Wild Montana Skies

by Susan May Warren

  The crowd erupted, on their feet as Audrey dropped her bat and took off for first base.

  “Benji?”

  “Run, Audrey!” He ran to the fence, leaned over it. He windmilled his arm as she headed for second. The first runner rounded third.

  The right fielder picked up the ball next to the fence, threw it in a wild arc toward second. It landed halfway down the field, and the second baseman ran out to pick it up.

  One run in, and Audrey headed to third.

  “Run!”

  Kacey appeared beside him, screaming as the second baseman threw the ball to the pitcher, as cutoff.

  She turned, looked at the catcher.

  “Slide, Audrey!” He wasn’t sure who said it, him or Kacey, but suddenly Audrey hit the dirt.

  The ball hit the mitt of the catcher just as Audrey took out the girl at the knees.

  They fell together in a heap.

  “Safe!”

  Kacey turned, and as natural as breathing, leaped into Ben’s arms.

  He likewise caught her up, whirled her around, and when he set her back down, he felt it all click back into place. The smile in her eyes, the way she looked at him like he could save the world, save her world.

  Then she ran out to the field to join the celebration.

  Only then did he realize he still held his phone. But when he put it to his ear, Hollie had hung up.

  Ian didn’t want to begrudge a team of thirteen-year-olds their first victory of the season, but it seemed a sort of sacrilege for the sun to keep shining, the world to putter on when his niece lay decaying, lost in Glacier National Park.

  And after three days of hauling out the maps, tracing the hiking path the youth group had taken three years ago, sorting out where Dante’s body might have floated in from, Ian itched to get eyes on the park and start surveying the river.

  Hopefully the coroner would have some clues as to where to start.

  “We’re still waiting for the report, Ian,” Sam said, watching the celebration on the softball field behind him. The fact that Sam, in uniform, had decided to take his lunch break at the game—when he should be out interrogating Dante’s friends and family—irked him.

  Ian turned to take in the celebration, or whatever had Sam’s interest piqued, and his gaze fell on Sierra.

  High-fiving Kacey Fairing, then hugging one of the team members.

  She wore a tank top under a baggy wide-necked sweatshirt, her hair tucked back in a beret, a pair of painter pants rolled up at the cuffs, her old black high-top Cons. And he could hear her laughter from here, trickling inside him, buzzing under his skin.

  “It’s been almost a week—”

  “And we have our hands full tracking down every last resident, making sure people are safe and accounted for.” Sam turned to him, peering at him through his aviators. “I know Sheriff Blackburn packed up Dante’s body and sent it to the Flathead County medical examiner. He said he’d call you when he got the report.”

  “And in the meantime, my niece is who knows where.”

  “I’m sorry, Ian. I know this is upsetting. But maybe you can finally have some closure.”

  “You think this is better than believing she’s out there, living happily ever after?”

  A muscle pulled in Sam’s jaw. “No.”

  Ian shot another look at Sierra and froze when he saw her gaze on him. Her smile fell, her face suddenly drawn.

  And he had the crazy urge to go over to her and . . . and pour out his frustration. The nights that stretched out too long, the what-ifs chasing him into sleep.

  It’s my fault.

  He let those words burn inside him as he turned back to Sam. “Listen, I don’t want to wait. I want the team to take up the chopper, start searching the river—”

  “I’m sorry, Ian, but with the flood, the funds are used up. We don’t have money for a body search. Especially one that’s three years old.”

  “PEAK Rescue belongs—”

  “To the city as of a month ago, Ian. You signed it over.”

  “I still fund over 50 percent of its operations.”

  “I know. But it doesn’t mean you’re in charge anymore.” He held up a hand to Ian’s obvious retort. “Take a breath. Listen, just because we don’t have funds doesn’t mean you can’t privately hire some of the team. I need Pete, Gage, and Miles, but you can have Kacey. And maybe Jess, or—”

  “Ben. I need Ben. He knows the park, and he was there that summer.” He nodded at Ben standing in the infield.

