Her Mountain Man (4 page)

“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.

“Some people probably can,” he said. “Guess I’m not one of them.”

Near the top of Red Mountain Pass, he turned the Jeep off the highway onto a narrow gravel road that wound uphill through stands of aspen already beginning to turn gold. Even in August the air up here hinted at fall, the breeze cool on Paul’s bare skin. He breathed deeply the aroma of purple asters that bloomed in profusion along the road.

“This road once led to the old Tomboy Mine,” he explained. “It was used to transport ore into Telluride.”

“So mountains aren’t the only things that interest you,” she said. “You know the history of the area, too.”

“History is interesting,” he said. “It’s everywhere you look around here. So many reminders of the past are out in the open—old buildings, mine trams, ore carts. People walked away from some of the old settlements and mines over a hundred years ago and left everything behind. Stuff survives a long time in the thin mountain air.”

They passed the remains of mining buildings, the wood weathered to silver-gray, orange-yellow mine tailings spilling down the hillsides. “Whenever I drive this road, I try to imagine what it must have been like for those miners, with their wagonloads of ore, negotiating these same curves,” he said. “They didn’t have the benefits of four-wheel drive and power brakes.”

“They must have been pretty desperate to make a living, to work such a dangerous job in such remote and wild surroundings.”

“I prefer to think of them as brave adventurers who relished the freedom of life on their own terms.”

They stopped at a stream crossing and a bull elk raised his head to watch them. The gurgling of the water sounded over the low rumble of the Jeep’s engine. Other than an occasional burst of birdsong and Indy’s enthusiastic panting from the backseat, there was no other sound. “We haven’t seen any other cars in a while now,” Sierra said.

“Traffic’s pretty light today. Come back Saturday and you’ll see bumper-to-bumper Jeeps sometimes. Four-wheel-drive clubs from all over the world come here to run these trails.”

“I guess a lot of people like to get back to nature in a powerful, gas-guzzling machine.”

He laughed. “I knew there was a sense of humor somewhere under that veneer of cool sophistication.”

“Are you saying I’m a snob?”

“You have snob potential, but I don’t think you really are.” A woman who’d trade her fancy high heels for a waitress’s hiking boots could never be called a snob.

“I can’t decide if that’s an insult or a compliment.”

“Not an insult, I promise.” He pulled the Jeep into a turnout on the side of the road. “There’s a trail here that leads back to some neat old mine buildings and a waterfall. Let’s check it out.” He collected his pack from the back of the Jeep, whistled to Indy and led the way up a narrow trail through the trees.

“How long have you lived in Ouray?” she asked, walking close behind him while the dog bounded ahead.

“About five years. I’d been coming here for a few years to climb the ice in the winters. I decided I wanted to live at altitude, near good climbing to help me stay in condition.”

“So Ouray was a practical choice.”

“That, and I really like it here.” He held a low branch up out of her way until she’d passed. “It’s beautiful. Not too big. The weather’s nice—what’s not to like?”

“Maybe the fact that it’s three hundred miles from a major city? Almost a hundred miles to a mall?”

He laughed. “If I want to buy anything, I order it off the Internet.”

“Spoken like someone who doesn’t understand the allure of shopping.”

“Guilty as charged.”

The trail began to climb and they fell silent as they scrambled up the incline. Indy took off in halfhearted pursuit of a squirrel, then circled back to Paul’s side. Sierra fell farther and farther behind, until Paul stopped to wait for her. “Want me to get behind and push?” he called.

She glared at him. “Some of us…are used to…breathing air…that contains…oxygen.”

“More like smog for you. Stick around a few weeks and you’ll get used to the thin air up here.”

She caught up with him and stopped to catch her breath. “I’ve got it figured out now,” she said after a moment.

“Got what figured out?”

“Why you’re crazy enough to climb mountains. Lack of oxygen has obviously left you brain damaged.”

“I never said I wasn’t crazy.” Their eyes met and he felt the heat of attraction. She had the most amazing eyes, so full of emotions he couldn’t read. He’d like to know her well enough to interpret those emotions.

She looked away. “We’d better get going,” she said, and moved past him up the trail.

He shrugged. Not that he minded the view from this angle, but he couldn’t help but feel she’d moved ahead to get away from him—or from something in herself he made her feel.

The important thing was to not let her attraction to Paul get in the way of writing a good story. Her job was to find out everything she could about him and his motivation for climbing, and share that with her readers. If she also gained some insight into her father, that would be a bonus.

If she could only understand why her father had been so determined to conquer mountains while he avoided any obstacle at home, maybe she could find a way to reconcile her feelings for him—to mingle love and hate into acceptance.

“The mine ruins I was telling you about are just ahead.” Paul touched her elbow, pulling her from her reverie. “On the left.”

