Chapter Eight #2
“Dalton’s showing me this new module he developed for the reservation system,” she said. “It identifies people who left positive reviews for past tours and sends them an offer for a 10 percent discount on a new tour. It’s already generating repeat business.”
“I showed it to Ian and he’s talking about switching the via ferrata over to using this system,” Dalton said.
The climbing route was Eagle Mountain’s newest tourist attraction.
“He’s going to help me pitch it to other tourism businesses in the area as a comprehensive reservation and marketing package. It could really take off.”
“You’ll be a tech billionaire before you know it,” Carter said.
The door opened and the UPS driver entered. “Got a package for you, Bethany,” he said, and handed over a flat cardboard box.
“Thanks, Gary.” She accepted the package.
“It’s my veil.” She picked up a pair of scissors and by the time the door closed on the driver, she had the package open.
She folded back layers of tissue paper and lifted out a silver tiara of sculpted leaves and flowers, from which cascaded a cloud of filmy gauze.
“It’s so beautiful!” she exclaimed, her eyes shiny.
Carter was surprised to feel a little choked up himself. What had been an abstract concept that didn’t really affect him—his sister’s wedding—now felt very real. “You’ll be beautiful in it,” he managed to say, his voice breaking only slightly.
She startled him by throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly. He patted her back. “I can’t believe my little sister is getting married,” he said.
She struggled out of his arm. “I’m older than you.”
“But you’re so much shorter.” He patted the top of her head.
She packed the veil carefully away in its shroud of tissue. “So what’s going on with you and Mira Veronica?” she asked.
“Something’s going on with Carter and Mira?” Dalton looked up from the computer.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “We’re friends.”
“More than friends, judging by the way you raced out of here when we heard about the bomb threat at the school,” Dalton said.
“She’s made it pretty clear she’s only interested in friendship.” He was trying to respect that, though it wasn’t easy.
“You finally found a woman you couldn’t charm?” Dalton winced. “That must be a blow to your ego.”
“My ego can take it.” He didn’t want to charm Mira.
Or seduce her. Well, he might want to seduce her, but not in a “let’s just have fun and not get serious” way.
Mira meant something to him, though he couldn’t put the feelings into words.
She was smart and funny and beautiful and…
and someone had hurt her. He felt that hurt and wished he could make things right.
“Have you been practicing your Spanish for tonight’s class?” Bethany asked.
“Sí, senorita.” Carter grinned. That was what people expected of him—jokes and clowning. It worked with the tourists and most of the time it worked with his family, too.
He had been trying to show Mira a different side, but he wasn’t sure he was succeeding. Maybe there really wasn’t much more to him than a dazzling smile and corny jokes. That had felt like enough before, but not for a woman like her.
At Monday night’s Spanish class, Mira was pleased to note that only one student had dropped out after the first week.
She took this as a good indication that people found the course useful and even enjoyable.
And almost as important to her, it meant her portion of the fee would be almost enough for the down payment on a new car she was going to need, now that her insurance company had decided her Toyota was totaled.
Carter was one of the last to arrive. She was embarrassed that she had been watching for him. Embarrassed because she didn’t want anyone to see how interested she was in him. And she didn’t want to be interested in him. She didn’t want to get involved with anyone. Not right now.
“Hey, Mira.” He slid into a chair at the front of the class. The same one he had occupied before. Right where there was no way she could avoid seeing him. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” she said. A lie. She had been a wreck since being questioned by the sheriff, afraid that other people in town would hear about her connection to a convicted pedophile.
The association was horrible for anyone, but especially for someone who worked with children every day.
And to be accused of being connected to the kidnapping of not one, but two boys on top of that—she might have to leave town if that came out.
Carter was still watching her. Did he see the dark circles beneath her eyes that she had tried to cover with makeup? Or the tension that never left her shoulders these days? She avoided his gaze and addressed the class. “Hola,” she said. “Buenos tardes. Cómo están todos?”
“Bueno,” they answered, or “Estoy bien.”
“Excellente!” This last from Carter. Of course. He grinned at her and she fought back a smile.
She continued with the lesson. This evening, they were focusing on communicating instructions to people in an emergency. They practiced how to say things like “Please calm down.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Where are you hurt?”
“Wait here.”
“Help is on the way.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them” and “Pay attention.”
“What do I do if I ask someone where they’re hurt and they reply with a barrage of words I can’t understand?” one of the search and rescue volunteers, Caleb, asked.
“You can ask them to speak more slowly,” she said. “Hable lento, por favor. Or you could ask them to show you what hurts. So ?Dónde le duele?—where does it hurt?—with muéstrame—show me. Muéstrame dónde le duele.”
“Muéstrame dónde le duele,” the class dutifully repeated.
They broke into groups to practice scenarios, using worksheets she handed out. “Why couldn’t we just use a translation program on our phones?” one of the firefighters asked.
“You could,” she said. “Those apps can be very useful. But what if you’re in an area with no cell coverage?
Or what if you need to act quickly? If you find someone in a burning building do you really have time to dig out your phone and use it?
Wouldn’t it be better to know how to tell someone to come with you? Ven conmigo!”
“I guess so.” He looked down at the worksheet. “I’m not sure I’ll remember any of this in an emergency.”
“Keep practicing. That will help, I promise.”
For the duration of the class, at least, Mira didn’t think about Bryce or David or the unfounded accusations against her. The two hours raced by. Everyone seemed surprised when she announced their time was up.
Carter lingered after everyone else had left. Mira pretended not to see him and busied herself gathering papers. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out for a drink,” he said. “Or ice cream?”
“Thanks,” she said. “But I need to get home.”
“Are you okay?” he asked. “You look tired.”
“I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Did you give those notes to the sheriff?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
She stiffened. Had he heard something? “Nothing much.”
“Did he think they looked like the other notes?”
“Yes. He said they were similar.”
“I asked my brother if they had any suspects in Bryce’s kidnapping. He wouldn’t say, but I got the impression they haven’t come up with anything.”
She nodded. The silence between them stretched and she gave up pretending to organize her papers and simply stared at the desk, waiting for him to leave.
Something mechanical kicked on and made a distant low hum.
With every breath Mira inhaled, she took in the scent of Carter’s shaving cream or soap—clean and woodsy. Masculine.
He leaned closer, his voice gentle. “Have I done something to upset you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No.”
“You just…you won’t even look at me.”
The real anguish in his voice startled her. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt this man. Carter had been a real friend to her. “You haven’t done anything,” she said. “You’ve been wonderful. It’s just… I’m dealing with a lot right now.”
“You don’t have to go through whatever it is alone.”
But she did. How could she trust anyone else to understand? “I’ll be fine. Right now I just need time.” Though it wasn’t as if more days or months or even years were going to change the past.
His phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the screen. “It’s search and rescue,” he said. “I have to go.”
“Be careful,” she said.
“I always am.” He shrugged. “I know I come across as not taking things seriously sometimes. But mostly, that’s just an act. I’m a lot more serious than most people think.” He tucked the phone away. “See you later.”
When he was gone, she sat at the desk and thought about what he had said.
It was true—when they first met she had dismissed him as a flirt who was used to women falling at his feet.
Someone who relied on charm to coast through life.
But when he responded to her accident on Dixon Pass, she had seen a different side of him.
Was everyone like this—with a facade that made them seem one way, and a reality that was completely different?
If that was so, how was she supposed to form an accurate impression of anyone?