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She stared at the fat, furry animal, about the size of a small dog. “You sent us into a skid to point out a marmot?”
“Aww, that wasn’t much of a skid. Did you bring a camera with you?”
“Why? Do you want your picture taken with the marmot?”
“That’s not a bad idea,” he laughed, “but there’s probably better scenery around than that.”
He grinned, flashing white teeth. In the sun, gold flecks sparkled in his eyes, and a two-day growth of beard gave him the ruggedly handsome look Hollywood stars worked hard to cultivate. Her girlfriends would no doubt agree with her that he qualified as better scenery.
“I didn’t bring a camera,” she said. “The magazine will be sending a photographer later.”
He started the Jeep forward again. They were above tree line now, and the air was considerably cooler. Sierra retrieved her jacket from the backseat and put it on. She decided to avoid looking to the side or down and focus on staring straight ahead. She normally wasn’t afraid of heights, but the sheer drop at her side was unnerving.
A carved wooden sign declared their arrival at the top of the pass. Paul parked the Jeep over to the side and they climbed out. “Check out this view,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “Isn’t it incredible?”
The mountains rose around them, their snowcapped peaks startlingly white against a turquoise-blue sky. Brilliant sun illuminated a kaleidoscope of red rock, golden aspen, dark green fir and rich brown earth. The colors were almost too vivid, the sun too bright. She felt lost in such vastness, like Alice plunged down the rabbit hole—she was in a world where she didn’t quite fit, yet fascinated by her surroundings.
“That tallest peak—the one that comes to a sharp point—is Mount Sneffels,” Paul said. “You’ll see it in ads and on postcards all over the place around here. The wide peak next to it is Wilson Peak. The sort of rounded one is Teakettle Mountain, and that one over there is Gilpin Peak.”
“Have you climbed any of them?” she asked.
“I’ve climbed them all. Most of them aren’t technical. You could climb them.”
“Ha! Not me. If I want to be on top of something tall, I’ll ride the elevator to the top of the Empire State Building.”
“I know you went hiking with your dad, but did you ever climb with him? I mean, other than that training climb he carried you up when you were a baby.”
“I told you, I don’t remember that one. And no, I never climbed with him.” She stooped and picked up a handful of gravel and began tossing pellets out into the bottomless valley below.
“I figured he would have had you out there with him as soon as you could carry a pack.”
“I guess by the time I was old enough, he’d changed his mind.” She ignored the ache in her chest. If her father had ever asked her to climb with him, she had no memory of it—she remembered only her longing to be with him, and his silence on the subject. “My mother wouldn’t have let me go with him, anyway,” she said. “It was dangerous enough for a man, let alone a child.”
“These mountains aren’t dangerous. Schoolkids around here climb them all the time.”
“Next you’ll tell me they all know how to kill and skin an elk before their tenth birthday.”
“Hey, I’m telling you the truth. Just a few days ago the paper ran pictures of a bunch of fifth-graders on top of Matterhorn Peak. That’s that one right there, to the left of Wilson.”
She still couldn’t tell if he was putting her on or not. If he thought he could tease her, maybe it was time she turned the tables a little. “Is your secret swimming hole anywhere near here?” she asked.
To her amusement, the tips of his ears reddened. “Who told you about that?”
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