10

NO CALL FROM GAGE OR ELLA had Ty and the entire team on edge. Especially as the storm closed in around Mercy Falls and blew through the Flathead Valley just west of the park. And not just the team, but Brette, too, who curled up on the sofa, her hands around her waist, as if holding herself together.

Ty couldn’t help but feel sorry for her as the evening drew out. She watched the weather reports and jumped at every squawk of the EMS box that kept the team rotating out to help drivers out of ditches.

Kacey and Ben were still out on a call, this one involving a semi that had slid off the road. Pete had returned earlier, grabbed some soup, then headed back out to help his brother, Sam, on another call.

Only Jess had returned and stayed, joining Sierra and Chet, who were manning dispatch and occasionally trying to connect with Gage and Ella.

The storm howled around them outside, as well as in Ty’s head as he watched Jess talking to Brette, answering questions about the team.

No, she was mostly talking about Pete and his epic saves this summer.

The woman fairly glowed when she talked about Pete Brooks. Jess’s blue eyes alight, her entire body animated as she gestured with her hands. Ty didn’t have to be the team psychologist to see that away from Pete Brooks’s presence, Jess had no problem waxing glorious about him.

Not that Ty was jealous, but . . .

She should just tell Pete about her connection to the Great Scandal and the fact she wasn’t who she claimed to be. Stop using Ty as the defensive line to keep Pete away from her.

Judging from Pete’s glacial shoulder toward him—especially tonight—he’d probably be so relieved that Jess and Ty weren’t dating he wouldn’t care that she was the daughter of the most notorious white-collar thief in recent decades.

Most of all, Jess should stop talking to Brette. Because Ty, again, didn’t have to be that intuitive to see Brette’s wheels turning. “No one hides from me.”

He got up from where he sat at the computer watching the weather report, intending to run interference of some kind, when Sierra did an end run and sat down beside Jess.

“It’s getting late, and my guess is that Gage and Ella are holed up somewhere, probably getting warm and strategizing about how they’re going to get down the mountain tomorrow. They’re probably drinking hot cocoa right now, right, Jess?”

Jess nodded. “I packed them a few packs, along with some chili mac, and Gage knows what he’s doing. Don’t worry.” She glanced at Sierra, then back to Brette. “In fact, I think you should come home with us. I have real beds at my place now, and—”

“I think she should stay here.”

Ty didn’t know why those words emerged from his mouth, but he blamed his “protect Jess” reflex, the one he had seemed to be honing for the past five months.

All three women looked at him as if surprised he was still in the room. Yeah, well, Pete hadn’t assigned him to any impromptu callouts. In fact, if they had a real callout, their official incident commander, Miles Dafoe, would be here, taking the helm. Pete wasn’t even in charge.

“What if Gage calls in—Brette will want to know, right?” he added, for logical reinforcement.

Brette looked at him, nodded.

“She can stay in the bunkhouse,” he said, seeing Brette warm to the idea. “Kacey is staying too—she mentioned it to me earlier. Just in case the storm abates and she needs to take the chopper out early. And Ben will probably stay too, then. I’ll stick around . . .”

Jess was frowning at him, and he wanted to send her a silent message. Trust me. After Brette’s initial introduction, it seemed that Jess had shrugged off any danger.

In fact, she turned back to Brette. “We’re about fifteen minutes from here, and they can call us if Gage calls in . . .”

Sheesh, he wanted to wave semaphores. Did she not hear the word journalist earlier? See the way Brette probed her about Pete? The woman was just warming up for the kill.

Thankfully, Brette shook her head. “I guess if there’s a place for me to sleep here, I’ll stay. Especially if Ty is staying.”

Huh. He didn’t know why, but those words sent warmth through him.

“I’m staying.”

She smiled up at him, and for a second, he didn’t care that Pete had sideswiped his offer to go out tonight.

Apparently, tonight, the pretty girl chose Ty. Take that, Pete I-own-the-world Brooks.

“Okay, but if you need to escape, you know who to call,” Jess said. She got up and grabbed her coat from the hook, and Sierra followed her.

Chet walked back to his office.

“C’mon,” Ty said. “I’ll show you the bunk rooms.” He led the way upstairs to the two rooms—one for women, one for men. Tiny rooms, with four bunk beds in each, along with their own bathrooms. “It’s cozy but warm.”

Brette sank down on one of the beds. “Thanks, Ty. I’m feeling a little nauseous, so I think I’ll lie down.”

