4
IAN SHAW WAS LEAVING HER.
Okay, maybe that toed over the edge into overreacting, but still . . .
It felt that way.
Sierra lay in bed in her tiny second-story bedroom that she rented from Jess Tagg, the darkness peeling back as dawn peeked through her blinds, striping the floor. She stared at the ceiling, his words pooling inside her like poison.
“I’m thinking that I should just leave.”
She could still hear his sigh, see the truth in his eyes.
He’d given up.
He only confirmed it with his next words. “I’m never going to find her, and if I stick around here, not being in charge of the PEAK team is going to turn me inside out.”
She understood helpless. Every time the team left on a callout with her tethered behind, she fought the fear that someone wouldn’t return home.
The PEAK team felt like her home now, the way Ian and Esme had once been.
“I need to walk away, Sierra. Not look back. Start over.”
Not look back. At the wreckage of his dreams. At her, and how she’d caused that wreckage.
She could fix this.
Please.
She got up and tied her robe over her pajamas. She grabbed her phone, creaked open her door, and headed downstairs.
The crisp morning fragrance of roasted java curled through the old three-story house, mixing with the smell of new paint, recently sanded flooring, and not a little elbow grease. Jess had purchased the 1907 house for a dollar from the city and spent the past eighteen months slowly turning it from dilapidated and condemned to something she, Jess, and Willow called home. From stripping the wood floors down to the original beautiful oak grain, to restaining the woodwork, to repairing the two bathrooms, overhauling the kitchen, and finally repairing and repainting the three small upstairs bedrooms, Jess poured herself into the transformation.
As if she might be transforming herself, also. She talked so little of her past, however, that Sierra hadn’t a clue what Jess might be really fighting to restore.
She was, however, thankful for Jess’s vision, the place she now called home.
Willow had moved into the pink room, while Sierra took the lemon yellow room.
Jess had the master, with the balcony that overlooked the front lawn. She’d decked it out with a lounge chair perfect for reading.
Standing at the kitchen counter, Jess stared at the drip coffeemaker. She was dressed in a pair of leggings, running shoes, and a tank, her hair pulled back in a neat blonde ponytail. Sweat trickled down her back.
“You’ve already been out running?” Sierra said as she took a mug from the cupboard.
A beat of silence, then, “He shows up out of nowhere, drives through an inferno, his hair practically on fire, to save me, and then all but ignores me. I thought for sure he’d say something about why he returned after we got back to PEAK, but . . . nothing. Just sat there eating cookies. And then he took off with Gage and Ty and . . . for all I know, he’s already left town again.”
Oh. Of course they were talking about Pete. Poor Jess had looked like she’d been run over by a train for weeks after he’d left.
The girl had a bad case of the what-ifs, a condition Sierra knew too well. “I doubt that—if you’d seen the way he took off after you . . .” Sierra joined her at the counter. “I still can’t figure out why you started dating Ty. I thought you and Pete had something going last summer—”
“We did.” Jess reached out, grabbed the pot, and filled her mug. Offered to pour Sierra’s.
Sierra held out her mug.
“It was my fault he left,” Jess said.
Sierra frowned. “He got offered a great job with the Red Cross—”
“No. He came here, and I saw it in his eyes. He was asking for a reason to turn it down. From me.”
“And you couldn’t give him one?” Oh Jess.
She sighed. “I should have told you all, years ago.” Jess turned a hip against the counter and blew on the coffee. “But I didn’t want you to think of me differently.”
Sierra just stared at her.
Jess looked up, pain in her eyes. “I’ve been keeping a secret from you.”
Me too. But Sierra just swallowed. “Everyone is entitled to a few secrets, right?”
“I used to think so. But . . . that’s the problem. Secrets are always found out, and when they are, people get hurt.”
Sierra took a sip of coffee, let the heat brace her up, the caffeine find her bones.
“I’m not who I say I am.”
Sierra didn’t know what to say. She just stood there as Jess walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and slid onto it.
“My name is Selene Jessica Taggert.” She raised an eyebrow like that should ring a bell.
And suddenly . . . “Wait. Ian used to attend the Taggert Annual Gala every year—a fundraiser in Houston that raised support for chronically ill children.”
“Yes. That was run by an acquaintance of mine, Vanessa White. It was one of the many charities we helped fund. My father’s way of hiding his crimes—divert attention.”
“Your father?”
“Damien Taggert. Of Taggert Investments, his charter company.”
“Ian had a few investments with Taggert until . . . oh my . . .”
Jess smiled sadly. “Yeah. That’s my father, the man who created the biggest Ponzi scheme in history, who bilked hundreds of thousands of people out of their entire life savings, created fake retirement accounts, started shell companies that defrauded Hollywood superstars and athletes alike—you should have seen the proposed guest list to my wedding . . .”
