8

“LISTEN, GAGE. You get on the mountain, find this kid’s trail, if the wind hasn’t scraped it clean, grab these kids, and get off the mountain.” Chet King hadn’t been thrilled with the prospect of sending his only chopper up the mountain. Gage sat on a table in the lunchroom, his feet on the bench, listening to his instruction through the phone while Jess and Ty assembled his gear.

“And I don’t like you going alone. It’s dangerous. Can’t you take Pete? Or Jess?”

Gage knew the dangers, too well, having skied alone the first time. He ran a hand across his forehead. “Sorry, boss, but no one can ski the big stuff.” If Ty didn’t have a busted knee, maybe . . .

Of course, there was one other person who could keep up, but really, that was out of the question.

Gage could nearly see the old man standing in his office, probably staring at the mountain range, even see his grim expression as he sighed.

“Okay, but remember, you aren’t alone out there.”

“Yeah, I know. PEAK will track me—”

“Yes, but no, I meant God is with you.”

Gage drew in a breath.

Chet must have read his silence. “I know you have a history with God, Gage. Once upon a time, you trusted him.”

“That was before I . . .” Gage looked around, cut his voice low. “Listen, I made some bad decisions, and they backfired. Since then, God and I have agreed to stay out of each other’s way.”

Gage glanced over at Ty assembling his navigational gear—GPS, compass, map.

“Don’t for a minute think that God has forgotten about you or doesn’t have your back. And don’t base God’s love or desire to help you on your opinion of yourself. Base it on who God says he is.”

Gage said nothing, and thankfully, Chet didn’t press him. Instead, “Now listen, you stay safe and come back.”

In other words, live.

“Roger, Boss.”

The simple objective ticked off in the back of his brain as Gage hung up and took inventory of his gear.

Ty added the navigation equipment to the table. “You’ve got skins, an avi beacon, a probe, a signaling mirror, a whistle, an ice ax, and a two-way radio.”

“Grab me another set of batteries,” Gage said. He added a head lamp, a first aid kit, matches, a lighter, a camp stove, a knife, a two-man bivvy, and a sleeping bag to the pile.

“I really hope I can find these kids in the next couple hours. I don’t want to spend the night on the mountain.” He grabbed his pack and began to tuck in the supplies.

“I don’t want you to either.” This from Jess, who came over with rations—energy bars, a dehydrated pack of chili mac, and some beef stroganoff. “I’m still trying to decide if I think you’re crazy or brave.”

“He’s in love with the girl,” Ty said, bringing over an emergency blanket. “Ella.”

Gage looked up at him. “What?”

Ty handed Jess the blanket. “I figured it out.” He turned to Jess. “Last night, when he saw Ella Blair, he went white and turned grouchy.”

“I was trying to find her brother before he did something stupid. Like this,” Gage growled. To the back of the pack he attached his folding ski poles and tucked his skins into a side pocket.

“And then we got back to the condo, and he went into hiding. Turned on The Fugitive.”

“Wow, yeah, that’s bad,” Jess said.

Gage frowned at them. “The Fugitive is a classic.”

“I’m just saying—when you want to think and pretend you’re not brooding, you watch classics.” Jess folded her arms. “Usually westerns, but I can see the draw of The Fugitive. All that running.”

“Whatever.”

“He knows Ella, from before,” Ty said. And then he turned to Gage. “And that’s where it gets complicated. I kept thinking, the entire time she was talking today, why would Gage even talk to the woman who’d prosecuted him in civil court, stripped away everything he had—”

“Her brother is missing!”

“And then I went back to what he said last night about knowing her—he went skiing with her a few times.”

“Gage went skiing with her?” Jess looked up at him.

Gage held up his hand. “Enough.”

“Oh, Gage. Dude.” Jess stood up. “Now you’re really busted because we know you—you ski alone. Always.”

Ty walked up and handed Jess toilet paper, an extra pair of socks, and binoculars. “Exactly. And the rest isn’t hard to figure out. The way I see it, Gage fell for Ella, somehow, and then she broke his heart.”

