“Mr. Thorlow?”

Grant raised his head from his paperwork and saw the face of a dead woman. Helen Fremont.

He dropped his pen, stiffened his back and stared.

It was her—exactly. Long blond hair, even features, crystalline blue eyes. Had they made a mistake? Had she managed to ski to safety?

The prickles, which had danced along the skin on his hands and neck, subsided. Not a ghost after all; this had to be Helen’s sister, whom he’d contacted in Toronto a little while ago and informed of the tragedy.

“We were identical twins,” Amalie Fremont said. “I take it you didn’t know. You didn’t like her very much, did you?” she added.

That was an understatement. He’d first met the woman shortly before Christmas, and found her flighty, brittle and insincere. He liked her even less now. Undoubtedly, her reckless skiing had caused the avalanche, and his best friend was dead because of her.

If only she’d never passed through their quiet mountain community. Her brand of trouble belonged in the big city as far as he was concerned. As for her twin sister, he was less sure. Amalie Fremont’s gaze held qualities of intelligence and reserve that he’d never glimpsed in Helen.

Plus there was that inexplicable buzz he’d felt from just shaking her hand….

Dear Reader,

I’ve often made the drive from Calgary to Vancouver through the Rocky Mountains. One year I was with my husband and two daughters, when we decided to stop at the information center at Rogers Pass. That was where I first saw the video Snow Wars, and decided that a man who worked at Avalanche Control would make a perfect hero for a romance novel.

Several years passed before I developed the plot to suit my hero and had my editor’s approval to go ahead with the book. Now I needed to drive back to Rogers Pass to flesh out the details for my story.

I have to be honest. Some books are just more fun to research than others. The men at Avalanche Control in Rogers Pass couldn’t have been more helpful. Together we worked through different scenes in my book, melding my storytelling ideas with the physical realities of the setting. They shared tales of successful rescues and of heartbreaking tragedies. Cheerfully, they endured all my questions, from “How long do the batteries in an avalanche transceiver last?” to “How many minutes can someone survive once buried by an avalanche?”

I hope that in this book I’ve done justice to their answers and their profession.

Readers, I’d love to hear from you. You can e-mail me at cjcarmichael@SuperAuthors.com. Or write to Suite #1754—246 Stewart Green S.W., Calgary, Alberta, T3H 3C8 Canada.

Sincerely,

C.J. Carmichael

A Sister Would Know
C.J. Carmichael

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my sisters, Kathy and Patti, with love

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to those real-life heroes in Rogers Pass for their generous assistance with my research: Dave Skjonsberg, manager, Avalanche Control; Jeff Goodrich and John Kelly, avalanche observers; Alan Polster, park warden, Glacier National Park.

Thanks, also, to Pat Dunn, at Parks Canada, who helped me gather much useful material.

Any factual errors are mine.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

PROLOGUE

HELENA FREMONT KNEW that her dilemma was at last resolved. Her obligations to Davin, her baby, had been taken out of her hands.

Panic choked a cry from her throat. She couldn’t move; she couldn’t see. Burning pain shot up from her left leg—broken—but this was the least of her problems.

Air. How much had been buried with her? How long would it last?

The avalanche had carried her too far, buried her too deep to hope for rescue. When the oxygen that had been submerged with her was gone, she would soon follow.

I’m sorry, baby. Please forgive me.

The noon sun had been shining through the light curtain of falling snowflakes an hour earlier when she and Ramsey had set out for their day of skiing. Now, in her coffin of packed powder, Helena held the picture of her infant boy in her mind. She saw him as he’d been in the minutes after his extraction from her womb, over eleven years ago. The last time she’d set eyes on him.

That labor, the birth, her experiences after…Even now, her final minutes ticking away, the memory was a horror. Better to go like this—a slow, but relatively painless death.

Better for her, perhaps…Guilt pressed in like the snow above her head. Fifteen minutes ago she’d laughed at the risk of an avalanche. Her companion, Ramsey Carter, had tried to steer her along the safe ridge that he’d mapped out in the small wooden shack where they’d spent the night.

