Holding On: A Colorado High Country Novel

by Pamela Clare

  Gabby licked his hand, apparently agreeing with him.

  By the time Kenzie came downstairs, he had omelets, toast, and coffee waiting.

  “This is better than room service.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. “I like a man who’s good in the kitchen, too.”

  “Yeah, I figured that one out.”

  They talked about their plans for the day. Kenzie had a scent-work class from seven to eight at the kennel. Conrad had no idea what that was.

  “Scent classes teach people’s pets—dogs who aren’t trained for SAR or HRD—to search and find things based on odor. It’s not meant to turn them into working dogs. It hones a dog’s natural hunting skills, teaches their people more about them, and strengthens bonds. It’s a lot of fun for both dogs and humans.”

  “Cool.” Conrad still had that resume to write up and a job application to fill out for Ski Scarlet. “Barring either of us getting toned out, I will finally cook up those salmon fillets and have dinner waiting for you when you get home.”

  Ten minutes later, Kenzie was ready to go, Gizmo on his leash. “Thanks for being there for me last night.”

  “Hey, you’ve been there for me, too.” He bent down, kissed her, and was surprised to realize he didn’t want her to go.

  “See you tonight.” She opened the back door, then glanced back at him. “Don’t punch any reporters while I’m at work, okay?”

  He walked her to the door. “I make no promises.”

  He drove home feeling more like himself than he had in a while. It wasn’t yesterday’s meditation that had made the difference. It was Kenzie. Something about her made everything better. It didn’t hurt that she gave head like a goddess and was every man’s dream in bed. But it wasn’t just the mind-blowing sex.

  When he was around her, his world felt whole again.

  What the hell was up with that?

  He turned the corner onto his street—and almost slammed on the breaks. Sitting in front of his home were two news vans from Denver TV stations, reporters standing in a throng on the sidewalk and in his driveway.

  “Son of a bitch.” He thought for a moment of driving back to Kenzie’s place, but he wasn’t going to let the media chase him out of his home.

  He turned into his driveway, going slowly enough not to hit anyone but fast enough to send the message that they’d better damned well get out of his way. He pressed the button for his garage door, drove inside, and closed it behind him.

  Candace had been right. This wasn’t over.

  Kenzie found herself in the middle of a frustrating day. Dree went home with a bad migraine, so Kenzie had to take over at the store. That was fine. It was her store, after all, and she just wanted Dree to feel better.

  But then the distributor of her most popular brand of organic cat food notified her that they would no longer be carrying the product, leaving her to search for a new supplier. The couple who had reserved a spot for their boxer called at the last minute to say their trip had been canceled. Bentley, the Goldendoodle, had gone back to his people this morning, leaving the number of dogs in the kennel at three, which meant a crimp in cash flow.

  Then Wendy Hall, a local who worked as a reporter for the tiny Scarlet Gazette, walked into the store.

  “Hey, Wendy, can I help you find something?”

  “I’m here to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

  Wary now, Kenzie hesitated. “If this is about Harrison Conrad…”

  Wendy shook her head. “It’s about yesterday’s search and the work you do for the Team. My editor wants a feature about you and Gizmo.”

  “Seriously?” Kenzie had been doing SAR and HRD work for years. The paper had never taken an interest before. “Why? Slow news day?”

  Wendy laughed. “Every day is a slow news day in Scarlet. She wants more features that showcase the talents and work of locals. There are a lot of special people who live in this town, so why not write about them?”

  Kenzie had never thought of herself as doing something special. “Aren’t you afraid of boring your readers into a coma?”

  “My job is to make it interesting. I’ll put in a fundraising pitch for the Team, too.”

  That sealed the deal. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  Wendy’s face lit up. “Can I ask you questions now? I’ll record the answers, so it will be like having a conversation. Then maybe I can get a photo of you and Gizmo together.”

  “Okay, but if someone comes in, I’ll need to stop to help them.”

  Wendy set up her recorder and took out a pad of paper on which she’d written a long list of questions. What had drawn Kenzie to training SAR and HRD dogs? How exactly did one train a dog to find missing people or human remains? Which dog breeds were best for this kind of work? How many hours a week did she spend training Gizmo? Didn’t it creep her out to keep a container with human remains in her freezer? What other kinds of work did she do with dogs?

  Those were easy to answer.

  But then the questions grew more personal.

  What was the worst call she’d ever been on? How did she cope with searches like yesterday’s that end with finding a dead body? What exactly had she seen out there?

  Kenzie did her best to remain professional, images from yesterday flooding her mind. “The worst calls are those involving children or those where you find nothing. You know the person is out there, but you can’t find a trace of them. You can’t give the family closure. When that happens, I try to take a step back and tell myself that we did everything we could. It’s not always easy. As for yesterday’s call, that was tough, but it’s part of an ongoing police investigation. I can’t comment.”

  Wendy didn’t push her but seemed satisfied with her answers. “Thanks so much. That’s all great. If we can snap a photo, I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Kenzie put a “Be Right Back” sign in the store’s window—she could get away with that in Scarlet—then went next door to get Gizmo. She brushed him, put him in his work harness, and went out to her backyard. It didn’t dawn on her until then that she might want to put on some makeup or brush her hair.