Gage stood up. “Quit analyzing my life.”

“And he hasn’t gotten over her,” Ty finished.

Jess gave him a sad look, and he wanted to punch Ty in the mouth. “Thanks for that.” He nearly said something about the torrid nonaffair these two were having, trying to fool everyone, but he had more important things to worry about.

Still. “We had one date, nothing more. She only liked me because I was famous in that corner of the world.” He knelt and shoved his sleeping bag into the top of his pack. Then he added an insulated hydration bottle to the outside pocket.

“Let’s go.” He hoisted the pack onto one shoulder and grabbed his helmet. “I’ll keep in contact with PEAK once I get to the top. Hopefully I’ll be back for pizza tonight at the ranch.”

Ty sobered now, clamped him on the shoulder. “And here’s where I say I wish I were going with you.”

“Your knee still isn’t what it should be and we both know it. The stress of the powder would make you the third person I have to carry off the mountain. There’s plenty of things you can do that I can’t, Ty. It just so happens that backcountry skiing is in my wheelhouse. I’ll be fine. You show up at the bottom, okay?”

Ty nodded, and both Ty and Jess followed him out into the lunchroom. He’d opted out of his red ski patrol jacket and now grabbed his gray down ski jacket. He picked up a smaller terrain map, folded it, and shoved it into his zippered pocket. Then he pulled his gaiter over his neck, zipped up his jacket.

“He’s in love with the girl.”

Maybe, once upon a time. But that was before she’d walked into his life and then proceeded to dismantle it. But despite their one date, as he’d put it, she still knew how to lay his heart open with her words, make him see something in himself he didn’t know he possessed.

“That guy could save my brother’s life, if he wanted to.”

He wished she hadn’t said that because looking at her, so much confidence in her beautiful blue-gray eyes, well, for a second, he did want to. Wanted to be the hero he’d been, the one who’d pulled her from the pool, held her in his arms, who’d watched her eyes light up when he suggested he find her in Vermont.

That guy had risen from the dead and volunteered, like a love-sick teen, to risk his sorry neck on some nearly unskiable mountain in Glacier National Park.

But he wasn’t doing this for her. He was doing it because, for all his mistakes, he still couldn’t get past the fact that it was the right thing to do.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

The sky still shone blue and bright, just the finest hint of gray cumulus to the west as he stepped out onto the patrol shack porch. He pulled on his pack, put on his helmet, and grabbed his board. His gloves dangled from the clip on his jacket, and he’d shoved a headband into his pocket for the high-altitude winds.

Then he tucked his board under his arm and headed out toward the chopper.

Kacey met him as he approached the gated area. She wore a down jacket over her jumpsuit and her helmet.

“She won’t leave.”

Huh?

Kacey turned, walking with him as he headed toward the chopper. “That girl, Ella Blair. She’s sitting in the chopper. She was there when I came out, wearing a backpack, dressed for Siberia, and holding her board. It looks like she’s going with you.”

He stared at her, the words sliding through him, latching on. Then, “Oh, no, she’s not.”

Ella was sitting in the second row of seats, already strapped in, as if that meant something. She was wearing an orange ski jacket and had her helmet on, her pack stowed between her feet.

He opened the door.

She glanced at him, then looked straight ahead. “I’m going.”

“No,” he said, climbing aboard. He shoved his board into the back of the chopper. “You’re leaving. Right now.”

“I’m going. You know I can keep up with you, and it’s my brother.”

Gage drew in a breath. “I know you can keep up with me—on tamed powder. This isn’t that—this is backcountry skiing down a steep face—”

“I’ve been backcountry skiing. With you.” She turned, her mouth in a tight bud of defiance. “Redemption Ridge?”

“That was different. It was practically a highway—”

“I went off a cliff. I followed your line perfectly. I’ll do it again—I’ll stay right in your line, do everything you—”

“Ella, you’re not going!” He reached over then, frustrated, and grabbed her buckle.

She shot him an elbow in his chest. “Get off me!”