But the virgin drifts on the sloping bowl had been too inviting. She’d dug in her poles and pointed her ski tips toward the inviting concave mountain basin. Around her the snow lay in thick scallops from the previous day’s storm. The whoosh and scratch of her skis against the ice crystals were the only sounds as she swooped down the 35° slope.

Except for Ramsey’s cry. “Helen!”

She’d laughed and tucked her body lower to the ground. Funny how many ways there were to outrun pain. She never would’ve guessed skiing on the edge of her control could be one of them. She almost felt she was flying. Then suddenly she really was in the air. She glanced down and couldn’t see her feet.

Something hit her from behind and she was falling, ski poles dangling wildly from the safety straps attached to her wrists.

Now the snow was no longer fluffy, but hard, concrete stuff that burned her skin and bruised her bones as she was sucked deeper within it. The skis, which had allowed her to skim the crystal surface just minutes before, were now anchors dragging her down. Her flailing arms became imprisoned in the mounting piles of snow, ensnared, too, by their attached poles.

When her free fall finally stopped, she was like a butterfly mounted on Styrofoam. Movement was impossible. How much snow settled above her? She had no idea. All she knew was that she was packed in and everything around her was dark and absolutely still.

In the isolating darkness, it was a shock to realize she could still hear the world above—tree limbs rubbing in the stiff breeze, the squawking from a couple of disturbed whiskey jacks. She tried to struggle, but her range of motion was limited to the wriggling of her fingers from hands spread out sideways to her body.

Too late she wished she had kept them in front of her face before she was buried. Snow pressed in on her eyes, against her nose and mouth, making it a struggle to gasp for air.

Had Ramsey seen the avalanche in time? Been able to ski to safety? She hoped he hadn’t followed her, wasn’t at this moment risking his life for hers.

Flashes of light played before her eyes. She knew the snow must be cold, but her body beneath the tight ski pants and Nordic sweater felt warm, the pain in her leg almost trifling. She listened for Ramsey’s voice above, but moments passed and she heard nothing.

She hoped he would be safe. It was only fair. He, after all, had a family to return to. While she did not.

She thought of Davin, her baby, her love. Poor baby. Regret pounded through her veins, along with her cooling blood. What was she doing here? She never should have left the first time. Nor the second…

Desperate for air, she opened her mouth and took in dry granules of snow, instead. Realizing her mistake, she tried to spit them out, but her face was packed in too tightly. Panic built, then exploded. From low in her chest she let out a scream that no one would hear.

The scream went on and on, until her lungs were burning and the ringing drove all other sound from her ears.

Inside her head, her scream had a name, and her mind conjured a face identical to the one she saw reflected in the mirror every morning. Her last conscious thought was a plea for help.

Amalie! I can’t breathe! Help me, Amalie!

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS JANUARY, and cold to be standing outside in the snow, but eleven-year-old Davin Fremont didn’t mind. He laughed as his aunt Amalie took a wild swing at the piñata strung up in his best friend’s backyard—and missed.

“Come on, guys,” his aunt pleaded, her eyes covered by a tightly knotted scarf. “Give me a clue. Right or left?”

“Left!” one of the kids at the party yelled.

“Right!” shot back Jeremy, the birthday boy.

Amalie stumbled in the snow, unaware that the papier-mâché sheriff hung precisely over her head. A gust of wind set it spinning and Davin yearned for the candies and trading cards he knew were stuffed into the hollow form.

“No clues,” he said, hoping he’d get another turn with the bat. “It isn’t fair.”

“Oh, sure. Fair. I didn’t hear any talk about fairness when you were up here, Davin.”

“Maybe we should give her another spin.” Jeremy’s mother was laughing almost as hard as Davin. When a couple of the boys started to run toward Amalie, she leaped forward to restrain them. “I was only kidding! She’s having a hard enough time as it is.”

“Just wait until it’s your turn, Jen,” Amalie threatened.

“No doubt you’ll have the piñata shattered before then.”

