They passed an area of downed trees, the evidence of a recent avalanche, and then finally emerged to the expansive view of the lake, sitting at the base of Bearhat Mountain. The jagged skyscape of the Rocky Mountains, the reflection of the pine trees and blue sky on the mirrored surface, all conspired to remind him, just for a moment, why he’d moved to Montana.
Peace. The hope of something new.
He spied Sierra sitting on the rocky beach of the lake, leaning back on her hands, soaking in the sun. Her eyes closed in repose as the sun kissed her skin.
She looked relaxed and not at all the jumpy assistant he’d asked to dinner.
Right then, Willow sat down next to her and Sierra opened her eyes. Caught Ian looking at her and smiled, something sweet.
He could count the hike worth it, right then.
And then he spotted Dante and Esme holding hands down by the water.
Be rational, man. He heard his own voice in counsel, but couldn’t breathe watching them, an irrational urge churning inside to stride across the beach and wrench their hands apart. Dante wasn’t a big kid, but sturdy enough, with broad shoulders and a look about him that suggested he could handle himself, maybe had some practice. He wore a thermal shirt, hiked up, a pair of faded jeans, Converse tennis shoes. And a proprietary look in his eyes when he gazed down at Esme.
He kissed her, and Ian nearly came out of his skin.
“Calm down.”
Sierra, who could probably read his thoughts, of course. She’d come over without him realizing it and now touched his arm.
“He’s trouble,” he muttered and turned away, his mood sour.
He hiked back to the campground, his gaze fixed on Dante and Esme, who’d stopped holding hands, God rest their souls. When they reached the site, Chet assigned Ian duties to set up tents on the boys’ side.
Ian made sure Dante set up his tent about a mile from Sierra and Esme’s.
They divided into groups, making dinner. Esme and Sierra helped Willow, and Ian gladly fetched firewood for the bonfire located on the girls’ side of camp.
They ate dinner of pigs in a blanket—dough wrapped around hot dogs and grilled over the fire. A young man named Jared pulled out a guitar and led them in camp songs as the fire shot sparks into the sky. A thin breeze whispered through the trees and overhead, the stars blinked on.
He searched for Sierra, and found her seated across from him on a log. She sat next to, of all people, Sam, laughing at something he said. Ian didn’t mean to stare, but he couldn’t seem to look away, caught by her smile, the way she pulled her hair free, gathered it back up in a braid.
For a second, she looked up at him. Her eyes widened and then she looked away.
Interesting, and it ignited the urge to get up, move over to her side of the fire.
Then Esme slid down to the ground in front of Dante, and Dante began to give her a backrub. Every nerve along Ian’s spine buzzed and he wanted to shout hand-check!
No one else seemed to notice, however.
He looked again to Sierra for reinforcement, and discovered that she’d gotten up. He followed her to the table and found her opening a bag of marshmallows.
“S’mores?” Ian asked, and she nodded. The firelight caught the hazel in her eyes, turned it gold. The moonlight shimmered on her hair.
“No camping trip is complete without roasted marshmallows.” She grabbed a plastic container. “But you’ve never had s’mores until you’ve had them between chocolate chip cookies.”
“That’s why you were baking.”
She opened the container. “Help yourself, Mr. Shaw.”
His hand stopped in midair. “Sierra. Really? Out here, please, let me be Ian.”
She nodded, her smile tight.
“Okay, that’s it.” He took the container from her hands, set it on the picnic table. “Talk to me. What is it—are you still angry about the skydiving thing? I had everything under control—”
“I know.” She swallowed though, and her eyes drifted to the group, then back to him.
Huh. “Then why do I feel like I’m in the doghouse? You’re about as friendly as a polar bear—”
“I can’t tell you!”
She’d cut her voice low and sharp, and in the aftermath of her words, winced.
“What—?”
“Oh, Mr.—er, Ian—I’m so sorry.” She actually looked stricken, her eyes huge in her face, and for a second he thought she might cry. She set down the marshmallows and turned away from him. “I’m handling this all wrong.”
