Rescue Me(53)
He drew in a breath, slowing at the turn into the west park headquarters. “I’m doing Tallie a favor, I promise. I’m just not the guy you want to build a life with. I don’t see a home or a family in my future.”
She looked away, blinked. Right. Silly her.
“As long as we’re on the subject, why aren’t you dating anyone? I noticed that Ty had his eye on you.”
The fact that he’d even asked that made Jess take a quick breath.
All this time she’d thought Pete had been dodging asking her out because of their teammate status. Apparently not.
“I can’t date a teammate.” Although, out of all the choices of potential dates, Ty might be the best. At least she had nothing to lose with Ty—he already knew her secrets.
She took another sip of coffee. “Besides, I’m too busy fixing my house to date anyone. Maybe after I have furniture.”
She’d tried to make it light, funny, to ease the sudden darkness between them, but Pete only pursed his lips.
She finished off her coffee as he turned onto Camas Road. In the truck in front of them, Ty and Gage had slowed, so he passed them, gunning it toward the Huckleberry Mountain trailhead.
“I know I already said it, but thank you for working on my house so much. I know you could be spending time doing—”
“It’s no problem.” Pete took a sip of coffee. “Actually, it reminds me of working with my dad. He was a general carpenter in the valley, and both Sam and I were going to go to work for him—or at least, that’s what I had in my head. He used to take me on jobs with him, taught me how to run wiring, lay tile, frame a wall, put up Sheetrock.”
The slightest hint of a smile edged up his face. “Our last project was a home theater in our house. We three were covered head to toe with Sheetrock dust. Mom took a picture, just our eyes showing—we looked like ghosts.” His smile died. “Dad was killed about two weeks later.”
“I’m sorry, Pete.”
He lifted a shoulder. “It was my fault. A stupid decision . . .” He turned onto the dirt road that led to the lot.
But she couldn’t move. Her breath scraped out at his casual words. “You don’t really think that, do you?”
He seemed almost to not hear her as he slowed the truck.
“Pete, it’s not your fault.”
He turned into the parking lot. “Actually, yeah, it is. I decided to ski down into the trees on the back side of Blackbear Mountain. Dad came with me. I didn’t realize he was lost until after I got down the mountain. He never showed up.” He pulled into a parking space. Put the truck into park. “It was the last run of the day, and a storm was closing in.” He turned the truck off. “They had to give up the search. He fell into a tree well, upside down, and froze to death.” He said it almost clinically, no emotion. “Did you check the radio?”
Did she . . . ? “Uh. Yeah, but—”
“Let’s go.”
She couldn’t move, his story pinning her heart to her chest.
He slid out, shucked off his jacket, leaving just his fleece on, and shut the door.
She blinked back the moisture in her eyes.
Thankfully, with the bright sunlight, she also needed her shades. She took off her outer jacket and wore only her black fleece.
She had a feeling this would be more of a sprint than a hike.
Pete was strapping on the survival pack—the heavier of the two.
She grabbed the emergency pack. Added a bottle of water to the side pocket.
The sun had burned off the frost and the layer of ice from the dirt lot. A crisp wind shivered the pine trees.
It rippled a notice tacked over the entrance to the trail.
“Did you see this, Pete? The trail’s closed due to bear activity.”
Pete had started walking through the empty dirt parking lot, head down, searching for signs of the van in the now-soggy ground.
He came over and stared at the sign. Blew out a breath as he looked up the trail.
“They’re probably not there, but . . .” His mouth tightened into a grim line. “I’ll regret it if we don’t look.”
She nodded, hearing more than just the regrets of this moment.
“Please let this not be a stupid idea,” Pete said, then turned and started jogging up the trail.
8
COME BACK TO ME. Willow knew Sam didn’t mean it the way it sounded, his voice soft, even intimate. As if he meant it.
Of course he meant it—in a practical, we’re-on-the-same-team-so-stay-alive kind of way.
Not in the way her heart longed for him to mean it.
Silly, stupid—she’d clearly banged her head too hard against the glass, a wound, actually, that had started to burn with the sweat beading along her forehead.