by Debra Webb
“The weather had been particularly bad that winter. We shouldn’t have gone.”
He fell silent again.
She didn’t push him. She already knew the story. But that he would tell her about it indicated some amount of trust.
“We went anyway. We reached the summit. She…her harness gave out. Faulty equipment they said.”
“You tried to save her?” That would be an easy guess for anyone.
He nodded. “But I failed.”
“Do you feel responsible for what happened?”
He closed his eyes, took a breath. “Logically—” he opened his eyes once more “—I understand that it wasn’t my fault, but I can’t say that I don’t feel responsible.”
“That’s normal, I think.”
He searched her eyes as if trying to understand the reasoning behind her pursuit of the subject.
“My mom had a heart attack,” she went on. “I feel guilty to this day that I stopped at a convenience store on the way home and didn’t get there in time to help her before it was too late.”
“Sorry about your mom.” He turned his attention back to the view out the window.
“The point is,” she added, “I don’t let that guilt stop me from going on with my life. My mom wouldn’t want that.”
“You should know,” he said quietly, “I have these…panic attacks. Whenever I’m in a stressful situation, they hit. I keep checking off activities from the list of things I can do. Pretty soon there’s going to be nothing left.”
“Did that happen today?”
His gaze collided with hers. “Yeah. I froze. Couldn’t do what I knew exactly how to do. What I’m fully capable of doing. I just couldn’t do it.”
“But you haven’t had to check off racing? You can still do that.”
He laughed; the sound was strained. “That’s the strangest part. That’s the only place I really feel normal. When I’m behind that wheel flying around the track, I feel like me. The old me.”
“I can’t say that I’ve ever had a panic attack, but it seems to me that it’s a mind-over-matter thing. Kind of like getting back on the horse that threw you.”
“Sounds easy, doesn’t it?”
He was right. “I’m certain it’s not easy. I didn’t mean to insinuate that it was. But you have to keep trying. If you stop—” her gaze collided with his “—then you’ll never get started again.”
“You really think it’s that simple?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But it’s like that whole trust thing they do, when you fall back and let someone else catch you. It’s really hard at first, but once you’ve done it a couple of times, it’s easy. Maybe if you climb that mountain, the way you started to today, maybe you’ll break through some kind of barrier and the panic won’t have control anymore.”
“I tried to do that today, in case you’ve forgotten, and I failed.”
“But you didn’t have a coach today.” She smiled broadly when his gaze met hers once more.
“I’m not sure I want to know what that means.”
“I tell you what, Fewell,” she challenged. “You go back out with me tomorrow and I guarantee you’ll climb that mountain. We won’t come back until it’s done.”
He searched her eyes for a long moment, a glimmer of hope in his. “We’ll have to start early. Be prepared for every possible scenario.”
“All good climbers are prepared,” she countered.
He offered his hand. “Deal?”
She smiled and placed her hand in his. “Deal.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Two Days before Christmas, 9:00 a.m.
JASON STOOD STONE STILL.
The traverse from the trail proper had been pure hell. Molly had kept a gung-ho attitude despite his foul mood. The local papers had slashed his name across the headlines with questions about the accident three years ago.
He shouldn’t have come back here.
“Let’s get moving, Fewell,” Molly said, coming up beside him. “We’ve got a long ways to go and daylight is running out.” She pulled her ice axe from her bag. “Don’t back out on me now.”
His movements stilted, he reached into his pack and retrieved his own ice axe. The climb would move from the sloped basin to the east face couloirs upward to the ridges above. Achieving the Bell Chord proper was the next goal.
She moved forward.
He forced his feet to follow her movements.
“Stay focused on what’s right in front of you,” Molly called back to him. “Don’t look beyond your next few moves.”
Jason rolled the details over in his mind. They had all the equipment they needed. Rope, pickets and gear for bunking down for the night if necessary. He knew the drill. Understood exactly what each move should be.
His heart rate escalated with each step. Sweat leached on to his skin beneath the layers of protective wear.
Comfortable angle, he told himself. About forty-five degrees. Keep moving. You can do it.
They hit a narrow, treacherous section of the couloir, moved cautiously beyond it.
And they climbed.
The alternating sounds of ice axes digging in, gloves ferreting out handholds, boots finding traction and footing reverberated around him.
“Hear that,” she said. “It’s a rhythm.”
Crack, rub, grind.
“Focus on the rhythm,” she prompted. “Focus on the next step.”
They climbed and climbed, stopping for occasional breaks to rest their muscles and catch their breaths.
Jason’s heart rate slowed to a more expected level for the physical exertion. His ability to concentrate cleared, allowed for better focus.
He saw the head of the couloir and the sky beyond. Relief trickled inside him. They’d made the first major hurdle.
“Sit,” Molly instructed. “Let’s enjoy the view.”
Jason settled next to her. He allowed his respiration to slow naturally. No extra effort required. Just breathe. Felt…good.
“Here.” She passed him a granola bar and bottle of water. “Brunch.”
