Chapter 1
Continental Crisis
Steph
Steph Pierce’s breath fogged her gaiter, leaving a thin film on her sunglasses. The bright sun sat at odds with the cold. It was early November, and winter was already making itself known. Several recent snowfalls had laid down substantial inches.
She wondered whether today’s run would happen, since it was already snowing when she woke up, but Jocelyn stayed as dedicated to her training schedule as Steph.
They both had big races lined up over the next few months. Steph would tackle a winter endurance event called The Frozen Divide, while Jocelyn prepared for her first marathon in Deadwood, South Dakota, in July.
“I’m glad they’ve been keeping the sidewalk scraped,” Jocelyn said, lifting her chin toward a woman with a scoop shovel.
“Hello,” Steph called with a nod.
The woman stopped shoveling and leaned on it. “Hey, Steph. Jocelyn. I should be surprised to see you two, yet I’m not.” She laughed. “Be careful. Some people haven’t cleared in front of their businesses yet.”
“We will.” Steph waved. “See you Wednesday?”
“Maybe. I’m not nearly as dedicated as you two. Running in the snow doesn’t hold much appeal.”
“Keeps you strong for shoveling,” Jocelyn called with a laugh.
The sidewalk narrowed where a real estate office had only managed a halfhearted attempt at clearing, leaving a ridge of packed snow along the edge. Steph picked her way around it, her trail shoes finding purchase on the gritty surface beneath.
“She’s not wrong,” Jocelyn said, falling back into step beside her. “About the dedication thing. My sister thinks I’ve lost my mind. My mom, too, though they’re both excited I’ll arrive in town a few days before to visit them.”
“Your sister thinks anyone who wakes up before eight on a Saturday has lost their mind.”
Jocelyn laughed, her breath pluming out ahead of her. “Fair.”
“You’re still going home for Christmas, right?”
“Maybe. Depends on the weather. I hate making that drive if it’s too bad. Besides, I’m not sure I’ll be fully recovered from my Christmas shows.”
“Taking on two this year does seem like a lot.”
Jocelyn was the cofounder of the Irma Community Theater.
She and her business partner usually did four or five plays a year, including one in December, the weekend before Christmas.
This year, they weren’t only doing their play, but Jocelyn joined forces with another theater group in a neighboring town to do a Christmas musical.
Jocelyn tried to hide it, but Steph knew she regretted the decision and the extra work it brought.
“At least my marathon training hasn’t ramped up yet,” Jocelyn said as they approached an intersection. “I know they’re planning a spring musical too. I can’t imagine I’ll be able to be a part of that.”
“It was good of you to help them. Maybe they’ll have enough knowledge of how things work by then to handle it on their own.”
Steph found it odd that Jocelyn was so willing to help another theater group, even though it could mean a loss of revenue for her own business if they had productions on the same night.
Steph knew herself well enough to know she wouldn’t do it.
She was, in fact, knee-deep in a similar situation and hated every aspect of it.
They turned onto Grand Avenue, the main street through town.
Monday morning traffic was just starting to pick up.
If it weren’t for the snow, she and Jocelyn would’ve chosen one of the trails or paths around town.
If she’d been running on her own, she might still have chosen a trail. Snow or no snow.
Running in snow was an important part of her training, but the truth was, the idea of running the trails alone created a knot in Steph’s stomach—a knot that had no right to be there.
A couple of months earlier, her good friend Brooke had been attacked on a trail at the edge of town. It had been a targeted attack, and they caught who they believed was responsible, but the memory unsettled Steph and made her doubt the wisdom of running trails alone.
Steph had never experienced anything close to what Brooke had. She knew that running in some areas, alone as a female, was dangerous.
But this was Irma.
A safe and friendly town in a safe and friendly county within the state of Wyoming. Things like what happened to Brooke, and things like what happened to other runners in the big city, simply didn’t happen here.
And yet it had happened.
While Brooke had survived, the experience changed not only her but all the runners in the Basin County Running Club.
They’d even teamed up with an instructor at a local martial arts studio for a couple of self-defense classes.
Steph had taken similar classes in the past, but it was important to have a refresher.
Life was changing in Irma, in more ways than one, and Steph wasn’t sure what to make of it. Her uneasiness about running alone was valid, but she needed to shake the sensation.