He fell back in his seat, his chest burning. “Please. You’re just making this harder. Don’t be so stubborn.”

She rounded on him. “Do you even remember anything about me? The reason we met in the first place? I came a thousand miles for a guy who was a friend of the family. This is my brother we’re talking about.”

He stared at her, the flash in those devastating blue-gray eyes, the pout of her lips, the way she met his gaze, unflinching. “Oh yeah, I remember,” he said quietly.

She sucked in a breath, and he wondered which part she thought he might be referring to. Then she nodded. “Good.”

“But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you go. This is dangerous enough for me. I’m not going to let you get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt. You’ll keep me safe.”

Oh. And what was he supposed to do with that?

“No.”

She sighed. “Fine. Then I’ll just hire this Curry guy and ask him to—”

“Stop it, Ella! I’m not playing this game with you. If you want to risk your neck, alone, then fine—but I’m not giving in to threats. Not again.”

That took the fire out of her. She looked at him, then away. “Sorry. You’re right. That was . . . a desperate attempt.”

“Or a low blow.”

She closed her eyes then. Nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Her soft answer knocked some of the edge off his anger. “No—I get it. I know you want to go. And yeah, you’re a good skier, Ella. Probably one of the best amateurs I’ve ever met. But it’s . . . dangerous. And there’s a storm coming in, so I have to ski fast. Find them, lead them off the mountain.”

“I know. And I’ll stay right on your trail. I went to the ski store—I bought everything. A pack, sleeping bag, extra clothes, food, and my own avalanche beacon. I’m ready.”

Kacey had climbed into the front cockpit and now glanced back at Gage.

“Do your preflight, Kacey,” he said. She put on her helmet, raised an eyebrow, but nodded. He heard her on the radio, calling PEAK HQ.

“Listen to me, Gage,” Ella said. “You’re right—it is dangerous. But you might as well not go at all than go alone. What if you do find my brother, and he’s hurt? Are you going to ski him down alone? Even my brother brought a buddy.”

He looked out the window. Ty stood beside Jess at the edge of the gate, and Gage heard his friend’s words twine through his head. “Let’s just say that Jess needs me . . . that’s what teammates are for. Standing beside each other even if it doesn’t make sense.”

Brette, Ella’s friend, walked up, stood next to Ty.

Gage turned to Ella. “Let me see that backpack.”

She handed it over. As he sifted through it, he had to admit that she’d thought of everything, and quickly, including hand and foot warmer packets and even a folding snow shovel. He’d forgotten that.

“I’m ready,” she said, as if confirming his thoughts.

“You promise to stay in my line? Trust everything I do, even if it doesn’t make sense?”

“I promise.”

“And you have to promise me, Ella, that if I say we need to get off the mountain, and we haven’t found your brother, you won’t freak out. You’ll obey me, even if it hurts.”

She swallowed. Nodded.

“And then, after this is over, you leave. And I never have to see you again.”

She hitched her breath, as if he’d slapped her. But nodded.

“Fine.” He tightened his jaw and turned to Kacey. “Take us in.”

God, please bring them home.

Ty let the prayer free from where it gathered in his chest, let it follow the chopper as Kacey fired it up.

If there was one thing he’d learned last spring, while trying not to die as the pieces of the chopper scattered in the snow around him, as Chet’s groans bruised the air, was that prayer kept people alive.

At least, it had kept him alive. Him and Chet. And frankly, that prayer had reignited something inside Ty he hadn’t realized he’d needed.

Faith. It was a story he couldn’t quite tell yet. Not with him still floundering, unable to find his feet. Like now—he should be in the pilot’s seat.

Ty stood back as the chopper’s blades churned the snow around them, powder spitting into the wind. He held up his hand and watched Kacey ease them into the air, lifting them out, away.

The blue bird headed into the sunlight, toward the Flathead mountain range of Glacier National Park.

Ty could nearly feel the vibrations through the gear stick, the drop of his stomach as the machine slid into the sky, his right hand controlling the lift.

Once upon a time, flying a chopper felt like an extension of himself.

