Her Mountain Man (17 page)

Thank you for the netsuke. Having it means so much to me, but the words you sent with it are an even greater gift than the object itself. I know you meant for them to comfort me, and they did.

The truth is, the strength of my feelings for you frightened me. I felt I had to put some distance between us, to gain some perspective. Now, two thousand miles away, I know that I fell in love with you. Under different circumstances, you might have been the man I stayed with forever.

But we are who we are, and forever isn’t possible for us. We can’t remain lovers, but I hope we will be friends. When you are alone on a mountaintop somewhere at the far reaches of the world, I hope you will think of me.

Her words made him feel the way he had when he’d been accepted to his first expedition to Everest: elated, overwhelmed and just plain scared. She loved him. But she didn’t love what he did. The profession he’d chosen made it impossible for them to be together.

She’d told him what he needed to do to be with her. He had to give up the only thing he knew—the profession he not only loved, but the thing that defined his life, that defined
him.
If he quit climbing mountains, what would he have left?

What had he really accomplished in all his years of climbing? It was a question he’d avoided looking at too closely. What did it matter what his achievements meant if he was doing something he was good at and it made his life better?

But he couldn’t say climbing improved his life now, when it kept him from the woman he loved. So what was he trying to prove? That he was still alive? That he could cheat death again? That if he did enough great things, he deserved to survive what others had not?

But had he done enough to deserve the love of a woman like Sierra—a woman who knew better than most what a harsh mistress the mountains could be?

“I’ll see if I can find another book about pirates for our next visit,” Sierra said. She stood and helped the little boy crawl back under the covers. “You look really good today,” she said.

“I had a transfusion yesterday, so my hemoglobin count is really good.” He spoke with all the nonchalance another boy his age might have used to talk about video-game statistics or baseball scores.

“The doctor thinks he might be well enough to go home in time for his birthday next week.” An attractive blonde—Tommy’s mother—spoke from the doorway.

“Your birthday!” Sierra said. “What day?”

“September 15.” Tommy grinned. “I’m asking for a dirt bike.”

“He’s determined to turn all my hairs gray,” his mother said. She came over and put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “My little daredevil.”

“Mo-om!” Tommy rolled his eyes.

Sierra laughed, and said goodbye to them both.
I’ll have to find something special for Tommy’s birthday,
she thought as she left the hospital and headed down the sidewalk toward the subway. She hoped his high spirits today indicated he’d turned the corner, and that he would live to see many more birthdays.

Then, as they did often these days, her thoughts turned to Paul, another daredevil cancer survivor. What was he doing as fall came to the mountains? He hadn’t answered her letter yet, but then, it was probably too soon.

She checked her watch. She had enough time to grab a salad at the deli on the first floor before returning to her office to work on her article about female doctors and nurses at the forefront of children’s cancer care. Researching the article had led her to volunteer with St. Jude’s Hospital, and to her friendship with Tommy.

The receptionist waylaid her in the lobby of
Cherché.
“There’s a couple in the waiting room who asked to see you,” she said. “They told me they were friends of yours.”

Curious, Sierra left her salad with the receptionist and hurried to the waiting room. When she opened the door, she was startled to see Kelly and Keith. “Sierra!” the younger woman exclaimed, and threw her arms around her.

“This is a surprise!” Sierra returned the hug, then stepped back to survey the couple. Keith wore nice slacks and a pale Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled back to reveal an expensive watch. Kelly was dressed more flamboyantly, in black leggings, spike heels and a Puccini-inspired tunic. Half a dozen bracelets jangled on her wrist, and she carried an oversize designer bag. Anyone spotting her on the sidewalk would have pegged her as a model or actress—definitely not a waitress from a small town in Colorado. “What brings you to the city?” Sierra asked.

“We’re on our honeymoon!” Kelly displayed a diamond-encrusted band alongside the large solitaire on her ring finger. “We eloped three days ago.”

“You eloped? Congratulations!” The announcement left Sierra a little breathless. She glanced at Keith. His gaze was fixed on Kelly, as if he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away for even a second. Was that kind of devotion worth changing one’s whole life plan? She shifted her attention back to Kelly, who looked jubilant. “Will you be in New York long?”

“Only two more days,” Kelly said. “I have to get home in time to begin rehearsals for the Creede Repertory Theater’s Christmas Show.”

“A show? So you’ll be acting locally?”

“Yes!” Kelly could barely contain her glee. “It’s a very respected regional theater. And I’ve already been asked to try out for a dinner theater in Grand Junction.”

“She’s an amazing talent,” Keith said. “They’re lucky to have her.”

“Sounds like everything is going great,” Sierra said.