Oh. He didn’t know why he expected . . . apparently he’d read too much into her statement, “especially if Ty is staying,” like she might want to spend time with him. He gave her a smile. “Let me know if you need anything.” He closed the door behind her, tiptoed down the stairs.

The room was quiet, empty, only the occasional noise from the squawk box. He fished a cookie from the jar, went to sit down at the computer.

C’mon, Gage, call in.

Ty sat listening to the computers hum, the static on the box, the wind rattling the windows.

And for a second, he imagined it had been exactly this way the night he’d crashed. The team on edge, not knowing where to look, how to help. And Ty alone, on the other end of the static, knowing he and Chet would freeze to death if he didn’t get help.

He reached out, rubbed his knee, kneading the swollen ligaments. He probably needed some ice.

The door opened, and snow swished in on the tail of Pete, who closed it fast, then stamped out his boots on the mat. “It’s cold out there,” he said as he pulled off his gloves. He looked up, around the room, back to Ty. “Where is everyone?”

“If by everyone you mean Jess, she went home with Sierra.”

Pete just looked at him, a muscle pulling in his jaw. Then he sighed, sat on a nearby stool, and pulled off his boots. “Is there any coffee left?”

“Yeah,” Ty said and got up, almost on reflex, to fetch it.

“I got it, Ty.” Pete beat him to the counter and poured himself a cup, then stuck it in the microwave to warm.

“There’s some soup too,” Ty said.

“Listen,” Pete said as he stared at the microwave. “We need to just . . .” He turned and pinned Ty with a look, something of desperation in it. “What’s the deal between you and Jess? I’ve sat back for five months, watching, wondering if you were going to make a move, and every time I think you’re not dating, every time I think maybe I could get close enough to talk to her, suddenly you show up at her house, or offer to drive her home, or even volunteer to team up with her on a callout, and frankly, I’m starting to think it’s not that you like Jess, it’s just—you don’t want me to date her.”

Ty looked at him, kept his voice casual. “You want to date Jess?”

Pete stared at him. “Oh, c’mon. Are you kidding me? What do I have to do—wear a sign? Yes! With everything inside me. Jess and I—we had this thing this summer, and it was great. And then suddenly, she just blew up at me and ran into your arms. And I wasn’t in the least okay with that, but you’re my teammate and I’m not going to call you out. I figured this thing between you two would blow over, or if it didn’t, then, well—okay. But I can’t figure it out . . .”

Ty closed his eyes, ran a hand along his forehead. “Pete, listen, you and Jess have to talk. I can’t tell you what’s going on in her head—”

The microwave beeped, and Ty looked up. Pete was just staring at him, his jaw tight.

“She won’t talk to me. Every time I try, she dodges me. Runs to you.”

Yeah, she did. Because in her head, telling Pete who she really was felt akin to standing naked in the middle of Times Square.

“She has her reasons.”

“Tell me what they are!” Pete ignored the beep of his coffee, palming the counter. “It’s about Tallie, isn’t it? Jess thinks I’m still dating that reporter, but I’m not—and I wasn’t. And that’s the old me. The new me—”

The microwave beeped again. Pete turned and hit the open button with more force than necessary. He yanked out his coffee and it splashed over him. He stifled a word, set the coffee down, and grabbed the paper towels.

Ty didn’t move to help him, pretty sure he didn’t want to get in Pete’s way. But apparently, Pete wasn’t finished, because as he attacked the stain on his thermal shirt, he looked up at Ty.

“So, are you in or are you going to get out of the way?”

So what, Pete could trample over Jess’s feelings? Because Ty agreed with her—Pete could be unpredictable, and the fewer people who knew her secret, the better.

“No,” Ty said quietly. “I’m not getting out of the way.”

Pete’s jaw tightened, and he drew in a breath. “Fine.” He glanced at the weather report on the screen behind Ty. “Any news of Gage?”

Ty shook his head. Pete threw the paper towels in the garbage. “Let me know if any calls come in. I’m going to get some shut-eye.”

He didn’t look behind him as he climbed the stairs.

Ty got up, drained the coffee cup, rinsed it, and loaded it in the dishwasher. Braced his hands on the counter.

He didn’t like lying to Pete. Or pretending in front of the team. But if it meant giving Jess some time to figure out how to tell Pete the truth . . .

Ty picked up a towel, started wiping his hands. If only he had feelings for Jess, then maybe this wouldn’t be so awkward.

