“Is it the shooting? Because I know that’s never easy, and maybe it’s dragging up demons—”
“It’s not the shooting! Sheesh—give it a rest, will ya?”
Ham shut his mouth. Right.
Jake shook his head, wrapped his hand around his neck. Blew out a breath. “It’s not the shooting. It’s what I do. I hurt people. Sometimes even destroy lives. I’m very, very good at that. You of all people should know that.”
Ham ran his hand down the cold neck of his bottle. Said nothing. But something had spooked Jake. Really rattled him.
Silence fell between them.
“By the way, you should tell Orion that his dad is famous.” Jake gestured to a mural on the outer wall of the bar.
Ham turned to look. Newspaper clippings, a drawn picture of a climber who looked vaguely like Orion on the cover of a National Geographic magazine.
“There’s a whole display of famous rangers and Denali guides. Apparently, when his father died, he also managed to save the life of this famous photographer. The guy had fallen off Denali Pass and couldn’t get back up, and Dirk Starr got him to the top. The whole story is in the paper. The photographer went on to scale Everest, K2, and even Annapurna. He credits Orion’s dad for giving him the courage to keep climbing.”
“My guess is that Orion already knows, but I’ll tell him.”
“Tell me what?” Orion had limped up, Jenny beside him. The guy was a champ, because even Ham could see his pain meds were wearing off. But Ham suspected he was holding off letting Jenny out of his sight.
The guy had nothing to worry about. The way she was looking at him, the feelings were mutual.
He liked it when he was right about something. Especially these two.
Jake nodded toward the wall. “Your dad. The hero.”
Orion turned. Huh. Maybe he didn’t know because he just stared at the mural.
Then he moved over to it. Jenny joined him. Put her hand on his back.
It occurred to Ham that Orion was just like his dad. Inspiring others to keep climbing the mountain he’d loved.
“He’s agreed to join the team, right?” Jake said.
“Yeah,” Ham said. Orion had confirmed it, finally, while Jenny was giving her statement. Ham was no fool. “It helps that Jenny is going to jump aboard too.”
Jake stared at him, looking a little undone, almost panicked.
“What?”
“I just . . . are you sure, Chief? I mean, she’s—”
“Aria’s friend?”
He’d hit it on the nose because Jake’s mouth closed, and his lips tightened to a thin line.
“What happened between you two?” Ham asked quietly.
Jake’s jaw hardened. “I . . . I don’t know. Listen, I gotta check in and get some z’s. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Jake picked up his pack, shouldered it, and Ham had the uncanny sense that he was watching his number one man take a slow walk into darkness.
Lord, whatever it is, help him.
Orion was still reading the mural.
Funny, that’s how life seemed to work. Just when you thought you were in the clear, it rounded on you.
Sometimes for the good.
But often it took you out at the knees. His gaze followed Jake as he took the stairs down to the lobby.
It didn’t change Ham’s belief that God was in charge, however.
“Here’re your wings,” said the bartender and set the basket on the counter.
Ham’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out but didn’t recognize the number. Almost didn’t answer it. But sometimes he got random calls from people in need of help.
“Ham here.” He reached for a couple napkins.
“Is this Senior Chief Hamilton Jones?”
The voice on the other end was brusque, military, and Ham answered in kind. “Former Senior Chief Jones, sir. How can I help you?”
“Hold for Lieutenant Hollybrook.”
Ham got up from the stool, a knot forming in his gut.
A woman’s voice came on the line. “Senior Chief, this is Lt. Marilyn Hollybrook calling from the Naval Air Station in Sigonella, Italy.”
Huh. “How can I help you, ma’am?”
“We have a patient here who has claimed that you are her next of kin. She was thrown overboard in a yachting accident and when they rescued her, she identified herself as an American, so they brought her to us.”
Ham had nothing.
“Sir?”
“I’m sorry—did you say next of kin? I don’t have any—” Except, he hadn’t heard from his half sister, Kelsey, recently. She played in some country band. They weren’t touring Italy, were they? “Who is she? Did she identify herself?”
“Her name is Agatha.”
More silence.
“Sir?”
“I don’t know anyone named Agatha.”
“Agatha Jones?”
“No.”
“She’s ten years old. And she says you’re her father.”
He stilled, his throat tightening. His hand went out to grab the railing overlooking the lobby. “What’s her mother’s name?” He didn’t recognize his own voice.
“Just a moment, let me double-check.”
A pause, maybe as she was covering the phone to ask, but in that blink of time, Ham tracked back to the one time he’d found himself in over his head. The one mission he hadn’t completed.
The rescue of the only woman he’d ever loved.
His wife.
“The report says her name is Signe. But she was lost at sea when the yacht sank.”
His chest was imploding, his breaths running over open shards, gutting him.
Right then Orion chose to come up, stand beside him, concern growing on his face. “Ham, you okay?”
Ham looked at him but didn’t see him.
Saw, really, only Signe. Her green eyes, her blonde hair. That smile that made him feel like . . . well, like a hero, maybe. “There’s never been anyone else, Ham. I knew you’d find me . . .”
He shook his head. Swallowed. Then, somehow, he spoke into the phone.
“Tell my daughter to stay put. I’m on my way.”
Susan May Warren is the USA Today bestselling author of over seventy-five novels with more than one million books sold, including Wild Montana Skies, Rescue Me, A Matter of Trust, Troubled Waters, Storm Front, and Wait for Me. Winner of a RITA Award and multiple Christy and Carol Awards, as well as the HOLT Medallion and numerous Readers’ Choice Awards, Susan has written contemporary and historical romances, romantic suspense, thrillers, romantic comedy, and novellas. She makes her home in Minnesota. Find her online at www.susanmaywarren.com, on Facebook at Susan May Warren Fiction, and on Twitter @susanmaywarren.