A red 5 flashed on and off, indicating how many calls she’d ignored since yesterday.
Go for it. She could use the mental break. Sliding onto a bar stool, she pressed play.
Beep. “Yo, Vic. It’s Dean. We’re short on hot chocolate, toilet paper, and duct tape for tomorrow’s climb. Could you pick some up in the morning on your way into the office?”
Yes, dear.
Beep. “Hey, sweetie. It’s Rainbow. Dean says you guys have a trip leaving tomorrow. I’ll drop by your shop around breakfast. I tried a new tofu recipe I know you’re gonna love. Ciao! Oh, by the way, a really nice guy joined my Yoga for Stress class today. He’s perfect for you. I’ll tell you about him when I see you. Ciao!”
When are you going to learn I’m not interested in dating or Austrian Curd Cake?
Beep. “Victoria, love. Duff ‘ere. I owe ye fer savin' me arse yesterday. Wadda say I buy dinner fer ye an’ thet blokes fer helpin’ us? Can’t fly fer six weeks ‘cause of dis damn broken wrist an’ damn FAA, so anytime works. Let me know.”
Free dinner? You’re on.
Beep. “Vicky, it’s Kaitlin. I did a little research at the university law library. Summit Energy can sue us by claiming ShastaWatch is violating their right to use the property in an economically viable way. Considering we don’t have any money for a legal battle, maybe we should reconsider our no-compromise position. What do you say, boss?”
No. Hell no.
Beep. “Vicky? David here. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going up to the Mineral Springs site this afternoon and take some pictures with my new telephoto lens. Who knows? Maybe I can catch ‘em doing something we can use against them.”
Great. Maybe we’ll find something we can use to stop these creeps.
Vicky hit the delete-all button, then headed back into the great room, feet padding softly on the slate floor. Heat radiated from the grand fieldstone fireplace but failed to warm her soul.
She retrieved a worn manila envelope hidden behind a row of books on the mantel. Sitting on the raised hearth, she dumped the contents into her lap. Photos. Clippings. Memories.
From once upon a time.
The top image, of a handsome couple dressed in white, brought tears to her eyes. Their wedding day had been the happiest time of her life. With Christiaan at her side, life would be perfect.
Next, she paged through clippings from her journalism days. A profile of the Sierra Club’s efforts to curb air pollution. A report on fraud and incompetence within the EPA. An in-depth piece about the potential environmental consequences of the Exxon Valdez oil spill.
And the feature she’d written about the new thirty-something CEO of VL Holdings, a family-owned European conglomerate into everything from oil exploration to shipping to retail. A puff piece she’d only consented to pen in exchange for the magazine agreeing to publish a four-part expose on the government’s plan to grant power companies permits to develop alternative energy sources on Federal lands.
Stapled to the article was a copy of their marriage license, issued only a month after she’d interviewed him. Behind that was a picture from their last Christmas together. Christiaan was handsome, healthy, and happy. She stood next to him, overweight, miserable, and drunk. The photo was a chilling reminder never to trust love—or a man—ever again.
A small picture fell to the floor. Fuzzy and fragile, the tiny black-and-white print with its blurred fingers and hazy body outline was the only evidence of the miracle they’d made together. Vicky caressed the image.
“What happened to us, Christiaan?” The pain made her throat constrict. “What happened?”
Memories of her previous life flowed over her like an avalanche. Tears fell as she negotiated the maze of emotions surrounding yesterday’s rescue. The phone ringing forced her attention back into the now.
Vicky breathed slowly. The knot in her throat faded. The pressure in her chest weakened. Once again, she’d overcome the pain without crawling into a bottle of Scotch.
The answering machine beeped. “Hey, it’s Nelson,” played through the speaker. “I talked with Beckwith today. The Congressman has decided not to support us on the Mineral Springs issue. Seems he talked with the Summit Energy people this afternoon. He thinks the company’s proposed measures to reduce the environmental impact of the geothermal project are fair and urges us to accept them and move on. Call me when you get this message, and I’ll fill you in on the details.”
