Tempting Fate: A Colorado High Country Novel

by Pamela Clare

  The woman confused him. Her art showed a deep respect for all life—the four-legged, the winged ones, even the metals of the earth—but her response to Winona’s question had been flippant. And yet it hadn’t been disregard he’d seen on her face—it had been fear. Her pupils had dilated, and she’d inhaled—a sharp little gasp—as if she was having a full-on adrenaline reaction.

  Of course, Chaska had met people who felt the way she did—people for whom Native heritage was a burden or didn’t matter at all. He couldn’t understand that. Blood mattered. Chaska would be nothing if not for his ancestors and his tiospaye—the broader community of his relatives.

  You were led to her.

  Yeah, right.

  He willed his mind off Naomi and focused on his calculations, managing to get nowhere before the sound of wolf nails clickety-clicking on the wood floor in the hallway broke his concentration.

  Shota scratched and whined at the door.

  Not wanting to replace the door again, he set his calculator and pencil down.

  It was pack time.

  Winona had taught him that every interaction with Shota required Chaska to maintain his dominance and to see things from Shota’s point of view—a wolf’s point of view. They couldn’t risk Shota challenging them for leadership of their little pack. Even though Shota had been neutered as a pup and had been hand raised by Winona, he was still a wolf with all the predatory drives and physical strength of his wild relatives.

  Chaska got his head in the game, then opened the door and stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

  Shota fell onto his side, showed his belly, his tail thumping on the floor, acknowledging Chaska’s status as alpha male.

  Chaska bent down, rubbed Shota’s belly, tugged at his ears, grabbed his muzzle, rough-housing with him. “Where are your toys?”

  Shota jumped up, dashed into the living room, and grabbed his new rubber chicken from his toy box. He shook the chicken in his jaws, unleashing a cacophony of high-pitched squeaks, making Winona and Naomi laugh.

  Chaska found the women in the living room, his sister on the floor holding a battered length of knotted rope, Naomi in the reclining chair, her injured leg propped up, her crutches leaning against the wall. Nothing had passed between him and Naomi, and yet he could feel the pull of her from across the room.

  What was wrong with him?

  “What do you feed a wolf?” Naomi asked.

  Winona stood. “I’ll show you.”

  The moment Winona walked to the freezer, Shota lost all interest in his rubber chicken. He pranced and whined while she got his supper ready.

  “I mix his food myself. It’s mostly raw or frozen venison and elk that we buy from the butcher or get from road kill. I mix it with kibble for vitamins, bones for minerals, and vegetables for—”

  Chaska’s Team pager went off. He pulled it from the pocket of his jeans, scrolled through the message.

  CLIMBER STUCK ON CENOTAPH SPIRE

  He almost felt relieved. He needed to get out of here.

  A chill shivered down Naomi’s spine. Someone was in trouble, their life in danger, just as hers had been.

  “Is it serious?” Winona asked her brother.

  “Someone’s in trouble on Cenotaph Spire,” Chaska called back to his sister as he disappeared down the hallway, his footsteps sounding on the stairs a moment later.

  Naomi glanced out the window, saw that the sun had begun to set. “It’s going to be dark soon.”

  It had been dark as pitch when she’d fallen into that ravine, Arlie and Clem shouting for her, chasing her.

  Winona dropped a large chunk of frozen red meat mixed with kibble and carrots into a steel bowl and set it out for Shota, who lay down and began to gnaw. “The Team gets called out all hours of the day and night. You wouldn’t believe the trouble people get themselves into. Some college kids once hauled a keg of beer up to the top of the First Flatiron and got—”

  “Where are my Team T-shirts?” Chaska reappeared wearing only a pair of black athletic pants, his upper body gloriously bare.

  “Maybe they’re in the dryer where you left them last night,” Winona offered, a teasing tone to her voice.

  As he strode through the room, Naomi couldn’t help but stare at the shifting slabs and ridges of muscle—his strong arms, that six-pack, those pecs, and …

  Scars.