“Jenny, if I had any idea where you were standing, I just might be tempted…” His aunt raised the plastic baseball bat in her hands threateningly.

Davin saw Jeremy smirk and he laughed, too. It was fun the way his aunt and Mrs. Mitchell teased each other. They’d been friends a long time. Gone to university together, and now worked at the same hospital. Davin and Jeremy were going to do the same thing when they grew up.

“Come on, swing the bat!” urged one impatient party guest.

That was when Davin noticed his aunt wasn’t moving. It was like she’d frozen solid. A second later she moaned and collapsed to her knees.

“Aunty?” He glanced at Jeremy’s mom and dad. The concern on their faces made him scared. He ran for his aunt and threw both arms around her, as Jeremy’s dad whisked the scarf off her face.

Aunt Amalie didn’t seem to notice. She was bending over her stomach, her mouth open. “I ca-can’t breathe!”

Davin hugged tighter, more afraid than he’d ever been in his life. Was his aunt dying?

“Honey, give her some space.” He felt Mrs. Mitchell pry his arms away. His aunt was on the ground now, curled into a ball, her hands at her throat.

“Stand back, boys! Should I call 911?” Mr. Mitchell sounded tense.

“I’m not sure. It’s almost like an epileptic fit, but Amalie isn’t—” Crouched in the snow next to his aunt, Jennifer was holding Davin with one hand while she observed her friend. “She is breathing, though she seems to be having trouble drawing in air. Amalie, can you hear me? Is your chest hurting?”

“Yes. No. It’s my leg…” Suddenly, his aunt went still again. “I can’t move!”

What in the world was happening? Davin began to whimper; he was so scared….

He felt the cold bite of the winter wind as Jennifer withdrew her arm from his shoulder. As he watched, she reached for his now-motionless aunt. Gently she picked up her wrist with one hand, brushing snow from her face with the other.

“Amalie, it’s okay.”

His aunt blinked.

Davin rushed forward again, this time just taking her hand, the one Mrs. Mitchell wasn’t holding.

His aunt’s gaze shifted to him. She blinked, then gave a wobbly smile. “I guess I missed the piñata, huh?”

Relief was sweeter than the icing on Jeremy’s birthday cake. “You’re all right?”

“Of course I am, buddy.” But she looked shaky as Mrs. Mitchell helped her sit up from the snow.

“Amalie? What happened?”

“I’m not sure, Jen. It was really weird. But I’m okay. I promise.”

Jeremy glanced at Mr. Mitchell’s face. He seemed relieved. Mrs. Mitchell, too, was smiling. He scrambled to his feet and held out his hands to help his aunt stand. If all the adults thought this was okay, then it must be.

“I’m sorry to break up the party, Jen, but I think we’d better leave.”

Mrs. Mitchell gave her a hug. “Let Aaron drive you home.”

“Really, I’m fine.” Her smile was as bright as ever, and now that she was standing, she was steady and strong.

They were in the car, when Mrs. Mitchell suddenly remembered the treat bags and had Jeremy run to the house to get Davin’s.

“Thanks for inviting me to your party,” Davin said, accepting the bright blue-and-yellow bag through the open passenger window.

“Take care, now!” Everyone waved as his aunt pulled the car out onto the street.

It was cold in the car and quiet. Davin peered at the treat bag in his lap but didn’t feel like checking to see what was inside.

Instead, he checked his aunt. She looked normal, except her skin was kind of white and she was driving slower than usual.

At the next red light, she gave him a smile. “I’m okay. Really, Davin.”

“Then why—”

Her gloved hand reached for his shoulder. “Do you remember my telling you that when Helena is hurt I always know because I get the same feeling?”

Oh-oh. He should have figured this was all connected to Amalie’s twin. Everything bad in his life somehow tied in with her. The mother he wished he didn’t have.

Davin shut his mouth and didn’t ask any more questions.

AMALIE NOTICED Davin’s withdrawal, so common whenever the subject of Helena came up. When the traffic light turned green again, she took her hand from his shoulder and placed it back on the steering wheel.