  “Fine. Ben’s not even a part of the team. But listen, SAR is first priority. If I need Kacey and the chopper, I reserve the right to pull her in.”

  Ian’s chest rose and fell, loaded with a tangle of emotion.

  But Sam had turned away from him. “Hey, Sierra.”

  She walked past Ian without looking at him. “Sam.”

  “Could I talk to you . . .” Sam followed after her.

  Ian longed to spy on their conversation, but he forced himself to stay put, simply watch as Sam strode up beside her, as she looked at him, laughed. As he walked her out to her rattletrap car, held the door open for her.

  Wait—Sierra wasn’t seeing Sam, was she?

  Ian turned his back on the spectacle and headed for Ben, weaving through the parents and the girls still hugging each other.

  Ben stood with Kacey, talking to one of the players.

  “Ben, hey, can I talk to you a minute?” Ian turned to Kacey. “And you?”

  Kacey turned to the girl. “Get your stuff, honey, and meet me at the car. We’ll hit Scoops for an end-of-season treat.”

  “Can Mr. King go with us? Please, Mom?”

  Ian watched as something passed between Ben and Kacey.

  “Uh, well, your grandparents will probably tag along . . .”

  “I’ve got some calls to make,” Ben said. “Maybe another time.”

  But the girl’s expression clearly had Kacey regrouping. “It’s okay, Ben. My parents won’t mind.”

  Ben’s eyebrow went up, but he glanced at the girl, nodded. “Okay.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. King!” She ran off to retrieve her equipment.

  Mr. King. Ian had forgotten that Ben had a name for himself in music circles; he was used to seeing him in a completely different world here in Montana.

  Ben shoved his hands into his pockets. “Ian, how can we help you?”

  Ian suddenly felt like the storm cloud on their parade. “I need your help with a missing person search.”

  Kacey suddenly turned all ears. “Who’s missing?”

  “My niece, Esme.”

  Ben’s eyebrows went up. “Ian—”

  He held up his hand. “I know it’s been a while, but Dante James’s body washed up in the flood.”

  “I heard that,” Ben said, toeing the dirt with his boot. “I’m sorry.”

  “Then you know what that means,” Ian said. “Listen, I know that it’s a long shot, but I need you guys to dig in, retrace steps, and see if you can locate her.”

  Even to his own ears, he sounded tired and not a little desperate. Frankly, it added an edge to his voice. “I’m tired of dead ends. I need answers.”

  Kacey frowned. “We’ll do our best.”

  “I know. I’ll see you both tomorrow morning, first thing.”

  Ben frowned. “Tomorrow?”

  “First thing.” Ian turned and headed out to his truck.

  Across the parking lot, Sam had finally shut Sierra’s door. He stepped back and she waved out the window as she pulled away.

  Ian watched her drive away, then turned his vehicle toward the ranch.

  The late-afternoon sun simmered over the horizon as he drove, spilling gold over the standing water in ditches and submerged fields.

  He pulled onto the frontage road and spotted Chet sitting on his front porch in his wheelchair. He lifted a hand and waved, and Ian slowed, then put a foot on the brakes. He leaned over, rolled the window down. “You okay, Chet?”

/>   “Just enjoying the sunshine after a week of storms. But the home health aid Ben hired was just here and she brought a batch of cookies.” He gestured to a plate on a table next to his chair. “Want one?”

  In truth, just the mention of food had Ian’s stomach churning. With the flood in town, his housekeeper hadn’t made it out to the house, and he’d pretty much eaten his supplies down to the crumbs.

  He parked, got out, walked up the steps, and took a cookie from the proffered plate. Stared out at the land. “They found the body of Dante James,” he said quietly.

  “Sam told me when he stopped by to ask me where we searched. I gave him the rundown, but I still have the notes and grid if you’re interested.”

  “That would be great. I’ll send Sierra—I’ll be by tomorrow to pick them up.” He finished his cookie. “Thanks.”

  “Ian, wait. I know it’s none of my business, but according to the rumors around town, you fired Sierra.”

