Rocky Mountain Sabotage. Jill Elizabeth Nelson

NINE

       TEN

       ELEVEN

       TWELVE

       THIRTEEN

       FOURTEEN

       EPILOGUE

       Extract

       Copyright

       ONE

      Lauren Carter ground her teeth together as she glared down at rugged Rocky Mountain scenery. Her breath formed patches of milky condensation on the window of the charter jet she’d boarded a little over three hours ago in New York. Thousands of feet below, cloud-wreathed peaks stabbed toward the plane’s belly. A little lower, snow-whitened troughs outlined with black ridges resembled an enormous, raggedly striped quilt. Quite breathtaking. She might actually start enjoying this impromptu fall vacation trip to California if not for her mother’s annoying question rattling around her brain like a rogue ping-pong ball.

      What do you think of our handsome pilot? Why couldn’t the two of them have a relaxing getaway—try to rebuild some of the closeness they once shared—without Mom angling to set her up with any male old enough to shave but not yet eligible for a midlife crisis?

      Fortunately, that criteria left out the other five passengers on the plane. The executives from three different investment corporations were transportation-pooling to some convention in San Francisco. All of them appeared old enough to be the father Lauren had barely known. One even looked old enough to be her grandfather. And since the copilot, who doubled as cabin attendant, was a female of about Lauren’s age of thirty-one, that left Kent Garland on Mother’s list—the pilot with sun-streaked brown hair, a chin like one of these rocky ridges, and a gray gaze as cool as one of the snowy peaks. Handsome? Sure, if a woman liked the rugged type.

      Something small and hard jabbed Lauren’s knee. Mom’s fingernail, of course. If she had to lean across the space between their facing seats in order to gain Lauren’s attention, the woman was serious about getting an answer.

      “Did you hear what I asked, dear?” Mom uttered her words in that quiet, refined-sugar tone she reserved for “discreet” conversation.

      Lauren met her mother’s stare. “If I had a nickel for every time you’ve asked something like that, my school loans would be paid off.”

      Mom’s full mouth puckered and long lashes lowered over true-blue eyes, but not in time to disguise irritation. The brightening pink tinge across her mother’s high cheekbones betrayed embarrassment at the volume of her daughter’s voice. Lauren’s face heated as several executives, two seated on the nearby couch and the elder statesman in a leather-bound seat kitty-corner across the aisle, looked up from laptops or Wall Street magazines.

      She heaved an internal sigh. Face it, girl. Your mama is the quintessential Georgia peach, soft and sweet on the outside, but all hard-core on the inside. And you are and always have been a steel safe on the outside and a hot mess on the inside.

      From old photographs and fuzzy, small-child memories, Lauren had long ago become aware that she’d inherited her auburn hair, green eyes, height and build from her AWOL father—which made her something of an Amazon around most other women and many guys. She must have also inherited from him her tendency to erect ironclad walls around her heart. Or maybe that was just how she protected herself from experiencing that kind of abandonment again. At least she wasn’t the sort who ran out on family and responsibilities when the going got a little rocky. She assured herself of that fact often, but the balm of self-righteousness did little to soothe the stupid, nagging ache in her core.

      Lauren pressed her lips together. You’d think she’d be over her father’s desertion by now. Was it something a person could get past? She desperately wanted to feel whole. Even the church-going faith she’d grown up with hadn’t yet completely healed the wound.

      Mom lowered her head and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle out of her beige pants. A smattering of tiny age spots on the back of her slim hand tattled on her fiftysomething age. “If you’d just let Marlin take care of those loans for you, you’d have a clean slate already. Just the other day, he said to me, ‘Nina, talk to that proud girl of yours. I’d like to help her—’”

      “We’re not going there, either, Mom.” Lauren worked at keeping her voice low, but she couldn’t hide the ferocity. “He arranged and paid for this plane trip, and I’m grateful, but he’s not buying shares in my life. I’m glad you found someone and that you love him, but—”

      Her mother’s intake of breath and wide gaze shot a pang through Lauren. She cleared her throat. That “oh, honey, you just tracked mud into the house” mannerism worked every time.

      “Sorry for snapping at you.” Lauren heaved out a breath. “But seriously, the whole idea of this beach getaway is for it to be just you and me—girl time. No husband-hunting.”

      Mom’s gaze returned to hers, a gentle smile flitting across her lips. “I can appreciate that, dear, but what if you happen to run across Mr. Right?”

      In spite of herself, Lauren chuckled. Mom was incorrigible. “At this point in my life, I’d have to run over Mr. Right in order for him to get my attention. My practice is just getting off the ground. I’ve got to put in long hours. That’s why these few stolen days away with you are so precious to me. I don’t want to spend them anywhere but in your company.”

      Mom beamed at her, and Lauren’s heart lightened. Since her mother had married Wall Street mega shark Marlin Barrington two years ago, the closeness she and her mom used to share had all but evaporated. The fact that the guy endorsed his wife’s passion for charity work with generous donations should have endeared him with Lauren, but it only made her feel guilty for her resentment of him.

      Marlin was the founder and CEO of Peerless One, a billion-dollar investment firm. He schmoozed with movers and shakers all over the planet, and Lauren’s elegant mother Nina fit right in. What with participating in charity functions, or hosting gala events at Marlin’s Long Island estate, or appearing on her husband’s elbow at Broadway shows or exclusive luncheons, Mom seldom had time for Lauren anymore. Except for this long weekend away that Marlin had facilitated.

      She and her mom would have an awesome time pampering themselves at the hotel spa, taking long walks on the beach, enjoying leisurely lunches, shopping at Union Square, exploring Ghirardelli Square and whatever else they felt like doing. No schedule. No expectations. Seriously, after having kept her nose to the grindstone for all these years to become a physician’s assistant, she craved a tiny taste of downtime. This trip was going to be okay. Everything was going to be all—

      An explosion like the father of all firecrackers sounded somewhere underneath the fuselage, and the plane heaved. If Lauren hadn’t been strapped in, her head would have hit the ceiling. The elder executive, who hadn’t been wearing his seat belt, was flung forward and landed on all fours with the top of his bushy gray head mashed against the side of her mother’s seat. He crouched there, quivering, while Mom squeaked like her windpipe was pinched.

      Lauren gazed around as cries of alarm united in an indistinct chorus of questions and exclamations. Thumps toward