Or if she had feelings for him. But any idea that she might harbor a spark for him had died tonight listening to her extol Pete’s accomplishments.

Maybe he should have told Pete the truth—he did seem different over the past five months. The old Pete would still be here, arguing. This Pete seemed kinder. Gentler.

As if he really had feelings for Jess, the kind that went beyond the usual Pete Brooks charmer persona.

A creak on the stairs made him look up. Brette appeared, looking pale. Ty met her on the landing. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. My stomach is upset. I think it’s just worry, but . . .” She made a face.

“How about some hot cocoa?”

She nodded and walked over to the counter, then slid onto a stool. “I’ll be fine. I’ve always had a weak stomach. I had a tradition—I’d go out for pizza late Friday night, then be up in the wee hours of the morning with a twisted stomach.”

He turned on the kettle to boil. “That doesn’t sound like a very awesome tradition.”

“I couldn’t help it. I liked hanging around Ella and her friends, and one of her friends, Greg, ran a pizza joint just off campus. We’d show up after hours, ready to study, and he’d give us all the unsold pizzas. I was so poor, I needed the food.”

“Where did you go to college?”

“Middlebury, with Ella. I was on a scholarship, however. Didn’t even have enough money to live in the dorm. I answered an ad on campus to rent a room, and it was in Ella’s house. But when I didn’t make rent the third month, Ella figured it out. I paid her back, but she never raised my rent, and covered for me when I was late. She would have probably let me live rent free.”

“Wow.” Ty fixed her cup of cocoa, pouring out the chocolate from the package, adding a few mini marshmallows from the supply. “That was nice of her.”

“Ella’s like that. Always looking out for the people around her. She defies every stereotype about the rich.”

“Which are?” The kettle whistled, and he poured the boiling water into the mug.

She lifted a shoulder. “Oh, you know. Entitled. Selfish. The world revolves around them, and they’ll take anyone down to keep it that way.”

“Ouch.”

She grinned at him. “Oh, c’mon. You live with Gage. He drives that fancy Mustang. Don’t tell me that he isn’t just a little about himself? After all that fame? And how about Ian Shaw? He started an entire rescue team to search for his niece.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe. I can’t even contemplate that kind of wealth. I’m here on Ella’s dime, and frankly I’m not sure I’ll be able to pay the rent on my tiny one-bedroom when I get home.”

He handed her the cocoa. “Why?”

“Oh, I had a contract to write a book on this senator who wanted to run for president. Turns out she was dirty and she dropped out of the race, and I lost my contract.”

“You didn’t expose her?”

She looked up at him. Brought the mug to her mouth. “I write inspiring pieces, not dirt. Although, right now, I might be desperate enough to print an exposé on a Kardashian if I got wind of it.” She winked at him and took a sip.

Oh. He managed a smile, but . . .

“Thankfully, I met you guys. And I’m thinking there are plenty of feel-good stories here. My agent says she thinks a positive story, with pictures of heroes skiing down mountainsides, might land me a delicious spread in Nat Geo or even their online mag. That will generate enough cash to keep me out of sleeping in my car for at least a month.”

He was afraid to ask if she was serious. “Unfortunately, you just missed Pete—”

“Actually”—she put her mug down—“I’m more interested in your story, Ty.”

He stilled. “My story? I don’t have a story.”

But her eyebrow quirked up. “Really. The ‘main pilot, before Kacey got here’? Why aren’t you the main pilot now?”

He considered her. Pretty, and too smart, really. She had pulled out her blonde hair, and it cascaded down in pale gold strands around her face. She smiled at him, as if she hadn’t just tried to blow his world apart.

But he had her number. “Did I mention that Kacey won a bronze star? In Afghanistan?”

She frowned, one quick draw of her eyebrow, then set her cocoa down. “Really?”

“Yep. Saved a unit of rangers or something. You should ask her about it.”

“Just like I should ask Pete about his exploits, and Ian, and Ben, and probably Gage, but definitely not you, huh, Ty?”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing to tell. I hurt my knee in an accident, and it’s not easy to use the anti-torque pedals with a bum knee.” He lifted a shoulder, kept it casual.

Her smile fell. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m not the hero of the team. But I do make good cocoa, huh?”

She smiled. “Sorry. I guess I read into things.”

“I’m sure it’s a hazard of the job,” he said, keeping his voice light.