Wilderness training runs with her utility sled became part of her plan in December, and they were nonnegotiable if she wanted to finish The Frozen Divide 100. Not just finish—Steph planned to beat her previous time and set a new personal best. That mattered to her.
They were passing Basin Federal, approaching a street crossing, when Jocelyn said something Steph didn’t catch.
“What?”
And then there was no time for anything.
A dark sedan came off the cross street faster than it had any business going, back end fishtailing wide on the slick pavement, and Steph’s feet stopped working the way feet are supposed to.
Something latched onto her, purposeful and sudden. An arm hooked across her shoulders, a hand fisting into her jacket, yanking her back and sideways in one motion.
She stumbled, caught herself, stumbled again, and landed hard on the sidewalk as the sedan passed. The car scraped against a snowbank twenty feet up the block with a harsh, grinding sound.
Steph stared as the car kept going. “Thanks for your concern,” she muttered.
“Are you okay?” Jocelyn knelt beside her. “Steph? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah . . . I . . . I think I’m okay.”
Steph became aware of several things at once: her sunglasses were crooked, her left knee was singing, and there was a man still holding onto her arm.
She turned.
He seemed tall from her sitting position on the sidewalk, clean-shaven, with dark hair pushed back from his forehead. He sucked in air like he’d been running miles, suggesting she wasn’t the only one shaken. His eyes moved over her quickly, a fast inventory.
“Are you okay?” His voice was low, fast, rough at the edges. “That car just came out of nowhere. I mean, the road’s icy, I know, but still . . . that was way too close.”
She took stock. Knee, pride, sunglasses. “Yes. I think so.” She straightened and tugged her jacket back into place. “Thank you. That was— ”
“Don’t mention it.”
A small crowd had materialized the way people do after something goes wrong. That’s how it was in a small town.
“Hey,” a man she recognized from the hardware store called out. “Aren’t you Jack Swisher?”
Steph looked back at the stranger.
He gave a nod, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“Thought so. I recognized you from an interview during the Olympic trials. Heard you moved to the area.”
Of all the people who could’ve saved her from being run over by an out-of-control car, it had to be Jack Swisher.
Of course it did.
Jack was a former Olympic hopeful biathlete and new resident of Basin County, as well as the founder of the Elkridge Running Club and the organizer of the Elkridge Endurance, an ultramarathon making waves among casual runners and elites alike.
And, as far as Steph was concerned, he was her sworn enemy.
He was looking at her, still with that smirk on his face that she wanted to use her self-defense skills to wipe off, and she realized he was waiting for her to say something.
“Um, thanks. I . . . thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, still holding her arm.
“I’m Steph,” she said, watching his face. “Steph Pierce.”
The smirk deepened, satisfaction creeping in. “Hi, uh, it’s good to finally meet you. In person, I mean.”
“Then you know this doesn’t change anything.” She pulled her arm free and adjusted her sunglasses. Her knee throbbed. Her pulse still hadn’t decided to behave itself, though she chose not to examine why. “Thank you for what you did. I mean that.”
She glanced at Jocelyn, who was staring at her with an expression that would require a long conversation later. “But we should finish our run.”
He stepped back and gave a small nod, something unreadable settling into the lines of his face.
Steph got to her feet. Her shoe caught a sliver of ice, sending her stumbling. Jack reached out and grabbed her arm, steadying her before she went down again. She nodded sharply at him, turned, and ran.
She made it nearly half a block before Jocelyn pulled up alongside her.
“Steph.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m just saying— ”
“Enough.” She paused and asked, “What kind of name is Jack Swisher? I mean, really. His last name has to be fake, right? A cross-country skier named Swisher?”
“I don’t think it’s fake. It might be, but I never heard anyone say anything about it.”
“You checked?”
“Well . . . when we learned about him moving here and the things he’s doing, it seemed smart to do some research.”
“And?”
“And there’s a lot about him all over the internet. He looks different than in pictures and videos, don’t you think?”
“He looks like a . . . never mind.”
She wanted to say more about what she thought of Jack Swisher, but her thoughts tangled before they ever formed words. What Steph knew more than anything was that he was trouble. Swisher and his big plans were already causing her more heartache than she wanted to admit, even to Jocelyn.
“He’s very tall,” Jocelyn said.
Steph didn’t argue.
Continue reading Continental Crisis: Deadly Miles Book 3.
Thank you for spending your time with the people of the Basin County Running Club!