Argh! Vicky grabbed a log from the stack by the hearth and heaved it into the fire.
Destroying a pristine area, used by recreational visitors and Native American tribes for thousands of years, simply to turn a buck was not fair.
It was irresponsible, bordering on immoral.
Mt. Shasta and the surrounding land was sacred, a place that deserved protection at any cost.
The mountain was the anchor in Vicky’s life. Her new life. And nobody would take that away from her.
Not again.
Summit Energy had no idea who they were dealing with. Vicky shoved her memories back into the envelope.
Rest in peace, Brianna. Rest in peace.
Vicky parked her clunker truck next to Dean’s motorcycle then slipped through the back door of their Climbing for Singles business. She stifled a yawn.
Sleep had been erratic at best last night. After a few fitful hours, she’d given up and returned to the climbing wall until the wee hours.
Nothing a strong cup of motor oil her business partner called coffee couldn’t fix. Slip into the back room, down a cup of sludge, and head out to meet the Romeos and Juliets on this trip.
The private office door lay open. Dean sat at the desk, talking on the phone. His long legs and size-thirteen feet stretched across the floor in his patented no-worries mode.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “We’ll make sure she gets plenty of material for her article.”
Article? Vicky tensed. What article? She tossed the nine-roll pack of toilet paper at her partner’s head. He deflected it with one hand while hanging the phone up with the other.
The roll of duct tape would have been harder to miss.
And hurt more.
“What’s got you on the warpath this morning?” He stood then headed for the grind and brew in the far corner.
“Who was that on the phone? What article?”
“Nothing, Vic. Hey, I made some fresh coffee. Wanna cup?”
“Dean…” She aimed an evil eye.
“Okay, okay.” He threw his hands up in surrender. “That was the managing editor for Inc. magazine. He wanted to make sure his reporter had arrived. She’s going to do a small feature on Climbing for Singles.”
“When we talked last week, I believe I said ‘We’ll see’.”
Dean chuckled. “Which means no. Come on, Vic.” He inclined his shaggy blond head. “This is a major magazine. Think of the publicity. It’ll be great for business.”
But not for her. What if someone recognized her as Brianna? Her looks had changed a great deal, but why tempt fate?
Biting her lip, she ran a hand through her short locks.
“Not the hair thing.” Dean rolled his eyes.
“The hair thing?”
He pointed at her head. “When you’re upset, you bite your lip, then push a hand through that red mop of yours.”
“Call the editor back and tell him we’ve changed our minds.”
“Can’t.” Dean shrugged. “The reporter is already here and ready to tag along on this trip. Besides, if we make a big deal about this, it looks like we have something to hide. This way, we have some control.”
Good point. Besides, Christiaan usually avoided the media, especially from the States.
“I still don’t like it.” Vicky let out a sigh.
“Of course you don’t,” Dean laughed. “But you’ll get over it.”
He came around the desk and hooked an arm around hers. “Come on. Let’s get the party started.”
They walked out to whe
re a dozen people wandered the large main room of Climbing for Singles. A handful stood next to the bulletin board, reviewing the itinerary for the two-day climb leaving in a few hours. Another group waited by the equipment room to be fitted with rental gear.
“Call me crazy, but man I love my job.” Dean winked at Vicky before making a beeline to a statuesque blond struggling with her backpack.
Vicky laughed. She’d called him crazy five years ago when he’d suggested they start a guide service catering to unmarrieds. From the first trip, Climbing for Singles had been a success.
And so, too, was Vicky Golden.
She checked her watch. A few more minutes then they’d herd everybody into the classroom so Dean could start orientation. A yawn escaped. First, she needed coffee.
“Hey, sweetie!” A way, way too-perky voice stopped her.
She turned to see Rainbow Sun Rubin, ShastaWatch co-founder, self-proclaimed steward of Vicky’s love life, and the closest thing she had to a best friend. The spontaneous and free-spirited yoga instructor loved everyone. But threaten someone or something she was passionate about, and Rainbow was like a mother bear protecting her cubs.