At that moment, he felt utterly grateful he’d sent Jess and Sierra home without little miss Katie Couric to dig around and ask the wrong—or right—questions.

He came around the counter. “C’mon over to the sofa. We’ll see if we can find a Western instead of the weather channel, huh?”

She slid off the stool, walked over, and curled up on the sofa.

But when he handed her a blanket, she turned to him and said softly, “But as for you not being the hero of the team, I completely disagree.”

Oh. He had no words as he picked up the remote, letting her smile warm him through as the blizzard turned the world to ice.

Please, God, don’t let us die. The thought, maybe a prayer, thrummed through the back of Gage’s brain as the tent convulsed around them at the mercy of the blizzard winds.

He lay awake thinking through today’s route, watching the light change from pitch to shades of faint amber, the wan light of dawn pressing through the orange fabric of the tent.

He hoped, desperately, that he hadn’t led Ella to her death.

The temperature had dropped, but inside his glacier bag, and with Ella huddled against him in hers, they were in no danger of freezing.

Still, they might be encased under three feet of snow by morning. And if the snow didn’t abate, he’d be trapped with her on the mountain.

Which would be lethal to his resolve of keeping her from wheedling her way back inside to those places that hadn’t forgotten. He still remembered, too well, what it felt like to hold her in his arms, to feel like, with her, he could be himself.

Although, frankly, that would mean letting her see the wounds she’d left.

Maybe even letting her inflict more.

“I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe until they found you.”

He didn’t quite know what to believe, but her soft words had nearly undone him. Tempered the residual anger, made him revisit that night.

“We were friends.”

Yes, maybe they were. Which meant that really, probably, they were just two old acquaintances catching up.

And weathering a storm. Still, it wouldn’t do Gage, or his heart, any good to spend another night huddled next to her. Not if he hoped to keep from repeating his mistakes.

No doubt she only clung to him because of her sheer terror at sliding down the mountain.

“Gage, are you awake?”

He looked over, and her eyes were open. She wore a stocking cap, her curly penny red hair spilling out of it, and had her sleeping bag up to her chin.

“Mmmhmm,” he said.

“What are you thinking about?”

He rolled over onto his side. “Just trying to figure out the right line down the rest of the mountain. And hoping your brother is at the snow cave, and . . .” And how devastatingly pretty she looked in the press of dawn, her eyes more gray than blue in this light. “Wishing life had turned out differently.”

She blinked at that. “Like . . . us?”

He didn’t allow his face to betray anything.

She caught her lower lip in her teeth. Sighed.

“What?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it fast. Sighed again. Then, “I know you’re probably wondering why I . . . well, why I didn’t recuse myself.”

He couldn’t help it—he nodded. “I figured I’d hurt you, and it was payback.”

His blunt words reflected in her eyes; she flinched. He hadn’t said it with malice, just a fact, softly.

Because, really, they were just acquaintances catching up, clearing the air.

She drew in a breath then, as if fortifying herself. “I was hurt, yeah. But, the truth is, it was ambition. When the senior lawyer decided to take the case, I was assigned it. Since it was so high profile, he suggested that I would be offered a junior partnership if we won.” She closed her eyes, as if in pain. “I thought maybe I could do the legwork and that you’d settle out of court. Then I wouldn’t have to actually see you . . . but . . . why did you wait so long to settle? I never dreamed you’d let it go to a hearing.”

His jaw tightened; this was why he shouldn’t spend another day with her, because Ella seemed to find new and more lethal ways to hurt him. “I wanted to settle. But then I was angry too. And hurt. I dislocated my shoulder and even cracked a couple ribs—I nearly died in the avalanche that Dylan started. I wanted to talk to his parents, help them understand that he was . . . he was reckless and belligerent and—”

She drew in a breath, as if she was going to add something, but when he looked at her, she shook her head.

So he continued. “I wrote to them, but they responded with a lawsuit, and I was angry. My entire career hinged on defeating them . . . but then I got to the hearing and I took one look at them and I told my lawyer to just let them have what they wanted. But by then it was too late.”

She stared at him. “Oh. Now I know why your lawyer barely defended you.”

“And you had me for lunch.”

She closed her eyes, and he instantly regretted his words. “Sorry—it’s fine. It’s over. I’ve started over, and I like my life—”

“But you were famous. A champion—”

“And look where it got me. Where it got you.” He made a face. “Stuck in the middle of a blizzard, chasing your brother down the face of a mountain.”

