Dear Reader,
In December 2006, three climbers went missing on Mount Hood in Oregon. The story captured media attention as rescuers struggled against weather conditions to find them.
Hoping to learn more about their fate, I stumbled across an online climbing forum where rescuers were posting about the search and rescue (SAR) operation. Sadly, the climbers perished, but the courage of the men and women on the mountain rescue units inspired and intrigued me. I knew I had to write this book.
One problem. I knew nothing about climbing. My husband climbed before we married, and he wanted to climb again, but I didn’t want him anywhere near Mount Hood’s summit. I decided not to ask him for help. Lucky for me, he wasn’t offended. Through the Internet I met climbers—some members of mountain rescue units—who not only helped me with my research, but became friends. The more I learned, the less I had to fear about climbing. I even gave my husband a guided trip up Mount Hood as a gift for our twelfth anniversary. He reached the summit during a climb in May 2007 and loved every minute of it.
My curiosity about climbing grew. Though I’m scared of heights, I took a class at a local rock gym for some hands-on research and discovered I loved climbing! I’ve been climbing ever since.
I’ve written several books, but not one has changed my life the way Rescued by the Magic of Christmas did. For those who helped me discover a new passion to pursue, all I can say is thank you and climb on!
Melissa
With a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University, the last thing Melissa McClone ever thought she would be doing was writing romance novels. But analyzing engines for a major U.S. airline just couldn’t compete with her “happily-ever-afters.” When she isn’t writing, caring for her three young children or doing laundry, Melissa loves to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, her cats and a good book. She enjoys watching home decorating shows to get ideas for her house—a 1939 cottage that is slowly being renovated. Melissa lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon, with her own real-life hero husband, two daughters, a son, two loveable but oh-so-spoiled indoor cats and a no-longer-stray outdoor kitty that decided to call the garage home. Melissa loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 63, Lake Oswego, OR 97034, or contact her via her Web site: www.melissamcclone.com.
MELISSA MCCLONE
Rescued by the Magic of Christmas
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
Melissa McClone on Rescued by the Magic of Christmas:
“Christmastime is about love and affirming life. My youngest child was due in January, and I drew upon my own experiences for writing Hannah. Like her, I prepared endless lists, hoping to make the holiday the ‘best ever’ for my toddler and preschooler while preparing for the new arrival. Unlike me, Hannah didn’t have things go quite as planned, but what better way to celebrate this special season than with the birth of a child?”
For Portland Mountain Rescue (PMR),
Central Washington Mountain Rescue (CWMR) and
all the dedicated men and women who volunteer their
time and talents to mountain rescue units.
Special thanks to Michael Leming, John Frieh, Mark Westman, Paul Soboleski, Lyneen Norton, Iain Morris, Steve Rollins, Keith Langenwalter, Hugh O’Reilly, Debra Ross, cascadeclimbers.com and Virginia Kantra. Any mistakes and/or discrepancies are entirely the author’s fault.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PROLOGUE
JAKE PORTER double-checked the gear in his pack, his motions driven by habit and a sharp sense of purpose. Bivy sack. Avalanche transceiver. Probe. Shovel.
His friends were somewhere up on Mount Hood in the middle of one of the worst weather systems to ever hit the Cascades in December. And Jake was going after them.
Carabiners rattled as he closed the pack. Now came the hard part—waiting.
The other members of the mountain rescue unit sat at cafeteria tables inside the Wy’East day lodge, their faces tight and their voices low as they checked their own gear. Yawning reporters grabbed quick interviews between sips of coffee. Eager photographers snapped pictures of the early-morning mission preparations.
The overhead lights made everything look pale, stark and ominous, matching Jake’s mood. The weather, too.
Outside, visibility sucked. The wind howled at forty miles per hour. The morning temperature hovered around thirteen degrees. The threat of frostbite and the very real avalanche danger made going to a higher elevation a fool’s errand. But in his five years as a member of Oregon Mountain Search and Rescue, Jake had never been more eager to confront the elements for a mission.
He wasn’t the only one. Every single OMSAR member had responded to the alert. More than a few had already heard the news and been waiting for the call. Others hadn’t waited and had come here on their own. All they needed was the go-ahead to start moving out. Up.
Radios crackled as someone asked for additional gear from the rescue cache.
Jake tightened the strap around his shovel, ignoring the knot of concern in his stomach. The whiz of the rough nylon brushing through the buckle intensified his unease. His friends should have made it off the hill with no problem.
Where the hell were they?
Iain Garfield was one of the most talented climbers in the Pacific Northwest. Only twenty-three, he’d already made a name for himself, gaining sponsors and gracing climbing magazine covers with his numerous first ascents of peaks around the world. He could climb the Reid Headwall solo. Backwards. With his eyes closed.
