Unexpectedly Hers (Sterling Canyon Book 3)

by Jamie Beck

  Emma’s face broke into a wide smile. She wished she could call her friends and share her news, but she’d never take that gamble. They loved and admired the sensible, steady Emma Duffy they knew, and she wouldn’t change that for anything. While she knew they’d accept her novel, and her, after their initial shock wore off, still the “secret” would no longer be under her control. If either Avery or Kelsey told another person—like their fiancés—it would eventually make its way back to her very Catholic, very conservative mother. Not only would that result in endless prayers for Emma’s soul and a stern visit from Father O’Malley, no doubt it also would reopen old wounds, and her mom would blame Emma’s dad for the rotten DNA.

  She hadn’t exactly forgiven her dad for running off—for letting his ego and libido destroy their family and leaving her with a mother who’d fallen into a pit of despair.

  Emma stood outside her mother’s room listening to her sobs echoing off the tile in her shower stall. Every day since her father had left, her mother retreated to that shower to cry. Sometimes twice. And she’d been taking pills that turned her into a zombie.

  “Emma, what are you doing?” Grammy stood near the top of the stairwell.

  “Mom’s crying again.”

  Grammy’s brows pinched together as she waved Emma in for a hug. “Come away, dear. Let’s go bake cookies.”

  Cookies might make Emma feel better, but they wouldn’t help her mom. “Grammy, how can I help make Mom stop crying and sleeping all the time? I can’t stand all the sadness. I’m scared.”

  Grammy patted her head and offered a wrinkly smile. “You keep being a good girl, Emma. She’ll remember that you’re the most important thing in her life soon enough. In the meantime, do everything you can to make her proud.”

  Emma hugged Grammy again. “I will. I promise.”

  “That’s my girl. Now, here’s the bigger question. Snickerdoodles or chocolate chocolate chips?”

  Emma rolled her eyes. Was there even a question? “Chocolate!”

  A little tingle traced down her spine from that memory. Yet, even knowing what the damage of being discovered would do to her mother, and to their relationship, Emma hadn’t been able to stop herself from writing once the story began spinning itself in her head. Now she’d do just about anything to keep from hurting her mother.

  Aside from the moral disappointment, her mom would be devastated to think that Emma wanted something more than a future that consisted entirely of running the Weenuche together. It would undoubtedly feel like another betrayal, just like when her dad left to chase his dreams.

  No. She couldn’t come clean. The pen name gave her the opportunity to explore her sensuality in a way that wouldn’t harm anyone as long as she kept it to herself. It was enough for her.

  Her stories were her escape. Her very personal, private escape—one she’d enjoy all on her own.

  “If you have any questions or concerns after your marketing call later, let me know,” Jill said. “Be prepared for a slew of blogging obligations and some directives to up your social media interaction.”

  Dread about that latter point consumed Emma. All she wanted to do was write. She didn’t have anything interesting or funny to share on social media. Who cared about what Alexa Aspen had to say about anything real? Every time she posted anything it felt like a huge lie. Probably because it was a fiction—like Alexa—and each click reminded her that, contrary to what she wanted to believe, her integrity wasn’t quite as impeccable as she’d thought.

  “When will you send me the rest of your manuscript?”

  Emma bit her lip, unprepared to discuss the trouble she seemed to be having now, in the middle of the dang thing. “Soon.”

  “The sooner the better, so I have time to give you feedback before we submit it to your editor.” After a brief pause, she said, “Good luck with that call today.”

  “Thanks, Jill. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  She set down the phone and smoothed her hands over her face. Wyatt may be facing life-or-death peril on the mountain, but right now, her relative safety seemed a bit precarious, too.

  Having to juggle all of these things at the same time sort of sucked. She admitted, with defeat, that the “quiet” month she’d planned on enjoying had been a pipe dream. Hopefully both she and Wyatt would make it to December without any major setbacks.

  Chapter Four

  Wyatt fastened the thick Velcro waistband of his spinal protection gear. He twisted and bent his torso to ensure comfort before pulling on his fleece and outerwear.