“That’s not your fault, Gage.”

He lifted a shoulder.

She was just looking at him. “Can I tell you something?” she said softly. The wind seemed to have died with the rising of the sun, although it still shook the tent. “It’s incredibly hard to follow a line perfectly.”

“You did great yesterday.”

“No, I didn’t. But I tried. And I also found that if I looked too far ahead, I lost where I was. But if you looked back, you would see that I was all over the mountain.”

“As long as you made it safely down,” he said.

“That’s the point. You gave me a line. A safe one. It was my job to ride it. And if I didn’t, it wasn’t your fault.”

He knew she was trying to make a point, but it was too late. “In the end, any way you cut it, it was my fault that Dylan died, and we both know that, Ella. You were right to help Dylan’s family—I should have thrown him off the chopper that morning. I know that. So please, listen to me. It’s in the past, so let’s just leave it, okay?”

She shook her head. “Not if you keep blaming yourself.”

“There’s no one else to blame. And if I don’t get you off this mountain safely, then we’re right back there, aren’t we?”

Her eyes were glistening, and she reached up, wiped her cheek. “I hope not. Because I don’t want to go back. And I know I can’t say it enough, but I’m so sorry. I was ambitious and hurt and I should have walked away from the case.”

He stared at her, wishing she might add, “But not from you.”

Aw, shoot.

“I understand ambition, Ella. I lived it, breathed it. It’s what made me a champion.”

“No—you don’t understand!” She blew out a breath. “Fine. Listen,” she said, her voice shaking. “It wasn’t just ambition. My parents asked me to help the McMahons, and I wanted to prove to my parents that I was worth all the energy and all they’d sacrificed to give me a future. But . . .” Her expression turned so forlorn. “I just managed to destroy the life of someone I cared deeply about.”

He frowned.

Cared. Past tense. But really, what did he expect? That she’d pine for him? “What did you mean, you wanted to prove to your parents you were worth it?”

She sighed. “I’m adopted, Gage. I should have told you that—or I would have, if we’d gotten further into our relationship. My parents are . . . well, the Blairs are my adoptive parents. I’m a Slovakian refugee. Me and Ollie.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

She swallowed, made a face. “I lived in Serbia with my parents—my Slovakian parents—until I was eleven years old. My father was a philosophy professor at Belgrade University and a pastor. My mother was a physician. We lived in Belgrade with my older brother, Jovan, who was seventeen, and Ollie, who was four.”

She took a breath. He didn’t move.

“We were refugees from the war between Serbia and Kosovo.”

He stared at her, trying to reconcile her words with the composed, preppy lawyer he’d met at Outlaw.

“We came to America under refugee status, and my parents started working for the Blairs. My parents died in a car crash a couple years later, and that’s when the Blairs adopted Ollie and me.”

She met his eyes. “Jovan died in the NATO bombing of Belgrade. It happened right outside our apartment, actually. By then, most of us who were left in the city were living in ruins, and Father was working in the underground, getting fellow Slovaks out of the country. I’ll never forget the day Jovan died. We were getting ready to leave, and he went out. I never knew why. Father was standing at the window, watching for him when he saw him come home. It was early in the morning, and Jovan was simply crossing the street . . . and then, the world exploded.”

He could almost see it in her eyes, the grief flashing there.

“Ella—”

“It was so senseless.” She clenched her eyes closed, and he wanted to stop her from reliving whatever she was about to say.

“The bomb destroyed part of our building.” She opened her eyes, her gaze far from him. “I was in bed with Ollie, and we woke up to the explosion, our room raining debris, the wall in our room shattering open to the world. Mama was screaming—Papa had been blown back into the kitchen.” She looked at him then. “There was nothing left of Jovan. Papa looked . . . and then we fled. Papa had already connected us with a church in Vermont, and the Blairs sponsored us, brought us into their home. They were good people. Had no kids of their own, so . . .”

He had the terrible urge to reach out, thumb away the tear sliding down her nose.

“Anyway, Ollie never really remembered our parents. The Blairs are the only parents he knows. But I remember everyone. It’s my job to keep Ollie safe. He’s the only real family I have left. And I have to make my parents proud—all of them. They’ve given me so much. And I need to—”

“Save the world, apparently.”

Her mouth tightened, and he guessed he wasn’t too far off. So he softened his voice. “I’m so sorry, Ella. I didn’t know.”