He missed the view, the soaring over the pine-laden hills, the snow-frosted granite cliffs of the park.

Back when life made sense. He had a job, a reason for being here.

Didn’t stand on the sidelines.

At the very least, he could sit in the copilot’s seat. It wasn’t as if Kacey hadn’t invited him.

Someday, hopefully, he’d figure out what kept him from stepping into the simulator. Maybe even find the words to talk about the accident.

Why it happened.

How they’d lived.

Only Kacey had read the accident report, only she really knew the specifics of the crash. And no one knew the story of how he’d dragged himself to help.

He planned to keep it that way.

No use reliving what he couldn’t change.

“Ella wanted me to ask if I could go back to PEAK Rescue with you and monitor their progress on the radio.” Brette had come up to him and Jess just before the chopper lifted off. She wore a ski jacket, a pair of leggings, utilitarian Sorels, and a headband that held back her mane of pale blonde hair. Short and cute, she’d peppered him with questions about how Gage had tracked down Curry, asking for details on when and where the chopper pilot had dropped Ollie off.

“Sure. You can ride with me,” Ty said. “Gage left his Mustang here. Or you can ride with Jess.”

Jess turned to her, stuck out her hand. “Jess Tagg,” she said. “I’m an EMT for the PEAK team.”

“Brette Arnold. Journalist.”

Only Ty noticed the slight twitch at the sides of Jess’s smile. “Glad to meet you,” Jess said, just a hint too brightly.

“Why don’t you ride with me?” Ty said, and for a fraction of a second, he met Jess’s eyes.

But Brette hadn’t even blinked at Jess’s name, hadn’t given her a second look, hadn’t in the least suggested she might know her from somewhere.

Didn’t realize that she was standing in front of a juicy story—“Missing Heiress Finally Located.”

Not that Jess was in hiding, but she certainly wasn’t alerting the media to her change of address. Or name. Or overall identity.

So maybe she was in hiding. Ty hadn’t really thought about it in that way before. But people like Brette could blow Jess’s world to pieces with a headline. And Jess, despite her mistakes, didn’t deserve that.

He glanced at Jess, who was heading into the patrol shack, then back to Brette. She was still watching the chopper disappear over the mountains.

So maybe he was overreacting; maybe Jess’s paranoia was starting to affect his common sense. “If you leave your car here,” he said to Brette, who turned to him, shading her eyes against the sun, “Ella will have something to drive when she and Gage get back.” Sooner than later, he hoped.

He’d checked the radio reception and thrown extra batteries into Gage’s bag. He shouldn’t worry—if anyone knew how to get down the mountain safely, it was Gage. For all Ty’s years on the slopes, he’d never managed to acquire the brazen, powder-hound skills of Gage “Watts” Watson.

Frankly, watching Gage fly off a cliff or flip in the air took the breath out of Ty’s chest. Just thinking about sticking the landing made his leg ache.

He just wasn’t the hero that Gage was—his one skill had been flying. And with that off the radar, he was relegated to . . . well, currently, babysitting.

Although, as Brette looked up at him, her pretty eyes betraying worry, maybe he could be a friend. “Gage knows what he’s doing,” he said. “He knows these mountains, and how to survive. He’s probably part mountain goat. If anyone can bring Oliver and his friend—and Ella—back safely, it’s Gage Watson.”

She nodded. “I know—I read up on him. Two freeriding world championships and a couple dozen epic descents that have over a million views on YouTube. A real hero.”

“What makes him a hero is the fact that he spends every day keeping kids like Oliver safe, rescuing the hurt or lost.” He took out Gage’s key, clicked the Mustang open.

“Aren’t you on the team too?” Brette went around and climbed in.

“Mmmhmm.” Ty got in, adjusted the seat back, and in the rearview mirror spied Jess climbing into her Jeep.

“How many people are on the PEAK team?” Brette asked.

