Her Mountain Man

She looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve forgotten you’re in mourning,” he said. “Because of me, you have to relive the pain of your father’s death all over again, and here I am, asking you all these questions.”

“You don’t have anything to feel guilty about,” she said calmly. “I mourned my father a long time ago. Long before he died.”

She moved past him again, and this time he let her go. He wasn’t sure he believed her when she said she didn’t mourn Victor. When she’d told Paul about the hikes she and her father had taken when she was a child, he’d heard the sadness in her voice. Maybe she didn’t miss the father who’d been away climbing mountains, but some part of her grieved for the man who’d been with her on those childhood hikes.

Paul wished he could have known that man. To him, Victor Winston was the larger-than-life figure who’d inspired him and encouraged him. The movies Victor made of his expeditions had introduced Paul to the mountains and shown him the possibilities of a world far different from the one in which he lived every day. That was the figure whose footsteps he’d set out to trace when he climbed McKinley.

To come upon Victor’s body, so small and fragile, light enough to carry down on his back, had been a shock. It reduced Paul’s own accomplishments, made them less meaningful. Every time he climbed a mountain, he thought about staring down death, but finding Victor had been a different kind of confrontation with the end. He’d spent years comparing himself with his hero, inspired to live up to Victor’s achievements. Now, he had to wonder if he’d end up like the man he’d admired—dying slowly on a mountainside, all alone.

The idea shook him still. Would Victor say it had all been worth it? It was a question Paul had wanted to ask Sierra.

He remembered again the light in her eyes when she’d talked about hiking with her father, having him all to herself.

Maybe it was guilt, or some latent desire to connect with his hero, but Paul felt protective of Sierra. She might be a tough city girl, but he’d glimpsed a vulnerability in her that touched him. These past few hours had changed his feelings about her visit and this interview.

Now, instead of wanting to know Victor better, Paul wanted to know Victor’s daughter.

THEY WALKED IN SILENCE back to the parking area. By the time they reached the Jeep, Sierra felt more in control of her emotions. Talking about her father with Paul had been a bad idea. He only saw the inspiring public figure—the man who had charmed millions in his videos and interviews. Paul didn’t see the reserved, uncommunicative man who had spent days shut away from his wife and daughter. The man who had made no protest when her mother took her away, and whose visits and calls became more sporadic as the years passed. The more of himself her father gave to the world, the less he had for Sierra.

Paul wouldn’t understand any of that, and though his concern for her and her feelings seemed genuine enough, how could it possibly be real? He didn’t know her, and she was leaving in a few days anyway.

Being here, surrounded by snowcapped peaks with a man who had literally walked in her father’s footsteps, had obviously shaken her up more than she wanted to admit. Maybe Paul was right and grief was responsible for part of her emotional turmoil. Better that than to imagine Paul himself had breached her usual reserve. She still couldn’t believe she’d told him about those hikes with her dad. She’d never told anyone about them—she hadn’t even thought of them in years. And yet she’d poured out the story to him with only a little prompting. What was it about him that inspired such confidence?

Back at the Jeep, she settled into the passenger seat, once again determined to turn the conversation back to the interview. Indy took his place on the backseat and Paul started the engine, then turned to her. “Just to warn you, this next section of the road can be a little hairy in places, so hold on tight.”

“We aren’t going back the way we came?”

“This road goes into Telluride. There’s some terrific scenery you don’t want to miss. We’ll come back along the highway.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They set off with a lurch, and Sierra steeled herself for a harrowing drive. But after the first couple of miles proved to be not much different from the ground they’d covered so far, she began to relax. Maybe he’d been trying to frighten her—to shake up the city girl. She smiled. If he thought he could scare her off that easily, she’d show him he was sadly mistaken.

She was about to tell him as much when they rounded a sharp curve and she looked out over … nothing.

Or rather, a lot of empty space, below which was a valley painted in green and gold. The ground fell away sharply a scant foot from the side of the Jeep. She held on to her seat belt and bit back a gasp.