She felt badly that she’d spoiled the end of the party for him. And just when they were having so much fun. But the urge to rush home was something she couldn’t ignore…maybe she’d find some word from Helena.

She and Davin lived in a rented duplex about six blocks from the Mitchells in Bloor West Village. The Toronto neighborhood was handy to the hospital Amalie worked at—she could take the subway with just one transfer. The neighborhood had once been run-down, but now it was considered trendy. Amalie appreciated the blend of new and old in the shops and cafés that lined both sides of Bloor street.

Since completing her training as a nutritionist, she had dreamed of one day buying the house she now rented. But real estate prices were sky-high for the two-story brick dwellings, with their tiny front porches and high-pitched roofs. It didn’t seem to matter that the buildings were small and packed tight together, many with original plumbing and wiring.

Location, location, location. They were close to the subway, to downtown Toronto, to the lake, to just about everything, it seemed.

Amalie rolled her Jetta behind the Dodge Omni that belonged to the neighbors who lived in the other half of her duplex, then turned to her nephew buckled into the front seat beside her.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, Davin.”

He hadn’t uttered a word since she’d made that reference to her sister. Amalie put her hand to Davin’s head and brushed back hair so fair it was practically white. His eyes shone like clear blue topaz, in the dwindling afternoon light. With coloring just like hers, and her sister’s, Davin had been an exceptionally beautiful child.

But that was changing. Just this year his features had begun to lose their little-boy roundness, taking on a definite masculine shape. He was growing up. Inside, however, he was still her little boy. Too young to understand the odd emotional connection that existed between her and her identical twin.

“Hungry?”

He shook his head.

“Well, how about a cup of hot cocoa, then?” Amalie turned off the ignition and got out of the car. As she removed the glove from her right hand so she could search for the house keys in her purse, she felt the bite of the northwesterly wind on her cheeks and her hand. It was almost February, and while the days had begun to lengthen, the recent interval of cold weather was a reminder that spring was still a good two months away.

Warm air and the lingering aroma from the cinnamon French toast she’d made for breakfast welcomed her as she opened the front door. Letting her nephew go ahead, Amalie stomped the snow from her boots, watching it scatter over the gray-painted boards of the porch floor.

Once inside she passed along the narrow hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. Immediately, she scanned the kitchen counter. Sure enough, the red light on the answering machine was flashing.

Davin had disappeared into the living room. She could hear a murmur from the television, and decided against calling him back to pick up the ski jacket and mitts he’d left lying on the floor.

Looking past tired, oak-veneer cupboards, dull yellowed linoleum and cracked and chipped countertops, Amalie reached for the playback button on the machine with a shaking hand.

You have one message.

She dropped to a kitchen chair and stared out the window. A weathered maple dominated the narrow strip of yard. To her the branches appeared weary after a valiant season of struggling against freezing temperatures, driving winds and snowfall after snowfall.

The machine clicked, and her mother’s recorded voice came out at her.

“Hello, Amalie. Just wondering why you hadn’t phoned yet this weekend. Your father and I are fine, although Dad’s back is aching after shoveling all that snow from last night’s storm. I hope you and Davin managed to go to church this morning. Give us a call when you get in.”

No word from Helena after all. Amalie’s disappointment fused with the guilt she felt about not going home this weekend as usual and shoveling that long driveway for her father.

She knew the guilt was irrational. Jeremy’s party had been important to Davin, and he deserved a little fun. Weekends with her parents in the small town north of Toronto ran a predictable pattern. Saturday, she did the odd chores they couldn’t seem to manage on their own. Sunday, all four of them went to church in the morning, then came home for a big midday meal. Afterward, she and Davin piled in the car for the two-and-a-half-hour drive home.

Only occasionally did she and Davin remain in Toronto for a weekend, but when they did, her mother created such a fuss it was hardly worth it. For instance, that reminder about church. Her mother knew Jeremy’s party had been scheduled for Sunday at eleven.