“There’s nine of us—three EMTs, including Gage. We have a couple brothers on the team—Pete is our rock-climbing and swift water rescue specialist. Sam, his brother, is a deputy sheriff and liaison to the sheriff’s department. Then there’s Kacey, our chopper pilot, and Miles, our incident commander, and Ben King—”

“The country singer?”

Ty looked over, nodded. “He actually moved here last summer. Was involved in the rescue of flood victims. His fiancé was in a house that collapsed.”

“You’re kidding. And he rescued her?”

“Him and our team. PEAK was started by Ian Shaw, who owns a ranch—”

“Ian Shaw, the billionaire?”

“You know who he is?”

“Of course. He’s on the board of a big charity in New York City I wrote a feature on a couple years ago. It’s a charity that helps children with autism and Asperger’s. His son that he lost in Katrina was autistic.”

Ty didn’t know that part. “He’s been single as long as I’ve known him. He did have a niece who went missing a few years ago in the park, but they found out she’s alive—”

“She went missing in the park? Wow, that sounds like quite the story.”

“Maybe. I wasn’t involved back then.”

“And what do you do?”

“I’m the backup chopper pilot.” Not a lie. Just not current.

“You fly helicopters?”

The way she said it, a little breathlessness in her voice, stirred something inside him. A long-dormant feeling he couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah. I was the main pilot before Kacey got here. She used to be a search and rescue chopper pilot for the military, in Afghanistan.”

“A war hero.”

“Yes. She has a bronze star.”

Brette looked out the window. They were passing through main street Whitefish, past the quaint shops, the cafes. She glanced at her watch. “Think they’re on the mountain yet?”

“Soon, probably. We’ll get an update when we get back to the ranch.”

“I can’t believe this happened. But I’m not surprised. Oliver grew up entitled, was told he could do anything . . . and believed it. That’s what happens when your parents give you everything you want, when you need nothing in life. You go looking for adventure, hoping to fill up the empty places that only hard work and accomplishment can give you. Ever since I’ve known Ella, she’s been worried about Ollie. She didn’t grow up the same way he did.”

“Really, how’s that?”

“Ella and Oliver are immigrants from Serbia. They came over in the early nineties with their parents. The Blairs sponsored them and took them in, gave them jobs. Ella was about eleven and Ollie four when both their parents died in a car crash. The Blairs adopted them, but Ella never forgot how her parents scraped together a life for them. Ollie, however, never really knew them. He can’t remember any parents but Mansfield and Marjorie Blair. They own half of Vermont’s maple syrup production, and Mrs. Blair was a state senator. To say that Ollie and Ella made a giant economic jump is an understatement. But I think that’s why Ella is so grounded. Now Ollie, he grew up getting anything he wanted, but also in the shadow of giants. With such high-performing adopted parents and Ella setting the pace, I guess he decided he had to do something epic. I’m hoping that this experience teaches him that he’s not invincible. That is, if they make it home in one piece.”

She fell silent then, and he heard a low muttered “please.”

But her words had clung to him. “He grew up getting anything he wanted. I’m hoping that this experience teaches him that he’s not invincible.”

Yes, tragedy and mistakes and being in over your head did that to a person.

“So, you’re saying you have a country singer who moonlights as a rescuer, a billionaire cowboy hiding out in Montana after the tragic loss of his family, a snowboarder rewriting his life as a rescuer, and a war hero dedicating her life to saving civilians?”

Ty hadn’t thought about his team in that way, but . . . “Yes.”

“This is definitely the right place for me to hang out.”

He glanced at her. Brette had taken her phone out, was typing. “Who are you texting?”

“A note to my agent, asking what she thinks about a story about a team of heroes.”

Oh. “What kind of journalist are you?”

She finished her note, tucked her phone away. “I write inspirational pieces for Time and Nat Geo online, as well as biographies and other bio-pieces about larger-than-life heroes. Actually, it’s harder than you think to find a true hero. Everyone has secrets, and if you look hard enough, we’re all just hiding behind how we hope people view us.”

How we hope people view us. Yeah, he’d had that persona firmly in place, trying to be a hero, keep up with the rest of the PEAK team.