“Better than I ever imagined,” Kelly said. She looked at Keith. “We’re seeing a lot of shows while we’re in town, and as much as I’d like to be on Broadway, I’m really happy where I am now.”

“That’s great. I’m glad to hear it,” Sierra said.

“Have you heard from Paul?” Kelly asked.

Sierra fingered the netsuke attached to her purse. “We’ve exchanged a couple of letters,” she said. It wasn’t enough, not compared to the closeness they’d shared in Ouray. She still remembered how it had felt to look through the collection of items from his childhood and see the life he’d lived—she’d felt connected to him through their mutual love of her father. But that same connection—the very thing that had destroyed her father’s relationships and eventually ended his life—made it impossible for Paul and Sierra to ever really be together.

More than once, she’d told herself she never should have written to him. That it would have been better for both of them to make a clean break. But she hadn’t been able to banish him from her life. No matter how much he frustrated her, she cared about Paul, and wanted to know how he was doing.

“I’m glad you’re in touch,” Kelly said. “You two were good together.”

On paper, Sierra had been able to admit she loved him—as crazy as that was, after less than a week with him. Maybe the propensity to fall so hard and fast ran in families. Her mother swore to love her father forever after only knowing him a week, and as far as Sierra could tell, Jennifer had kept that promise.

So maybe Sierra loved Paul, but that didn’t change anything about their circumstances.

“So what have you been up to?” Kelly asked.

“I’ve been volunteering at Children’s Hospital. I read to the kids, or play games, keep them company and give their parents a break.”

“That must be heartbreaking—all those sick children.”

“It is—and it isn’t. They’re really terrific kids, and seeing them cope with their illness makes my own problems seem pretty small.” Volunteering with the children had helped her feel closer to Paul, too. She felt she understood him a little better now. Maybe his wanting to climb mountains wasn’t so different from Tommy wanting a dirt bike for his birthday, though shouldn’t a grown man—even one who had suffered a grave illness—be past such things?

“Honey, don’t forget your appointment at one-thirty,” Keith said.

“I’m getting my hair done at a very exclusive salon,” Kelly said. “I had to beg them to work me in but they finally agreed.”

“Kelly can be very persuasive,” Keith said, grinning.

“Have a wonderful time in the city,” Sierra said. “Congratulations, again.”

They parted at the lobby entrance. As Sierra turned back toward her office, the happiness she’d carried with her from the hospital faded, replaced by wistfulness. She envied Kelly and Keith their happiness. A few months ago, she’d rarely thought about marriage and children. She hadn’t been sure she wanted either in her life.

Maybe confronting her feelings about her father had changed her ideas about family and being a parent. Or maybe being with Paul had showed her a glimpse of what it would be like to share her life with a caring man. Ever since she’d returned from her visit to Ouray, she’d been able to picture herself as a wife and mother. She understood now why Kelly had exchanged her dreams of Broadway stardom for a very different kind of life. Love really did have the power to transform the way a woman looked at the world.

Kelly had taken a chance on love and hit the jackpot. In playing it safe, Sierra couldn’t decide if she’d saved herself a huge heartache, or guaranteed she’d regret her decision forever.

“Just help spot them on the course. Answer questions, encourage them a little. Nothing tough.”

“How sick are they?”

“I don’t know.” Josh scratched his chin. “I mean, they’ve all got some kind of chronic illness that keeps them at the hospital, but they’re well enough to make the trip.”

Paul thought of a trip to Disney World he’d taken shortly before his transplant. He hadn’t wanted to go, but one of those organizations devoted to fulfilling the last wishes of dying children had given his family the trip and his parents hadn’t wanted to turn them down.

At fourteen, Paul thought he was too old for Disney. People stared at his bald head and skinny frame, and the rides made him vomit. When a guy dressed up like Mickey Mouse tried to get him to pose for a souvenir photo, Paul threatened to punch him. His father got mad, his mother cried and they went home a day early.

He wanted to believe no camping expedition for these kids could be as bad as that, but what if it could? “I’ll try to help,” he said. “But if it gets too heavy, I’m leaving.”

“Just look at it like a tough mountain—grit your teeth and keep working your way to the top.”

The two friends rode to the pool in Josh’s truck, loaded with climbing gear. Paul was grateful for Josh’s silence on the short drive; some people would have asked him how he was feeling, or wanted to know more about his cancer—neither subjects Paul cared to talk about.

Two vans full of kids and their parents were unloading in the parking lot when he and Josh arrived. At first glance, the children looked like any other group of boys and girls, ranging in age from six or seven up to midteens. They wore shorts, T-shirts, tennis shoes and ball caps and some carried backpacks.