Then, she winced, looked away, as if her own words were too much to bear.
“Your wedding?”
Jess took another sip of coffee. “I was engaged to Felipe St. Augustine, a really nice guy who didn’t deserve to have his name destroyed by my family.”
Sierra found a chair. So, this might be a bigger secret than hers.
“When my father was arrested, the attorney general also brought charges against me and my brother. See, we had both interned at the New York office, and they claimed that we knew about my father’s fraudulent practices.”
Sierra waited for it, and when Jess looked up, she had to swallow.
“We did. It’s a long story, but in order to keep my brother and me out of jail, I testified against my father.” She was looking out the window. “I betrayed him, and he got 150 years in prison.”
Sierra drew in a breath.
“I haven’t seen him since. The day he was sentenced, I walked out of the courtroom, got on a subway, took it to the farthest stop, got out, bought a car with cash, and drove away.”
“And ended up here?”
“Sort of. Ty and I knew each other from the days when my family would ski out here, and later, in college. I called him, and he fixed me up with Chet.” She made a wry face. “I actually have a medical degree, had finished my first year as an intern, was accepted to the residency program at Mt. Sinai in New York, so getting my EMT license was easy.”
“So, Ty knows who you are.”
“And Chet. But no one else . . . and I wanted to keep it that way. Reporters want to hear my side of the story, and frankly, I can’t go through that again. More, there are people whose lives were destroyed because of my family. We got death threats every day.”
“Are you in danger?”
“I don’t know. Probably not, but . . . I just wanted to start over, you know? Shake off the past, see if I could make it on my own, be a new person.”
“Overhaul a dollar house, be known as Jess Tagg—”
“Yeah. Not Selene Taggert, the daughter of the biggest thief in history, a co-conspirator and the woman who betrayed her family to save herself.” Jess pulled up one leg onto the chair, wrapped her arm around it. “And my secret didn’t matter until Pete came along. Maybe it would have been fine if he wasn’t such a . . .”
“Charmer?” Sierra smiled.
“Hero. The guy is always making the papers.”
Oh. “Only because local reporter Tallie Kennedy has a major crush on him. In fact, that’s why I thought you two broke up—because he’d gone out with Tallie.”
“Yeah, that bothered me, but . . . no. He tried to drag me into the limelight with him, and I just . . . I just can’t let my previous life destroy this one, you know?”
Sierra nodded. Because she’d do anything to keep her mistakes from destroying her future. But she couldn’t leave, couldn’t start over.
She had nowhere to run, nothing but PEAK to call her own.
Maybe she simply wasn’t as strong or courageous as Jess.
“Why not tell him?” Sierra asked.
“I wanted to—I know I should. I panicked and ran away. Ty was there, and he . . .”
“I thought that was weird, but . . . I thought maybe you liked Ty.” She raised an eyebrow.
“No! I know I made it look that way, but I just needed to distance myself from Pete. It wasn’t Ty’s idea, although he was a champ to protect me while I tried to figure out what I wanted. We’re just friends. In fact, he urged me to tell Pete about my other life. And I was going to—and then Pete left for his new job, and . . . I should have told him before he left. I didn’t want to hold him back, I guess.” She winced. “No, that’s not right.” She looked up at Sierra. “I was afraid he wouldn’t want me after I told him what I’d done.”
Sierra nodded, Jess’s words skimming too close, finding the tender places. She knew a little about being rejected after harboring secrets. Ian hadn’t exactly been forgiving after she’d told him she’d known Esme was going to run away with Dante.
“So, now that he’s back, you’re going to tell him, right?”
Jess nodded. “Yes. I mean, that’s what I was hoping for when I was trying to outrun the fire, but then . . .” She looked up. “What if it’s all in my head? Pete’s a hero—of course he’d drive through a fire to save me. And yeah, when we kissed—”
“Wait. I know Pete made a move on you, but you never told me you kissed.”
Jess bit her lip, the secret showing in her eyes. She nodded. “On a mountain, about a year ago. Remember when Sam was lost?”
“With me.” The voice came from behind them, near the coffeepot. Willow, wearing an oversized Mercy Falls sweatshirt and pajama pants, had come in the door. “You kissed Pete while you were looking for us?” She poured herself a cup of coffee and grinned at Jess. “And we’re only finding out about it now?”
“It was the last thing on my mind, what with Sam nearly dying and you almost getting mauled by a grizzly, hello.”
Willow came over to the table. “So, tell us now. You kissed Pete? And?”
