come.
“I doubt J.D. can just drop everything at a moment’s notice,” she heard herself say. “Maybe he didn’t get the message you left him.”
Pete shot her a look. “Still making excuses for him?”
She looked away. Loving J.D. had always been both pleasure and pain. And all one-sided. J.D. had never seen her as anything more than a kid. But sometimes his gaze had met hers and— And then he’d ruffle her hair or throw her into the lake. No, he’d never taken her seriously, even when she’d promised him her heart. Instead, he’d teased her. Just a schoolgirl crush. Puppy love. She’d get over it.
He’d been gone nine years, but she still saw his ghost lounging on the sandy beach beside the lake, heard his laugh on the breeze that swept across the water and felt his touch on a hot summer’s night as she stood on the dock, unable to sleep. She’d just never met anyone who made her feel like J.D. had.
But if J. D. Garrison were here right now, she’d wring his neck. For missing Max’s funeral. For breaking a young girl’s heart. For still haunting her thoughts.
It began to snow harder as they dropped down to the Madison River. A soft mist rose from the water, cloaking the bridge in a veil of white fog and driving snow. A local teenage superstition prophesied that if you didn’t honk as you crossed the bridge you’d be in for bad luck. Pete didn’t believe in superstitions. “You make your own luck,” he’d always said. Denver honked, partly out of superstition, partly out of tradition; J.D. had never crossed the bridge without honking.
As they crossed the bridge, Pete didn’t honk. The snow fell in a thick, hypnotizing wall of white in front of the pickup. Denver realized she could barely make out the Madison Arm sign as they passed it. She glanced in the side mirror and was startled to see a huge semitrailer barreling down on them.
“Pete?” Her voice cracked. Her heart caught in her throat. “Pete!” He looked back, his eyes widening as he saw it. At the last moment, the truck swerved into the passing lane. Denver thought it would head on around them, but instead, she realized with growing horror, the truck was edging over into their lane.
“Son of a—” Pete yelled.
Denver could see the huge semitrailer wheels right next to them. A scream lodged in her throat; the truck would either force them off the road or—
Pete hit the brakes. The back of the semi just missed the front of the pickup by inches as it swerved the rest of the way into their lane.
Snow poured over the cab in a blinding rush as the semi roared past. Pete brought the pickup to a skidding stop sideways in the middle of the highway. Denver stared through the falling snow, expecting another vehicle to come along and hit them before Pete got the pickup pulled over to the edge of the road.
He sat there gripping the steering wheel. “Are you all right?” he asked. His voice sounded strained as if the shock of their near mishap was just sinking in.
Denver took a shaky breath. Now that the danger had passed, she was trembling all over. “I think so. What was that guy doing?”
Pete shook his head as he looked at her. “I don’t know, but I could kill the bastard.”
Denver looked at the highway ahead, half expecting the trucker to come back and finish the job. “I can’t believe he didn’t even stop to see if we were all right.”
Pete swore as he steered the pickup back onto the highway and headed toward West Yellowstone again.
“Did you recognize the truck?” she asked. It had happened so fast she hadn’t even thought to look at the license plate.
“I’m sure it was just some out-of-stater who’s never been in a snowstorm before.” But Pete kept staring at the highway as if he expected to see the truck again, too. And Denver knew she wouldn’t feel safe until they reached town. No, she thought, she wouldn’t feel safe until Max’s killer was caught.
Chapter Two
Pete slowed on the outskirts of town. At first glance, West, as the locals called it, appeared abandoned. They drove down the main drag, past the Dairy Queen, a row of T-shirt and curio shops and Denver’s camera shop. All were still boarded up behind huge piles of plowed snow. A melting cornice drooped low over Denver’s storefront. Out of a huge drift peeked a partially exposed homemade sign. See You In The Spring!
The only hint of spring was in the rivers of melting snow running along the sides of the empty streets. Dirty snowbanks, plowed up higher than most of the buildings, marked the street corners they drove by. Everywhere, a webbing of snowmobile tracks crisscrossed the rotting snow still lingering in the shadow of the pines. Down a muddy alley sat a deserted snowmobile, its engine cover thrown back, falling snowflakes rapidly covering it.
Only a couple of gas stations had their lights on. Near a mud puddle as large as a lake, two locals sat visiting, with their pickups running.
It was April. Off-season. Snowmobiling was over for another winter and the summer tourist trade wouldn’t officially begin until Memorial Day weekend. Denver usually cherished this time of year, a time for the locals to take a breather before the tourists returned. But today, the town seemed to echo her lonely, empty feeling of loss.
“I’m going to get you something hot to drink,” Pete said, touching her arm.
Since the near accident with the semi, she hadn’t been able to quit shaking. Pete pulled up to a convenience store and came back a few minutes later with two large hot chocolates. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, motioning toward the falling snow. “I love this time of year.” His gaze turned from the storm to her. “And I love you.”
“Pete, don’t—”
“When are you going to stop fighting it, Denver? I love you.” He put his finger to her lips when she tried to protest. “I know you don’t love me. At least not enough to marry me. Not yet. But you will, very soon.”
As she looked at Pete’s handsome face, she wished he were right. Marrying Pete was safe, and Max had made no secret of the fact that he had liked Pete for that very reason.
They finished their hot chocolates and drove farther on into town, finally stopping in front of a house on Faithful Street. The place was typical of the older West Yellowstone residences: rustic log with a green metal roof, surrounded by lodgepole pines.
“Let’s get this over with,” Pete said as he parked in front of Maggie’s house.
* * *
J.D. STOOD AT THE WINDOW of his room in the Stage Coach Inn, watching snowflakes spin slowly down from the grayness above. He blamed his restlessness on being back in West Yellowstone after all these years, on the weather, on Max’s burial service.
Jeez, Garrison, you’ve been lying to yourself for so long, you’ve started believing it. He stepped away from the window and went to the makeshift bar he’d set up on the dresser. It’s seeing Denny again that’s thrown you. He frowned, still surprised at his reaction. Denver. He swore under his breath as he ripped the plastic off one of the water glasses and poured a half inch of Crown Royal into it.
All these years he’d remembered Denny as the little freckle-faced