Handling what— “Sierra, are you trying to tell me something. Like…” A thought came to him, swift and sharp. “You’re not quitting on me, are you?”
And he couldn’t douse the rise of panic, the way it twisted what-ifs inside him.
She whirled around, facing him. “What—no. I mean...I don’t want to leave you. I’m just trying to do the right thing here.”
Don’t want to— “What are you saying?”
She blinked at him. Swallowed.
And now he put his hand on the table. “Are you leaving me?”
She sighed. “Not unless you fire me. Which, oh, man…” She was shaking her head. “You might need to.”
What—? “Sierra,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to lose you.”
That silenced her, and again, her eyes widened.
He caught her gaze in his. And yeah, he meant it exactly that way. He didn’t know how they’d gotten to the crux of the matter so quickly, but now that they were here, he wasn’t going to run. “Yeah, you’re a great assistant—frankly, I don’t know what I’d do without you. But, if I have my choice—”
“I know, I know. Your private life is your own, and I shouldn’t stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I know that, believe me. And I really hate being in the middle here. But I can’t sit by and watch you get hurt.”
And that’s what he needed. That glimmer of caring, the sense that he meant more to her than just the guy who signed her paycheck.
He wanted to take her hand. Instead, he turned his voice warm. “Listen. I’m not going to get hurt. I know what I’m doing. I’m careful, not reckless. And yeah, if it freaks you out too much for me to skydive, then okay. I’ll shelve that for a while.”
She blinked at him. “Right. Okay. Yeah.” She blew out a breath. “I’d thought you’d figured it out.”
Huh?
“Oh, Ian.” She sighed, looked away.
“Look out!” He turned and saw that someone had put a branch on the fire, something green and full of pine cones. They snapped and exploded, hurtling giant sparks into the night. Campers fled as the sparks chased them.
The embers landed on the loamy soil, lighting old needles aflame. Ian jumped on one near his foot, then another.
And then, with a whoosh, a spark landed on one of the nearby tents. It began to melt, the cinders falling on the sleeping bags inside.
“Water!”
He wasn’t sure who yelled it—maybe Chet, but Ian grabbed the jug from the table and tossed it to Sam, who caught it and headed to the tent.
Esme’s tent. Confirmed by Sierra’s gasp as her sleeping bag flamed.
“Where’s Esme?”
He looked around the fire, at the group, didn’t spot her. “Esme!” Oh, let her not have gone to bed—
“She went for a walk, with Dante,” someone said.
A walk. With Dante?
But his brain didn’t have time to flash over, because Sierra took his hand. “C’mon,” she said. “We’ll find her.”
For a second, he didn’t move, her grip in his, and then she tugged him down the trail.
“Where are we going?”
“Think like a teenage boy,” Sierra said grimly, and he knew the answer.
“The bridge?”
“My guess, too,” Sierra said. She dropped his hand.
He could have used her grip, because as they jogged down the boardwalk, as the forest opened up, as the smell of the river lay
ered the air, a sick feeling rose in his gut.
The kind that told him that maybe he hadn’t been as successful pulling Esme out of Dante’s arms as he’d hoped.
And maybe Sierra sensed that because as they came closer, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the night sounds, the rush of the river in the canyon, she took his hand. “Stay calm.”
Why?
But that was all the warning he got before he spotted them. Thankfully, still fully clothed—but he wasn’t kidding himself. The way they were tangled up on the overlook bench suggested that maybe they were way too familiar with each other’s bodies. Esme sat straddled on Dante’s lap, and even in the dim light of the moon, Ian could see Dante’s hand move out of the back of her shirt.
Stay calm?
#
“Are you kidding me?” Ian’s voice sliced through the night.
Sierra actually felt a little sorry for Esme as she sprang off Dante’s lap, rearranging herself. Thankfully, the darkness gave her padding, the evidence of their tryst murky. Which, for Ian’s sake, was probably a good thing. He didn’t need anything beyond his imagination to rile him.
“It’s not what it looks like—” Esme said.
