, his hand on his suddenly tightening chest.
She sat up then, considering him. “You’re sweating. Are you okay, Ian?”
Come to think of it, he wasn’t. In fact, his chest continued to burn, his throat to tighten. He swallowed, found it harder to breathe.
“I’m going to touch your forehead. Oh, you’re burning up. Ian . . .” She reached for his bow tie, had it off in a second. “Are you having trouble breathing?”
He nodded now, and for the first time considered it wasn’t because of the words still lodged inside.
She turned in the seat, opened the door to the driver compartment. “We need a hospital, now!”
“I’m, fun . . .” Huh, his lips felt fat, hot.
“You’re not fun. Your lips are swelling, and I think you’re going into anaphylactic shock.”
“Huh?” That came out clearly. “I wah—”
“Stop talking. Just breathe.” She turned in her seat. “Hurry!”
She undid the buttons on his shirt, opened his collar. “I think I know what was in those cheese puffs—and it wasn’t just cheese.” She leaned down and pressed her head to his chest, listening.
He had the crazy urge to wrap his arms around her. The words, all of them formulated into three, and he pushed them out in a rasp. “Don . . . lef . . . meh.” Shoot. Don’t leave me.
She sat back up, his words lost to her. “Mushrooms. I sent them your allergy list. I can’t believe this!” She shook her head. “Don’t you die on me, Ian. That is not on our itinerary!”
He managed a feeble chortle, then began to cough.
“Where’s your epi pen?” She put her hands on his jacket, then searched his inner pockets.
“I don’t—”
“It’s probably back at the hotel—I shouldn’t have let all this fancy stuff distract me! Shh, stop talking. Breathe.”
It wasn’t fine. Not at all. Because it couldn’t end like this.
Not with him being such an idiot. “Don—” Leave me. Don’t—
Then his airway cut off. He gulped, trying for a breath, but nothing gave.
“Ian?” Her voice rose. “Ian!”
They’d pulled up to the hospital.
And then she was on her feet, screaming through the moon roof.
He grabbed her ankle, holding on to her, a lifeline, his only sure thing, fighting as the world closed in—shadows, then striations of light, and finally, black.
4
Kacey leaned her head back against the cool wall of the PEAK Rescue barn, staring up at the folds of night. The sky had cleared, and the air was crisp and filled with the soggy redolence of cattle droppings and the scent of pine combed from the nearby mountains.
She pressed her finger and thumb against the bridge of her nose, the fatigue layering her voice as she spoke into her cell phone. “I promise, she’s fine, Mom. She’s with her youth group.”
“She was with that boy Nate, wasn’t she?”
Of course her mother had somehow already found out about Audrey and Nate—how, Kacey couldn’t know, but then again, she never understood how her mother found out anything. She secretly believed her mother had a network of spies scattered throughout Mercy Falls—and had probably enacted her sleepers during this particular crisis.
“She was, but—”
“And this is why we asked you to come home, Kacey. It’s time you talk some sense into her.”
Kacey could imagine her mother dressed in a pair of yoga pants, maybe a workout jacket—her preferred outfit around the house, even this late at night. Her blonde hair cut into a blunt bob, she would be pacing her newly remodeled kitchen in their five-thousand-square-foot whitewashed log home situated on forty acres of pristine Montana forest.
Or she might be standing in the middle of her vaulted great room, with the two-story river rock fireplace, the expansive view of the Haskill River basin.
No doubt Kacey’s father, the Judge, would be sitting in a nearby wingback, whispering instructions on what to say, how to say it, and generally critiquing the entire phone call.
Not that her mother needed any help delivering her opinion. “I know, Mom. But I’m not sure what kind of sense you mean. She seemed fine—glad to see me. Kept her head on her shoulders all night long as—”
“She was out all night with him?”
“On a ledge. On a mountain. She made them a shelter, pretty much kept him from going into shock. I’m not trying to be dramatic here when I say she may have saved their lives.”
“Yes, but why was she out there with him in the first place? You know how this happens, what this leads to.” On the other end, her mother sighed, and Kacey closed her eyes, squeezing tight to keep her voice from spooling out for the second time today.