And Nick Bishop. He knew the mountain better than almost anyone in the unit. When they were students together, Nick had once climbed the route overnight and made it to class the next morning for a midterm. After getting married and becoming a dad, he wasn’t such a daredevil now. Nick knew challenging the mountain was always a stupid idea. The mountain never lost. That was why after seeing a nasty weather system moving in, he and Iain had changed their plans from a more challenging route to an easier climb.
Radios sprung to life once again as someone asked for the ETA on a Sno-Cat. About time. Except what Jake really wanted was to see his friends walk through the doors with an epic tale to tell.
He stared at the door. No sign of Nick or Iain. Only two rescue leaders talking in hushed tones.
Damn. A heavy weight pressed down on Jake.
Nick had been his best friend since kindergarten class. They’d grown up together. Learned to climb together. Joined OMSAR together. Done everything together. Well, almost everything.
Jake swallowed around the lump of guilt in his throat. He should have been on the climb with them—a climb to celebrate Iain’s upcoming marriage to Nick’s younger sister, Carly—but Jake had said no. Attending the wedding was enough for him. A climb would have been salt to the wound. Okay, his heart. He thought he’d been following his gut, but maybe the decision not to climb had been selfish. If he’d said yes…
Sean Hughes, one of the rescue leaders who’d been talking by the door, motioned for Jake and two other experienced members, Bill Paulson and Tim Moreno, to come over. “Here’s the plan. Avalanche hazard is high and the weather isn’t the greatest. A Sno-Cat will take us to the top of Palme
r. When we get there, SAR base is expecting us to call in a condition report to decide if we’re staying put or if any searching is possible.”
Every one of Jake’s muscles tensed. At the top of the Palmer ski lift was a building where they could warm up, regroup and wait for the conditions to improve. Sitting around wasn’t going to get the job done. They needed to head out in the field.
He zipped his parka. “Nick wouldn’t hang around and wait if one of us was up there.”
“We’re not waiting, either.” Sean lowered his voice so no one could hear him. “We’ll call in a report, then head up and bring them home.”
Jake picked up his pack and swung it onto his shoulders. “Damn straight we will.”
The two others grunted their agreement, even though rescuer safety came first in any mission. But when one of your own went missing, risk level changed.
“Let’s hit it,” Sean said, turning on his headlamp.
Jake followed Sean out of the lodge and into the frigid air. Tim and Bill brought up the rear. The media followed, taking pictures of them, the flashes like lightning, as they trudged their way through the heavy wind and darkness to the Sno-Cat. Freezing mist created a haze on Jake’s goggles. Each breath stung. It had to be hell at the summit. What could have happened up there?
Maybe Nick or Iain had gotten injured. Hurt. Maybe they couldn’t get cell coverage. Or the batteries had died. Maybe they were waiting out the weather in a snow cave. Maybe—
“Jacob.”
The familiar feminine voice wrapped around him like an electric blanket set on high. Soft, warm, perfect. He reminded himself that Carly Bishop’s heart belonged to Iain.
But that didn’t mean Jake couldn’t look and appreciate.
Even with her long, blond hair tucked inside a green ski cap, her cheeks flushed from the freezing temperatures and her eyes red and swollen from crying, she was the best thing he’d seen this morning.
“Carly.” He noticed a photographer watching them. The press would sell their firstborn to get an exclusive interview with the fiancée and sister of the missing climbers. “Get inside. It’s too cold out here.”
She shoved her gloved hands in the pockets of her orange down jacket, which was actually one of Iain’s. Her breath hung on the air. “Colder up on the mountain.”
Where Iain and Nick were. His eyes met hers in unspoken understanding.
Jake blinked against the biting mist, against the sting in his eyes. “We’re heading up to find them.”
She inhaled sharply. “Th-they said the search was on hold until conditions improved.”
“The conditions are good enough for us.”
“Thank you so much.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “You have no idea what this means to our family and me.”
Jake knew. He was closer to the Bishops than his own parents. That was one reason he’d tried to never treat Carly as anything other than his best friend’s kid sister. Well, that, and the age difference. She was twenty-two, four years younger than him. That difference in age meant nothing now, but the gap had been huge when they were teenagers.
Though right now she looked more like a kid than ever. Young and vulnerable. Jake wanted to say something to comfort her, but he hadn’t a clue where to start.
“I know it’s rough up there and what you’re up against. But please, Jacob, do whatever…everything you can.” Carly’s voice cracked. “T-tomorrow is…”
December twenty-fourth. Christmas Eve. Her and Iain’s wedding day.
Jake had the wedding invitation on his fridge and their gift under his Christmas tree. Tears streamed unchecked down her face. His already-aching heart constricted.
“I promise you, Carly.” He wiped the tears off her cheeks with his gloved hand. He didn’t dare allow himself to do more, and his caution had nothing to do with the photographer watching them. “I’ll find Nick and Iain. Today.”
Or Jake wasn’t coming back down.