He smiled at the small granola bar. “I hope there’s more.” He tore open the wrapper and took a bite. The taste of oats and cherries filled his mouth. Tasted better than anything he’d forced himself to chew in a really long time.
She passed him another bar. “How you holding up?”
“Good.” He settled his attention on her. All geared up with her face protected by dark glasses and a ski mask. But he knew the line of her jaw by heart…the shape of her soft lips. Looking at her was far more appealing than the magnificent mountain views all around them. He hadn’t enjoyed looking at anything other than the finish line for a long time.
“Let’s leave some of the stuff we won’t need here,” she suggested. “We can do a pickup on the way back. The next stretch is tough. Light is better.”
He suffered a twinge of panic but refused to let it take root. “You’re the boss.”
She laughed as she shoved aside their crampons and other nonessentials for the next leg of the trip. The sound of her laughter prompted his determination. He could do it. He tucked his water bottle back into his pack and stood.
“Let’s do this thing.” The words were strong. It felt good to say them.
A few feet of ice was the first challenge. The going was, as she said, tough. The ground beneath the snow was ledgy with lots of loose rock and snow, a ready mix for slides. Handholds were few and far between and less than optimal. The wind had picked up, whipping with enough force to steal the best balance. Slow but steady progress finally gained them the summit.
The eyewear came off and for long moments they stood there, high atop the valley below and with some of the most breathtaking mountains on the planet sprawling before them. Snow-covered and grand.
Truly magnificent.
Molly smiled at him. “You made it. You conquered the beast.”
He pulled off his helmet and ski mask. She did the same. The wind sent wisps
of hair across her cheeks; he removed his glove and brushed them away.
“Thank you, Molly Clark.”
She stared into his eyes, her own filled with satisfaction. “Don’t thank me, Fewell. You had it in you all along.”
He kissed her. There was simply no other way to properly show his gratitude.
Thanks to her undying spirit and ambitious belief in him, he had conquered the beast.
MOLLY DIDN’T WANT the kiss to end. But the wind was freezing their faces.
When they drew apart, they quickly donned their ski masks once more.
Gloves and eyewear in place, he took the lead. “When we get back to town,” he called back to her, “we’re celebrating. Dinner, champagne, the works.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m always hungry.”
They made a slow and careful descent, burying their ice axes as necessary. Fewell stayed in the lead. Molly was proud of him. Truth was, she’d gotten way too close to this guy in the past forty-eight hours.
And that kiss…well, she was reasonably sure she had never been kissed quite like that. Definitely not fourteen thousand feet above sea level.
They picked up their gear on the way down. Once they reached the gentler slopes, they moved a little faster. Molly was pumped. The day had gone off without a hitch. Surely this accomplishment would allow Fewell to get a hold on the panic attacks.
The beginning, she decided. The beginning of finding his footing in life again.
BACK AT THE SUV, they stripped off their parkas and the other outer gear no longer needed. He stole another kiss and Molly let him. She liked the way he kissed. Liked the feel of his lips moving over hers. She could get used to this…all too easily.
It was dark as they reached town. He gave her the directions to a restaurant that didn’t require reservations.
Molly parked the SUV and climbed out. Her legs were a little stiff. She would be sore tomorrow, but the outcome had been worth every step of the climb—and the couple of slides she’d taken.
“You’re sure this place is good?” she queried. This was one place she’d never been. Carlo’s was a little off the beaten path and without the panache of Aspen’s high-class offerings.
“If you like Mexican food, you’ll love it.”
She definitely liked Mexican food. Could eat her weight in it. Especially tonight.
Tonight felt special.
It was crazy. They barely knew each other. In fact, he didn’t know her at all. Would never know her. As much as she was enjoying spending time with him, anything beyond this time together was, in the cold harsh light of reality, out of the question.
She had lied to him.
Repeatedly.
She would just have to enjoy tonight and maybe tomorrow, then it would be over.
Inside the cozy little restaurant it felt warm and smelled heavenly. She inhaled deeply. Her stomach rumbled.
“Told you it was good,” he said, noticing her dreamy expression.
As the hostess led the way to a table, he held Molly’s hand. She felt as if she was back in high school and out with the captain of the football team after a game. His training to stay in shape for racing kept his body lean and muscled. He had a great body.
Fewell ordered a feast of several items on the menu. Soft drinks and water completed the list.
“We’ll have the champagne when we get back to the lodge,” he explained. “I made a call. It’ll be waiting in the room.”
“Very good, Fewell. I can see why you’re a winner. You stay ahead of the game.”
He was also smart. Drinking, even a glass of wine, and driving was risky business. She liked that he took that into consideration.
Jason Fewell was a really nice guy. Nothing like the celebrity, self-absorbed personality she had expected.
“When do you have to go back to Chicago?”
She dragged herself back to reality. There was a question she would just as soon not answer. “A couple of days, the day after Christmas I guess. I have the rest of the week off. How about you?”