“You need to meet Pete. He’s our local celebrity. Saved a couple kids from a grizzly last summer and brought home a group of teenagers who went over a cliff in their van.”

Her eyes widened. “Now you’re talking. Where do I meet this Pete?”

He didn’t know why, but the question, the little lilt of curiosity in her voice, had his stomach tightening. “He’ll probably be back at the ranch.”

She was silent for a moment, then turned to him. “And what about Jess? What does she do?”

“She’s an EMT.”

“How long has she been with the team?”

“A couple years, why?”

Brette had taken out her phone again. “I don’t know. There’s just something about her. She looks so familiar, like we’ve met before. It’s just outside my brain, and I’m trying to grab it.”

He swallowed, said nothing.

“But don’t worry. I never forget a face, or name, or details. I just have to place her, and I’ll remember her story. No one hides from me.”

One look at Heaven’s Peak, its white-capped spine cutting through the wispy clouds to soar magnificent and deadly above the mountain scape of the Livingstone Range, told Ella that maybe she should have kept her mouth shut.

Listened to Brette as she followed her into the mountain ski shop, arguing for sanity.

“You can’t go down that mountain—you’ll only end up in pieces, like Ollie.”

No, she wouldn’t. Because she’d skied with Gage before and knew he’d pick a safe route, one that she could ski.

And she’d been a backcountry skier for years—where did Brette think Ollie got his inspiration?

Now, watching the wind lift the top layer of snow from the cornice that capped the mountain, and then following the narrow ridge that wound down toward the bowl, a sheer drop intersected only by steep cliffs and channels of deep powder, Ella had to bite her lip to keep herself from glancing at Gage, letting him see that he might have been right.

It was dangerous. And yeah, she might be in way over her head.

But she also meant her words—if he got injured, just who would save him? He could perish up here just as easily as anyone else. Gage needed a partner, and she could do this. And he would keep her safe, to the best of his abilities.

She just had to stay in his track.

She took a long breath and tried to appreciate the view. They’d flown into the park, over a frozen Lake McDonald, then up the river toward Logan Pass. White-capped mountains littered the horizon, jagged peaks of glacial ice and razor-edge granite, tufted with deep, crystalline, heavenly powder. Unblemished, frozen, perfect.

Pine trees laden with snow jutted up through the white, a postcard beauty, but lethal if they didn’t measure their turns, cut too close, and ended upside down in a tree well.

This was why she was here—in case even legendary Gage Watson made a mistake. Besides, her brother needed her, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

She finally hazarded a glance at Gage. He had the map out, was studying the mountain. She leaned over, and without asking he traced their trail along the map, starting along the ridge. He pointed out a cliff face maybe two hundred feet down, then another, even lower. Then down the face, not quite perpendicular, but veering off to the east.

Then lower, to a cave in the cliff wall.

“We’ll camp here tonight!” he said into his mic.

She nodded.

Kacey rose along the front face of the peak, which was too steep for snow to cling to, a barren gray granite. An icing of snowy, thick frosting covered the ridgeline, a cornice of ice maybe twenty feet thick. And, as they got closer to the top, she could almost taste the fresh powder stinging her tongue and cheeks as she surfed over it.

Big mountain skiing felt a lot like flying, as if through weighty, powdery clouds, with the occasional drop into thin air, the breath of heaven in her lungs.

She never felt as though she could abandon herself, dive into the moment, like she did when she rode powder.

As if sensing her thoughts, Gage glanced over at her then, and for a second grinned. It stirred up so much memory she had to swallow, fast.

Then, as if he’d forgotten himself, the grin vanished and he returned to the view.

They reached the peak, and Kacey hovered over the ridgeline, a forty-foot expanse that dropped off two thousand feet on either side. Creamy, untouched powder deceived as it hid gullies and drop-offs, lethal spires of granite and ice floes that could break off in layers and chase them down the hill.

Rotor wash skimmed a surface layer of powder into the crisp air like fairy dust.

“I can’t actually set down on the mountain, but I can hover and you can jump out, okay?” Kacey’s voice came through her headphones.