CHAPTER ONE
AS SNOW FLURRIES fell from the gray sky, Carly Bishop stared at the charming log house surrounded by towering fir trees and decorated with strands of white icicle lights. A lopsided four-foot-tall snowman, complete with carrot nose, stood in the front yard. A single electric candle shone through a wood-paned window, the flickering flame-shaped bulb a welcoming light.
Carly walked along the snow-dusted path, dragging her wheeled suitcase behind her. A few feet from the porch she noticed a green wreath tied with a red velvet bow hanging from a brass holder on the front door. The scent of pine was sharp in the air. The same way it had been…
Her breath caught in her throat.
The house, the wreath, the candle, the snowman. It was as if time had stopped, as if the last six years had simply been a bad dream. Any second, Carly expected Nick to fling open the front door wearing a Santa hat, and greet her with a jolly ho-ho-ho. And Iain…
Iain.
She closed her eyes, fighting an onslaught of unwelcome memories.
I can’t believe you’re going climbing two days before our wedding. Why don’t you just admit it, Iain? You love climbing more than you love me.
She’d wanted to forget. The argument and tears before and as he’d left to climb. The thoughts about his selfish behavior while he’d been climbing and dying. The grief and guilt after his body and Nick’s had been found.
Carly thought she had forgotten. Put the past behind her. Moved on. She forced herself to breathe.
Coming back had been a mistake.
She should have stayed in Philadelphia, where she’d made a new life for herself, far away from the shadow of Mount Hood and all the mountain had stolen from her. If only staying away had been an option, but her brother’s widow, Hannah, was expecting a new baby and needed help with her two children.
So here Carly was. Ready to be an aunt extraordinaire for her niece and nephew. For better or, most likely, worse.
Two weeks. All she had to do was survive the next two weeks, including December twenty-fourth, the twenty-fifth and New Year’s Eve. How hard could that be? Given she hadn’t celebrated the holidays in years, she didn’t want to know the answer.
Carly tightened her grip on the suitcase handle and climbed the steps to the front porch. With a tentative hand, she reached for the doorknob then remembered this was no longer her brother’s house. She pressed the doorbell and waited.
The doorknob jiggled.
Straightening, Carly forced a smile. Years of working with customers had taught her how to put on a happy face no matter how she felt inside.
The door cracked open.
“Welcome back, Carly,” a male voice greeted her warmly.
She expected to see Hannah’s husband of two years, Garrett Willingham, but the man standing in the doorway looked nothing like the clean-cut, non-risk-taking, business-suit-wearing certified public accountant. This guy was too rugged, too fit, too…familiar.
“Jacob Porter.” Over six feet tall with brown hair that fell past his collar, he still had piercing blue eyes, a killer smile and a hot, hard body that had made the girls, herself included, swoon back in high school. But those things had only been made better with age. Her pulse kicked up a notch. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.” His grin widened, the same way it had whenever he and Nick teased her about something. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry…” Simply thinking the word left a bitter taste in her mouth. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. “Seasons greetings. Where’s Hannah?”
“At a doctor’s appointment,” Jacob explained. “Garrett drove her. She didn’t know if they’d be home before you arrived or the school bus dropped Kendall and Austin off so they asked me to come over.”
Carly noticed Jacob’s clothes—a light blue button-down oxford shirt, khaki pants and brown leather shoes. A bit more stylish than the T-shirts, jeans or shorts and sneakers she remembered him wearing. He must have been at work.
“Thank you.” Though she wasn’t surprised.
Jacob had always gone out of his way for them, a surrogate everything to what remained of the Bishop family. He’d found her the job in Philadelphia. He’d taught Nick’s two kids to ski and fish. He’d even introduced Hannah to Garrett.
“Hurry inside before you get too cold.” Jacob reached for Carly’s suitcase. His hand—big, calloused and warm—brushed hers. The accidental contact startled her, and she jerked her hand away. “You city girls aren’t used to the temperatures up here.”
Forget the cold. She wasn’t used to her response to his touch. Carly couldn’t remember the last time a man had had that effect on her. “It gets cold in Philadelphia, too.”
As she stepped into the house, heat surrounded her, cocooning her with the inviting comforts of home. She glanced around, noticing all the nice homey touches. Ones missing from her apartment.
“You look the same,” he said.
He looked better. She glanced around. “So does this place.”
And that somehow made everything…worse.
A fire blazed and crackled in the fireplace. The way it had that horrible, dark Christmas morning when a teary-eyed Hannah had told the kids to unwrap their gifts from Santa.
Carly wanted to close her eyes, to shut off the video of years gone by streaming through her mind, but the fresh evergreen scent, the twinkling multicolored lights and the ornament-laden branches wouldn’t let her.
The popcorn-and-cranberry-strung garland, keepsake decorations marking special occasions, and silver bells and gold balls all reminded Carly of the rush to take the tree down before Nick’s funeral. Hoping to protect the children, Hannah hadn’t wanted the event to be associated with Christmas in any way. Her efforts seemed to have worked, but Carly couldn’t think of one without the other.
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