Chapter 4 #2
“Before Mars Sorros walked back into his life.” She didn’t mean the hard edge to her voice. “Sorry.”
“I get it. It’s hard to see the people you love . . . well, walk back into their wounds.”
“I don’t know how he stayed clean after Mom and Dad died. And then . . .” She shook her head and pulled out two plates from the cabinet, the ceramic clinking. “I should sell this place.”
“I often see lights here, especially in the winter. I can see the dome all the way from our place.”
“It’s a high-rated Airbnb.”
“You dad would like that part.” Winter set the ashes box on the coffee table, then slid onto a high-top seat at the counter as Harley plated the ribs. “He always saw this place as sort of a beacon in the woods.”
“That was my mom’s influence. She was such a dreamer.”
“I still have one of her poetry books.”
“You and three hundred of her friends.”
“Fans. Your mom was talented. It doesn’t take the world’s acclaim to see that.”
Harley handed her a plate of ribs. “You haven’t changed.”
“What?” She pulled the ribs closer. “Yum.”
“Always seeing the silver lining.”
“My dad would call it having my head in the clouds.” She winked, laughed.
“Oh no. Please do not damage this meal with your father’s bush pilot puns.” Harley took her plate. “How’s that going?”
“Oh, we’re swamped. With the winter socking in the homesteaders, we’re doing medical and humanitarian runs, mail, supplies. And now that Maverick Air is gone . . .”
“Yeah. Another victim of the Sorros brothers. I don’t know how Conan got on that plane without being recognized.”
“I saw footage at the airport—he was disguised. Did you know that singer Bliss was on that flight?”
“The pop star?”
“Yeah, Dawson Mulligan saved her life.”
She took a bite of the ribs. “Huh.”
“And his parents came back to town too. Married.”
She set the ribs down. “Really?”
“Just saying, Copper Mountain is a good place for happy endings.”
Harley cocked her head, picked up a napkin. “Good try. You heard about the fight at the sheriff’s office.”
“Shasta called me too. So . . .” Winter also wiped off her fingers. “He’s back.”
She sighed. “Yeah. Working on the Mars case with his tracking dog.”
Winter picked up another rib. “And?”
“And nothing. He’s still the bossy, annoying—”
“Hot. Irresistible.”
Harley rolled her eyes. “Yes—no! Fine. He looks good.”
“So good that a girl could forget the past, start over?” Winter bit into her rib.
“Nope. Not a chance.”
“C’mon, Harley. Let the man apologize.” Winter pushed her plate away.
“He’s not going to apologize. He’s . . . not sorry.”
“You don’t know that—”
“He was at the funeral, Winter. I saw him. And he just . . . left. So, hello—if he wanted to, I don’t know, fix things between us, he would have stuck around. Maybe, even, turned into a nice guy? Remembered that we were friends once upon a time.”
“More than friends—”
Harley held up her hand. “Yes. More than friends.”
“You’ve been in love with the boy next door for the better part of your life. What, since you were five years old—”
“Hardly. But okay, sure. Maybe nine, or ten, or . . . whatever. Yes. All my life. But I can’t make the man love me. And I’m not going to change for him either, so it doesn’t really matter. We’d have to be completely different people to make it work. Besides, the crash is between us.”
Winter nodded and touched Harley’s hand. “It was a storm, Harls. You know how it is here—you can plan all you want, but the storm can still find you.”
“I know that. But it doesn’t diminish the fact that his father was the pilot.” She trailed off, her chest aching. “I’m sorry for what I said at the sheriff’s office. I might have . . . well, the truth is, I don’t really blame Jericho. It was an accident. But it’s still between us.”
Winter’s gaze softened. “Truth?” she said, her voice quiet, her fingers weaving into Harley’s. “He was hurting too.”
Harley’s jaw tightened.
“Yeah,” she said finally.
Winter squeezed her hand, then let go. “This is still the coolest house on the lake.” She got up and walked to the window, then turned on the outside light. It bathed the deck, a thin layer of snow on the log-peeled chairs that overlooked the frozen lake.
Harley had finished her ribs, got up, and set the plates in the sink.
Winter walked past her into the back bedrooms. Thankfully, she’d cleaned out all memories there—maybe tonight, she’d sleep in peace.
Winter emerged, carrying two comforters. “C’mon.” She handed Harley one and she took the other, draped it over herself. Harley followed Winter to the sliding door. She turned off the inside lights as Winter slipped into a pair of worn slippers. Clean guest slippers for exactly this purpose.
Harley donned her own, and the cold bit her face, swept in against her sweater as Winter let in the night. But she wrapped herself tight and followed her friend out. Winter shut off the porch light, closed the door behind them, then sat in one of the chairs.
