A Matter of Trust(51)

The woman fairly glowed when she talked about Pete Brooks. Jess’s blue eyes alight, her entire body animated as she gestured with her hands. Ty didn’t have to be the team psychologist to see that away from Pete Brooks’s presence, Jess had no problem waxing glorious about him.

Not that Ty was jealous, but . . .

She should just tell Pete about her connection to the Great Scandal and the fact she wasn’t who she claimed to be. Stop using Ty as the defensive line to keep Pete away from her.

Judging from Pete’s glacial shoulder toward him—especially tonight—he’d probably be so relieved that Jess and Ty weren’t dating he wouldn’t care that she was the daughter of the most notorious white-collar thief in recent decades.

Most of all, Jess should stop talking to Brette. Because Ty, again, didn’t have to be that intuitive to see Brette’s wheels turning. “No one hides from me.”

He got up from where he sat at the computer watching the weather report, intending to run interference of some kind, when Sierra did an end run and sat down beside Jess.

“It’s getting late, and my guess is that Gage and Ella are holed up somewhere, probably getting warm and strategizing about how they’re going to get down the mountain tomorrow. They’re probably drinking hot cocoa right now, right, Jess?”

Jess nodded. “I packed them a few packs, along with some chili mac, and Gage knows what he’s doing. Don’t worry.” She glanced at Sierra, then back to Brette. “In fact, I think you should come home with us. I have real beds at my place now, and—”

“I think she should stay here.”

Ty didn’t know why those words emerged from his mouth, but he blamed his “protect Jess” reflex, the one he had seemed to be honing for the past five months.

All three women looked at him as if surprised he was still in the room. Yeah, well, Pete hadn’t assigned him to any impromptu callouts. In fact, if they had a real callout, their official incident commander, Miles Dafoe, would be here, taking the helm. Pete wasn’t even in charge.

“What if Gage calls in—Brette will want to know, right?” he added, for logical reinforcement.

Brette looked at him, nodded.

“She can stay in the bunkhouse,” he said, seeing Brette warm to the idea. “Kacey is staying too—she mentioned it to me earlier. Just in case the storm abates and she needs to take the chopper out early. And Ben will probably stay too, then. I’ll stick around . . .”

Jess was frowning at him, and he wanted to send her a silent message. Trust me. After Brette’s initial introduction, it seemed that Jess had shrugged off any danger.

In fact, she turned back to Brette. “We’re about fifteen minutes from here, and they can call us if Gage calls in . . .”

Sheesh, he wanted to wave semaphores. Did she not hear the word journalist earlier? See the way Brette probed her about Pete? The woman was just warming up for the kill.

Thankfully, Brette shook her head. “I guess if there’s a place for me to sleep here, I’ll stay. Especially if Ty is staying.”

Huh. He didn’t know why, but those words sent warmth through him.

“I’m staying.”

She smiled up at him, and for a second, he didn’t care that Pete had sideswiped his offer to go out tonight.

Apparently, tonight, the pretty girl chose Ty. Take that, Pete I-own-the-world Brooks.

“Okay, but if you need to escape, you know who to call,” Jess said. She got up and grabbed her coat from the hook, and Sierra followed her.

Chet walked back to his office.

“C’mon,” Ty said. “I’ll show you the bunk rooms.” He led the way upstairs to the two rooms—one for women, one for men. Tiny rooms, with four bunk beds in each, along with their own bathrooms. “It’s cozy but warm.”

Brette sank down on one of the beds. “Thanks, Ty. I’m feeling a little nauseous, so I think I’ll lie down.”

Oh. He didn’t know why he expected . . . apparently he’d read too much into her statement, “especially if Ty is staying,” like she might want to spend time with him. He gave her a smile. “Let me know if you need anything.” He closed the door behind her, tiptoed down the stairs.

The room was quiet, empty, only the occasional noise from the squawk box. He fished a cookie from the jar, went to sit down at the computer.

C’mon, Gage, call in.

Ty sat listening to the computers hum, the static on the box, the wind rattling the windows.

And for a second, he imagined it had been exactly this way the night he’d crashed. The team on edge, not knowing where to look, how to help. And Ty alone, on the other end of the static, knowing he and Chet would freeze to death if he didn’t get help.