  Wendy took out a big DSLR camera and pointed to the north side of the yard. “The light is perfect in front of those aspens, and they’ll make a nice backdrop.”

  Kenzie led Gizmo over to the aspens. “Sit. Good boy.”

  She knelt down beside him, turned her face toward Wendy.

  Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

  Wendy took several shots then looked at the results. “Oh, that’s perfect. You can tell how much you love Gizmo and how much he loves you.”

  Kenzie stood, looked at the little screen on the camera. “Those turned out really well. Thanks.”

  “Thank you.” Wendy put the camera back in its bag. “I think people are going to love this. By the way, if you’re concerned about Conrad, you might want to know that the media have staked out his place—TV production vans, print media, all of it.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Everyone wants his story. I was there for a while, but I left. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk. He won’t answer his door or come out.”

  Good for Harrison.

  “I wish they would leave him alone.”

  “I’m sorry.” Wendy handed Kenzie her card. “If he wants to talk to a reporter who won’t cross his boundaries, here’s my card.”

  Kenzie’s temper flared. “You didn’t really want to do a story about SAR work. You’re trying to get to Harrison through me.”

  Wendy looked genuinely taken aback. “No! Your story is running in tomorrow’s paper. Sorry. I just thought I’d leave you with the card just in case. If you don’t feel comfortable giving it to him, then don’t. I came here to see you.”

  “Sorry if I misjudged you.” The surprise on Wendy’s face convinced Kenzie that Wendy hadn’t been trying to manipulate her. “I’ll give it to him when I see him again.”

  “I heard the two of you were involved. I’m jealous.”

&nbs
p; “No comment.” Kenzie had never dated a celebrity before, and it was strange to have to say that.

  Wendy saw through her. “Don’t worry. I don’t do that kind of journalism.”

  Kenzie went back to the store, let Wendy out, and went back to searching for a new cat food supplier. Not a minute later, she got a text from Quinn.

  Do you have a plunger? The toilet is clogged.

  Wasn’t that just what she needed?

  Conrad went out into the backyard with Gabby, got a rake from the garage, and started raking leaves. He needed to finish this before the first big snowfall, and anything was better than sitting in the house, curtains drawn, while reporters took turns knocking on his front door. Didn’t they get the message?

  Gabby bounded about the yard, barked at the rake, and ran through the piles of leaves, making it difficult to get anything done, but she was so damned cute that he didn’t care. Soon it became a game. Conrad raked together a pile and hid her favorite toy beneath it, and she dove in and retrieved the toy, tail wagging.

  He found himself laughing.

  “What did you do to get the media so riled up?” The old woman next door stood on her back porch in a floral housedress, a broom in her hand.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Don’t try to pull the wool over these eyes, young man. They wouldn’t be standing out there if you hadn’t done something.”

  “Okay, fine.” Conrad tossed Gabby’s toy into another pile of leaves, watched her dive in after it. “I survived when the rest of my team was killed climbing Mount Everest. The media wants the gory details.”

  “You must have had an angel watching out for you.”

  Yeah, right.

  The pile of leaves rustled, shifted, and out popped Gabby, toy in her mouth.

  “Mount Everest, huh? You ever make it to the top?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am—twice.”

  “Only a damned fool does something like that. I guess that explains all those muscles—and why you run around outside naked as a jaybird. Not enough oxygen to your brain.”

  Conrad turned to face her, saw that she was smiling, and couldn’t help but laugh. “That only happened once—and only because I thought everyone would be asleep. I didn’t know you were watching.”

  She gave a noncommittal humph. “Why can’t you just tell those reporters that you don’t want to talk?”

  “I tried that.”

  “Bloodsuckers.” She turned and walked inside her house.

  He went back to raking, only to hear her voice again a moment later, but this time it was coming from the front yard.

  “What’s the matter with you people? You’re disturbing the whole neighborhood. This guy doesn’t want to give any interviews, so why don’t you move along? If you block my sidewalk or set one foot on my lawn, I’ll call the sheriff.”

  Stunned, Conrad stared toward the sound of her voice.

  Grumpy Mrs. Frank-and-Beans was standing up for him.

  “Do you know Harrison Conrad?” one reporter asked.

  “No, I don’t know him. He just moved in.”

  “Could you please ask him to answer his door?”

  “I told you I don’t know him. But if he wanted to answer his door, I’m sure he’d do it. Now, stop making a racket, and move on.”

  Conrad was going to buy her a box of chocolates.

  He finished raking and bagged all but one pile of leaves, leaving that for Gabby to enjoy. He’d brought her back inside and was making himself a quick sandwich before heading to Esri’s, when someone pounded on the front door. “For fuck’s sake.”

  He ignored it.

  More pounding. “Conrad, it’s Moretti!”

  Conrad set his sandwich on a plate and walked to the front door, Gabby at his heels. He scooped her up to keep her from running outside and opened the door.

  Moretti stepped inside, closing the door quickly behind him. “How long have they been out there?”

  “Since the ass-crack of dawn.”

