by Cindi Myers
“Most of the time, yes.”
“I enjoy mine, too.” He leaned back to allow room for Kelly to set down the pizza.
“What is there to enjoy about risking frostbite and hypoxia on some lonely mountain peak? About living on peanut butter and oatmeal for days in the middle of a blizzard?”
“All those things you mentioned—the frostbite and danger and lousy food—that part of mountaineering sucks,” he said. “But the climbing itself—pitting myself against the elements and then reaching my goal—in those moments, I feel so incredibly alive. I think it’s the closest any human can get to immortality.”
She stared at him. “Aren’t you a little young to be worried about immortality?”
He dragged a slice of pizza onto his plate and refused to meet her gaze. “High mountains are one of the few places still relatively untouched by human development. The scenery is spectacular, like nothing you’ll find on the flatlands. Your father must have felt the same way. Didn’t he ever talk about it?”
“No.” She laid her pen aside and helped herself to the pizza.
“Then I don’t really know how to explain it to you. Tomorrow, let’s go up into the mountains so you can see for yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ll take a Jeep tour. Go up above tree line. It’ll give you a whole new perspective on what I do and why I do it.”
Would it? Or was this just another way for him to avoid answering her probing questions? “And if I refuse?”
“You want to get a good story, right? I’m better at showing what I do and why than sitting here talking about it. If we were up in the mountains, I think I could explain things better.”
She could see his point. Putting a subject in an environment where he felt comfortable could sometimes get him to reveal a side of himself she might not otherwise see. “If I go with you, you’ll answer my questions?”
“I’ll do my best.” He offered another charming smile. “Hey, you came here to work, but it doesn’t mean you can’t have fun, too.”
“Barreling up a mountain in a Jeep isn’t really my idea of fun.”
“Then you don’t know what you’re missing. Better skip the skirt and heels,” he said. “And wear a coat. It gets cold up there.”
“Anything else I should bring?”
“No, I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Just come prepared to talk.”
AN HOUR LATER, with blisters the size of half-dollars on both heels and heartburn from the delicious but too-spicy pizza, Sierra climbed the stairs from the Western Saloon to the hotel overhead. Unlike her tiny, contemporary apartment, the accommodations were spacious and furnished with an old-fashioned brass bed and a wooden chest of drawers, table and chairs that looked straight out of the 1800s. Chintz curtains and a matching comforter added to the visit-to-Grandma’s feel. It was a nice enough room, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend a whole week here.
When she’d found out Mark had booked her for seven days and six nights here in the back of beyond she’d been livid, but since she’d only picked up the tickets this morning, it had been too late to do anything about it. Did he really think it would take her a week to do this interview?
Granted, Paul wasn’t exactly spilling his guts into her tape recorder, but she’d find a way around his reluctance to tell his story. And as soon as she wrapped up the interview she’d be heading to the airport to change her flight, no matter what it cost.
She kicked off her shoes and lay back in the bed, trying to organize her whirling thoughts. The interview with Paul hadn’t gone quite as she’d hoped, but she’d gotten some material she could use. Tomorrow she’d dig deeper; she was nothing if not stubborn. She could already feel the story taking shape: a portrait of two mountain climbers—the laid-back boy wonder versus her single-minded father.
A knock on the door roused her. She shoved off the bed and went to look through the peephole. The waitress from the saloon downstairs stood frowning up at the door, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently.
Sierra released the chain and opened the door. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Hi. I’m Kelly. From the Saloon?”
Sierra nodded. “I remember.”
“I’m on break and thought maybe we could talk.”
“About what?”
“Oh, you know. The town. Fashion. New York. I overheard Paul say you were from there.”
Was it a passing mention, or had the waitress been eavesdropping? Sierra had planned on interviewing some of the locals about their notorious neighbor, so she might as well start with this young woman. Maybe Kelly could provide some interesting background on what Paul was like when he wasn’t scaling mountains. Sierra held the door open wider. “Come on in.”
Sierra guessed Kelly was about twenty-one or twenty-two. Dressed in low-slung jeans and a black polo shirt with the Saloon’s logo, she might have been mistaken for any small-town waitress. But her jeans were an expensive name brand, and her pointed-toe boots had a three-inch heel and a designer pedigree. Her hair was cut in the latest style. She might be waitressing in an out-of-the-way restaurant, but she clearly wanted to set herself apart. “Have a seat,” Sierra said, indicating the room’s only chair, and settling herself on the side of the bed. “My name’s Sierra, by the way. Sierra Winston.” She waited for the last name to ring a bell, but Kelly gave no indication that it registered, which made Sierra relax a little more. She’d had enough of competing with her father’s ghost for one morning.
Kelly sat in the chair and crossed her legs, jiggling one foot. “Are you a reporter or something?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m a writer for a magazine called The Great Outdoors.”
“So you and Paul just met?”
“That’s right.”
The foot stopped jiggling. “I was wondering. He didn’t exactly act like you were strangers. He was being really friendly.”
“He isn’t usually friendly?” The idea didn’t jive with the Paul she’d seen so far.