Ian held up his hand, a stiff palm to her words. “Not. Now.” He turned to Dante, and even in the dim moonlight, Sierra thought she saw the boy pale. He’d already found his feet, now backed up against the railing.
Oh, now she felt guilty, despite the fact her plan had worked brilliantly.
“Dante, you need to let go of my niece and leave. Right. Now,” Ian said friendly enough, but enough fury right under his tone that Sierra held her breath.
Dante stood there, cast a look at Esme, back to Ian. “No. I love her and—”
“Now.” Ian repeated, and took a step toward him. Standing a good six inches over Dante, Ian exuded the girth and power of a man who spent time testing himself. His chest rose and fell, as if reining himself in. “That’s the last time I tell you.”
A little shiver snaked through Sierra. Dante swallowed, his expression stripped.
“Go, Dante,” Esme said from where she stood behind Sierra. “I need to talk to Uncle Ian.”
Understatement. But Sierra took that as her clue, too.
Except, as she turned to leave, Ian held out his hand and caught her. And when his gaze turned to her, his blue eyes solemn, rife with darkness, she couldn’t move. “Stay.”
Ho-kay.
And whose idea was it to invite Ian on this camping trip? Suddenly, Sierra wished she could time travel back to the moment when she knocked on Esme’s door and, well, not.
Except, then what? Esme gets her heart broken, or worse, derails her entire life? Sierra wanted to turn to her and say, Trust Me. If you walk away now, it’ll save a world of hurt.
Although, by Esme’s expression as she looked up at Ian, part hurt, part fury, Sierra guessed the pain was just starting.
“Uncle Ian, I was going to tell you—”
“Tell me what? I’m pretty bright. I think I can figure it out all on my own.”
And that’s when Esme looked at Sierra. Silence, and Sierra held her breath, met her eyes.
Really? She used her best ESP, and not a little body language—a raised eyebrow, a shrug of her shoulders to ask, You want me to tell him about our meet-up in your bedroom?
Esme, clearly thought Sierra already had because she blew out a breath, what seemed like relief, and Sierra braced herself for more lies.
“Dante and I are in love.”
Okay, good start.
“We want to be together.”
And she had to give the girl points for courage.
Ian didn’t move, his jaw tight, the slightest wind bullying his hair. The night had thickened with the sounds of the creek, the swish of the trees, a screech of an owl, bobcats, and cicadas.
“What about Yale?” Ian asked quietly.
Sierra could admit she expected something louder. Not that Ian was a violent man, but he certainly lived life in large and exuberant ways. Strangely, he just stood there, letting the silence punish Esme as she shifted, drawing her arms around herself.
Then Sierra looked at him and her breath dropped away. He wore so much hurt in his eyes, he looked as if Esme had driven her fist into his heart.
“I want to go to Yale. I really do. But I don’t want to lose Dante.”
Ian took a breath. “I know, to you, this will sound trite, but if you truly love each other, then distance won’t tear you apart.” He sounded a little like he might be negotiating a deal.
Esme bit her lip, looked away.
And Sierra got it. “You’re afraid if he leaves, then he’ll forget about you. Find someone else.”
Esme lifted a shoulder, and in that second she wasn’t the rich niece of a billionaire uncle, but the daughter of a woman whose life was in ruins.
And quickly believing the lies that landed her mother in one dubious relationship after another, and every time, deeper in trouble.
“Esme, sweetie,” Sierra said. “This has nothing to do with Dante. I know you’re scared—going to college is a huge step. But you are smart and beautiful and you need to believe in yourself and your abilities enough to take this chance. To go to Yale and do something with your life. That chance is right now.” She touched Esme’s shoulder. “And if you don’t take it, you’ll never know what you could have been. What you could have had.” No testimonies here, but if she needed it, Sierra would sit her down, unravel a few of her own mistakes.
Not that she particularly minded where she’d ended up. But God had done that part—given her this amazing job. And right now, she desperately hoped she hadn’t blown it.
Esme looked up, met Sierra’s eyes. “But Dante loves me.”
Sierra dropped her hand. Sighed.