Jess looked away, but a smile played on her lips. She reached up then and ran her hand along her cheek.
“Oh my. That good?”
Jess took in a breath. “Epic, of course. Because it’s Pete, and everything about Pete is epic.”
“Including his ability to break hearts.” Sierra stared at her. “He kissed you, then left town?”
“It wasn’t quite that way. I think I broke his heart first,” Jess said.
“Or not. This is Pete we’re talking about.” Willow got up, went to the fridge, and opened it. “According to Sam, he was seeing a girl on his Red Cross team.”
Jess stilled, and Sierra wanted to throttle her sister. But Willow always did speak first, think second.
Willow grabbed a yogurt container, went to retrieve a spoon. “I think he’s back because Sam called him about their mom.”
Jess turned then. “Oh no, please don’t tell me Maren has cancer again.”
Willow was opening the yogurt and looked up, eyes wide. “No. She’s . . . well, she’s dating Chet King. And Sam is completely freaking out about it.” She licked the top of the yogurt. “I told him to leave them alone. Everyone should have a happy ending, right?”
She tossed the top into the garbage, stirred the yogurt.
Jess looked at Sierra, shrugged.
Willow came over, pulled out a chair. “Why are you two up so early on a Saturday?”
“I have to make a call,” Sierra said.
Because everyone should have a happy ending. Even if it didn’t include her.
She got up and headed outside to the front porch, not caring that she was still in her bathrobe. The scent of the coming fall laden the cool September air as she sat down on the porch.
Dialed.
Listened.
Voicemail picked up on the third ring. “This is Shae—leave a message.”
Sierra debated, then said softly, “Time’s up, Esme. Come home, or I’m telling Ian.”
He just needed to breathe. One lousy breath, something fresh and crisp and clean—
Help!
The word formed like a fist in his chest, punching through him to reach for the surface, through the choking layers of black, the dust, the smell of ash and creosote and dirt.
“Help!”
Pete sat up in the darkness, gulping in breath, his body slick with sweat, his heart slamming against his rib cage. Blades of light cut into the room from around the shades, wan light that pressed away the shadows.
Safe. In his old bedroom in his mother’s condo.
Not buried in an old fallout shelter tunnel, under piles of rock and dirt, the air foggy with the remains of the blaze that caused the cave-in.
He pressed his hand to his chest, felt the ricochet of his heart beneath his palm, and shook himself away from the dream.
The memory.
The fact that he shouldn’t be alive.
Pete swung his feet out of bed, pressed them into the carpet, and leaned over and pushed his hair back from his face. He should probably cut his hair—it gave a better image for the media for an incident commander to actually look clean cut, in charge, capable.
Instead of the unruly man bun he’d insisted on keeping when he took the job, almost reluctantly.
No. Completely reluctantly, and he’d been downright angry, really, that Jess hadn’t blocked his path.
Told him the truth. Asked him to stay.
But eight months had given him time to think. To date Aimee.
To miss Jess.
And then Dawson happened.
Pete lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Probably his boss had been right to send him home, give him a couple weeks off.
Shake off the residue of nearly being buried alive.
The smell of breakfast—bacon, maybe eggs, and if he were lucky, buttermilk pancakes—wafted in under the door, stirred him out of bed.
He got up, pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and headed out to the bathroom. He didn’t bother to shave but did brush his teeth and pull his hair—yes, definitely he needed a cut—into a bun.
Oh yeah, he was a real prize. No wonder Jess hadn’t stuck around last night after Chet pulled him into his office.
“Would you be willing to give the team a mountaineering refresher course?”
Chet’s request gave him exactly the reason to hang around PEAK for a couple weeks. Hang around Jess, really.
Sure, Chet. No problem.
Maybe he’d figure out, now that he was back, just what to say, how to say it.
Jess, I can’t stop thinking about you.
Jess, give me another chance to earn your trust.
Jess, you’re the only girl for me.
No. None of that was right.
Jess, I love you.
He stared at his mug in the mirror. He should just say it. Tell her how she could tease him into a knot, and when she smiled at him, he forgot his name, and everything felt right with the world.
More, how she was brave and smart and yeah, she had secrets, but he didn’t care about the past if he could have her future.
Oh boy, he’d turned into a sappy romance novel.
He had to woo her. Take it slow. Ease back into her life.
But he wasn’t good at this. Yes, he could charm a woman out onto the dance floor. And once upon a time, even beyond that. But ever since he’d kissed Jess on a mountaintop, nothing else compared.
Aimee hadn’t deserved the way he’d just left. But being nearly entombed had made him realize one thing.
If he couldn’t have Jess, then he didn’t want anyone.
“Pete, are you in there?” His mother’s knock came at the door, and he opened it.