  When he’d been younger, he hadn’t worried overmuch about injury, but Ryder’s accident had changed everything. The physical discomfort of the impact shorts and padding would be offset by the mental comfort they provided.

  “Don’t forget the GoPro,” Mari said, pointing at his helmet.

  Wyatt reached into his pack and took another minute to attach his GoPro. His pulse skipped ahead faster than normal, like it always did when he felt a lack of control.

  Changing specialties forced him far out of his comfort zone, but given his age and the time he’d taken off, going back to slopestyle hadn’t been the most viable option. Not to mention that panic he’d felt the one time he’d put himself on a course last year. At least in the backcountry, he wouldn’t be confronted with the memory of Ryder’s spectacular crash every time he approached a trick.

  That didn’t mean this type of competition was without danger. Or that his skillset would easily translate to the backcountry. But he forced those unhelpful thoughts away. He then double-checked his avalanche transceiver. “Buddy, make sure you’ve got your transceiver on and working.”

  “These Unidens have a fifty-mile range, so we shouldn’t lose communication.” Mari handed Wyatt and Buddy each a walkie-talkie. “Now, before you zip everything up, let’s go outside and get a quick interview out of the way.”

  The van door slid open, revealing cloudy, gray skies. It had stopped snowing, which improved visibility. Wyatt peered into his binoculars and studied the face of the mountain, picking out an ideal fall line.

  He scanned the field for markers to help him navigate his way toward the desired starting point, certain the landscape would all look very different up there than it did from down here. After punching a few notes into his phone as reminders—big rock here, copse of trees there—he then zipped his phone into an interior jacket pocket, right next to the inReach GPS safety device that had a direct dial to local search and rescue teams. When he turned to find Buddy, he noticed that Jim had already set up for taping.

  Naturally, Mari dove straight into her questions. “Can you give us a brief rundown of what’s in your pack, how you feel, and what you hope to accomplish today?”

  Wyatt had never been the most articulate guy, and he didn’t want to spend a whole lotta time thinking through everything. He did best when acting on instinct. Too much thinking led to worries, and worries weren’t his friend up there on the slopes.

  Still, this film would be a gateway to more sponsors, so he plastered a stupid grin on his face. “I’m told this is one of the better backcountry ridges in the area. As you know, most of my experience is in terrain parks, so my sole goal today is to take a few runs and get a handle on the transition . . . test my fluidity, see how I manage unexpected natural obstacles like a hidden rock or tree, and so on. Despite my airdog reputation, I’m not planning on pushing hard or attempting jumps and tricks. Just getting a feel for the difference.”

  “What’s your biggest concern?” Mari asked.

  Great. Not only did he need to think hard, but he also had to discuss the very things he didn’t want to dwell on.

  “Honestly, I’m trying not to focus on anything negative. It’s a beautiful spot with tons of fresh snow. I’m eager to get out there, and hopefully won’t end up in a yard sale.”

  “Yard sale?” Mari’s brows rose.

  Wyatt took a second and really looked at her, standing there in her designer snow boots,
matching snug-fit outfit, big sunglasses—all black, of course. Very New York, as revealed by her unfamiliarity with snowboarding.

  “Major wipeout where you lose some gear.” He wondered then if she hoped he’d wipe out. Would make for more interesting film, no doubt.

  “I see you have a backpack, which is something you never wore in slopestyle competition. Can you talk about what’s in there?”

  Wyatt twisted the pack around and unzipped its outer pocket. “This here is called the wet room, and it’s for avalanche safety gear, like this shovel and the probe. Inside the main body of the pack, I’ve got lunch, extra goggles and gloves, sunscreen, first aid kit, and some other stuff. Buddy over there has all the same stuff in his, too, plus camera equipment.”

  “Seems like you’re taking on a lot—making a comeback after two years away from competition and transitioning to a sport with different terrain and dangers.”

  “I’ve always liked a challenge.” Wyatt smiled, not wanting her to probe his vulnerabilities.