“Not with reporters.” She laughed. “The other day a couple approached him while he was eating lunch in the Saloon and he threatened to sic his dog on them. As if Indy would hurt a flea! But the reporters didn’t know that, I guess. They backed off.”
“He agreed to an exclusive interview with my magazine,” Sierra explained. “It was all arranged before I flew out here. So, what can I do for you?”
“What part of New York are you from?”
“I live in Manhattan.”
“So you’re right where all the action is. Do you see many Broadway shows?”
“A few.”
“Know any actors or actresses?”
“Not well, but I’ve met a few. One of my neighbors is an actress, I think.”
“No kidding. What’s her name?”
Sierra shook her head. “I don’t know.” She didn’t know most of her neighbors’ names. “People in the city like their privacy.”
“I guess so. I mean, she probably doesn’t want to be bothered by fans and everything.”
“Right.” Sierra doubted her neighbor was famous enough to be recognized by anyone on the street, much less mobbed by fans.
“You’re so lucky,” Kelly said. “New York has everything—the theater, night life and great shopping. Those are killer shoes, by the way.” She nodded to the heels that lay on the rug beside the bed. “Totally impractical here, but they look awesome.”
“Thanks. But you’re right—they’re useless on these dirt streets. I’m supposed to go on a Jeep tour into the mountains tomorrow and I guess I need to find some hiking boots to wear.”
“What size are you? About an eight?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got a new pair I’ve hardly even worn. I could lend them to you.” Her gaze settled on the heels once more. “And maybe you’d let me borrow those? I have a hot date tomorrow night.”
The heels were brand-new and had cost more than the week’s accommodation at t
he hotel. But Sierra needed the hiking boots by tomorrow and Ouray didn’t look as if it boasted a lot of shoe stores. Besides, she liked Kelly, who so clearly craved more excitement than this small town could offer. “It’s a deal,” she said.
“Great.” Visibly more relaxed now, Kelly settled back in her chair. “I’d like to live in Manhattan one day. What I really want to do is act, but I guess there are probably plenty of waitressing jobs there.”
The longing in the younger woman’s voice struck a familiar chord in Sierra. She’d arrived in Manhattan with one thousand dollars in her bank account, clips from her college newspaper and a determination not to leave until she landed a job. She badgered every publisher in Manhattan until she found work as a copy editor at one house and a receptionist at another. She’d shared a tiny apartment with three other women and had worked practically around the clock for the first year. But eventually she’d landed a writing job and a few years later had moved into her own apartment. So who was to say Kelly wouldn’t make it as an actress, as well? “I think it’s almost a requirement that aspiring actors and actresses have waitressing jobs on the side,” she said. “Do you have any experience—acting, that is?”
“Only with local community theater. But I’m saving my money and I’m going to go there and take my chances soon.”
“When you’re ready to move, I can give you the names of some places to look for an apartment and roommates, and some casting agencies who might be able to help you,” she said. She’d interviewed several people at top agencies for a story for Cherché only last year.
“That would be great.” Kelly looked around the room. “So what do you think of Ouray? It’s a lot different from the city, isn’t it?”
“It might as well be on another planet,” Sierra admitted. “But the scenery is breathtaking.”
“The people are nice, too,” Kelly said. “Of course, being a small town, everyone pretty much knows everybody’s business, which makes it hard to have much privacy, if you know what I mean.”
“Then give me the scoop on Paul. What’s he like?” If Paul was so reluctant to talk about himself, maybe Sierra could gain some insight from those around him.
“Oh, he’s a lot of fun. Very…” Kelly tilted her head, as if searching for the right words. “Thoughtful. Considerate. I mean, some guys only think about themselves. Some women, too, I guess. But Paul is really interested in other people’s opinions. We went out a few times and he always wanted to know what I thought about the movie, or my views on local politics. Little stuff like that.”
“So you dated.” Her fingers itched for her notebook to write some of this down, but she didn’t want to risk interrupting the flow of conversation. She could make notes later.
“Only for a little while. Paul’s not interested in settling down and neither are most of the women he’s dated. I know I wasn’t. Besides, how can you have a relationship with a man who’s gone half the year climbing mountains?”
Right. One of the many problems in her parents’ marriage. “Why do you think he climbs mountains?”
“Don’t those guys always say they climb because the mountain’s there?” Kelly shook her head. “Seriously, I have no idea. He says it’s something he loves to do. It doesn’t seem any crazier than a lot of things guys around here do. In the winter, this hotel is full of men, and a few women, who come here just to climb the ice in the ice park. Then you have the Jeepers and hikers in the summer, and the skiers and snowmobilers in the winter. There are folks whose whole lives revolve around their sport. I guess they’re dedicated to it the way I’m dedicated to acting.”
The way Sierra was dedicated to writing? No, it wasn’t the same at all. Writing hadn’t taken over her life, and it didn’t separate her from her friends and family the way climbing did. “Does he have any family nearby?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. His parents live in Texas—Dallas, maybe? I think he came here to be close to the mountains.”