  “Shit. That’s crazy, man.” He held out a piece of paper. “I brought this.”

  Conrad took it, saw that it was a job application for Ski Scarlet. “Thanks.”

  “Matt, my supervisor, is holding a position for you. It’s yours if you want it. You need to fill this out and come talk to him in the next couple of days, or he’ll give the job to someone else.”

  Conrad’s first thought was that the job should go to someone else, but opportunity had literally come knocking at his literal damned door with a job his teenage self would have loved. “Okay. I need a resume, right? I’ve never made one.”

  “Print out that page from your website that tells about all the mountains you’ve climbed and skied. You’re Harrison fucking Conrad, man. You just need to walk into that office and say you want the job.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  Three hours later, Conrad found himself sitting in the office of Matt Mayes, the resort’s Ski Patrol supervisor, wearing a sports jacket, clean shaven, his hair cut. He’d brought Gabby with him, not knowing how long he’d be gone.

  Matt held out his hand, a broad smile on his tanned face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve read about some of your exploits. Who’s this?”

  “This is Gabby. Kenzie Morgan is training her for SAR and HRD work. I’m fostering her for a while.”

  “Fantastic. Kenzie does amazing work with dogs. She trained Charlie, one of our two avy dogs, along with my Boomer. She and Charlie saved a guy a couple winters back.” Matt petted the puppy then sat and motioned to a chair. “Take a seat.”

  “Thanks.” Conrad sat and held out the completed job application and the page he’d printed from his website.

  Matt glanced down at the paperwork. “I know you’re quite the alpinist—one of the best in the world. What about your skiing experience?”

  “I’ve skied Shishapangma, Cho Oyu, the South Col of Everest…” Conrad stopped because Matt was staring at him.

  Matt put the pages down, chuckled. “Okay, you can handle our slopes.”

  “Yes, sir, I can.” Had there been any doubt?

  “How about your EMT certification?”

  “It’s good for another six months. I need to bulk up on continuing-ed hours.”

  “That’s fine.” Matt’s brows drew together in a frown. “To be honest, I hesitate to offer you this job because I’m afraid you’ll find a winter of patrolling slopes and dealing with idiots to be pretty damned boring. If you accept, I will expect you to stick with us through the end of the season in April.”

  “That seems fair.”

  “I won’t lie. We pay shit. The mornings start early. It’s cold. You’ll spend the whole day on the mountain, apart from bathroom and lunch breaks.”

  As if a day on the slopes were a hardship. “Perfect.”

  “There are a lot of drunk and stoned idiots on the slopes. Tourists. People who get in over their heads. It’s our job to keep everyone safe, even when they don’t follow the rules. Especially when they don’t follow the rules.”

  “I can handle idiots. A lot of the rescue work we do on the Team involves people who make bad choices.”

  “After what happened on Everest, how do you think you’d handle an avalanche? When someone’s life is on the line, we can’t afford to have anyone fall apart.”

  Conrad hadn’t expected that question. “I’ve had avalanche training. I can’t say exactly how I’d react, but I’d like to think I’d keep my shit together.”

  Matt laughed. “The job is yours if you want it.”

  Conrad hesitated. If he accepted, he wouldn’t be able to leave Scarlet until the end of next April—if he decided to leave Scarlet. He thought of Kenzie and Gizmo and Gabby and decided that he was in no hurry to go anywhere. “I’ve got one condition.”

  “Yeah? Name it.”

  “No publicity. You can put my name on your website like you would any other member of Ski Patrol, but no publicity.”


  “You’ve got it.”

  “Thank you. I’ll take the job.”

  Chapter 15

  Kenzie stepped through her back door with Gizmo—and was stopped dead in her tracks by the delicious aroma that filled her kitchen. She glanced around, her frustrating day forgotten. Her best dishes sat on the table, her grandmother’s silver beside them on cloth napkins. Two long white tapers burned in her old crystal candleholders at the center of the table.

  She slipped out of her parka and hung it on its hook by the back door just as Harrison ducked in from the living room, Gabby behind him.

  “Hey.”

  She stared. “Your hair. You cut it.”

  It was short the way he’d always worn it, and, damn, did he look good, a touch of gray at the temples, his cheekbones somehow more prominent, his jaw more chiseled. As if that weren’t enough, he wore jeans with a gray sports jacket, a black turtleneck beneath.

  Damn.

  “You look … hot.”

  As in ovary-exploding hot. Knees-turning-to-jelly hot. Fuck-me-now hot.

  He rubbed his head. “I figured it was time.”

  She cleared her throat, tried to pull herself together. She motioned to the table. “You’ve had a busy afternoon.”

  He grinned. “I got a job.”

  “Harrison! Where?”

  “You’re looking at the newest member of Ski Patrol at Ski Scarlet.”

  She hurried over to him, wrapped her arms around him, the warm, masculine scent of him filling her head. “Congratulations!”

  He held her, kissed her. “Thanks.”

  “I bet that was the easiest job interview ever. ‘How well do you ski?’ ‘Ever heard of the Himalayas?’”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, that was pretty much it.”

  She drew back, looked up at him. “When do you start?”