“Got it,” Ella said.

“I’ll go first,” Gage said, but she shook her head. No way was he getting down there only for Kacey to fly away with her still in tow.

“I’ll go—you hand me the gear,” she said. Besides, the snow pack on her side of the chopper looked more stable.

His mouth tightened in a grim, acquiescing line.

She took off her headphones, put on her helmet, and opened the door. The wash of the rotors nearly sucked her out. Kacey hovered maybe five feet from the base of the hill, and it didn’t take much for Ella to step out onto a skid and jump off.

She landed in the powder, soft as pudding, and had to dig herself out. When she found her feet, Gage was leaning out of the chopper, handing her down her board, then the two packs.

She set them in the snow, then took his board.

In a moment, he landed in the snow next to her. Then he stood up and waved, and Kacey veered away. Gage checked in his radio, and Kacey confirmed.

Ella stood on top of the world. For as far as she could see, mountains pressed up against the vault of blue sky. To the west, gunmetal-gray clouds shadowed the peaks, evidence of the encroaching storm. And standing here on the cornice, the air turned whisper thin.

She examined their route—the thick spine, then the bowl below, the cliffs and bushy green pines, so far below they seemed like toys. Wind swirled around them, dusting up from the pristine snowpack. “I don’t see any tracks,” she said.

“Could be the wind sheer scraping it away. Or maybe they put down somewhere else,” Gage said. He had put on his pack and now held hers up for her to back into.

Apparently, he simply couldn’t help the gentleman part of him. She snapped on the waist belt, hitched down the shoulder straps.

He locked his boots into his board. “Good to go?”

She did the same, pulled her goggles down, and the world lost the sharp glare. “Let’s do this.”

“Just keep it easy, and stay behind me.” He bounced himself forward, added an adjustment in weight, and began to slide down the thick wide spine.

For a long moment, her heart simply slammed against her ribs, watching him. Seeing his grace on the snow, making it look effortless. As he slid, snow cascaded from the top in a shower, sending bullets and a wave of powder in his wake.

Follow my line.

She eased herself forward with a shift in her hips, bounced along to start movement, then found his trail, a beautiful thick crease in the snow. She spread her arms, found her balance, took a full breath.

She refused to glance down, but kept her gaze on the line, glancing at him, some thirty feet ahead. He seemed to be taking it slow, glancing back at her occasionally but setting a steady pace.

His course was easy, wide, no sharp turns, a beautiful rhythm as they rode down the spine into the wild blue yonder. Heat suffused her body as it warmed up to the dance, the swish of the snow like a whisper under her board.

He finally paused in a spray of white when they reached the first chute. She caught up to him, breathing harder than she wanted to admit.

She stared at the chute, trying not to let her breath catch.

The chute spanned maybe twenty feet but dropped down two hundred feet between two thick runnels of granite. It ended at an outcropping of granite, where it disappeared into white space.

She knew from looking at the map and his video that the first fall was nearly forty feet.

“Why are you stopping?”

“There’s another chute, a little further down the ridge. It’s wider, and longer, and no jump.”

She glanced at him, wished she could read his eyes through his goggles. “Won’t that take us off course?”

His mouth tightened in an affirmative nonverbal.

“Why would we do that?”

He looked at her then, a little bit of “really?” in his expression.

And that just added a swirl of heat to her chest. “No. I can do this, Gage. Don’t go slower, don’t pull back because of me.”

His mouth tightened in a tight bud of frustration. “Fine. We’ll stop right above the ledge, just ski under control.”

“In your line,” she said.

His jaw clenched, but he edged forward, the tip of his board over the edge, into air. Seemed to consider his route.

She held her breath. It felt a little like waiting for the needle in a doctor’s office.

With a hop, he lifted off the edge and into the chute.

She watched him go, powder curling up behind his turns like a wave. He moved as if he were dancing, smooth, no hesitation as he caught air off a rise, circling his arms for balance, then landed in a graceful puff of snow. He continued down, and she couldn’t move, caught in the sight of him.