Of course. No matter what other positive traits he might possess, Paul still had the glaring flaw of loving big piles of rock more than anything else.
Kelly stood. “I have to get back to work. I get off late, so I’ll leave the boots for you at the front desk.”
“Thanks.” Sierra retrieved the heels from the rug. “Take good care of them,” she cautioned as she handed them over.
“I’ll treat them like gold.” Kelly paused in the doorway. “When you see Paul tomorrow, ask him to tell you about his secret swimming hole in the mountains. It’d make a great story for your article.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.”
When she was alone again, Sierra sat on the side of the bed and contemplated her bare feet. The Louboutins were the most expensive shoes she owned, and her favorites. Paul had better give her one heck of a story to prove he was worthy of such a sacrifice.
PAUL MET SIERRA AT EIGHT the next morning in the Western Hotel lobby. She attracted plenty of attention as she strode across the lobby, dressed in slim-fitting jeans and a sweater that emphasized her curves. Her long hair was plaited in a single braid that hung down her back, and she carried a leather jacket. Paul stood a little straighter, pleased that he was the one she was coming to meet, even if she was only doing so in hopes of completing their interview.
Maybe things would go better between them today. He hadn’t done a very good job of explaining himself yesterday. Part of it was his own fault—he’d thought talking to Victor Winston’s daughter would somehow be different from an interview with any of the other journalists who wanted his life’s story served up neatly on a platter. Today, he hoped he and Sierra could find a middle ground. He was prepared to talk about finding Victor’s body, and he hoped that she could help him know the real man behind the famous mountain climber’s public image.
“You look all ready to go,” he said when she stopped in front of him.
“I am. I even have boots.” She held out one foot for him to admire.
“I was wondering if you’d brought any with you. You probably don’t have much call for them in Manhattan.”
“I don’t. I borrowed these from Kelly.”
“From Kelly?” Sierra had been so focused on grilling him yesterday he was surprised she even remembered the waitress.
“Actually, I traded my heels for her boots—temporarily.”
Had there been some silent communication between the two women he hadn’t picked up on? “When did all this happen?”
“After you left last night. She and I had a long talk.” Her smile was closer to a smirk. “She told me all about you.”
He tried to think of any embarrassing stories Kelly might have shared with Sierra. Unfortunately the list was long. He could be absentminded when he was planning an expedition, and more than once he’d forgotten about a date they’d arranged, or she’d had to pay for a meal because he’d accidentally left his wallet at home. He always paid her back, but still—those stories didn’t make him look good.
They’d dated off and on for a couple of months, but his long absences had gradually cooled their ardor. Last he’d heard, she was seeing a real-estate tycoon from Telluride.
“I’ve got everything we need in my Jeep, so let’s go.” A few minutes later, they were headed out of town. Indy sat in the backseat, ears flapping in the breeze.
“You really did mean it when you said the dog goes everywhere with you,” Sierra said.
“Yep. You never know when a dog will come in handy.” And as much as he usually enjoyed his own company, it was good to have someone to come home to after a long trip.
“An interesting philosophy,” she said, writing in her notebook.
“Are you going to write down everything I say today?” he asked.
“That’s sort of the idea behind an interview.” She looked amused.
“I was hoping we could get to know each other a little first. Off-the-record.”
She studied him a moment. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”
“I don
’t like talking about myself.”
“But you agreed to this interview. From what I understand, it was your idea.”
So much for his brilliant ideas. “I thought talking to Victor’s daughter might be easier than talking to someone who had no connection to the story.” He glanced at her. “And I figured I owed you.”
“Owed me?”
“It’s my fault you’re having to go through your father’s death all over again, after twelve years.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” she said. “But if it’ll make you more comfortable, I’ll save most of my questions for later. I’m happy to spend the morning gathering a little background.”
The background stuff was exactly what he didn’t want to talk about, but he’d humor her. “You’re allowed to have fun while you work,” he said. “Tourists come here and pay big money for the kind of tour I’m giving you today.”
A smile flirted with her lips. “I’ll remember that.”
Just outside of Ouray, the highway began to climb up a series of switchbacks. Through the trees, they glimpsed steep valleys and soaring peaks. “You don’t get views like this in Manhattan,” Paul said.
“No.” Gripping the seat with both hands, she glanced at the drop-off on her right side. Approximately three feet from the Jeep’s tires, the pavement fell away to nothing. “Aren’t you taking these curves a little fast?” she asked.
“Don’t worry. I could drive this stretch of highway blindfolded. It’s really only dangerous in winter. This time of year it’s a lot of fun.”
“What’s fun about taking chances?” She peered at the drop-off again. “Just because you’re familiar with a situation doesn’t make it less dangerous.”
“But you can’t let a little risk keep you from doing what you want to do.” He downshifted to take a steeper grade. “I don’t take foolish chances, but I want to really live.” Having come face-to-face with death made him value life all the more. Every time he made it back from that precipice safely, he was more aware of every heartbeat and every breath.
“I think a person can live a very fulfilling life without ever risking death,” she said.