  “You’re right, it’s none of your business.” He didn’t mean for the words to emerge so sharp. “She lied to me about something. Or rather kept something from me, and . . . well, I can’t have someone I can’t trust on my staff.”

  Chet gave a slow nod. “So then I shouldn’t hire Sierra to run our communications center?”

  “What—no . . . I mean, yes. She’s . . . great.” He didn’t know why Chet’s words burned a hole through him. “She’ll be awesome.”

  “Really. But not trustworthy?”

  “She’s . . . well, she’s the best assistant I ever had.”

  “So you fired her.”

  Ian took a breath, his mouth settling into a tight line.

  But Chet didn’t seem to be done. “Ian. I’m not just your neighbor, I’m your friend. And you look like you haven’t slept in a week. Stop punishing her—and yourself—for making a mistake. I don’t know what she did, but certainly it’s not worth starving to death.” He gestured to the plate, where Ian had grabbed another cookie. “Or destroying your working relationship.”

  He considered Chet. “I just need someone who will obey me.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe I should give you old Jubal here. He’s super obedient.” He looked over at the yellow lab lying on the deck. The dog didn’t move, simply looked up with curious brown eyes.

  “Point taken. But I need someone I can depend on.”

  Silence.

  “I’m never stopping for cookies again.”

  Chet smiled. “Listen. The one thing I can still do is pray. So God and I chat all day. I haven’t forgotten you, and neither has he, Ian. You’re not alone if you don’t want to be. And that includes Sierra.”

  Ian’s smile had faded. “Don’t pray for me, Chet. I don’t need any more attention cast my way. God’s already wreaked enough havoc in my life.” He put the cookie back. “Hire Sierra. She’s a great employee—just not for me.”

  Then he got in his car and drove back to his ranch, Chet’s words a burr under his skin.

  “You’re not alone if you don’t want to be.”

  He shut the door behind him. The silence of the house sank into him like the afternoon rays now turning the reclaimed floors a dark umber.

  No. He was utterly, painfully, wretchedly, safely—and probably deservedly—alone. And that’s how he was going to stay.

  8

  A new day and a fresh perspective could change everything.

  In fact, if Ben got the words right, he and Kacey might find their way back to becoming friends.

  Ben sat in the copilot seat of the PEAK chopper, strapped in; the rotors hummed through his helmet as Kacey dipped down into the gorge carved out by the Mercy River, following it upstream. A moraine blue and edged with cut-ledge rock on one side and shaggy evergreen on the other, the wide, overflowing river glistened under the wink of sunshine high and bright.

  After an hour of flying up the middle fork of the river, they’d unearthed nothing but an occasional fisherman. Now, Kacey flew a route upstream to Lake McDonald, headed for Avalanche Creek deep into the mountains.

  “I don’t know how Dante’s body would make it all the way from Avalanche Creek through Lake McDonald, then into the Mercy River.” Kacey spoke through the headset.

  Indeed, the route seemed improbable, and Ben had pointed that out to Ian, who had met them this morning with such dark circles under his eyes he resembled an extra from The Walking Dead. “We promised him we’d be thorough,” he said. Ben looked out the side, scanning the shoreline.

  Nothing but tree debris, frothy residue, and jagged granite boulders spilling down into the river.

  “What’s that song you’re humming?”

  He glanced at her, but she didn’t look over.

  “I like it.”

  He hadn’t noticed he’d been humming but realized now that he’d also been tapping his finger on his jeans. “Nothing. Just something I woke up with.”

  “It’s nice. Catchy.” She picked up the tune, and something stirred inside him, filled his chest with warmth.

  She angled the chopper toward a falls and hovered there as he surveyed the pool of water until he shook his head. She continued upstream.

  “What happened, exactly?” she asked into her mic, through the headset.

  “With Esme?”

  “And Dante.”