Paul seemed oblivious. He steered the Jeep over and around potholes and rocks, whistling under his breath. “What happens if we meet another car?” she asked.

“Uphill traffic has the right of way, so they’d have to back up.”

He inched the Jeep around a series of hairpin curves, tires spinning in the gravel. Sierra bit her lip to keep from crying out. No matter what, she refused to let Paul see she was frightened.

Suddenly he slammed on the brakes. The back end of the Jeep skidded sideways in the gravel. Indy let out an excited bark and Sierra yelped. “What’s wrong?”

“Look, up there on that rock.” Paul pointed to his side of the road, to a pile of rock at the base of the cliff walls. “It’s a marmot.”

She stared at the fat, furry animal, about the size of a small dog. “You sent us into a skid to point out a marmot?”

“Aww, that wasn’t much of a skid. Did you bring a camera with you?”

“Why? Do you want your picture taken with the marmot?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he laughed, “but there’s probably better scenery around than that.”

He grinned, flashing white teeth. In the sun, gold flecks sparkled in his eyes, and a two-day growth of beard gave him the ruggedly handsome look Hollywood stars worked hard to cultivate. Her girlfriends would no doubt agree with her that he qualified as better scenery.

“I didn’t bring a camera,” she said. “The magazine will be sending a photographer later.”

He started the Jeep forward again. They were above tree line now, and the air was considerably cooler. Sierra retrieved her jacket from the backseat and put it on. She decided to avoid looking to the side or down and focus on staring straight ahead. She normally wasn’t afraid of heights, but the sheer drop at her side was unnerving.

A carved wooden sign declared their arrival at the top of the pass. Paul parked the Jeep over to the side and they climbed out. “Check out this view,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “Isn’t it incredible?”

The mountains rose around them, their snowcapped peaks startlingly white against a turquoise-blue sky. Brilliant sun illuminated a kaleidoscope of red rock, golden aspen, dark green fir and rich brown earth. The colors were almost too vivid, the sun too bright. She felt lost in such vastness, like Alice plunged down the rabbit hole—she was in a world where she didn’t quite fit, yet fascinated by her surroundings.

“That tallest peak—the one that comes to a sharp point—is Mount Sneffels,” Paul said. “You’ll see it in ads and on postcards all over the place around here. The wide peak next to it is Wilson Peak. The sort of rounded one is Teakettle Mountain, and that one over there is Gilpin Peak.”

“Have you climbed any of them?” she asked.

“I’ve climbed them all. Most of them aren’t technical. You could climb them.”

“Ha! Not me. If I want to be on top of something tall, I’ll ride the elevator to the top of the Empire State Building.”

“I know you went hiking with your dad, but did you ever climb with him? I mean, other than that training climb he carried you up when you were a baby.”

“I told you, I don’t remember that one. And no, I never climbed with him.” She stooped and picked up a handful of gravel and began tossing pellets out into the bottomless valley below.

“I figured he would have had you out there with him as soon as you could carry a pack.”

“I guess by the time I was old enough, he’d changed his mind.” She ignored the ache in her chest. If her father had ever asked her to climb with him, she had no memory of it—she remembered only her longing to be with him, and his silence on the subject. “My mother wouldn’t have let me go with him, anyway,” she said. “It was dangerous enough for a man, let alone a child.”

“These mountains aren’t dangerous. Schoolkids around here climb them all the time.”

“Next you’ll tell me they all know how to kill and skin an elk before their tenth birthday.”

“Hey, I’m telling you the truth. Just a few days ago the paper ran pictures of a bunch of fifth-graders on top of Matterhorn Peak. That’s that one right there, to the left of Wilson.”

She still couldn’t tell if he was putting her on or not. If he thought he could tease her, maybe it was time she turned the tables a little. “Is your secret swimming hole anywhere near here?” she asked.

To her amusement, the tips of his ears reddened. “Who told you about that?”