“Hey, Ma.”
She patted his cheek. “I thought I heard you up. Pancakes are ready.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I missed you.”
Her eyes widened, but she smiled. “Okay, then. Extra bacon for you.”
He laughed and followed her into the kitchen of her condo.
Sam was already sitting at the round breakfast table. Clean shaven, he wore a flannel shirt rolled up at the elbows and a pair of jeans. “Hey,” he said. “I meant to catch you last night.” He got up and extended his hand.
Pete glanced at it, their conversation from months ago ringing back to him.
“This is my chance, bro, to run my own show, prove myself.”
“Just stay alive, Pete.”
Pete met his grip, and then, weirdly, Sam pulled him into a quick, one-armed hug. “We gotta talk,” Sam said softly.
He let Pete go, and Pete frowned at him, but Sam just reached for the plate of pancakes. “Mom, this looks delicious.”
Looking at his mother, one would never know that she’d waged a battle with cancer. She’d never lost her hair in the treatment, but now it seemed freshly dyed a golden brown, thick and wavy around her head. And she’d gained enough weight for her body to appear strong, not emaciated. In fact, Maren Brooks seemed to glow with health.
“You look good, Mom,” Pete said as she put a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him.
“I’m just so happy to see my boys back at the same table. A little impromptu family breakfast.” She put her hands on Pete’s shoulders and squeezed.
Pete glanced at Sam, who seemed to force a smile. Weird.
He dished himself up a couple of pancakes, ladled on the syrup, and dug in.
“Best breakfast I’ve had in months,” he said, his mouth full. “They don’t have food like this at the FEMA camps.”
His mother sat down and dished herself up some pancakes. “Last I heard, you were fighting that oil fire in eastern Montana. The news made it sound like half the state was on fire.”
“We had to call out the National Guard. The fire took out an entire town. We had to rescue a group of people from a fallout shelter under a hospital. There was a cave-in during the rescue op.”
He took a drink, painfully aware of how his throat had closed up.
“I hope no one was killed.”
He swallowed, found his voice. “Nope.”
She reached out, squeezed his arm. “I’m just glad you’re home. Are you here to fight that fire in the park? I can see the smoke from here.”
“No. I came home . . .” Where to start? To escape his nightmares? Chase down Jess? “I had vacation time.”
“And he spent it driving into the park last night, right into the fire, and rescuing one of our PEAK teammates.”
Pete looked at Sam, raised an eyebrow. And Mom needed to know that, why?
“Oh my.”
“I was fine, Mom.”
He shot another look at Sam, this time adding a glare.
Sam didn’t flinch.
“I’m sure you were. You know what you’re doing.”
He did, thank you.
“Actually, I’m glad you’re both here.” She put her fork down. Reached out to touch his hand. She touched Sam’s with her other hand.
Pete froze. “Mom, you’re okay, right?” Oh please, let this not be about the cancer.
“Oh, honey. Yes. I’m fine. I still go in for my monthly chemo shot, but the cancer is in remission.”
But she still held his hand.
He looked at it, then back to her.
“I have better news. I . . . I’m in love.”
Pete stared at her. “What—”
“I knew this was coming,” Sam said darkly.
Pete pinned his gaze on him. “You knew?” He turned back to his mother. “You’re in love? With who?”
“Whom. And it’s—”
“Chet King,” Sam said with a tone of near accusation.
Chet?
He looked back at his mother. “Really. Wow. When . . .”
“Right after Sam got hurt.”
Which was why Sam had figured it out. Because he’d lived with Mom while he recuperated.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” This he directed at Sam.
“Because I’m blind and didn’t realize it until Willow said something.”
“I just love Willow, Sam,” Maren said. “I really think it’s time to ask her to marry you—”
“Wait—you’re going to ask Willow to marry you?” Pete said.
“Maybe . . . yes . . . probably. I don’t know—but Mom, seriously, Chet?”
Maren let go of Pete’s hand. “He’s lonely. And I’m lonely—”
“You have me!” Sam said. “And Pete. And your church and—”
“I’ve been a widow for thirteen years, Sam. I think it’s okay if I start dating again.”
“And fall in love?” Sam said, and Pete just looked at him. “What, are you two going to get married?”
Whoa. Pete just might need to break out the defibrillator on his brother, the way he seemed to be turning all shades of purple. “Pump the brakes, bro. This is a good thing. Mom deserves to be happy, right?”
Sam opened his mouth, but his mother answered.
“I am happy. But I realized, Sam, after you got hurt, that life is too short to let old hurts and fears keep me from something more. I like Chet—no, I love Chet King. He’s kind and sweet and smart and—”
“And Pete’s boss,” Sam said.
