knowledge that Weston Rivera, the rich and powerful rancher who’d been dodging her attempts to speak with him, was on his way to see her. The memory of his hazel eyes smoked through her, even though the last time she’d confronted him he had threatened to call security to have her escorted out of his office.
Why was he hiking up here now? In the dark?
Wind howled off nearby Trapper Peak and tore at her one-ply tent, making her wonder if her shelter had been the right choice for this trip. It was lighter, which had allowed her to bring the additional gear necessary for a winter climb. But she hadn’t counted on this level of heavy gusts. She’d thought she’d read up on the Bitterroot Mountains thoroughly, and she’d checked the weather before she started hiking, but somewhere during her trek this afternoon, the conditions had shifted dramatically.
That was part of the reason she’d reached out to Weston Rivera, who was well known around Mesa Falls Ranch for his mountaineering skills. Of course, there was more to her agenda than getting tips on the mountain. She’d hoped maybe their shared interest in climbing would spark a dialogue. Give her another chance at wrangling some answers from him regarding a case that was thwarting her at every turn.
She most definitely hadn’t expected him to drop everything to come to her. But the fact that he would do that—even though he’d made it obvious he wanted to avoid her—caused her to wonder if she’d overestimated her skills in making this climb on her own.
Guilt nipped at her nearly as hard as the bitter wind. Did he think she was in danger? She should have made it clear that she had a reasonable amount of climbing experience. She’d even tackled this mountain once before, just not this particular trail. She never did anything without studying all the angles first. It was a quality that made her excel at her job as a financial forensics investigator.
As soon as she’d received his cryptic text, she’d messaged him back a bunch of question marks in reply. Then she’d sent him an assurance she was fine, but she hadn’t heard anything else from him, prompting her to believe he really might be climbing a mountain in the middle of the night.
Unzipping the tent a couple of inches, she peered out into the inky blackness. She still wore her parka for sleeping, but she’d taken off her boots and gloves for the night. She felt more than saw the swirl of snow kicking up outside, the tiny flakes peppering her cheeks in a frigid blast. A gust of wind whistled past her ears, lifting the inner tent roof and whipping the outer fabric so hard she feared it might rip. The snow was coming down faster now. The powdery base had scaled the tent walls at least an inch since she’d pitched the shelter.
A little bubble of panic rose inside her at the feeling of being closed in. She’d been drawn to mountain climbing as a teen to escape the suffocating home life with her mother, who was then in the early stages of a hoarding disorder. April had climbed to find fresh air and freedom, a place without walls of crap threatening to fall on her everywhere she looked. Now, as an adult, she lived in a beautifully spare home of her own, but she felt the urge to climb whenever stress built from dealing with her mom. April still tried to help, making scheduled trips over to the house where she’d grown up to make sure her mom was still going to counseling and hadn’t fired the professional organizer who came through once a month. Her mother’s house would always be cluttered—to put it mildly—but at least things were at a habitable level.
Even knowing that she’d done all she could to make her mother’s disease manageable didn’t stem the memories of how bad things had been—and how quickly her mom could relapse. Which was why April hiked until her mind was clear again.
So now, as she took in the way the snow covered the lower zipper on the tent, almost as if it was going to block her exit, her heart pounded fast. Her face heated despite the cold, a sweaty fear crawling up her scalp and making her see pinpricks of light in front of her eyes.
Light?
Frowning, she focused on the glow bobbing in the blizzard. As it grew closer, the bright spot seemed to rise in the sky.
Coming toward her.
“April.” A man’s hoarse voice carried on the wind just as a dark shadow took shape in front of her.
Weston—wearing a headlamp—was stalking up the trail.
“Here,” she called back, her softer voice mostly lost in the wind. She found her flashlight just inside the tent and flipped the switch so he could see her.
As he entered the circle of illumination from her torch, she could tell how much conditions had worsened. He was covered with snow, from his jacket and pants to his helmet and balaclava. Even his goggles were coated. Knowing that he’d trekked through this weather to get to her filled her with new alarm.
He crouched down near the entrance to the tent, his broad shoulders blocking the wind. Close enough to touch. He raked his goggles up and switched off the headlamp. His hazel eyes locked on hers, his demeanor as serious as the last time they’d met when he’d threatened to call security on her if she didn’t leave his office. Only now, he looked concerned.
Worried, even.
“We need to move you,” he told her, his gaze never wavering. “Carefully and quickly.”
Confused, she shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re in a well-documented avalanche corridor.” He spoke the words clearly and almost kindly, as if he weren’t talking about the imminent possibility of a deadly accident. “And conditions are only going to deteriorate with this storm.”
She recognized now what he was doing. He was speaking to her like a rescue worker. Like someone used to dealing with people in terrifying danger. That manner of his, as much as the words themselves, sent a cold ball of fear into the pit of her belly.
“Why—” Her breath stuck in her chest, and she couldn’t breathe for a moment as panic spiraled into every corner of her body. “Why didn’t you tell me in your text? I’ve just been sitting here...”
She peered around the tent, calculating how long it would take to put on her gear. Another sharp gust tore at the outer tent. She was pretty sure she heard the fabric tear.
“Look at me. April.” He spoke patiently, his tone still kind even though she’d made a horrible mistake in coming up here. Risking her neck and his. “You were safer staying put than you would have been out there when you don’t know the nuances of this trail. But I know this area like the back of my hand, and I’m going to take you to a safer location.”
Nodding, she appreciated his calming presence while her mind raced. She had logged countless hours climbing in summer conditions, but not as many in the winter. One of her mentors back in Denver had told her that she should take an avalanche course, but she hadn’t gotten to that stage yet. Hadn’t known she’d need it for this peak so early in the winter. She felt foolish for endangering herself and—worse—Weston too.
He couldn’t possibly know how much she hated being in this position, feeling like she’d screwed up. Like she’d overlooked something important.
“Okay. Thank you.” Swallowing back her fear, she focused on his hazel eyes, needing to believe he was as confident as he sounded. “I’ll get my gear on.”
He moved her out of harm’s way quickly enough.
The