“Hey, girl.”
Rainbow held up a small plastic container. “I brought some Pine Nut Seed Bars for lunch.”
Vicky cringed. A vegetarian for several years, she ate healthier than most people. But her friend was a devoted raw foodie who believed man shouldn’t eat anything cooked. Today’s entrée looked like something only a squirrel could find appetizing. Maybe.
“They’re rich in vitamins and enzymes.” Rainbow popped the top and shoved the container toward Vicky. “Try one.”
Vicky raised her hands in protest. “Too full. Maybe later?”
“Oh. My. God.”
Great. Now you hurt her feelings.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Vicky offered. “I know you made these just for me, but I’m not—”
Rainbow shook her head and pointed behind Vicky. She turned around. Her breath caught short in her throat.
Oh. My. God.
The most unforgettable rugged face met hers, muscles clenched along the chiseled jaw line. Thick brown hair turned at the collar framed a pair of Windex-blue eyes. Every step toward her highlighted a powerful, well-muscled body in a worn leather jacket, unbuttoned white shirt, and tight faded jeans.
That regal bearing and self-assurance exuded wealth and power. Two basic requirements on any woman’s turn-on list.
Vicky knew without looking that every female in the room wanted to be his.
Including herself.
Raw heat that had been lying dormant for years surfaced. Her breath hitched.
Covering the distance between them in three long strides, her husband stopped so close she could smell his distinctive male scent.
Their eyes locked. The same white-hot fire that had burned her when they first met fifteen years ago flamed again.
Heart hammering against her chest, she extended her hand.
“Hello, I’m Vicky Golden.”
CHAPTER THREE
Christiaan froze. He wouldn’t have been more surprised if the statuesque redhead in front of him had introduced herself as Queen of The Netherlands.
“Hello?” The shapely beauty’s hand remained extended. Her eyes narrowed.
He mouthed a reply, but nothing came out. All he could manage was to stand there and stare.
And stare. And stare.
Next to him, Baz voiced an appreciative “Whoa.”
With a capital W.
The passing likeness to Bri when they’d first met was startling. Vicky’s eyes were gray like his wife’s, but the hue was different. Bri’s had been sparkling platinum. These verged on stormy silver.
The differences were just as astonishing.
And stunning.
Vicky’s features were much thinner, more defined than Bri’s. The nose, pert, almost sculpted. Lips, soft and full. Her hair was short and a deep auburn color, not long and brown like Bri’s.
His gaze dropped to the bright blue top clinging to muscled shoulders and toned arms.
Breasts, definitely smaller.
But still quite nice. His cock stirred.
“Hello?” she repeated. This time he detected a touch of annoyance. The voice was deep and devoid of Bri’s native Texas twang.
Because this woman isn’t your wife.
That simple truth failed to explain the immediate connection he felt with this incredibly beautiful woman. Or the sexual shockwave that shot through him.
Staring at her like a complete idiot wouldn’t solve either mystery.
“Hello, my name is… is… ah… ah—”
“Christiaan,” Baz finished for him. “And I’m Baz.” He brought Vicky’s hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Forgive us for staring, Miss Golden. You remind us both of someone we used to know.”
And loved.
Christiaan’s rational mind finally kicked into gear. He held out his hand. “Miss Golden, this is a pleasure.”
Her handshake was cold. Her facial expression even chillier.
“And you are?” Baz turned, repeating the chivalrous gesture with the woman standing next to Vicky. Definitely his friend’s type. Long blond hair, pretty face, and dressed like the bohemians that frequented Baz’s favorite Amsterdam coffee shop.
“Rainbow,” she said between giggles. “Nice to meet you.”
Baz winked. “The pleasure is—and I hope it also will be tonight—all mine.”
Christiaan hoped his friend was making plans to probe the girl for information on ShastaWatch. From the look on Baz’s face, that wouldn’t be the only probing done tonight.