“Not anymore.” Pete folded his arms over his chest.
“And practically a father figure to me—”
“Exactly,” Pete said. “Which means you should be happy.”
“And he’s . . . old.”
Pete had nothing except a slow grin that slid up his face.
“Okay,” Sam said, holding up his hand. “Okay. I realize I sound a little crazy. Willow is always saying I don’t do well with change.”
“What a shocker,” Pete said.
Sam shot him a glare. “I just need a second here to catch up.”
“Chet is five years older than I am,” his mom said. “That’s it. And believe me, we’re not that old.” She looked up at Pete and winked.
“Mom, for cryin’ out loud!” Sam said.
Pete grinned at her.
Sam stood up. “C’mon, Pete.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to find out what Chet’s intentions are.” Sam bent down, kissed their mother on the cheek, and strode out of the kitchen.
“Apparently I’m in a Hallmark movie now,” Pete said. “Sorry, Mom. But congratulations.”
She smiled at him. “Go calm your brother down.”
Fat chance. Sam sat in his truck stewing as Pete climbed in and shut the door. He pulled out before Pete had buckled in.
“What’s your deal? Mom in love? That’s awesome.”
Sam’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel.
“And you and Willow? Are you really going to ask her to marry you?”
Sam’s shoulders rose and fell.
“Take a beat here, Sam. It’s no big deal.”
“What if Chet starts flying again?” Sam glanced at Pete. “What if he gets killed?”
“I don’t think . . . I mean, that’s what Kacey is for, right?”
Sam shook his head. “Chet is a doer. He’s getting better every day, and someday he’s going to get back in that cockpit. And I just don’t want . . . Mom can’t lose another husband.”
Pete sobered then, his smile dimming.
“Besides. She loved Dad with everything in her. How can she love someone else?”
Pete looked out the window.
The smoke hung over the mountains, hazy in the morning light. Miles was out there, fighting with his old crew—he should probably be there with them.
But, weirdly, the thought of jumping into the flames ran a shudder through him, and he heard his own voice drifting up from where he’d pocketed his nightmares. “Get out! The wall’s coming down!”
They pulled up to the PEAK HQ next to Chet’s truck. Pete jumped out, followed Sam into the office.
Jubal, Chet’s lab, rose on his haunches, giving a warning bark as Sam entered.
Yeah, that was probably the right move, because Sam seemed undaunted. He went right up to Chet’s office, knocked once, and then pushed the door open.
Pete followed him in, apology on his lips.
Chet was standing at the window, arms folded, his back to them. “I love her enough to wait,” he said quietly.
That took some air out of Sam.
“Wait for what?” Pete said, because it seemed Sam was fresh out of words.
“Wait for you two to warm to the idea of your mother and me together.”
Oh.
Chet turned. “Maren called me a few minutes ago,” he said. “Sit down and let me fill you in.”
Sam clearly had no intention of sitting, but Pete went over to the sofa and sat on the arm.
“I’m not a romantic man. I don’t know why Ruthie married me, stuck with me after the war when I sort of lost my mind. But she did, and once God got ahold of me, I tried to be a good husband to her.” He shook his head. “She put up with a lot from me, but I was grateful for her.”
He walked over to his desk, sat down. “After she died, a part of me died too. PEAK kept me going. And then we crashed. I laid in that snow with two broken hips, begging God to take me home. But he didn’t.”
He shook his head, his mouth a thin line. “I was angry with God for a long time after that. Hated being sidelined. If I couldn’t have Ruth, then I wanted PEAK. And then Ben came back, and I realized that maybe I could do something with the rest of my life. I called Kacey and watched her and Ben patch things up, and that was enough.”
He looked at Sam. “And then you went missing. And your mom . . . well, we became friends. I drove her to Bible study and we went out to dinner. And started talking to each other. And pretty soon, I realized I was in love with her. I had probably been fighting that feeling for a while, but one day, it just sneaked up on me, and I realized God had given me a second true love.”
Pete glanced at him, the words “it sneaked up on me” finding their way inside.
“It doesn’t have to be right now. But I hope to marry her soon. Because time is tickin’ and I don’t want to wait too much longer to spend my life with the woman I love.” Chet stood up then. “So, if you’re wondering what my intentions are—it’s to marry your mom. To love her, cherish her, and take care of her for the rest of her life. And I’d surely like your blessing.”
Sam looked like he’d been punched.
Pete, however, got up and went to the window. Stared outside at the empty barn where the PEAK chopper used to sit.
The chopper that had, just yesterday, nearly killed the only woman who made him feel like sticking around.
No, he didn’t want to wait to spend his life with the woman he loved, either.
