Sean Hughes, one of the rescue leaders who’d been talking by the door, motioned for Jake and two other experienced members, Bill Paulson and Tim Moreno, to come over. “Here’s the plan. Avalanche hazard is high and the weather isn’t the greatest. A Sno-Cat will take us to the top of Palmer. When we get there, SAR base is expecting us to call in a condition report to decide if we’re staying put or if any searching is possible.”
Every one of Jake’s muscles tensed. At the top of the Palmer ski lift was a building where they could warm up, regroup and wait for the conditions to improve. Sitting around wasn’t going to get the job done. They needed to head out in the field.
He zipped his parka. “Nick wouldn’t hang around and wait if one of us was up there.”
“We’re not waiting, either.” Sean lowered his voice so no one could hear him. “We’ll call in a report, then head up and bring them home.”
Jake picked up his pack and swung it onto his shoulders. “Damn straight we will.”
The two others grunted their agreement, even though rescuer safety came first in any mission. But when one of your own went missing, risk level changed.
“Let’s hit it,” Sean said, turning on his headlamp.
Jake followed Sean out of the lodge and into the frigid air. Tim and Bill brought up the rear. The media followed, taking pictures of them, the flashes like lightning, as they trudged their way through the heavy wind and darkness to the Sno-Cat. Freezing mist created a haze on Jake’s goggles. Each breath stung. It had to be hell at the summit. What could have happened up there?
Maybe Nick or Iain had gotten injured. Hurt. Maybe they couldn’t get cell coverage. Or the batteries had died. Maybe they were waiting out the weather in a snow cave. Maybe—
“Jacob.”
The familiar feminine voice wrapped around him like an electric blanket set on high. Soft, warm, perfect. He reminded himself that Carly Bishop’s heart belonged to Iain.
But that didn’t mean Jake couldn’t look and appreciate.
Even with her long, blond hair tucked inside a green ski cap, her cheeks flushed from the freezing temperatures and her eyes red and swollen from crying, she was the best thing he’d seen this morning.
“Carly.” He noticed a photographer watching them. The press would sell their firstborn to get an exclusive interview with the fiancée and sister of the missing climbers. “Get inside. It’s too cold out here.”
She shoved her gloved hands in the pockets of her orange down jacket, which was actually one of Iain’s. Her breath hung on the air. “Colder up on the mountain.”
Where Iain and Nick were. His eyes met hers in unspoken understanding.
Jake blinked against the biting mist, against the sting in his eyes. “We’re heading up to find them.”
She inhaled sharply. “Th-they said the search was on hold until conditions improved.”
“The conditions are good enough for us.”
“Thank you so much.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “You have no idea what this means to our family and me.”
Jake knew. He was closer to the Bishops than his own parents. That was one reason he’d tried to never treat Carly as anything other than his best friend’s kid sister. Well, that, and the age difference. She was twenty-two, four years younger than him. That difference in age meant nothing now, but the gap had been huge when they were teenagers.
Though right now she looked more like a kid than ever. Young and vulnerable. Jake wanted to say something to comfort her, but he hadn’t a clue where to start.
“I know it’s rough up there and what you’re up against. But please, Jacob, do whatever …everything you can.” Carly’s voice cracked. “T-tomorrow is…”
December twenty-fourth. Christmas Eve. Her and Iain’s wedding day.
Jake had the wedding invitation on his fridge and their gift under his Christmas tree. Tears streamed unchecked down her face. His already-aching heart constricted.
“I promise you, Carly.” He wiped the tears off her cheeks with his gloved hand. He didn’t dare allow himself to do more, and his caution had nothing to do with the photographer watching them. “I’ll find Nick and Iain. Today.”
Or Jake wasn’t coming back down.
CHAPTER ONE
AS SNOW FLURRIES fell from the gray sky, Carly Bishop stared at the charming log house surrounded by towering fir trees and decorated with strands of white icicle lights. A lopsided four-foot-tall snowman, complete with carrot nose, stood in the front yard. A single electric candle shone through a wood-paned window, the flickering flame-shaped bulb a welcoming light.
Carly walked along the snow-dusted path, dragging her wheeled suitcase behind her. A few feet from the porch she noticed a green wreath tied with a red velvet bow hanging from a brass holder on the front door. The scent of pine was sharp in the air. The same way it had been…
Her breath caught in her throat.
The house, the wreath, the candle, the snowman. It was as if time had stopped, as if the last six years had simply been a bad dream. Any second, Carly expected Nick to fling open the front door wearing a Santa hat, and greet her with a jolly ho-ho-ho. And Iain…
Iain.
She closed her eyes, fighting an onslaught of unwelcome memories.
I can’t believe you’re going climbing two days before our wedding. Why don’t you just admit it, Iain? You love climbing more than you love me.
She’d wanted to forget. The argument and tears before and as he’d left to climb. The thoughts about his selfish behavior while he’d been climbing and dying. The grief and guilt after his body and Nick’s had been found.
Carly thought she had forgotten. Put the past behind her. Moved on. She forced herself to breathe.
Coming back had been a mistake.
She should have stayed in Philadelphia, where she’d made a new life for herself, far away from the shadow of Mount Hood and all the mountain had stolen from her. If only staying away had been an option, but her brother’s widow, Hannah, was expecting a new baby and needed help with her two children.
So here Carly was. Ready to be an aunt extraordinaire for her niece and nephew. For better or, most likely, worse.
Two weeks. All she had to do was survive the next two weeks, including December twenty-fourth, the twenty-fifth and New Year’s Eve. How hard could that be? Given she hadn’t celebrated the holidays in years, she didn’t want to know the answer.
Carly tightened her grip on the suitcase handle and climbed the steps to the front porch. With a tentative hand, she reached for the doorknob then remembered this was no longer her brother’s house. She pressed the doorbell and waited.
The doorknob jiggled.
Straightening, Carly forced a smile. Years of working with customers had taught her how to put on a happy face no matter how she felt inside.
The door cracked open.
“Welcome back, Carly,” a male voice greeted her warmly.
She expected to see Hannah’s husband of two years, Garrett Willingham, but the man standing in the doorway looked nothing like the clean-cut, non-risk-taking, business-suit-wearing certified public accountant. This guy was too rugged, too fit, too…familiar.
“Jacob