She stopped and studied a square black hole in the side of a hill, framed by leaning timbers and blocked by a rusty metal grate. “What was the name of the mine?” she asked.

“I don’t know. There are dozens of them scattered around these mountains. Maybe hundreds.”

“I wonder how many of them ever made any money?”

“Apparently a lot of them—for a while, anyway. There are still people with mining claims up here, still looking to strike it rich, I guess.”

They continued on the trail, which began to slope down, making the hike easier. “I’d forgotten there are still places this remote in the United States,” she said.

“I guess there’s not much hiking in New York City,” he said.

“There are trails in Central Park, though I haven’t explored them. When I was a girl, I used to go hiking with my dad.” She hadn’t thought about those trips in years. Climbing this trail—the smell of pine, the crunch of gravel beneath her feet—had brought the memories rushing back.

Those trails had seemed long and steep to her, but her father must have chosen the easiest routes, and modified his long strides to accommodate her short ones. When she tired, he’d carry her on his shoulders; the whole world had looked bigger and brighter from that lofty perch.

“Where did you go?” Paul asked.

“Everywhere. Weekends when he was home, we’d get in the car and drive. We’d pack a lunch and hike for hours. We were living in northern California then, so we had a lot of trails to choose from. We’d stay out all day, just him and me.”

“In the Sierra Nevadas, right? You must have been named after them.”

She frowned. “Yes. I still can’t believe my mother let my father name me after a mountain range.”

“At least he didn’t saddle you with Shasta or Bernina or Lhotse. Sierra’s a really pretty name. Maybe that was his way of bringing together two things he loved most.”

She swallowed past a sudden knot in her throat. As a girl, she had looked forward to those hiking trips with her father with all the anticipation of Christmas. The opportunity to have him all to herself for an entire day had been better than any gift she could have received.

“How old were you when you went hiking with him?” Paul asked. His expression was gentle, full of warm interest. The caring in his eyes emboldened her to reveal more than she ordinarily would have to someone she’d known such a short time.

“This was probably between the time I was six or seven and ten. Before my parents split up and Mom and I moved back east to live with her parents.”

“I didn’t know your father and mother were divorced.”

“Technically they weren’t. I think my mom hoped her leaving would convince him to stay home more and give up risking his life climbing mountains. She told him he had to choose between his family and the mountains.” She watched Paul’s face, waiting for his reaction to this statement.

“And he chose mountains,” he said matter-of-factly, as if of course this was the only choice. Sierra turned away, disappointment a bitter taste in her mouth.

She’d begun to imagine that because Paul was more laid-back than her father, that because he had room in his life for friends and other interests and even a dog, he might be different from her dad. She’d have to be on her guard not to make such misjudgments again.

This reminded her of the real purpose for this trip. Why not use this glimpse into Paul’s real nature to develop her article?

“So you don’t have any regrets about the choices you’ve made?” she asked Paul.

“Regrets? Why should I have regrets?”

“You chose to become a mountaineer instead of going to college and starting a more conventional career. You travel much of the time instead of having a more stable home. You work mostly alone…”

“No regrets,” he said firmly. “I’d go nuts if I was imprisoned in a cubicle in an office. And I do have a home—right here. I’m here about half the time. Being away makes me appreciate it that much more.”

“And working alone so much of the time doesn’t bother you?”

“You don’t write with a partner, do you?”

“No, but I still work with other people at the office.”

“And I have climbing partners and participate in large expeditions from time to time,” he said. “I’m no hermit who hates people. But I like the challenge of facing a mountain alone. Climbing solo requires you to live very much in the moment.”

“How very Zen.”

“It is. People spend too much time worrying about the future.”

Or fretting about the past, she thought. This trip to Ouray was turning into more of an excavation of her history than she’d been prepared for, dredging up memories of her father—both good and bad. She’d anticipated some of that, of course. Her father, or at least his body, was the link between her and Paul. But trying to understand her father’s motives by examining Paul’s wasn’t working out that well. Paul was so much warmer, much less interested in the spotlight than her dad. Yet he clearly felt a strong connection to her father.

That mystery both drew her and frustrated her. The simple story she’d expected to write about two generations of mountain climbers grew more complex by the hour. And Paul grew more intriguing.

The idea unsettled her, the way that moment on the trail when she’d craved his kiss had unsettled her. She didn’t want to be attracted to a man who climbed mountains for a living. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t like her father—he still had that one very big strike against him.

Fine. She wasn’t at the mercy of unpredictable emotion. Whatever brief chemistry had passed between she and Paul, it wasn’t permanent or fatal. She’d step back into her reporter’s shoes and get this story done. And Paul would be just another interview subject—more memorable than most, but not the kind of man who would change her life.