Pete could nearly hear his heart thumping, feel the heat whooshing up through him, buzzing through his body, turning it to fire with the realization of the truth.
He’d come home to marry Jess Tagg.
“C’mon, Dex. Do me a solid here. Buy the Montana Rose.” Ian stood in his bare feet on his deck, a thin layer of sweat over his body. His hands still bore the marks of the boxing tape, freshly unwound from his fists.
His muscles burned from the workout, more frustration than fury as he hit the hanging bag.
It never seemed to fully cleanse the regrets from his system.
But he couldn’t live in the past anymore, let his mistakes, the what-ifs tether him here. Even if Sierra did manage, as usual, to creep inside his dreams.
He’d woken with the old memory fresh in his mind, the one where he’d pulled her into his arms, setting the longings free.
The one where, for a long moment as he’d kissed her, she’d surrendered to him, belonged to him, and he to her.
Right before he’d destroyed everything with his obsession to find Esme.
No more obsession.
“Why would I want to buy a yacht?” Dex said over the phone.
“Because you don’t have one.”
“I don’t need a yacht.”
“You need this one. She’s a real beauty. One hundred and forty-six feet. Six staterooms, a private spa, a Jacuzzi, four Jet Skis, and a theater. I’ll sell it to you for a bargain rate. I got it for sixteen mil—I’ll sell it to you for ten.”
“Ten million for a boat you’ve never even taken out?”
“I have a crew of five on call. Seriously, it’s yours—take her out. Take Noelly with you.”
“Not unless you’re going, pal.”
Ian shucked off the towel and hung it on the back of one of his dining chairs. The sun had cleared the jagged horizon in the east, but the smoke from the fire blotted it out, diffusing the light, turning the entire sky to a pale burnt-orange.
The acrid odor hung in the air, and even the breeze felt sooty.
“I don’t like water—you know that better than anyone.”
“It’s probably a lemon. I’ll get out to the high seas, and it’ll spring a leak.”
“Dex—”
“Listen. You take me for a scoot around the Caribbean in your little runabout and I’ll think about it.”
“The sooner I sell the boat—and the ranch—the sooner I can move to Texas.”
A pause.
“Really? You’re serious?”
Ian walked off the deck onto the stone patio, near the fire pit. He should have installed a pool, probably, but . . . well, again, he wasn’t big on water. Even when you could see the bottom.
The Shaw Ranch still ran cattle, but only a handful, which he’d sell off this spring. And in the meantime, he could lease the land.
As for the house . . . well, he had no affection for a place that had only brought him heartache. Memories of Sierra embedded every room, starting with their offices, then the living room, the kitchen.
She belonged here just as much—maybe more—than he had. She’d helped him decorate the place, helped him find the leather furniture, the rough-hewn dining table, the wool rugs, the Charles Russell oil originals.
In fact, the house hadn’t even been finished when he’d found her here, standing at the frame of the picture window, looking out over the mountains.
Her black hair had nearly reached her waist then, and she wore a beanie flopped to one side, a satchel over her shoulder, green cargo pants, a tie-dyed shirt, and flip-flops.
Not exactly his idea of an executive secretary, despite what his neighbor Chet King had implied.
“Hardworking, dependable. She attends my church.”
Ian had only needed someone to run his house while he traveled, keep his appointments in order, and field his mail. Then she turned, landed those hazel-green eyes on him. “I’m Sierra, and if you put curtains over these windows, you’ll be destroying the soul of this amazing house.”
Huh?
She’d dropped her satchel then, and turned back to the window. “Imagine waking up every morning to this view. It makes me want to shout something like, ‘This is the day the Lord hath made! Let us rejoice and be glad in it!’”
And he had nothing for that.
“C’mere,” she’d said, glancing over her shoulder. “Try it.”
Try it?
But she held out her hand, as if expecting him to take it, and oddly, he stepped forward next to her.
Didn’t take her hand but stood there staring out to the mountains. To the arch of the cloudless blue sky, the ripsaw horizon reaching for the heavens, patches of white stuck in the crannies and draws. The smell of summer stirred through the house—wildflowers, the nearby field of wheat grass, the earthy scent of animals.
For the first time since he’d lost his wife and his son, grief loosened its hold and he tasted hope. A fresh start.
This is the day . . . maybe.
“Don’t you want to shout? Or sing a song. Or—”
“You’re hired,” he’d said, which felt very much like any of those things.
She’d looked up at him then, and for the first time in thousands to come, he noticed how pretty she was. Perky nose, sweet pink lips, curves. And competent, the way she smiled, nodded. “Good. Because I took the liberty of walking through the kitchen, and you are in sore need of food in that refrigerator.”