“I thought I’d stay through New Year’s. Maybe even do some skiing.”
The waitress delivered their drinks.
Molly took a sip of water, then laughed. “You’d better not do any more climbing without me. That wouldn’t be fair at all.” Not to mention, she would worry about him going alone. That was never a good idea, no matter how experienced the climber. Mountaineering was not meant to be a solitary sport. Particularly this time of year.
“You could stay.” There was that hope glimmering in his eyes again. “The room is ours. For free.” He grinned. “Might as well milk it for all it’s worth.”
“Is that an invitation, Mr. Fewell?” That same hope she saw in his eyes had her pulse fluttering.
“It is exactly that.”
The waitress showed up again, bearing platters of steaming entrées. God, it smelled good.
“Well.” Molly dished samples of everything onto her plate. “I might just take you up on that, hotshot.” She searched his eyes. “You’d better make sure you know what you’re asking.”
His gaze was steady on hers, real and open. “I know exactly what I’m asking.”
“Then the answer is yes.” She shoved a chunk of enchilada into her mouth. Her eyes closed and she moaned with delight.
They ate. They laughed. She wasn’t ready to go but the restaurant was closing.
Even the cold air felt somehow warm when they walked to the car. She hadn’t felt like this, ever. Not over a guy. Maybe over a career accomplishment, but never over a guy.
This one was nice. Truly nice. Smart. And he loved all the outdoor activities she loved.
Was there nothing they didn’t have in common?
The answer was yes. They didn’t have the whole truth in common.
He’d been totally honest with her the last twenty-four hours.
And she was still lying about why she was here and where she worked.
When he’d parked in the garage at the lodge, she sat still for a few moments, her eyes closed. She wanted to hold on to this feeling a little longer. It wouldn’t be long until it would be over…He would have to know the truth.
And those warm, fuzzy feelings he had for her would be gone for good.
He opened her door and she turned to look at him. “I could sleep right here, I think. I’m beat.”
“Come on.” He offered his hand to help her out. “We’ll unpack all this gear tomorrow. We have champagne waiting.”
That was something else she loved. She wasn’t much of a beer drinker. Or cocktails, either, for that matter. A nice wine, bubbly and sweet, that was her weakness. He had, without knowing it, touched on another of her favorites.
As usual the lobby and bar area were brimming with activity. Skiers and hikers sharing their adventures of the day. The occasional leg or arm cast could be spotted where someone had taken a nasty spill.
“Jason Fewell!”
A chill rushed up Molly’s spine.
“Keep walking,” Jason whispered.
They’d almost made it to the elevators when three camera-wagging dirtbags and a reporter caught up with them. Molly recognized the one as a reporter since he was the one shouting questions.
“Any comment on today’s headlines?”
Jason stabbed the call button, and didn’t respond.
“I see you’re getting along with your babysitter.”
Dread detonated inside Molly.
The elevator doors slid open and Molly tugged at his arm. “Let’s go.”
But he didn’t budge. He turned back to the reporter. “What the hell are you talking about?”
And that was the beginning of the end.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Christmas Eve, 9:00 a.m.
YOU LIED TO ME.
The words kept echoing in Molly’s head.
She stared at the champagne now floating in a pool of water in the ice bucket.
Jason had left the lodge last night and he
hadn’t come back. The concierge’s staff had packed his belongings and taken them away.
Molly had tried to explain that, yes, she had misled him. That his team owner had hired her to come here and see that he didn’t get hurt.
But that was before.
Before she’d known the man behind the name.
Before she’d let her heart get involved.
He hadn’t listened.
She didn’t blame him.
If she’d told him the truth, would he have climbed that mountain with her?
That part didn’t matter. He could only see the lies.
The telephone rang. Molly shuffled across the room and picked up the receiver, part of her hoping it would be him.
“Molly?”
Not him. Her employer, Victoria Colby-Camp.
“Good morning, Victoria.”
“Are you all right? I heard about what happened. Mr. Harris called.”
Molly explained the details of how they’d been ambushed in the lobby by the paparazzi and a rogue reporter. She should have considered that once the press had seen her with Jason they would dig until they found out who she was.
But she hadn’t been thinking.
Not the way she should have anyway.
She’d gotten too close to the man she was supposed to be keeping safe.
“When are you coming back?”
She didn’t know how to answer that question. She’d tried getting an earlier flight, but with the holidays everything was booked.
“Maybe in a couple of days. Flights are all booked.”
“Take your time, Molly. Tomorrow’s Christmas. Enjoy Aspen. Visit your family.”
She could do that.
Since their mother had died, they didn’t get together nearly often enough.
“Mr. Fewell told Harris how you helped him achieve the goal he’d set out to accomplish. Well done, Molly.”
Great. At least he’d recognized that some part of their time together was worthwhile. “He conquered his fear that once,” Molly agreed. She was happy for him, but she couldn’t work up any real enthusiasm just now. “If he can do it once, he can do it every time.”