Gage Watson belonged to freeriding. Or rather, freeriding belonged to him. He flew down angles most men—and women—would cling to, terrified.

He caught another jump and this time tucked for a second, and she knew he’d let a part of himself hearken back to the days before the fame. Back to the time when he simply rode powder for the fun of it.

He stopped above the ledge, a tiny prick of gray against the vast white.

She still didn’t move. Because although he’d carved a wide, easy route—probably the easiest through the chute’s jagged rocks—all of a sudden, the what-ifs paralyzed her.

Not unlike the moment when she saw Gage sitting in the hearing and she knew that someone’s life was about to be dismantled. But by then it had gone too far for her to step away.

Please, God, don’t let anyone get hurt.

With a cry that echoed through the chambers of the mountain, she eased forward and launched herself into the white.

He’d made a nice wide arc down the mountain, but she adjusted a little too late, took her leading turn too wide. The next, a countering turn, she anticipated too early, cut it shallow.

Following a line meant staying in the safe zone. Especially on a mountain like Heaven’s Peak that obscured drop-offs and crevasses. And Gage was an artist when it came to creating a line. He looked for ridges and rises, the flow of the snow around landmarks, the chutes that led to air. And air led to flair.

But today, his art was all about staying in the safety zone, and she adjusted her speed as she came up to the first jump. She made the turn, shifted her weight back, then centered it above the board as she lifted off.

Her stomach stayed, but her body soared, and she held her arms out for balance. She hit too soon, surprising herself that she stayed up, found her balance, and curved into the next turn.

She didn’t look at Gage, simply the thick, beautiful line he’d created for her to follow. She squatted into the next turn, rising fast to unweight herself, and turned. His familiar technique rushed back to her. Easy carving in the heavy powder, with pumping turns in the tighter, rolling sections of the run, a quick dart up to a jump, air, and then a sweet, tufted landing.

She took the next jump, and for the fun of it tucked a second before setting down on the thick powder.

She didn’t want to stop when she met Gage. Her breaths caught in puffs of air as she leaned over, grabbed her knees.

“Having fun or something?” Gage said, and she looked up to see his mouth twitch on one side.

“Last time I skied this hard, I was . . .” Oh. With you.

She stood up, tried to find something to fill in her gap. “It’s just been a while since I lost myself like this. I don’t know why, but snowboarding makes me center into the moment, forget about everything else but the powder. It’s distracting. And relaxing, even though I haven’t forgotten why we’re here. But maybe I remember the urge that pulled my brother in.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Out here, you can feel so small and yet sort of invincible. And that’s how people get in over their heads.” His smile fell, and she could hear in his words the echoes from the past.

She imagined that it might be hard for him to ski without the shadow of his mistakes following him down the mountain.

He pointed toward the cliff’s edge. “I think if you take off the left edge, it’s a little less steep, the drop shorter.”

“Which one did you take last time?”

He pointed to the right.

“Then that’s what we should take. Ollie will want to do everything you did.”

“Oh, I hope not,” Gage said quietly.

She felt for him, the fact that his fame caused others to follow in his footsteps, get hurt. “Gage, this isn’t your fault. Not in the least. My brother makes his own decisions, and you’re not to blame if people get in over their heads and get hurt.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“I’m just saying, you’re not to blame—’’

“Are you kidding me? You took me to court precisely because you blamed me for Dylan’s death.”

His words bruised.

“I’ve had a little distance since then.”

He drew in a breath, and his jaw tightened. He looked away. “That must be nice. I can’t seem to put it behind me.”

Her mouth opened then, but he pushed off, heading for the left side.

He looked back at her. “It’s easier over here!”

“Gage, stop protecting me! I don’t want to go the easy way. I can do this—watch!”

She pushed off toward the edge, the jagged wall on the right side that dropped forty feet into steep, thick, dense powder.

She didn’t stop. She took a breath and sailed right off the edge into the clear, bright air.

Then she looked down, the world so far she thought it had fallen away.

She began to scream.