  Pinched bits of flesh marred his skin of his hairless chest in an almost symmetrical pattern, three scars on each side. Were they scars from chicken pox or some other kind of sickness? No, they were too big for that, too regular.

  Chaska hurried through the kitchen toward the back of the house, leaving Naomi to stare after him. When he returned, he’d pulled a familiar yellow T-shirt over his head. He headed toward the front door. “If all goes well, I should be back in a couple of hours.”

  A moment later, Naomi heard the door shut.

  “How often does the Team get called out?”

  Winona set a big steel bowl of water next to Shota’s food bowl and left the wolf to its dinner. “In the summer, they can get called out three or four times a day. Things quiet down in the winter—for the most part.”

  “Do people ever die?”

  Winona nodded. “Sometimes they’re called out to evacuate bodies—suicides, avalanche victims, people who were killed in a fall.”

  “That must be hard.” Naomi couldn’t imagine it.

  Winona nodded. “They save many more people than they lose. I think that’s what keeps them going despite the difficulties. There are so many times when they are a person’s only chance of getting home alive.”

  Naomi wanted to ask about the scars but didn’t want to offend Winona again. In the end, her curiosity got the better of her. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Yes.”

  “The scars on Chaska’s chest—how did he get them?”

  For a moment, Winona was silent, as if thinking how best to answer. “Our grandfather is a hereditary Sun Dance chief. Chaska followed the path of a sun dancer for a time. Part of the ceremony involves piercing as a sacrifice.”

  Naomi had never heard of the Sun Dance—outside of stories about Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid or the famous film festival. She hadn’t realized the name came from a Native ceremony. “It looks painful.”

  “It’s not something we talk about with outsiders.”

  Outsider.

  Naomi had heard that word before. She wasn’t sure what Winona meant by it now—whether she meant that she’d told Naomi all she was willing to tell her because Naomi was an outsider or whether she meant to say she was trusting Naomi with this information despite the fact that Naomi was more or less a stranger.

  Maybe she means that it’s hard to trust you because you didn’t trust her when she asked about your heritage.

  Some part of Naomi wanted to answer that question now, to trust Winona with the truth and hope that she and her brother were different than the people she’d met at the Native American art and craft shows she’d tried to join.

  Look, hot stuff, if you’re not a registered tribal member, you’re not a Native American at all. Pack your shit, and get out.

  Naomi opened her mouth to speak—but nothing came out.

  Chaska was wrong about her. She wasn’t the least bit brave.

  Chapter 7

  Chaska downclimbed with Hawke and Moretti, the three of them acting as a secondary belay for Sasha Dillon, Mitch Ahearn, and Nicole while they lowered the uninjured climber safely to the ground. The kid had tried to free solo Harebell, the only route on the Spire. He’d been near the top—only about fifty feet off the ground—when he’d started shouting for help, paralyzed by fear.

  The kid’s voice drifted up to Chaska, sounding more defensive than grateful. “I don’t know why I freaked out. I could’ve done it myself.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Sasha reassured him. “It’s better to get help and be safe than risk a critical fall.”

  The youngest me
mber of the Team and one of the best sports climbers in the world, Sasha Dillon was the Team’s celebrity. She lived off sponsorships, climbing around the world and using Scarlet Springs as her home base.

  The guy moaned. “God, how humiliating. I was just rescued by two girls and an old guy.”

  Chaska’s feet had just touched the ground when he overheard this. “One of those girls is a world-champion sports climber, and the other has been rescuing climbers like you for the better part of five years. That old man beside you—he helped invent this sport. Show some respect, man.”

  Nicole shot Chaska an appreciative glance—making Chaska wonder whether he should regret his words. He did not want to lead her on.

  The guy looked at Sasha, and his eyes went wide, as if he’d finally realized who she was. “Fuck. Sorry, man.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Nicole unclipped her harness. “We’ve encountered sexism in men we’ve rescued before.”

  Chaska bit the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from laughing, his gaze meeting Hawke’s and Moretti’s, who were also fighting not to laugh.