Christiaan turned his attention back to Vicky.
“Miss Golden, we’re here to thank you for helping us yesterday.”
She stood there, biting her lower lip and combing her right hand through that gorgeous auburn hair.
Something about the gesture intrigued him. He shook off the feeling.
“On the mountain?”
“Yes,” Christiaan said. “From what everyone has told me, it could have been worse had you not reached me in time.”
“You’d be dead.” Vicky cleared her throat then gave the room a cursory glance before training her exquisite eyes on him again. “But you’re not.”
“Thanks to you.” He smiled, but her expression remained as cold as the mountain she’d rescued him on.
“Excuse me, but I have work to do,” she said, then nodded to Baz. “Mr. Yager. Rainbow, later.” Vicky turned and strode off toward the back of the room.
What? That’s it?
Being summarily dismissed was not something Christiaan Gerhard Cornelus Jan Stokman, Baron van Laere, was used to. Not even if the speaker was amazingly good looking, utterly fascinating, and temptingly kissable.
Women generally tripped over themselves—and each other—vying for his attention. They generally fell into two categories. Those who wanted to be filthy rich and those harboring a serious Cinderella fantasy.
Now, a third category… capable of single-handedly reversing the effects of global warming.
Christiaan studied Vicky’s retreating back for a moment. Two questions popped into his mind.
Who the hell was she?
And why did he care?
“Wow, didn’t the Titanic bang into her?” Baz said. “That’s one cold hottie. She may look a bit like Brianna, but that’s where the similarities end.”
“You’ll have to forgive my friend,” Rainbow said. “She’s normally not this—”
Frigid?
“—distracted.”
“I understand. We did come unannounced.” Christiaan stared at the doorway where Vicky had escaped. Should he wait here? Follow her?
The second option would be quite a challenge considering the hard-on fighting for space in his pants.
Another option? Forget her. If the Ice Princess couldn’t thaw enough to acknowledge appreciation when it was given, screw h
er. He had bigger issues to deal with.
Like a cold shower.
“It’s this awful situation with the mountain,” Rainbow said. “It’s got all of us tied up in knots, especially Vicky.”
Not his problem.
“Those people at Summit Energy are such bastards.”
His problem.
“Summit Energy?” Christiaan jerked his head toward Baz. From his face, he thought the same thing.
“Yes, those pigs want to build a geothermal industrial park that will degrade air quality, increase water pollution, damage living organisms, and threaten public health. But we are going to stop them.”
“We are…?” Baz asked.
“ShastaWatch.”
The proverbial thorn in Christiaan’s side.
“And Miss Golden is a member?” he asked.
Rainbow nodded. “A founder. We started the group together, but she’s really the driving force. Nobody’s as passionate about protecting the mountain as Vicky.”
A loud clap interrupted the conversation. “Okay, everybody.” A scruffy young man started herding people. “Orientation time. Make your way to the classroom, please.”
“Who’s that?” Christiaan asked Rainbow.
“Oh, that’s Dean. The other half of Climbing for Singles.”
“Excuse me.” Christiaan caught the man as he walked past them. “I didn’t get a chance to finish my conversation with your partner. Is she in the back?” He nodded to where the Ice Princess had disappeared.
Dean shrugged one shoulder. “I doubt it. She probably already left to take gear and provisions to the trailhead.”
“How soon until she returns?”
“In a couple days. After this trip.” Dean pointed toward the classroom. “Excuse me. Gotta get in there to get this show on the road.”
“Of course.” Christiaan nodded his head. “Thanks for your help.”
The man returned the gesture and left.
“Am I getting this right?” Baz whispered in Christiaan’s ear. “The hottie with the cold shoulder is the pain in our project?”
“So it appears,” Christiaan said, his mind racing at lightning speed. ShastaWatch was the key to Mineral Springs. He either had to appease them or find a way to force their cooperation.
'Til Death Us Do Part Page 2