But closer inspection revealed balding heads under the ball caps. Some had the puffy “moon” faces indicative of steroid treatments, while others were unnaturally thin and pale. Had he really ever been so young and vulnerable?

The camp leader, a stout woman named Veronica who was relentlessly cheerful, introduced Josh, Paul and a few other local volunteers. “These guys are going to show you how to climb safely and have a lot of fun,” Veronica said. “And when we’re done here, we’ll all head to the pool.”

Cheers went up at the mention of the pool, then everyone lined up to be fitted with climbing harnesses and helmets while parents took pictures.

Paul spotted a teenage boy off to the side, arms folded across his narrow chest, expression sullen. “Are you with the group?” Paul asked.

“What clued you in, Sherlock? Was it the bald head, or the needle tracks?” He thrust out his thin arms, which were crisscrossed with scars. Paul’s own arms itched, remembering the sensation of having no veins left that didn’t roll or collapse, but knowing the nurses would be in again soon to try once more to find some new place to stick their needles.

“What’s your name?” he asked. “I’m Paul.”

“Rocco.”

“Do you want to climb, Rocco?” Paul asked.

Rocco folded his arms again and scowled at the rock face. “Why would I want to do that?”

“To prove to yourself you can.”

“I don’t need to prove anything. You just want to get your jollies helping the poor sick kid. Go help someone else. I don’t need your pity.” He glared at Paul, but behind the insolence and anger Paul recognized the fear—not the fear of rocks or falling or even of making a fool of himself, but the cold terror he himself had lived with for too many years—the fear that had made it tough to close his eyes at night, in case he never woke up again. The fear that the illness he battled was too big, and just might win.

“What do you think people see when they look at you?” Paul asked.

Rocco shrugged. “What do I care?”

“Do you think they see the bald head, the skinny frame and think ‘oh that poor sick boy’?” He delivered the words with a saccharine whine. “Is that what you think?”

Again the shrug. “Some of them probably do.”

“Is that what you see when you look in the mirror.”

“I don’t look in the mirror.”

Paul felt his heart contract. Oh, yeah. He knew exactly where this kid was at. Had been there, so disgusted with his own reflection he’d covered the bathroom mirror with a towel. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “These people—your parents and the volunteers and maybe some of the younger kids—they think climbing this wall is hard. They think it’ll be a real accomplishment to make it all the way up. But you know different.”

Rocco blinked. “I do?”

“Fighting cancer is harder than any wall. It’s harder than freaking Mount Everest. But you’re fighting it. And every day you’re still here is a win for you. Compared to that, this wall is nothing.”

Rocco looked away. “Is that the speech they tell you to give all the kids?”

“No. It’s the speech I used to give myself, on the days when I was puking up my guts or everything ached so much I wanted to cry, but I didn’t have any tears left—on the days when I was sick to death of being sick to death.”

Rocco’s eyes met his, the hostility fading. “What are you talking about?”

Paul grabbed the hem of his shirt and jerked it up. “See that scar?” he asked.

The boy peered at the puckered line of flesh on Paul’s chest. His eyes widened.

“Medication port. I bet you have one, too.”

Rocco nodded. “You had cancer?”

“Leukemia. When I was your age. Three rounds of chemo. Radiation. Finally a bone-marrow transplant.”

“They’re talking about a transplant for me if this new chemo doesn’t work.” His eyes searched Paul’s. The fear was still there, but something else crowded against it—the beginnings of hope. “And you’re okay now?”

“One hundred percent. I climbed Denali—Mount McKinley—a little over a month ago.”

Rocco swallowed, as if choking down strong emotion. “Wow.”

“So are you gonna climb with me or not?”

Rocco glanced at the wall again, then back at Paul. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll climb with you.”

“Great. Let’s get you some gear.”

No more running. The look in Rocco’s eyes—that tiny glimmer of hope—hit Paul like a lightning bolt. He’d been worried seeing these kids would bring back all the pain and despair of those months in the hospital, when all along he’d been missing his chance to let go of those memories and replace them with this joy.

This felt like summiting his first big mountain all over again. He wanted to shout and tell someone.

He wanted to tell Sierra.

The memory of her grinding her way up the trail on Uncompahgre sobered him. She’d accused him of running away from real life on the mountains. She’d had it right, almost. It wasn’t life he was trying to escape up there, so much as memories of his past and fears of his future.

“I’m ready.” Rocco, fitted with a helmet and climbing harness, turned to him.

“Me, too.” Paul buckled his own helmet and clipped Rocco to the safety line. “Let’s do this.”

He wasn’t a scared little boy with cancer anymore—he was a man who’d almost let the great gift he’d been given slip by him. By means of grace or a miracle or his own refusal to give up, he had a future, and he wasn’t going to take that for granted ever again.