“I should have told you. I wanted to . . . but I didn’t know how, and then . . . well, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

There was something so painfully honest about her sigh.

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter. Not now.”

But she shook her head. “I’ve been so fortunate. And I’m so grateful. And when my parents came to me with the McMahons’ lawsuit, I told them we’d help them. I didn’t think about what would happen. And then, suddenly, I was being given the case, and . . . well, my hurt and ambition took over. Until I saw you . . . and then, I just wanted to run. I felt caught between two worlds, and I chose . . .”

“You chose your family.” And now he couldn’t help it—he touched her face, caressed his thumb over her nose. Rested his hand on her cheek. “I get it.”

She touched her hand to his, and for a long moment, he stared at her, caught in her beautiful blue-gray eyes, watching the dawn turn her hair to fire and highlight the freckles on her nose.

Wow, she could take his breath away. His voice emerged low. “Okay, so we both have baggage. And made some mistakes. And are pretty good at blaming ourselves, apparently.”

She slid her hand from his. “But that’s the thing, you really shouldn’t blame yourself—”

A gust of wind raked the tent. She gasped and closed her eyes.

“Shh, we’re going to be okay.” He tugged on her stocking cap. “Close your eyes. We need our sleep if we want to get down this mountain alive, okay?”

He felt her nod.

Exhale.

And he finally said the words building up in his chest, freeing them in a soft whisper. “You said you know you don’t deserve my help—but that’s the thing. No one in trouble should be worried about whether they deserve help. They need help, and that’s the point. I’m glad you called me.”

He wanted to say more, but when she backed away and looked at him, tears in her eyes, maybe that was enough.

For now.

Brette opened her eyes and tried to get her bearings. Right, the PEAK ranch house.

The last time Brette had woken up in a public place, she’d been following the early presidential campaign of Michelle Bachman, a senator out of Minnesota, vying for a private meeting to pitch her biography.

But even at the Hilton, she’d woken up on the sofa, alone, and not cuddled up to the very safe presence of Ty Remington.

This was much better. She wouldn’t exactly call it cuddling, maybe, because he sat, his long legs propped on a pillow on a straight back chair, his head to the side while she curled in a ball on the rest of the sofa, her head on a pillow next to him. But he had let his other arm drop and settle on her shoulder, as if checking to see if she might be okay.

Maybe she’d been groaning in her sleep, because her stomach still ached.

But not so much that she’d turn down whatever was cooking in the kitchen. She pushed herself up with a moan.

“Are you okay?”

Ty had come alive beside her and was scrubbing a hand down his face. He leaned up.

“Yeah. I think so. How did the movie end?”

He looked up at her, and for a moment, it struck her how incredibly handsome he was. Wavy black hair, dark whiskers, beautiful green eyes. And a little smirk to his mouth that only added that sense of some personal humor, a kind of secret behind his eyes.

She might just be dreaming that part, but she liked it all the same.

“The cowboy saved the day, got the girl, and they lived happily ever after. Just the way it’s supposed to happen,” he said in an easy Montana twang.

She hadn’t realized how much she liked cowboys, really, until this moment.

A bang sounded in the kitchen as the microwave door slammed shut.

She glanced over, a little surprised to see Pete at the helm, holding a flat spatula, his back to them. The microwave hummed. And if she wasn’t mistaken, coffee gurgled in the pot.

“Hey, Pete,” Ty said.

Pete didn’t turn, and when Brette glanced at Ty, he was frowning.

Outside, dawn had barely begun to dent the night. She got up and headed to the window.

Light scraped across the freshly fallen snow, and the wind lifted it in soft layers and drifted it up against the house and fencing in white waves. But it seemed the worst of the storm had abated.

She headed to the kitchen and slid onto a stool. Pete still had his back to her and was now pulling bacon from a cast-iron pan onto a plate with paper towels. “That looks good,” she said.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, then at Ty, who’d risen and was walking upstairs.

“What kind of eggs do you like?” Pete said, looking back at her. He didn’t smile.

“Over easy?”

He nodded and reached for a couple eggs in the nearby carton. Cracked them into the cast-iron pan.

Maybe coffee would help her stomach. She got up and helped herself to a mug from the cupboard, then poured herself a cup. She leaned her hip against the side of the counter. “Jess told me a little of your exploits this summer.”

He glanced at her. “She did?”

His voice held a little shock, even an edge of delight.

Huh.