  “Well, no one really knows. Esme and Dante were on a hiking trip to Avalanche Falls. My dad was leading it, along with Sierra and a couple other leaders from Mercy Church. Esme and Dante sneaked off during the night—or that’s the word. The next morning they were both gone, and no one could find them. Vanished without a trace. Speculation was they ran off together, but Ian couldn’t accept that. He spent all summer searching the park for them and the past three years hunting every hint of a lead.”

  “Sad. It’s hard to hold out so much hope for something.”

  He tried not to let her words find roost, and instead nodded.

  “What did he mean when he said for you to retrace your steps?”

  “I was in the original search three years ago.”

  “You came back to Mercy Falls? Why?”

  Oh. He didn’t expect the sudden rush of heat.

  The answer gathered right there, sticky on his tongue. He’d come back, success in his grip, and in the back of his head, regardless how unlikely, and the fact he knew she’d moved away, he harbored the dream that he might find her again.

  But she couldn’t know that. Not when she’d so clearly moved on, forgotten him.

  Ben cleared his throat. “My mom got sick. She was diagnosed with cancer, so I came home to talk about options. She sent me back to Nashville at the end of the summer.”

  “So you weren’t here for—”

  “No. She didn’t want me around—and really, she didn’t tell me how bad it was until the end.” He tried to keep the edge from his voice. “My dad finally called the day before she passed. I was on tour and jumped on the first plane I could get. Made it home before . . .” And now he couldn’t breathe.

  Kacey reached over, gave his arm a quick squeeze. “My mom wrote to me when she passed. I was in Iraq, otherwise I would have come back for the funeral.”

  He glanced over, gave her a tight smile. She met it, same expression.

  Her hand returned to the collective, and he felt the absence like a sudden chill.

  “I know she was proud of you. I remember her sitting in the front row of the sophomore talent show, cheering her heart out.”

  A happy memory. “I should probably blame her for my belief that I could sing.”

  “You could—can sing. You stole the show.”

  “Thanks.” He also remembered Kacey in the audience. Almost mentioned it, gulped it back.

  No need to stir the coals. She had a life, a future, something that didn’t include him.

  But together they did have Audrey.

  “Have you given any more thought to guitar lessons?” he asked.

  She nodded as they followed the fork to McDonald
Creek. “Maybe after her birthday.”

  She left the rest unsaid. Yes, he could teach her, if everything went well and Audrey didn’t react to the news about her father with an outraged sense of teenage betrayal.

  He watched as the river narrowed, scanning the shoreline, acid lining his throat.

  “You should know that I wish I’d been there that night. I was—”

  “Leave it, Ben. It’s done. We can’t go back.”

  So much for the right words.

  They rode in silence as they came out to Lake McDonald. She climbed to soar over it.

  For a moment, he simply breathed in the beauty, Howe Ridge to the north, Snyder Ridge to the south, the historic brown and white outline of McDonald Lake Lodge on the southeast shore, the glistening falls at the northeast end. The lake spread out below, striations of blue and aqua, almost translucent to the rocky bottom. A slight wind rippled the water, and a few boaters waved. Probably inlanders or the residents of the handful of cabins grandfathered in.

  Kacey arched over the lake, then slowed as she worked her way back up the river. She hovered over the ledges of McDonald Falls, the mist rising. “I don’t know how we’re going to find her. The river narrows from here.”

  Indeed, the gorge narrowed, the water frothy and choked with debris after the flood.

  Still, she dogged on, searching her side of the tangle of forest.

  “I checked—Audrey does have all three of your albums. She’s been singing them constantly since the softball game.”

  He allowed a smile. “Thanks for letting me tag along for ice cream.” As it turned out, her parents had opted out of the celebration, a decision that tempered his lingering fury at Judge Fairing. A little.

  “Audrey’s amazing, Kacey. You’ve done a great job.”

  Silence. Then, “She loves that song you sing with Hollie—what’s it called?”

  “Which one?”

  “Something about starting a fire?”

  His gut tightened. “Oh no, not that one.”

  “What?” She started to sing it. “‘Golden tan, a laugh for the band, I see you in the crowd, waving your Coke can—’”

  “Stop. No. You can’t let her sing that.”

  “Why not?”