Her friend Jenny was always bugging her about taking too much responsibility for her parents. “You need to lighten up and have a little fun,” she urged over and over again.

But Jenny had two brothers and a sister, and her mom and dad weren’t the type to make demands on their children.

Amalie’s family was totally different. Her parents had immigrated from Germany when she and Helena were only seven, and they’d never fully integrated into their new country. As they got older, they relied on her more and more, and she felt she owed them whatever help she could offer.

Especially since she knew that she and Helena had both been such disappointments to them.

Amalie reached for the phone, then decided not to return her mother’s call at the moment, in order to keep the line open. With any luck she would hear from Helena soon, so she could stop worrying.

If only there were some way for her to contact her sister. But Helena’s occasional note or gift for Davin rarely included a return address. Her phone calls were even less frequent, and Amalie had learned not to ask where she lived or what her phone number was.

The two sisters hadn’t actually seen each other since Davin’s birth, and he was already eleven.

Yet Amalie had never needed to see her sister to know when she was in trouble.

“Oh, Helena, where are you?” Amalie laid her head down on the kitchen table, atop her folded arms. Being an identical twin was part blessing, part burden. To be so close to another human being meant never to be truly alone. But it also meant having to struggle for a separate identity.

For Helena, that struggle had been harder. Amalie was certain that was why she’d moved so far from home, so rarely kept in touch.

It was because of her, and the knowledge hurt. Firstborn, Amalie had always felt responsible for Helena. Yet no matter how she tried, in the end she’d always let her sister down.

Closing her eyes, she attempted to focus in on her subconscious communication with her sister. Amalie pressed her hands to her temples, tightened her jaw. Phone me, Helena!

But it wasn’t until the following evening that the call finally came. And it wasn’t from her sister.

AMALIE WAS LIFTING the lid from a pot of boiling water when she heard the first ring. The lid slipped from her fingers and fell back on the pot with a clash, sending bubbling water spraying over the element, where it hissed angrily.

She turned off the heat, then reached for the phone, praying it wouldn’t be another call from her mother.

“Hello?”

A throat cleared over the line before a man identified himself. “This is Grant Thorlow. I’m the manager of the Avalanche Control Section of Highway Services in Glacier National Park.”

The bombardment of words, none of them familiar, had her groping for pen and paper. First she scribbled down his name: Grant Thorlow. “Where did you say you were calling from?”

“Rogers Pass,” he said. “That’s in British Columbia.”

“Yes. Of course.” The treacherous Rocky Mountain corridor of the Trans-Canada Highway was a well-known Canadian landmark.

“I was wondering…” He paused, and she could hear him swallow. “Is there any chance you’re acquainted with a woman named Helen Fremont?”

This was it. She clung to the receiver, fear and hope making her heart pound. “Do you mean Helena?”

“I don’t think so. It says Helen here on her bank card.”

Amalie discounted the small difference. Helena had never been happy with the old-fashioned German names their parents had baptized them with. “What does she look like?”

The resulting pause was alarming, giving Amalie time to consider possibilities. There’d been an accident. Helena was in the hospital.

“Tall, blond, blue eyes,” he said finally. “In her late twenties.”

“That’s my sister. Is she okay?”

With any luck the injuries would be minor.

Grant’s response crushed her hopes. “No. I’m afraid she isn’t. We’ve been searching for next of kin for most of the day. Your sister didn’t carry a lot of identification on her. We found your phone number in her apartment, but there was no name”

“Never mind about that.” The man’s rambling was driving her crazy. She gripped her pen and tried to keep her voice level. “Please tell me what happened.”

“Well…” Again he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry ma’am, but we believe your sister was caught in the path of an avalanche yesterday afternoon. At this point, we’re presuming she’s dead.” Another pause, then he added, his voice a little rougher this time, “Both she and the man she was skiing with.”

Dead. Amalie’s hand went to her heart. Oh, she’d known, she’d known.

But wait one minute. “Presumed dead? Does that mean there’s some chance—”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am. We haven’t been able to retrieve the body, but there’s no doubt Helen Fremont was skiing on that mountain when the snow released. Her backpack and personal effects have been positively identified.”