  “I don’t owe you anything, right?” There was a stiff, cocky tone to the guy’s voice now, humiliation apparently having morphed into resentment. “I’m free to go?”

  Ahearn stepped out of his harness. “We don’t charge for rescues, but this was a clear reminder to climb within your ability.”

  Without a word, the guy turned and stomped off down the trail.

  “You’re welcome,” Hawke muttered, shaking his head.

  Sasha laughed. “What a fragile ego.”

  “Okay, okay.” Ahearn shouldered a coil of rope. “Leave the poor guy alone. Let’s stow the gear and head home.”

  Chaska knew right then that they were going to hear from Megs about this. As the Team’s director, she didn’t tolerate unprofessional behavior from members.

  They worked together to get the ropes, harnesses, and other gear back onto Rescue One, the truck’s rooftop lights turning nighttime into day. Bats flitted overhead, drawn in by the insects who were attracted to the light.

  “How’s Naomi?” Moretti asked.

  Chaska tried to ignore the way his pulse skipped at the sound of her name. “She seems to be doing well. Win has spent more time with her than I have.”

  Moretti started folding ropes into a large rope bag. They would be washed, dried, and inspected inch-by-inch before being used again. “Ellie told me you and Winona invited her to stay with you while she recovers.”

  Chaska shoved his harness in a nylon stuff sack with the others. “She was going to stay in a hotel, but Winona wouldn’t have it.”

  Hawke tossed his harness to Chaska. “Your sister has a big heart.”

  That was the truth.

  “Doesn’t she have friends or family to help her out?” Nicole asked.

  Chaska didn’t want to share something he’d been told in private, but he figured this was public knowledge by now. “I guess not.”

  “That’s not right.” Sasha pulled her rack of gear over her head, set it down on the vehicle’s tailgate, carabiners and cams clinking. “Everyone should have someone.”

  Hawke gave a snort. “What a nice world that would be.”

  Moretti zipped the rope bag, set it inside the vehicle. “Ellie thought maybe you could talk to her and see how she felt about Joe holding a fundraiser for her at Knockers. You know Joe would do it.”

  Knockers was Scarlet Springs’ one and only brewpub and the hub of the town’s social activity. Its menu was good, but its indoor climbing wall was even better. Named after the legendary Tommyknockers, spirits that lived in the abandoned mines above town, it was owned by Joe Moffat—or Caribou Joe, as locals called him. Joe went above and beyond to give back to his community.

  “That’s a great idea.” Taylor slipped off his climbing shoes and stepped into a pair of Tevas. “The state will probably pick up most of her medical expenses, but she’s going to have to get her vehicle repaired, too, and find some way to get both herself and her car home again.”

  It was a good idea, but the decision wasn’t theirs or even Joe’s to make. “I’ll talk to her and see how she feels about it.”

  Naomi ran for her life, her heart slamming in her chest. Shrubs and tree branches grabbed at her, threatening to trip her, slowing her down, Arlie’s voice chasing her through the darkness.

  “Get back here, you little bitch! I think she broke my nose.”

  A gunshot rang out, pain slicing through her shoulder.

  She’d been shot!

  And then she was falling.

  Naomi sat bolt upright, chased from sleep by terror. She tore off the covers, shot to her feet—and collapsed onto the floor with a cry as her weight hit her broken leg, fear and pain bringing tears to her eyes. “Shit!”

  How could she have forgotten?

  Heart pounding, she sat there for a moment, the nightmare still dragging at her, her body shaking, the pain in her ankle almost unbearable.

  A voice came from the other side of her door, made her jump.

  “Naomi? Are you okay?” It was Chaska.

  She tried to get her good leg beneath her, but her injured one was bent in an awkward position that made any movement excruciating. “I fell.”

  “Do you need help?”

  She tried again to stand but only succeeded in hurting herself. “Yes.”

  The door opened, and Chaska stepped inside, wearing only climbing pants, his chest and feet bare. He stepped over to where she sat and knelt down beside her, his brown eyes dark as he took in her predicament.

