So clearly not every woman was susceptible to Jake’s charms, and it made Orion’s gaze linger on her for a second. Maybe five six, fit, and wearing Gore-Tex climbing pants and a pair of boots, she looked like a climber, or at the very least, an athlete. She swayed a little to the music from the band.
The movement stirred up a snapshot in his brain.
Oh, he had a problem when every blonde he met reminded him of Jacie. Three years and he still couldn’t dislodge her from his brain, the memory of her hands twined with his, the way she’d looked at him the night before his entire life exploded.
Maybe that’s why he thought of her—because, in honesty, she was his last good memory. And his deepest wound, maybe. Because she’d walked out of his life without looking back.
Why couldn’t his memories do the same?
He turned away from the blonde.
“I think you know why I’m really here,” Ham said. “I need a guy with your skills on Jones, Inc. We have other climbers—North Gunderson, and of course Jake and Fraser have skills, but none of them were PJs. None of them know how to save a life on a mountain.”
“I don’t think—”
“You’re up to it, Orion.”
That’s not what he was going to say. More along the lines of, by the time guys like him were called in, it was often too late to save a life. But maybe that wouldn’t jive with Ham’s international rescue team motto—to bring others back when no one else could.
“I know. My knee is fine. I’m practically bionic.”
Ham smirked. “Right. But what I meant was that, well, you’ve got a handle on your trauma. I saw it in New York City. And it’s time to rejoin your team.”
His team had died on a mountain in Afghanistan, thank you. But he knew what Ham meant—the larger team of like-minded people who couldn’t just stand on the sidelines. Orion could admit to a tug inside to say yes, to step outside his quiet, often lonely world and join a team again.
But he wasn’t so sure about Ham’s belief that he had a fist over his trauma or the anger that had erupted too easily in those early days. In fact, most of the time, the anger simmered just beneath his skin, burning a hole deeper every day. He’d simply put himself into a world where it didn’t ignite.
Truth was, some days he didn’t want to let it go. Mostly because he feared all the emotions waiting behind it. Betrayal. Hurt.
Grief.
Better to keep the anger tucked away where no one got hurt.
“I don’t have the rescuer in me anymore, Ham. That life is over.”
“You’ll always have a rescuer inside you. It’s in your blood and I have three weeks to prove it to you.” Ham took a sip of his lemonade, nodded toward the stage. “Jake scored a dance.”
Indeed, the man had somehow convinced the brunette to dance with him. She was cute—a little petite and shorter than Jake. To Orion’s surprise, Jake cut up the dirt with a decent two-step. Even caught her when she stepped on his feet and nearly fell.
“I’m going to get some ribs,” Orion said and headed toward the barbecue. Vic, the beefy blonde woman who ran the Midnight Sun, manned the grill.
“Hey, Vic.” Orion held out a paper basket.
“So you came out of hibernation.” She filled his basket. “Are you guiding this summer? Because rumor has it that Phil McPherson just dropped his trip.” She nodded toward a group of wannabe climbers gathered at a picnic table. Plastic cups of Vic’s craft beer stood half full, with a few empties scattered on the table. The wind toyed with the cups, the temperature still hovering in the midfifties. Overhead, the sky arched clear and bright, an illusive seduction to the danger of the mountain.
All men at the table, they wore sullen expressions, clearly stewing.
“Who are they?” Orion grabbed a packet of wet wipes.
“A group out of Seattle. Arrived a couple days ago and stayed in the motel next door. Apparently Phil is sick and Denali Mountaineering is booked up. They have a permit but no guide. From the sound of it, they’re considering going it alone.” She raised an eyebrow, invitation in the gesture.
“No thanks. The last thing I want to do is spend a month on the mountain with a bunch of know-it-all, loud-talking, white-collar yuppies.”
“Now tell me how you really feel.”
He grinned. “Besides, I’m going up Huntington with a couple of friends.”
Her expression sobered. “Stay alive.”
“Thanks.” He glanced at the men as he returned to Ham. Well outfitted in Canada Goose jackets and wool toques, they groused about their lost climb.
“C’mon, Dixon, you’ve been up Denali. You know the climb. You could lead us.”
Orion slowed. The statement came from a dark-haired fellow, midtwenties, lean, wearing an Oregon Ducks sweatshirt under his jacket and persuasion in his expression. His prey was a bigger guy, dark skinned, with pensive amber eyes, who seemed to be chewing on his words.
“No.” The word erupted out of Orion’s mouth before he could pull it back. And then more. “Have you lost your ever-lovin’ minds? Denali has a 60 percent success rate, even with guides.”
He had stopped in front of the table, but his words carried over the group. And maybe he was channeling his father, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Because of its height and latitude, Denali is one of the coldest mountains on the earth. Worse, the long winter season doesn’t allow for the snowpack to melt and consolidate, which means higher avalanche danger. And now let’s talk about the weather. Whether it’s the storm fronts that pass over the mountain, or the weather on the mountain itself, you can get socked in for days, even weeks up there if you don’t plan for enough equipment and time. There are easily 50 mph winds on any given summit day—in some areas they’re higher and can blow you right off a peak—not to mention crevasses that are three hundred feet deep. You think anyone is going to climb down and get you, even if you survive that fall? Your guide might . . . if he can find you. But you’ll probably freeze to death first. And that’s all for people who aren’t dying from acute mountain sickness, or worse, high-altitude cerebral edema. Or how about pulmonary edema?” He turned to Oregon Ducks. “Do you carry Diamox? Or Decadron? Because your guide will, and might save you from suffocating in your own fluids—”
“Ry—”
Ham’s voice cut through his words, but Orion only stopped long enough to take a breath. “And we haven’t even talked about the descent—the most dangerous part of climbing. You made the summit—great. But your camera is frozen, or worse, your fingers are frostbitten, so you stay too long to take pictures, or maybe while you’re up there, the weather closes in and suddenly you have to get back down. In a snowstorm. You’re frozen and exhausted and can’t breathe and who do you think is going to get you down?” He looked at Dixon. “Not your fraternity buddy.”
A hand came down on his shoulder. “Orion. I think you made your point.”
He glanced at Ham, realizing he’d drawn a crowd. Including the redhead and the blonde, who stared at him through dark aviator glasses.
Her mouth had opened, as if horrified by his words.
He felt a little like a jerk, deflating her big expedition plans, but— “No one belongs on that mountain who doesn’t know what they’re getting into.” He looked at Ham. “Because then it’ll be you or me going up there to save their sorry backsides and risking our lives.”