She looked in the refrigerator?
“I brought you some cookies. Sugar. And you can’t have sugar cookies without milk.”
He just stared at her, nonplussed.
She raised a shoulder. “Chet mentioned you were eating at the Gray Pony a lot. I did the math, and by the way, brought you a list of potential cooks. I only make cookies.”
No, she did so much more. Like relit the fire inside that said maybe life could have a better ending than the one he’d woken up to for the past five years. Maybe he even had a chance at being the man he’d promised to be, once upon a time.
It was that man who invited his niece, Esme, to live with him after his sister fell off the wagon, again.
And that man who pushed Esme for grades and SAT scores and got her accepted to Stanford, Yale, and not a few other schools.
But he should have also remembered the man he’d been, the one who turned obsessive when he panicked, when life slid out of control. Because if he had, Esme might have actually attended those schools.
Lived the life he’d planned for her.
But he couldn’t go back, and gone were the days when he’d get up and find Sierra in the kitchen, making him a cup of coffee. Standing with him at the picture window.
This is the day. No, that was the day . . .
Whatever favor he had with God, whatever hope that God would show up in his day, his life, had vanished when Sierra walked out the door.
When he’d fired her, rather.
Stupid, stupid . . .
“Yeah,” he said now, to Dex. “Noelly was right. It’s time to start over.”
Silence on Dex’s end, then, “Okay, I’ll think about buying the boat. But I’d feel better about it if I knew the yacht was actually seaworthy.”
“Thanks, Dex.”
Ian hung up and dropped the phone on the table. He heard the whump-whump of a chopper even before it materialized out of the fog. He tried to make it out and startled when he saw not one but two choppers. His heart sank as he watched the blue and white Bell 426 he’d purchased for the PEAK team dangle from a cable attached to a larger, military-grade transport.
A bird with broken wings, the chopper swung below, dwarfed by the larger bird. Even from here, Ian made out the torn rotor bent at a raw angle.
Coming home to heal. Maybe he should stop by, take a look. Not that he could offer anything for repairs, but . . .
See, he needed to get away, get PEAK out of his system.
He went inside and headed upstairs to shower.
But the image nagged at him even after he’d pulled on a clean button-down shirt, a pair of jeans, and cowboy boots.
He was rolling up his sleeves as he walked out of the house and almost on reflex headed toward the PEAK base. He should probably just admit that PEAK was in his blood—as long as he lived in Montana, at least.
As he drove up, Chet, along with Pete and Sam Brooks, were unhooking the PEAK chopper from the cables. He parked and ran over to grab the cable from around the tail assembly.
Overhead, the massive chopper moved away, the cables winding up into the body.
“That’s an S-64 Air-Crane,” Chet said, coming up to stand beside him. “I put in a call to the forest service—they had one on hand, dropping water on the fire.”
Chet walked over to the chopper, surveyed the damage. “This could have been fatal if Kacey wasn’t such a good pilot.” The rotor hung at a thirty-degree pitch, the blade broken just past the blade grip.
“The rope whipped up, caught the blade. When the force of the torque sheared the rope, it snapped back and hit the vertical stabilizer.” He pointed to the shaft right in front of the tail rotor. “Somehow, Kacey kept it from spinning out of control. But the entire rotor blade will need to be replaced, along with the stabilizer.”
“What kind of money are we talking about?” Ian said.
“I don’t know.” Chet stepped back, his hands on his hips. “That’s a question for Sam.”
He glanced at Sam, who was out of uniform and standing next to his brother. They both frowned at Chet.
“What? It’s the city’s problem now.”
“We don’t have a budget for this,” Sam said.
“We have insurance, don’t we?”
Sam pursed his lips. “Yeah. Uh, I did some checking, Chet, and well . . . according to our accountant, PEAK was supposed to pick up the insurance on the chopper . . .”
Chet stared at Sam, and even Ian felt the punch to Chet’s gut.
“Are you telling me that we’re not insured?” Chet said quietly.
Sam’s mouth tightened. “I think probably that minor detail got lost when we took over . . . really, Chet, you didn’t think to ask?”
“Mercy Falls asked me for all our expenses—and I submitted them. Along with chopper repairs and updates. I just assumed the insurance premium was included in the minor details!”
Ian couldn’t blame him for yelling. He wanted to yell. Seriously? A $1.9 million chopper and they’d let the insurance lapse? He could be sick.
“This isn’t an easy repair,” Chet said. “We’re talking a couple hundred thousand dollars here. We can’t just slap another rotor on this baby and call it good. We have to have an entire body and mechanical overhaul, make sure it’s airworthy.” Chet took off his hat, ran his hand across his forehead. “Well, that’s it, then. Without the insurance money, we’re grounded. The PEAK team is kaput.”