“Yeah. Told me about how you saved the team from a grizzly. And then how you tracked down a bunch of kids. Said you helped with the flood victims this summer too. Apparently you have your FEMA certification and work as an incident commander for the PEAK team?”

He made a funny noise, turned back to the stove. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

She stole a piece of bacon. “I’d love to interview you, if I could. I write inspirational stories for Nat Geo and sometimes other national publications—”

“I don’t think so,” he said. He reached up into the cupboard and pulled out a plate. Set it on the counter.

“Why not?”

The stairs creaked, and she looked over to see Ty emerge. He’d run a comb through his hair, changed his shirt to a thermal gray pullover with the PEAK team logo on the breast.

Pete turned back to the eggs.

“I don’t give interviews anymore. I’m not about the limelight—I’m just trying to get the job done.”

He scooped out her eggs, slid them onto the plate. “Here you go.”

She couldn’t help but be a little taken aback by his demeanor. This was not the Pete both Ty and Jess had bragged about. She brought the plate to the counter, slid onto a stool.

“You making breakfast, Pete?” Ty asked.

Pete turned off the stove. “Eggs are in the carton and there’s some bacon left.” He took his plate of fried eggs and a mug of coffee to a nearby table.

He didn’t look at them as he sat, didn’t invite them to join him, just stared out the window.

Okay. She glanced at Ty, who frowned, then cast a look at her.

Smiled.

Ty had such a nice smile, it warmed up the entire room.

Oh, for crying out loud. She must be really tired.

Besides, the last man she’d let in her heart had left so many scars on her pride and psyche, not to mention her body, she’d be a fool to trust any man again.

She tamped down her renegade heartbeat and cut up her eggs. The coffee hadn’t set well, and the bacon was setting her stomach on edge.

Ty fired up the stove and cracked a couple eggs in the pan. The door opened, and Brette turned to see Sierra and Jess come into the room. Sierra stamped off her feet on the mat.

It was just a flash, a snapshot of memory, but for some reason as Jess came in the door, as she flicked her hair back and grabbed the frame and waited for Sierra to move over, something flickered in Brette’s memory.

The snapshot fled her recall before she could wrap her fingers around it, but in that second, she knew.

She had seen Jess before.

“Hey, everyone,” Sierra said as she pulled off her coat. She headed over to the coffeepot and poured herself a mug of java before going to the communications station.

Jess shut the door behind her, hung up her coat, then looked at Pete. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he answered softly and gave her a small smile.

Look at that. For a second, something passed between them, and Brette wanted to slow it down, take it apart.

Regret? Longing?

Then Pete glanced away, looking back toward the snowy landscape.

He was a handsome man when he smiled, Brette would give Pete that.

Jess headed over to the kitchen. Brette watched her, the way she moved, the tiny touch she gave Ty on his shoulder, another flick of her long blonde hair. She was pretty, with high cheekbones, a tall, lean body. She wore a pair of jeans, a sweater, no makeup.

“Can I order two eggs, sunny-side up?” she asked Ty.

Jess carried herself like a woman used to getting what she wanted. Or at least used to being in charge.

Ty plated the eggs he was cooking and handed the plate to her, and she carried it to the counter. She slid onto a stool beside Brette.

Then Jess reached for a napkin and put it in her lap. Interesting.

It was right there, the answer, floating around in the back of Brette’s mind, almost tangible. She must have been staring, because she didn’t hear Sierra until she raised her voice.

“Ty! It’s Gage calling in.”

Ty turned off the heat on the stove while Brette slid off her stool and followed the rest of the team over to the radio.

“PEAK HQ, PEAK HQ, this is Watson, come in, over,” came the voice again.

“Watson, this is PEAK HQ. What’s your position? Over,” Sierra said.

The noise brought Chet out of his office, where he must have spent the night.

“We’re still on the face of Heaven’s Peak. We didn’t make it to the snow cave, but we’re okay. Heading down the face this morning, and we’ll keep you posted. Over.”

“Roger. No sign of the boys?” Sierra asked, voicing Brette’s question.

“No,” Gage said. “But we’ll find them.”

Brette glanced at Ty then. The sunlight illuminated his profile—strong, with an intensity about it that slid under her skin and into her heart.

Yeah, she very much liked cowboys.

He nodded in the wake of Gage’s words, as if agreeing. Then he turned, met her gaze, and held it.

And Brette forgot all about the mysterious Jess Tagg.