“But…” Amalie remembered family vacations at Mount Tremblant, with Helena complaining about the cold, the discomfort of her downhill equipment, the long lineups to use the lifts.

“There has to be a mistake. My sister isn’t the type to go skiing in dangerous mountain terrain.” Still, this man had found her phone number….

Amalie dropped the pen and pressed her hand to her forehead. She was afraid she was going to burst into sobs. If only she could hold off a minute or two. While she had this man on the line, she didn’t want to break down.

“Are you sure it was Helena on that mountain, Mr.—” she glanced at the paper “—Thorlow.”

That throat-clearing business again, then he said, “Look, I realize this is a shock…”

“Yes, it is. But if you knew my sister…”

“I knew her.” His voice held a quiet certainty. “I knew her, ma’am, and I can assure you there’s been no mistake.”

Dear God, he sounded so positive and at the same time so callous, as if he didn’t want there to be any mistake. And the way he kept saying “ma’am” made her want to scream. This is my sister you’re talking about!

Amalie closed her eyes, desperately seeking that old connection that would tell her Helena was alive and not buried on some distant mountain.

She felt nothing, though.

The man was right. She’d known it herself. Helena was dead.

Hearing the horrible fact was one thing. Accepting it was another. Helena dying in an avalanche was just—preposterous. This Grant Thorlow didn’t seem to realize that. But this wasn’t something you settled over the phone.

“I’ll leave tomorrow, Mr. Thorlow.” She thought of rearranging her work schedule, Davin’s schooling. “Maybe Wednesday.”

“You’re not thinking of coming here!”

“Of course I am.” God, she’d have to travel across Ontario, through the prairies of Manitoba and Saskatchewan, then Alberta and the Rocky Mountains.

“We may not be able to recover the bodies for a while, ma’am. Conditions are—”

“You said you were calling from Rogers Pass—is there a town?”

“Golden to the east and Revelstoke to the west. Rogers Pass itself is midway between the two. There’s an information center and hotel on one side of the highway and our office compound on the other. That’s where I’m calling from.”

“Helena’s apartment—where is it?”

“Revelstoke,” he said. “But—”

“I’m coming,” she repeated firmly. “And I’ll be bringing my nephew—”

Oh, Davin. How would he take the news? He’d never been close to Helena, of course. How could he be—they heard from her so rarely. But she was his mother.

“Ma’am.” There was a new, hard edge to his voice. “I strongly recommend you stay home, ma’am. Roads are especially treacherous in these winter months. Besides, there’s little you can do.”

Amalie knew what he meant. If her sister was dead, nothing could change that. So why tackle an arduous cross-country trip?

But the alternative was staying in Toronto, never knowing exactly what had happened. She couldn’t live with that. “There may not be much I can do. But I’m coming anyway.”

A pause followed while he absorbed this. “Why don’t you give me a call in the morning, when you’ve had a chance—”

“I’ll call you when I get there. In about a week. And Mr. Thorlow?”

“Yeah?”

“When we meet, please don’t call me ma’am. My name is Amalie.”

CHAPTER TWO

“MR. THORLOW?”

Grant raised his head from his paperwork and saw the face of a dead woman. Helen Fremont.

He dropped his pen, stiffened his back and stared.

It was her—exactly. Long blond hair, even features, crystalline blue eyes. Had they made a mistake? Had she and Ramsey managed to ski out of that bowl and disappear together for over a week?

Then he saw the boy at her side. He had the same coloring as the woman, and his expression was openly curious, not particularly somber.

The nephew.

The prickles, which had danced along the skin on his face and neck, subsided. Not a ghost after all; this had to be Helen’s sister.

“We were identical twins,” she said. “I take it you didn’t know.”

Her voice was different from Helen’s, not as high-pitched; or maybe it was just that she spoke slower and more quietly. One thing that was the same, however, was the slight German accent.

