shook her head. “I don’t know.” She didn’t know most of her neighbors’ names. “People in the city like their privacy.”
“I guess so. I mean, she probably doesn’t want to be bothered by fans and everything.”
“Right.” Sierra doubted her neighbor was famous enough to be recognized by anyone on the street, much less mobbed by fans.
“You’re so lucky,” Kelly said. “New York has everything—the theater, night life and great shopping. Those are killer shoes, by the way.” She nodded to the heels that lay on the rug beside the bed. “Totally impractical here, but they look awesome.”
“Thanks. But you’re right—they’re useless on these dirt streets. I’m supposed to go on a Jeep tour into the mountains tomorrow and I guess I need to find some hiking boots to wear.”
“What size are you? About an eight?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got a new pair I’ve hardly even worn. I could lend them to you.” Her gaze settled on the heels once more. “And maybe you’d let me borrow those? I have a hot date tomorrow night.”
The heels were brand-new and had cost more than the week’s accommodation at the hotel. But Sierra needed the hiking boots by tomorrow and Ouray didn’t look as if it boasted a lot of shoe stores. Besides, she liked Kelly, who so clearly craved more excitement than this small town could offer. “It’s a deal,” she said.
“Great.” Visibly more relaxed now, Kelly settled back in her chair. “I’d like to live in Manhattan one day. What I really want to do is act, but I guess there are probably plenty of waitressing jobs there.”
The longing in the younger woman’s voice struck a familiar chord in Sierra. She’d arrived in Manhattan with one thousand dollars in her bank account, clips from her college newspaper and a determination not to leave until she landed a job. She badgered every publisher in Manhattan until she found work as a copy editor at one house and a receptionist at another. She’d shared a tiny apartment with three other women and had worked practically around the clock for the first year. But eventually she’d landed a writing job and a few years later had moved into her own apartment. So who was to say Kelly wouldn’t make it as an actress, as well? “I think it’s almost a requirement that aspiring actors and actresses have waitressing jobs on the side,” she said. “Do you have any experience—acting, that is?”
“Only with local community theater. But I’m saving my money and I’m going to go there and take my chances soon.”
“When you’re ready to move, I can give you the names of some places to look for an apartment and roommates, and some casting agencies who might be able to help you,” she said. She’d interviewed several people at top agencies for a story for Cherché only last year.
“That would be great.” Kelly looked around the room. “So what do you think of Ouray? It’s a lot different from the city, isn’t it?”
“It might as well be on another planet,” Sierra admitted. “But the scenery is breathtaking.”
“The people are nice, too,” Kelly said. “Of course, being a small town, everyone pretty much knows everybody’s business, which makes it hard to have much privacy, if you know what I mean.”
“Then give me the scoop on Paul. What’s he like?” If Paul was so reluctant to talk about himself, maybe Sierra could gain some insight from those around him.
“Oh, he’s a lot of fun. Very …” Kelly tilted her head, as if searching for the right words. “Thoughtful. Considerate. I mean, some guys only think about themselves. Some women, too, I guess. But Paul is really interested in other people’s opinions. We went out a few times and he always wanted to know what I thought about the movie, or my views on local politics. Little stuff like that.”
“So you dated.” Her fingers itched for her notebook to write some of this down, but she didn’t want to risk interrupting the flow of conversation. She could make notes later.
“Only for a little while. Paul’s not interested in settling down and neither are most of the women he’s dated. I know I wasn’t. Besides, how can you have a relationship with a man who’s gone half the year climbing mountains?”
Right. One of the many problems in her parents’ marriage. “Why do you think he climbs mountains?”
“Don’t those guys always say they climb because the mountain’s there?” Kelly shook her head. “Seriously, I have no idea. He says it’s something he loves to do. It doesn’t seem any crazier than a lot of things guys around here do. In the winter, this hotel is full of men, and a few women, who come here just to climb the ice in the ice park. Then you have the Jeepers and hikers in the summer, and the skiers and snowmobilers in the winter. There are folks whose whole lives revolve around their sport. I guess they’re dedicated to it the way I’m dedicated to acting.”
The way Sierra was dedicated to writing? No, it wasn’t the same at all. Writing hadn’t taken over her life, and it didn’t separate her from her friends and family the way climbing did. “Does he have any family nearby?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. His parents live in Texas—Dallas, maybe? I think he came here to be close to the mountains.”
Of course. No matter what other positive traits he might possess, Paul still had the glaring flaw of loving big piles of rock more than anything else.
Kelly stood. “I have to get back to work. I get off late, so I’ll leave the boots for you at the front desk.”
“Thanks.” Sierra retrieved the heels from the rug. “Take good care of them,” she cautioned as she handed them over.
“I’ll treat them like gold.” Kelly paused in the doorway. “When you see Paul tomorrow, ask him to tell you about his secret swimming hole in the mountains. It’d make a great story for your article.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.”
When she was alone again, Sierra sat on the side of the bed and contemplated her bare feet. The Louboutins were the most expensive shoes she owned, and her favorites. Paul had better give her one heck of a story to prove he was worthy of such a sacrifice.
PAUL MET SIERRA AT EIGHT the next morning in the Western Hotel lobby. She attracted plenty of attention as she strode across the lobby, dressed in slim-fitting jeans and a sweater that emphasized her curves. Her long hair was plaited in a single braid that hung down her back, and she carried a leather jacket. Paul stood a little straighter, pleased that he was the one she was coming to meet, even if she was only doing so in hopes of completing their interview.
Maybe things would go better between them today. He hadn’t done a very good job of explaining himself yesterday. Part of it was his own fault—he’d thought talking to Victor Winston’s daughter would somehow be different from an interview with any of the other journalists who wanted his life’s story served up neatly on a platter. Today, he hoped he and Sierra could find a middle ground. He was prepared to talk about finding Victor’s body, and he hoped that she could help him know the real man behind the famous mountain climber’s public image.
“You look all ready to go,” he said when she stopped in front of him.
“I