“Mom. Let’s just not jump to conclusions. I’m flying back up the mountain to pick up Audrey in the morning. Then, hopefully there will be a makeshift highway bridge across the Mercy River and we’ll drive home by midafternoon. Let’s save our recriminations until tomorrow.”
“Kacey, you need to take this seriously. You weren’t much older than she was when you took up with Ben. And we both know how that derailed your entire life. I don’t think you want that for Audrey. I know we don’t.”
Her mother knew how to reach through the phone lines, grab her by the heart, and inflict pain.
“Yep,” she said, not willing to fight. “Listen, I’ll call you tomorrow on our way home. I just wanted to let you know that we were both okay.”
“And thank the Lord for that.”
“See you tomorrow, Mom.” Kacey clicked off, tapping her phone on her leg as she let her mother’s words sift through her.
“I don’t think you want that for Audrey.”
She couldn’t help but cast her gaze to the park, where, right now, Ben could be betraying her. This day had gone south way too fast.
Please, Ben.
Six hours of rescue. Flying had helped the panic, the frustration, and frankly, the disbelief to settle to a low simmer of worry.
She no longer required just a strategy to survive the summer in close working contact with Ben King. Now she had to figure out how—or if—she should let him wheedle his way into her daughter’s life. Although, deep in her gut . . .
A small, mustard-seed-sized part of her knew he deserved to know his daughter. That he might even be good for her.
After all, every girl needed a daddy, right?
She pushed up from the wall of the barn and headed toward the PEAK ranch house, where lights from the windows pushed out past the porch, illuminated the soggy ground. Next to the house, a couple pickups caked with grime evidenced some of the team had gathered inside.
She stopped by her Escape, pulled out her backpack, then headed inside to the warmth and smells of the headquarters.
Jess sat at the long counter, eating a plate of spaghetti, dragging garlic bread through the sauce. She’d changed out of her jumpsuit into a pair of jeans and a black pullover, had her hair back in a loose ponytail, and had one leg under her as she leaned into the counter.
“Hey, Kace,” Jess sa
id, apparently okay with instant familiarity.
Kacey toed off her boots at the door.
A man Kacey didn’t recognize turned from where he was serving himself noodles at the stainless stove. Dressed in a green T-shirt, a baseball cap perched backward on his head, brown hair flowing from the back, he looked like a surfer who’d taken a wrong turn. He was barefoot, and his jeans were clean, albeit faded. His dark brown eyes took her in a second, assessing before he smiled.
“Hey,” he said, setting down his plate on the counter and heading over with his hand outstretched. “I’m Gage Watson. I’m the other EMT around here. Sounds like you and Jess had all the fun today.”
Kacey met his grip.
He picked up his plate and finished ladling up his sauce. “Jess said you were pretty boss flying IFR out of the park.” He looked up, glanced across the room. “Did you hear that, Ty? Competition.”
Her gaze followed his gesture to another man sitting on the sofa against the wall. He wore a jean jacket, and his stocking feet were propped up on the worn coffee table as he watched the local news. Black hair, cut short, a gray T-shirt. He looked over at Gage, and one eyebrow dipped down. Then, his gaze caught on Kacey, and he took a breath, blew it out, and leaned up, taking his feet off the table. “Hi,” he said. “You must be Kacey.”
She nodded.
“I’m Ty. The backup pilot, apparently.”
Oh.
But he got up then, came over to her with a sort of cowboy swagger, and held out his hand. “Ty Remington. Glad to meet you.” He glanced then at Gage, narrowed his eyes. Gage grinned at him, shrugging.
“Pretty good spaghetti,” Gage said to Kacey. He slid onto the barstool next to Jess. “Chet’s special—he always makes it when we come in from a call. Ruth’s recipe.”
“With the fresh basil?” She walked over to the pot, took a whiff. Yes, that might heal a few aches. She found a plate in the cupboard and dished herself up dinner, trying not to feel guilty.
The crew up on the mountain had probably eaten rehydrated goulash.
“Apparently, Jared, the youth pastor, came down the trail and got in contact with Chet. He couldn’t get us on the radio, so he sent Pete and Miles—you’ll meet them—up the trail,” Jess said. “They’re probably camping out with Ben and Willow tonight. He said you could fly out Audrey and a few of the younger girls in the morning. Ty can go with you—”
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