An arched stuffed salmon hung between the two beds. In Sasha’s room, a watercolor of a couple bear cubs climbing a tree hung over the bed.
High luxury here at the hem of the park. Jenny had picked the chalet off the internet, wanting something rustic, yet cozy before they embarked on the mountain.
Judging by Sasha’s expression, they might have just found base camp.
“We’ll be fine,” Jenny said. She set her pack up and unsnapped it. “Kit is coming over to look at our gear so let’s get it unpacked and approved.”
“You’ve already checked it twice—” Aria started.
“I’ve never climbed Denali!” She looked up and realized she’d silenced the room. “Sorry.”
Aria held up a hand. “Listen, I’m not a fan of this idea of climbing with strangers either.”
“What are you talking about? You were dancing with a random stranger,” Sasha said.
“A hot random stranger that I’ll never see again. Who, by the way, knows how to two-step. And has amazing hair. But there’s a difference between a three-minute dance and three weeks on a mountain with men we don’t know.”
“We won’t rope up with them,” Jenny said, not sure why.
Or yes, maybe she did. Because Orion sat in her head, lodged there, his voice low and refusing to budge out of her brain, despite what she did to shake it away.
She’d destroyed him, again.
Why hadn’t she just admitted it? Taken off her glasses, thrown herself in his arms?
“Are you kidding me? What game are you playing here?”
Not a game. Self-preservation, for both of them. Because if he found out why she’d left—
But yes, she’d wanted, with everything inside her, to turn around. To . . .
No. She pressed her hand to her gut, trying to get it to stop churning.
She pulled out a pair of gaiters and slapped them on the bed.
“Why shouldn’t we rope up with them?” Sasha asked. “They’re men. Wouldn’t that be safer? A better chance to arrest us on a fall?”
Jenny pulled out a pair of nylon overboots. “And heavier when they fall and you have to self-arrest to save you both.” She found her mittens and added them to the pile on the bed. “And the way they were drinking . . .” She climbed to her feet, holding her face mask. “They could pull you right down the mountain.”
Sasha’s eyes went wide.
“But that’s not going to happen.” She threw the mask onto the bed. “Because you’ll be roped up between me and Aria. And we all know how to self-arrest, how to climb ice, we’ve been training for a year, and we have your back.”
Sasha wrapped her arms around herself. “Yeah. I know. I’m just . . .” She blew out a breath. “It’s just that—listening to that guy talk about the mountain, and—”
Jenny took two steps and put her hands on Sasha’s shoulders. Met her eyes. “We’re going to be fine. We’ve trained for this trip for a year. And Kit is a good guide.”
At least she dearly hoped so. She’d talked to Kit twice on the phone over the past year, and Kit had sounded so calm, so sure of herself . . .
Maybe Jenny’s instincts weren’t firing right. She’d thought that she, a trained psychologist, could detect a lie when fed to her. But even she knew how to play the “I’m all right” game, so . . .
“We’ll be fine.”
“But we’re not even going up the same route we planned.” This from Aria, who was also pulling out her gear, neatly placing it on the bed. The fastidious habits of a heart surgeon. “I thought we were entering at Muldrow Glacier. Wasn’t that why we were doing all this ice-climbing training? To eventually climb the Harper ice-flow?”
“Yes. I know. It would give us three more days to acclimate, and it’s not as busy at West Butt, but they’re technically the same. They meet at Denali Pass, and we’d take the same route to the summit, so it’ll be fine.” She glanced back at Sasha. “Probably better.”
Then she saw it—the shadow of doubt on Sasha’s face. She squeezed her shoulders again. “Listen, this trip is about conquering our fears. About going beyond who we think we are. About setting our faces like flint on the summit and reminding ourselves that our past doesn’t need to keep us from flying.”
Sasha pulled in a breath. Nodded. “Yes. Right. I just wish Lucas was here.”
“It’s a girls’ trip,” Jenny said.
“Not anymore.” Aria finished unloading her pack. “And frankly, I wouldn’t mind a few of those muscles to get our gear up the mountain.” She had pulled her dark hair back, wore a flannel shirt over her T-shirt.
“Who are you? Back in Minnesota you won’t let a man open the car door for you. And here, you’ll let him schlep your gear up a mountain?”
“Listen to yourself and it’ll make perfect sense. Besides, my car is a Corvette Stingray. Any guy who wants to open my door isn’t looking at me.”
Laughter, and Jenny’s chest opened up a little, let her pull in a full breath. She released Sasha and headed over to their equipment box. Along with her personal gear, including boots, gaiters, mittens, hats, a parka, overpants, and long underwear, they also carried group gear—radios, tents, snow saws, snow shovels, stoves, aluminum pots, cups, and climbing gear. The one-hundred-pound gear would be divided between their backpacks and sleds.
Maybe having another group with them wasn’t a terrible idea.
As long as she didn’t have to make any decision that cost people their lives. But that’s why she hired Kit.
I’m ready, Ry. We’ll be fine.
Admittedly, his Wikipedia breakdown of the mountain had her rattled. When Kit walked up and made her offer, Jenny had been locked in place, staring at the man, trying to decide if fate could be this cruel.
Yes. Because Orion Starr was still painfully, darkly handsome—dark brown hair the color of rich coffee, mountain-green eyes that held a well of memories, and devastatingly well built with the kind of burly shoulders that suggested a lot of outdoor wood chopping, shoveling, and yes, probably some mountain rescue work.
She should have guessed that maybe she’d run into Orion in the tiny town of Copper Mountain, but . . .
Of course she would run into him. Because God wouldn’t just let her slink away, lick her wounds, maybe let them heal.
Worse, the guy still had Fear not, I’ll save you written all over him, just like when she’d met him. When she’d fallen for him, practically at first sight.
But this version, the guy who dressed down the frat boys, was also wounded, broken, all the laughter swept from his expression.
No longer the guy who shot hoops with his buddies. No longer the man who’d traced the constellations, his knowledge of the stars nearly endless. No longer the man who’d told her survival stories of his life in Alaska, shared with her the darkest parts of his heart, flirted with her as she sang along to LeAnn Rimes.
Oh. Ry. I’m so sorry.
She could almost see him across the flames of their campfire, the music twining out from an iPod, his face lit by the firelight, grinning at her. “How do I live without you? I want to know . . .”
The man had charmed her into giving him her heart. And she’d never gotten it back.