  Mari, however, wouldn’t roll over that easily. She had a job to do, after all. Like every reporter he knew, she wanted blood in the water, and she’d keep chumming until she got some.

  “Some say you are getting too old to compete in slopestyle, and that the new stars have bigger, better jumps than in your day. Is that another reason you’ve switched to freeriding?”

  Wyatt looked away for a minute, uncertain whether to bluff or be honest at this point. He couldn’t guess three steps ahead to how she’d edit his comments to make him look smart or stupid, brave or foolish. He could give a simple yes or no to that question and be done with it. However, he valued honesty. “No doubt I would’ve considered a twenty-five-year-old competitor ancient when I won my first International gold medal at nineteen. And when I left the sport, no one had landed a quad cork yet. It wouldn’t have been a cakewalk to step back into that arena now, ’though I’d like to think I still have it in me.”

  He paused, not able to admit that his brother’s crash had spooked him. That the hard surfaces and groomed parks of his past no longer seemed safe. But he couldn’t say the words—at least, not aloud. “Like I already told you, once we knew Ryder was out of the woods, it became clear that, mentally, he was struggling to accept all the changes—to see a future that excited him. So, I hope, by letting go of the old, familiar stuff, I might inspire him—and others in his shoes—to embrace change. New challenges can be exciting. Nothing lasts forever, but you keep going, pushing, growing.”

  He shrugged and waved a hand, signaling an end to that discussion. He’d already shared more than he’d intended and more than Ryder would appreciate. Then again, had Ryder come along as he’d originally promised, Wyatt wouldn’t have needed to ad lib like that. “Let’s stop talking and get moving. Visibility is good now, and I’d rather go up there before it snows again.”

  Without giving Mari a chance to ask another question, he zipped up his pack, fastened his board to it, and hefted everything onto his back. “Ready, Buddy?”

  Buddy nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Jim shut down the other camera and began packing it away.

  “We’ll be in touch over the walkie-talkies.” Mari waved hers in the air. “Between Buddy, Jim, and the GoPro, we’ll have some great footage today.”

  Wyatt gave her a thumbs-up and then began his climb, with Buddy on his heels. Once they’d moved away from Mari and Jim, Wyatt said, “Hope you don’t mind if I’m on the quiet side on the way up. I need to pay attention to the terrain and think about next steps.”

  “No problem. I’m fine checking out the scenery and catching my breath!” Buddy replied.

  Wyatt nodded before surveying craggy mountains, couloirs, and fir trees. Thick piles of heavy snow buffeted most sounds, making the rubbery squeak of boots against wet snow and the huffing of breaths the only things he really heard. Gorgeous country . . . if only he didn’t need to master it.

  Within thirty minutes, sweat trickled down his back beneath the protection gear. Hiking with a pack and a board wasn’t for pussies. He glanced back to check on Buddy, who’d dropped about twenty yards behind. Wyatt gulped down some water, then waited for Buddy to catch his breath, too.

  “I’m going to hike up to that ledge.” Wyatt pointed westward, suppressing the flip of his stomach. “You could set up a little lower, on that rocky outcropping to the side there. You can catch me dropping in, film me shredding through there, then pack up your gear and follow me down. Sound good?”

  “Yeah.” Buddy nodded. “Let’s keep going, or Mari will be barking at us about the time.”

  Another twenty or so minutes passed before Wyatt reached the ledge. He heard Buddy and Mari on the walkie-talkie, and knew that Jim had just sent the drone up the mountain. GPS made tracking a whole lot easier than it must’ve been for guys a decade ago, and sure enough, the drone appeared above Wyatt in short order.

  If only Ryder had shared this with him. Wyatt would’ve preferred to have heard his brother’s voice pumping him up before he leapt off the cornice, like he always had. Get over it. He took a moment to take in the 360-degree views from the ledge. Miles of mountaintops that had been here long before him and would endure long after he’d gone. Right now, though, he needed to conquer this one. One run at a time, he reminded himself, hoping to calm the nerves dancing under his skin. He depressed the walkie-talkie transmitter. “You ready, Buddy? ’Cause I’m dropping in.”