And Ian could say nothing. Because despite his desire to step in, he was running out of things to sell.
“What do you mean, we’re grounded?”
The voice came from behind them, and Ian turned, found Sierra standing there, her short dark hair tucked behind her ears. Her wide eyes fixed on Chet.
“We have no money to fix our chopper. And without the chopper, well—we’re an air rescue outfit, Sierra. The Mercy Falls EMS department has their own EMTs. They don’t need more.”
“But . . . we’re a . . . team. We . . .”
“Without the chopper, we might as well close our doors.”
“I think that’s a little overstated, Chet,” Sam said. He looked at Sierra. “But he’s right. Mercy Falls’s budget doesn’t include another rescue team. We have the fire department, an EMS department, and plenty of rescue volunteers. PEAK’s usefulness relied on the chopper. But we’ll be glad to integrate Gage and Jess . . . anyone into the EMS department—”
“Wait! Stop—wait.” Sierra held up her hand. “This is not over. We have resources.”
And then she looked at Ian with so much hope, he just about handed over the ranch. But he couldn’t—not when the government held it in lien over his fine.
“Sierra, I’m . . .” Shoot, he didn’t want to say it. Not in front of Pete and Sam and—
“I know you’re paying some massive fines right now,” she said, to his surprise. “I’m not talking about you footing the bill again. I’m talking about the fact that you have friends, Ian. Wealthy friends who just might be willing to help. Like Vanessa White. She runs about ten charity organizations. And how about Dex and Noelly Crawford?”
She took a step toward him, and it rooted him to the ground.
“I could call them. Maybe put together a fund-raising junket. I don’t know—a camping trip into the woods. Hiking and fishing, and we could tell them all that we do. They could get a firsthand look . . .” She shot a glance at Pete. “Pete’s here—he could be our guide.”
“Wait,” Pete said. “I’m not bringing anyone into a forest that could ignite any second.”
But Sierra didn’t seem to be listening.
“And we could show them the chopper, and maybe even get some testimonials—”
“Sierra—” Chet started.
“Dex was always saying that he wants to visit the ranch again. And Noelly . . . she really likes you and—”
Sierra had noticed that?
She probably noticed a lot of things he’d wanted to keep from her over the years.
“And what about your friend Hayes Buoye? He’s really nice—”
Yeah, he remembered the last time he’d invited Hayes to the ranch. The NFL defensive end had paid so much attention to Sierra, naïve, sweet Sierra who laughed at his stupid stories of football tackles and marveled at his scars, that Ian had cut the guy’s trip short, shoved him aboard his plane, and they’d jetted off to a Texas game.
“I’m not inviting Hayes—”
“Ian, please.”
The please stopped him short. It hung in the air, cut through him, and grabbed his heart.
Sierra had never asked him for anything in all the years she’d worked for him. Not a day off, not a cup of coffee, not even a place to stay when her house collapsed.
And then he saw it. Pete and Sam, Ben and Chet and Jess and Kacey, walking out of Sierra’s life.
Just like he was about to do. And not that he mattered to her anymore, but he knew Sierra well enough to know that she loved the rest of them like family.
The only family, really, besides her sister that Sierra had.
So the words simply emerged, almost on instinct, just like the instinct to get into his truck and drive to PEAK. Just like his instinct that still drove him every morning to the window, to look out onto the land, reach out to grab hope. This is the day . . .
“You could use my yacht,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“My yacht, down in Galveston. The . . . Montana Rose.” He’d never told her the name before, and he didn’t know if she’d get it—pretty much hoped that she wouldn’t—so he stumbled on. “Dex already wants a ride, and Noelly too, and I’ll ask her to call Vanessa—”
“And Hayes?”
Oh boy. “Maybe, sure.” Hayes probably had a game this week. Hopefully. “We have a full staff, a captain—you wouldn’t have to do anything, really. Just let the staff know what you need.”
“And you—will you go?”
Oh. Uh.
“Because you don’t have to go with us. I don’t need you. I can do this, Ian. I know your friends and what they like. I can put together an amazing three-day junket.” She turned to Chet. “I will raise this money. Don’t shut down PEAK. Not yet. Give me a chance to do this.”
Chet looked at Ian, back to Sierra. Nodded.
“Thank you!” She turned to Ian, and the smile she gave him scooped out his thoughts, left him hollow. Filled him with the sudden urge to shout, or yeah, sing.
Something that could release the adrenaline that surged through him.
“Thank you, Ian.” She wiped her hand across her cheek. “I promise I’ll fix everything.”