Her Mountain Man

“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.

CHAPTER THREE

MORE THAN A LACK OF OXYGEN had stolen Sierra’s breath back there on the trail—for a moment, when she’d looked into Paul’s eyes, she’d wanted him to kiss her. The impulse had surprised her. Yes, he was good-looking and entertaining. His evasiveness of her questions frustrated her and his fascination with her father puzzled her, but he had a zest for life and a goofy wit that disarmed her. When he did answer her questions, she sensed that his replies were honest, and he had none of the arrogance she’d expected from a star in a sport that demanded supreme self-confidence.

She’d awakened this morning prepared to endure the day’s activities for the sake of the story, but she was actually having a good time, thanks to Paul. Maybe it was their surroundings that influenced her feelings toward him. Odd, how such vast open spaces could seem so intimate. She and Paul were truly alone, without another soul around.