Harley sat in the other.
The night wind creaked the trees and she leaned back, trying to see stars.
“This place brings it all back, doesn’t it?” Winter said, her voice quiet. “Your parents, Gabe, the plane crash, Jericho.”
“Yeah. But I’ll be okay.” Harley’s jaw tightened, her gaze flicking to the window. Stop doing that. “I’m just here for Mars.”
Winter glanced at her, and Harley envisioned her with a soft smile when she said, “You never forget your first love.”
Her first love. And into her mind, of course, flashed the image of Jericho scratching Orlando’s ears, his fingers gentle.
Shoot. Because that could only lead to other memories. The kind that could, yes, completely derail her.
Stay focused, okay?
“I was young. Probably idealistic. And yes, I can admit maybe I said things, hurt him too. But the truth is I’m not going to fall for anyone who can walk out of my life again. I’m done with hurt.”
In the darkness, Winter’s hand touched her shoulder, and she found herself reaching out, meeting it.
“You’re not alone,” she said, her voice quiet, her grip firm. “Not anymore.”
Of course her best friend would know exactly what to say for her throat to thicken, for her eyes to blur.
“I know you know this, but . . . God hasn’t forgotten you either, Harls. You’re back here for a reason. And my heart believes that it’s for more than just to capture Mars.”
Overhead, the clouds shifted, and for the smallest of moments, the moon peeked out, bright and glowing against the darkness.
Harley let go of Winter’s hand. And said softly, almost to herself, “We’ll see.”
“ORLANDO!”
He knew it was just a dream, because in it, Jericho stood on the hill—the same one, every time—with the craggy serac hovering like a hand, shadowing the chunky debris field below. A brusque wind bullied mottled storm clouds. Not a great day to be trapped in the snow.
Even if it was just a training mission.
Training. The word bulleted through his dream, but he couldn’t shake away the hitch of his breath, the thunder of his heartbeat.
“Orlando!”
Jericho’s thick boots punched through the snow, poking the ground, more for balance than probing—he knew where Gunther lay in the snow cave they’d dug out.
But did Orlando?
The dog bounded through the snow, trying to catch the scent cone, the smells scattered by the breeze. The black markings on his coat, the orange harness, and the bell kept him from getting lost in the spray of snow picked up by the wind.
A crack above and Jericho’s breath caught.
Wait—snow bombs?
His chest burned as he searched for the sound.
Maybe he shouldn’t have taken the dog out today, but he’d needed the training ahead of Orlando’s certification.
Orlando turned, a profile, nose up, twitching, tail wagging, a big game of hide-and-seek.
The moment snapshotted in Jericho’s mind every time. A breath of hope that this time might be different.
In the distance, behind the mountain, the rotors of a chopper churned the air, and he found it—the bird soaring over the backcountry slope of Big Mountain, blades slicing the silence.
Oh no.
Blasting day. He hadn’t seen it on the schedule, but after last night’s powder—
“Orlando, hold!” He took off through the powder on snowshoes, but his steps were bogged down in the thick powder.
Orlando turned, clearly picking up the scent. Maybe the dog hadn’t heard him—
Another blast ripped the air, thundering closer, rumbling all the way to his bones.
No!
Farther downhill, Orlando circled, then started to dig. He’d found Gunther. “Good dog!” Jericho started to run.
The mountain shook, simply trembled beneath his feet. No!
He turned.
A cloud of snow billowed up, clogging the air as whatever shelf they’d aimed at unlatched.
Jericho couldn’t see the slide, still, the word ricocheted through him. “Run.”
Below, Orlando had stopped also, looking uphill. Barked.
Then the dog took off, running back to Jericho, startled out of his training mode.
Jericho turned, searching.
The wall of snow pummeled down the hill behind them, rolling through a flattened area then rushing on, right toward them.
A tsunami of death.
“Gunther!” He turned back, but the man still sat, buried, now just his red mitten poking out of the hole that Orlando had dug. No—
Orlando launched himself at Jericho, simply ran into him, nearly knocking him over, as if panicked and frankly, him too.
Jericho spotted the serac. Cover, maybe. He took off, running uphill, toward the lee of the rock, the deep hang of the icy protrusion. “Run, Orlando!”
He practically threw himself into the pocket under the overhang, pushing against the granite wall, arms out to catch his dog.
Orlando scrambled into his lap. Jericho clamped his legs around the animal, enfolded him in his arms, and bent over him.
He might have screamed as the world turned black. Might have shouted in panic as the snow crested over them. Might even have prayed as the noise blotted out his thoughts, burying him in a suffocating crush of ice and dark.