  She could only imagine what she looked like sprawled on the floor in her nightgown, all bruises and bandages, her hair a mess. She found herself babbling an explanation. “I had a bad dream. I was running from them and … I just forgot. I tried to get up, but …”

  How could she have been so stupid?

  He nodded as if what she’d said made perfect sense to him. “Let’s get your leg straightened out, and then I’ll help you up. I can’t guarantee it won’t hurt. Ready?”

  She nodded, steeling herself.

  “Try to relax. Let me do the work.” He took her calf and lifted her ankle off the floor. “Turn toward your right side a little. Just like that.”

  She did as he asked, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain and fighting not to moan, her fingers digging into the wooden floor.

  And then it was over, her injured leg straight now.

  In a single motion, Chaska scooped her into his arms and lifted her off the floor.

  Startled, she reached around his neck and held on, his skin warm and smooth beneath her palms, his body hard, the scent of sage surrounding her.

  “I won’t drop you.” He set her down on the bed and sat near her feet. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No—and thanks. I bet you never had to rescue anyone from the floor before.”

  He reached out, wiped the tears from one cheek with his thumb, his touch leaving a trail of heat. “You’re crying—and shaking like a leaf.”

  She hugged her arms around herself. “The nightmare. It seemed so … real.”

  He stood, pulled the Pendleton blanket from the foot of the bed, and wrapped it around her, his hands lingering on her shoulders. “What you’ve been through would give anyone nightmares. It will be with you for a while.”

  His quiet understanding, offered without judgment, cut short her next thought, which had been to blame herself. Somehow, he made it seem okay, as if what she’d done hadn’t been stupid at all.

  She reached down with both hands to rub her shin, the pain in her ankle still sharp. “I hope I didn’t re-break it.”

  He slid his hand over her shin as if examining her, stopping just above her bandages, his touch sending sparks across her skin. “Unless you felt or heard something snap, you’re probably okay, but you might want to call your doctor in the morning.”

  “How did the rescue go? Is everyone okay?”

  “We got t
he climber down. He wasn’t hurt, so it went quickly.”

  “I’m glad.”

  A breeze caught the curtains, made them dance, cool mountain air wafting through the room. For a moment, neither of them spoke, silence stretching between them. It wasn’t like any silence Naomi had known. It wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable despite the strangeness of the circumstances—an attractive man she barely knew sitting bare-chested on her bed in the middle of the night. Nor did she feel rushed to fill the space with idle conversation. Time passed in heartbeats.

  When at last he spoke, his voice was soft and soothing. “You were alone out there in the forest, but you’re not alone anymore. You have me and Winona and Shota. You’ve got the entire town of Scarlet Springs behind you. The people are talking about doing a fundraiser for you to help you get your life back to normal again. I was going to ask you about that in the morning.”

  “A fundraiser?” Tears pricked Naomi’s eyes at this news, gratitude at war with that same sense of unease she’d felt at the hospital when Ellie and the other nurses had shown up with clothes for her. “Why would they do that?”

  “The people of Scarlet take care of their own.”

  “But … I’m not even from here.”

  Chaska gave a soft chuckle. “Try telling them that.”

  Chaska lay in his boxer briefs on his bed, staring up through the darkness at the ceiling, his arm bent behind his head. Ten minutes ago, he’d been beat, ready for sleep. Now, he felt wide awake, his body buzzing with sexual energy.

  Naomi.

  He’d been on his way from the laundry room to his bedroom when he’d heard her hit the floor and cry out. He’d opened the door to find her there, tears on her cheeks and in obvious pain, her dark hair in tangles around her shoulders. He’d done his best not to hurt her, but he’d had to do it without his brain. It had stopped working the moment he had touched her.

  He could have set her down on the bed and kept his distance, but he hadn’t. Yeah, he’d wanted to make sure she was okay, to offer her some comfort, but he could have done both of those things while standing on his feet. He’d wanted to be close to her because … damn.