“So do I,” Ian said, his tone suddenly tight, no more negotiations. “Which means that I’m not going to let you throw away your life. After we get home from this camping trip, you’re saying good-bye to Dante, and we’re packing up and heading East. We’ll find a place there, get you settled, and you’ll attend Yale in the fall.”
He made it sound very much like he’d be there to make sure it happened, too.
Esme’s mouth tightened as she looked at Ian.
“You can’t make me—”
“No,” he said. “I can’t. And I won’t. What I will do is remind you that you can’t have it both ways. Either you hold onto Dante and throw away an incredible opportunity, or you choose your future. Be smart, Esme.”
She stared at him then, and Sierra saw where she got her quiet, angry strength.
“Fine,” she said finally, her eyes watery. “You win, Uncle Ian. I’ll break up with Dante in the morning.” She turned and headed up the trail.
Only then did Sierra remember they didn’t have a tent anymore. She started after her, but Ian took her arm. “Let her go. I have no doubt Ruthann will find her a place to sleep. I am also sure Chet brought extra blankets.”
Sierra didn’t mention her own lack of bedding. But Ian added, “And you can have my sleeping bag.”
“Ian. I need to tell you—”
“You knew.” His simple words put a knife through her chest.
“I...I knew they wanted to be together.” She didn’t mention Esme’s plan for them to run off and get married—it seemed moot now anyway. Nor did Sierra add where and how she’d found out.
Ian was already so hurt. He nodded then, turned to walk up the trail.
“Ian, I’m sorry.”
“That’s why you wanted me to come on this camping trip, wasn’t it?” His question was soft, almost resigned.
She nodded, unable to say the words. And with the solemn expression on his face, she knew he was adding it up. She’d finagled the entire drama so she didn’t have to get in the middle. Which, of course, put her exactly in the middle.
He said nothing as they walked back to camp. The other campers had put out the fire in the tent and managed to pull out h
er blackened sleeping bag. Miraculously, Esme’s remained unharmed and she had joined the girls in the next tent.
Ian went straight to his tent and grabbed out his bag, brought it to Sierra.
“What about you?” she asked, not touching it. “I dragged you into this mess, I think you should keep it.”
“Don’t make me into a jerk. Take the bag, Sierra.” He used his boss voice.
But she still couldn’t touch it, so he tossed it onto a bench, then sat down in front of the fire, his back to a log, arms folded.
“What are you doing?”
“I can’t sleep. Might as well make sure we don’t have any other catastrophes tonight.”
Around them, the tents were zipped, lights shone against fabric walls. The fire crackled, and she picked up a piece of firewood, tossed it onto the embers. A flame reached up, curled around the log.
Then, she took the sleeping bag, zipped it open, and sat down next to Ian.
“What are you doing?”
“Sitting with you.” She put the sleeping bag over her lap, extended it to him.
He looked at her, the firelight flickering against the red of his hair, into his dark blue eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”
Her heart bled a little for him. “I want to.”
He swallowed, looked away, into the flames. His jaw was so tight, the flames flickering against the harsh planes, and she had the feeling he’d like a go at his hanging bag in his gym.
Silence, and then, quietly, “You know why I jump out of planes and climb mountains, and drive fast cars?”
“No.”
“I don’t have a death wish or anything. It just…it fills me up. Makes me feel like I’m not the guy who once slept in his car for three months. Not the guy who used to collect pop cans so I could turn them in for pennies to buy hot dogs for me and my sister. When I climb a mountain or dive deep into the sea I remind myself that I’m not that desperate, terrified kid anymore. And if I’m afraid, it’s because I choose to be, not because life kicked the stuffing out of me or put me on my face.”
She longed to touch him, to put her hand on his. Instead, “I didn’t know you were so poor, Ian.”
He lifted a shoulder. “We probably should’ve been in foster care. My mom bounced in and out of our lives and my father tried—he worked as a hired man for the local ranches. But we didn’t always have good housing, and then we’d sleep in the car. We went to school every day, so we were safe and fed there, but at night... Sometimes he didn’t come home.”
If Ever I Would Leave You: A Montana Rescue Prequel Page 5