“I can’t deny—”
“Is that why you won’t search for her body?” Amalie pressed her finger down inches from his pen, compelling his attention. As if she didn’t already have it.
“Listen, Amalie.” He’d remembered not to call her ma’am, but she didn’t appear too impressed.
“I am listening and it seems to me that if you really cared you would’ve done something about recovering her body days ago.”
He set down his pen. “My best friend was on that mountain with your sister. If I could have done anything to save them, believe me, I would have.”
“Your best friend? I’m sorry. I—I didn’t realize.” She closed her eyes, pressing her hands hard to her temples.
Something about the gesture got to him. He didn’t like weak people and Helen had been weak. But Amalie struck him as a strong person at a vulnerable point. He wondered if she had someone to comfort her back home in Toronto. She didn’t wear any rings.
Surprised by his newfound sympathy for this woman, along with his unexpected interest in her love life, Grant gave himself a mental kick in the butt. He knew where his thoughts—and his hormones—were leading him. Of all the times and of all the people…Was he trying to prove he could be as big a fool as Ramsey?
Davin came back to the desk. He’d been wandering out in the adjoining room, reading charts and examining photographs. “Wow. This place is wicked. Do you really use a howitzer to set off avalanches on purpose?”
Grant nodded. “That’s part of our program to control the snow on the mountains.”
“Awesome.”
“We have a video at the information center you ought to see if you’re interested—it’s called Snow Wars.”
Davin glanced at Amalie. “Can we?”
She smiled indulgently. “Of course. We’ll be here long enough.”
How long? Grant wanted to ask, but figured the question would be rude. Instead, he glanced at his watch. On a normal day he’d be heading home about now. He’d have a peaceful beer by the television, then a stroll down to the local pub for a steak sandwich or maybe over to Blaine’s restaurant for pizza.
“Where are you folks planning to stay?”
Amalie looked surprised by the question. “At Helena’s.”
Grant thought of the landlady he’d interviewed Monday afternoon. Heidi Eitelbach had made it clear what she’d thought of her former tenant. She wouldn’t be pleased about having the sister show up on her doorstep.
“Yeah, well, your sister rented a two-bedroom apartment not far from where I live, in Revelstoke. That’s a little ways farther down the highway from here. If you want to follow me in your car, I’ll introduce you to the landlady. We’ve still got your sister’s key. It was with the stuff we found at the cabin.”
He retrieved the sleeping bag and knapsack they’d brought back from the hut and tossed them to Amalie.
“Ready?” He pulled his own keys from his pocket, then shrugged into his jacket. As he led the pair through the narrow corridor, he noticed Ralph Carlson was back in his office.
“I think you should meet this guy,” he told Amalie. “He works for Parks Canada and is officially in charge of any rescue mission into the back-country.”
Introductions went quickly, and Ralph reiterated Grant’s own conclusion—that a recovery mission couldn’t be implemented at this time.
Out in the parking lot Amalie’s blue Jetta stood out in the line of four-by-four trucks. Grant was glad to see she had new-looking winter treads on her tires. Too many drivers underestimated road conditions on this stretch of the highway.
He waited as she unlocked the driver-side door. In the back seat he could see two rolled-up sleeping bags and pillows, a large cooler and stacks of books and papers.
“Is your trunk full, too?” he asked.
Amalie glanced over her shoulder to see what he’d been looking at. It didn’t take long for her to get his point. “Yes, it’s full. We’re planning to stay as long as it takes. I’ve taken a leave-of-absence from work.”
“What about his schooling?” He nodded at Davin, who was just sliding into the front passenger seat.
“I’ll home-school him while we’re here. Thanks for your concern.”
The sound of her slamming car door still rang in his ears by the time Grant reached his own truck. Obviously, he’d made a second impression even worse than the first. He supposed he hadn’t come across as very sympathetic. Or very welcoming, either.
Well, that was too bad. She wasn’t the only one grieving over someone. And hadn’t he warned her not to come in the first place?
THE TIRES of Amalie’s Jetta crunched in the snow, as she slowed and pulled over to the side of the street behind Grant Thorlow’s truck. They were just two blocks from the Columbia River, on Mackenzie Avenue. The three-story apartment block was a Bavarian-styled structure of stucco and stained wood, with balconies on every unit.
A nice enough place. But Helena was a city girl. And this town—while prettier than Amalie had expected—was no Toronto or Seattle.
And it was so cut off from the rest of the world. Those mountains! Amalie had never seen anything like them. She knew she ought to be impressed with their beauty, but instead she found them oppressive, frightening.
Just by Golden—the last town they’d passed before Rogers Pass—the mountains had felt like prison walls. The curves in the road had tightened, and the sheer rock face on her left had seemed close enough to touch from an open window.
The view to the right was worse—she hadn’t dared look at the valley below. The short concrete guardrail had seemed to offer woefully inadequate protection against a sheer drop into nothingness.
“Is this the place?” Davin asked.
“I guess so,” she said. Grant was already at the front entrance, pacing impatiently as he waited. Amalie turned to Davin. “How are you doing?”
“Sick of driving. Sick of this car.” Davin got out and slammed the door behind him.
Amalie followed more slowly. Her neck and shoulders were tight from hours of concentrating on the snow-covered, winding roads, and she had a dull ache in her lower back.
Ahead, Davin ran up to Grant, his young voice raised in yet another question. Whatever he said, it made Grant laugh.
Snow had begun to fall when they were leaving the Rogers Pass compound earlier; now it covered the road with a clean white film. Amalie could see clearly the footprints of the two people who had preceded her. The smaller, even-treaded prints were from Davin’s sneakers, while Grant’s rugged hiking boots had left behind large, deeply grooved tracks.
She couldn’t quite figure what to make of him, this Grant Thorlow. In his office, as on the phone, he’d been cool, broaching on rude. She didn’t know where he got off. Did the man not have a shred of compassion in him? His stiffly offered words of sympathy about her sister’s death had felt like an insult. Obviously, he wasn’t happy that she’d ignored his advice and driven here, either.
It was evident that he’d disliked Helena. He’d expected to dislike her, too. The message had been plain.
Well, she’d be happy to return the favor and dislike him back.
Except…It wasn’t fair that he was so ruggedly attractive. She never met men like him in the city. His features weren’t anything special; he wasn’t even well groomed. His hair looked as though he cut it himself, a button was missing on his faded blue shirt and his collar curled up from lack of a good ironing.
What