Her Mountain Man. Cindi Myers

      The way Sierra was dedicated to writing? No, it wasn’t the same at all. Writing hadn’t taken over her life, and it didn’t separate her from her friends and family the way climbing did. “Does he have any family nearby?” she asked.

      “I don’t think so. His parents live in Texas—Dallas, maybe? I think he came here to be close to the mountains.”

      Of course. No matter what other positive traits he might possess, Paul still had the glaring flaw of loving big piles of rock more than anything else.

      Kelly stood. “I have to get back to work. I get off late, so I’ll leave the boots for you at the front desk.”

      “Thanks.” Sierra retrieved the heels from the rug. “Take good care of them,” she cautioned as she handed them over.

      “I’ll treat them like gold.” Kelly paused in the doorway. “When you see Paul tomorrow, ask him to tell you about his secret swimming hole in the mountains. It’d make a great story for your article.”

      “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

      When she was alone again, Sierra sat on the side of the bed and contemplated her bare feet. The Louboutins were the most expensive shoes she owned, and her favorites. Paul had better give her one heck of a story to prove he was worthy of such a sacrifice.

      PAUL MET SIERRA AT EIGHT the next morning in the Western Hotel lobby. She attracted plenty of attention as she strode across the lobby, dressed in slim-fitting jeans and a sweater that emphasized her curves. Her long hair was plaited in a single braid that hung down her back, and she carried a leather jacket. Paul stood a little straighter, pleased that he was the one she was coming to meet, even if she was only doing so in hopes of completing their interview.

      Maybe things would go better between them today. He hadn’t done a very good job of explaining himself yesterday. Part of it was his own fault—he’d thought talking to Victor Winston’s daughter would somehow be different from an interview with any of the other journalists who wanted his life’s story served up neatly on a platter. Today, he hoped he and Sierra could find a middle ground. He was prepared to talk about finding Victor’s body, and he hoped that she could help him know the real man behind the famous mountain climber’s public image.

      “You look all ready to go,” he said when she stopped in front of him.

      “I am. I even have boots.” She held out one foot for him to admire.

      “I was wondering if you’d brought any with you. You probably don’t have much call for them in Manhattan.”

      “I don’t. I borrowed these from Kelly.”

      “From Kelly?” Sierra had been so focused on grilling him yesterday he was surprised she even remembered the waitress.

      “Actually, I traded my heels for her boots—temporarily.”

      Had there been some silent communication between the two women he hadn’t picked up on? “When did all this happen?”

      “After you left last night. She and I had a long talk.” Her smile was closer to a smirk. “She told me all about you.”

      He tried to think of any embarrassing stories Kelly might have shared with Sierra. Unfortunately the list was long. He could be absentminded when he was planning an expedition, and more than once he’d forgotten about a date they’d arranged, or she’d had to pay for a meal because he’d accidentally left his wallet at home. He always paid her back, but still—those stories didn’t make him look good.

      They’d dated off and on for a couple of months, but his long absences had gradually cooled their ardor. Last he’d heard, she was seeing a real-estate tycoon from Telluride.

      “I’ve got everything we need in my Jeep, so let’s go.” A few minutes later, they were headed out of town. Indy sat in the backseat, ears flapping in the breeze.

      “You really did mean it when you said the dog goes everywhere with you,” Sierra said.

      “Yep. You never know when a dog will come in handy.” And as much as he usually enjoyed his own company, it was good to have someone to come home to after a long trip.

      “An interesting philosophy,” she said, writing in her notebook.

      “Are you going to write down everything I say today?” he asked.

      “That’s sort of the idea behind an interview.” She looked amused.

      “I was hoping we could get to know each other a little first. Off-the-record.”

      She studied him a moment. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

      “I don’t like talking about myself.”

      “But you agreed to this interview. From what I understand, it was your idea.”

      So much for his brilliant ideas. “I thought talking to Victor’s daughter might be easier than talking to someone who had no connection to the story.” He glanced at her. “And I figured I owed you.”

      “Owed me?”

      “It’s my fault you’re having to go through your father’s death all over again, after twelve years.”

      “You don’t owe me anything,” she said. “But if it’ll make you more comfortable, I’ll save most of my questions for later. I’m happy to spend the morning gathering a little background.”

      The background stuff was exactly what he didn’t want to talk about, but he’d humor her. “You’re allowed to have fun while you work,” he said. “Tourists come here and pay big money for the kind of tour I’m giving you today.”

      A smile flirted with her lips. “I’ll remember that.”

      Just outside of Ouray, the highway began to climb up a series of switchbacks. Through the trees, they glimpsed steep valleys and soaring peaks. “You don’t get views like this in Manhattan,” Paul said.

      “No.” Gripping the seat with both hands, she glanced at the drop-off on her right side. Approximately three feet from the Jeep’s tires, the pavement fell away to nothing. “Aren’t you taking these curves a little fast?” she asked.

      “Don’t worry. I could drive this stretch of highway blindfolded. It’s really only dangerous in winter. This time of year it’s a lot of fun.”

      “What’s fun about taking chances?” She peered at the drop-off again. “Just because you’re familiar with a situation doesn’t make it less dangerous.”

      “But you can’t let a little risk keep you from doing what you want to do.” He downshifted to take a steeper grade. “I don’t take foolish chances, but I want to really live.” Having come face-to-face with death made him value life all the more. Every time he made it back from that precipice safely, he was more aware of every heartbeat and every breath.

      “I think a person can live a very fulfilling life without ever risking death,” she said.

      “Some people probably can,” he said. “Guess I’m not one of them.”

      Near the top of Red Mountain Pass, he turned the Jeep off the highway onto a narrow gravel road that wound uphill through stands of aspen already beginning to turn gold. Even in August the air up here hinted at fall, the breeze cool on Paul’s bare skin. He breathed deeply the aroma of purple asters that bloomed in profusion along the road.

      “This road once led to the old Tomboy Mine,” he explained. “It was used to transport ore into Telluride.”

      “So mountains aren’t the only things that interest you,” she said. “You know the history of the area, too.”

      “History is interesting,” he said. “It’s everywhere you look around here. So many reminders of the past are out in the open—old buildings, mine trams, ore carts. People walked away from some of the old settlements and mines over