  “I’m set,” Buddy replied through static.

  Wyatt stuffed the walkie-talkie in his pocket, adjusted his goggles, and drew a deep breath. He looked down the line he planned to follow: over the cornice, jab between the stands of trees, fly over a small cliff, and then shred down the lower bowl toward the van.

  Showtime. Gathering his courage, he twisted his neck left and right and then hucked over the edge.

  It’d been eons since Wyatt had landed in deep pow, which felt much different from the perfectly angled, manicured landing slopes of man-made jumps and courses. He carved a few turns and began to relax when a sort of groaning sound snagged his attention. Suddenly, the face of the mountain fractured, and the snow underfoot instantly shifted. He’d known that avalanches could move up to two hundred miles per hour, but speed became more terrifying when coupled with the sensation that the earth was crumbling.

  Wyatt’s heart kicked against his ribs like a bronco while he attempted to board off to the left, out of the path of the avalanche, but it was too wide. When he lost control, the thundering river of snow whisked him away, pitching him in a series of bumpy cartwheels.

  The rumble of tons of snow roared in his ears while shock numbed him to pain, despite being flung about like a rag doll.

  Protect a breathing space. That thought broke through the panic that had seized his entire being. His tumbling then abruptly came to a halt. Somehow he landed—disoriented and curled in a ball with his board, spitting snow from his mouth—inside a muted cave of snow.

  Enveloped in absolute darkness, cramped and claustrophobic, his breathing came shallow and fast in the silence. He fought the nausea caused by the echo of his breath in his ears and his relative blindness from being buried alive. At least he could wiggle his fingers and toes.

  Snow cemented around his body, squeezing him with each intake of air, making it impossible to catch his breath and relax. He thought of how Ryder would react to news of his death. His mom’s face flashed before his eyes, and he wondered if she’d ever forgive him. His dead father’s face surfaced next, and Wyatt wondered if he’d be joining him soon and if the man’s temper had followed him beyond the grave. Wyatt had spent years blaming the man for his failings and for their family’s struggles. Now, however, he remembered the pride his father had shown when Wyatt had started winning local competitions.

  Something broke open inside, making him wish he could see them all once more and say things he needed to say. Make apologies, tell them he loved them. Funny how the edge of death put petty angers in a different
perspective. Dammit, he didn’t want to die. Not here, not now. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

  A tear trickled down his cheek. When gravity pulled it toward his ear, he realized he’d landed on his back facing, generally, upward. He needed to reel in his dread and take control. Think his way to a calmer state of mind.

  Fearful of disrupting the air pocket he’d created, he slowly strained to reach inside his jacket and hit the inReach device, sending out an emergency signal to nearby search and rescue workers. He then checked to make sure his transceiver was still set to send, hoping Buddy could get to him and dig him out before he ran out of air.

  He didn’t know whether he’d been covered by one or ten feet of snow. Feet above the head meant more blood flow to his brain—a bit of good luck. He knew, statistically, he had an 80 percent chance of surviving if he was dug out within fifteen minutes. After that, his chances plummeted. Forcing the terrifying notion away, he snatched at every breath he could. Calm down. Think. Keep it together.

  With great care, and using as little energy as possible, he began to slowly chip away at the wall of the air pocket, desperate for light and oxygen.

  This couldn’t be how it ended for him. Buddy had been taping him, so he must’ve seen roughly where Wyatt might’ve landed. Buddy had a transceiver, shovel, and probe. Even if the inReach device failed, Mari would have called search and rescue already. He just had to hang on. Hang on and have faith.

  When Wyatt closed his eyes in the hopes of blocking out his circumstances, he pictured his brother’s face during their earlier argument. Ryder had been right—yoga hadn’t helped.

  Emma caught herself whistling while she managed some of the accounting. She normally hated Excel spreadsheets, but the marketing call had buoyed her spirits so much, she couldn’t help but smile. Her impending book launch seemed more real than it had been up to this point.