“No. I didn’t know.” But he sure as hell wished he had. He stood and offered his hand. “I’m Grant Thorlow.”

“Yes.” Her hand and words were cool. “I’m Amalie Fremont and this is my nephew, Davin.”

He noticed the tiny emphasis she placed on her first name, and inwardly shrugged. He was aware he’d made a bad impression over the phone. But she’d been so damn unreasonable, insisting on traveling all this way, and for what?

He realized the kid was staring at him. “Hey, Davin.”

“This place is totally awesome.”

Amalie took a small step forward. “Davin is my sister’s son.”

Whoa. Helen Fremont had had a kid? He would never have guessed, had never heard anyone refer to a child.

“Officially, I’m his mother. I adopted him at birth.”

Which meant Helen had deserted him at birth. Now, that he had no difficulty believing.

“Well, I’m sorry about your mother, Davin—and your sister.” He looked back at Amalie, jolted yet again at the resemblance between the two women. And this time by the difference, as well. It was in the eyes, he decided. Helena’s had been the blue of a shallow pond. Amalie’s held the intensity of a deep mountain lake, glacier fed.

“We haven’t heard from Helena for a while. But last I knew she was living in Seattle. I can’t imagine what could have drawn her to this place.”

He took the insult to his home without a blink.

“And I certainly can’t picture her skiing in dangerous mountain terrain.” Amalie placed her hands on his desk, her blond hair swinging forward as she leaned in toward him. “Helena was a timid person, and she was never very athletic.”

Timid? Grant thought of the woman he’d seen several times in the local pub. Clearly tipsy, dressed provocatively and hanging on to the arm of first one man, then another. She’d danced with wild abandon and drawn most, if not all, eyes to the dance floor. If this Amalie wasn’t so exactly like her sister, Grant might have thought they were referring to different women. He took Helen’s wallet from his drawer and passed it over.

“This was your sister’s.”

Amalie blinked. “Where did you find it?”

“In an overnight camping hut on the Asulkan Ridge. She and Ramsey Carter skied in Saturday and spent the night there.”

He swallowed, remembering the shock of finding out that it was Helen Fremont on the mountain with Ramsey, then seeing the horrible swath the avalanche had cut down the side of the mountain and knowing his friend was buried beneath it.

As if she was sharing his memories, Amalie’s face, already pale, grew whiter. She reached across the desk to open the soft, light-brown leather packet that had belonged to her sister. Inside, he knew, was only a social insurance card, a bank card and five dollars cash.

“Oh, Helena.”

The whisper was laced with pain. Damn, but the woman looked ready to faint. Grant hurried around the desk to find her a chair. “Sit down. I’ll get you some water.”

He brought two small paper cups—one for the boy, as well. They both emptied them, while he watched, fascinated, almost freaked out by the resemblance between the two sisters.

When she was done, Amalie tossed hers in the trash. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I can tell you what we think happened. We went up to investigate when Ramsey didn’t return at the expected time—all overnight skiers have to register with the warden’s office. Unfortunately, we weren’t on the scene until about eighteen hours after the avalanche occurred.”

He led her to a topographical map pinned to the wall. “Here’s the Asulkan Hut, where they spent the night. Late Sunday morning we figure they traveled in this direction.” He traced a path south alongside Asulkan Brook.

“They were relatively safe up on this ridge, but for some reason they approached the lip of a steep mountain bowl we call the Pterodactyl. The slope, covered in fresh-fallen snow, would’ve tempted an inexperienced skier.”

He crossed his arms, thinking of Ramsey, who was a doctor, not an avalanche specialist, but who’d grown up in mountain country and was definitely not inexperienced. Which meant Helen was the one who’d made the mistake, compelling Ramsey to follow after her.

“We think Helen went first,” he said, “triggering a hard-slab avalanche with a path length of around 1,500 meters.”

“What do you mean, hard slab?” Davin’s eyes were round.

“When the snow releases on a mountain sometimes it scatters into powder as it cascades down the slope. Other times it breaks into big chunks like the ones we saw in the debris of this avalanche. There’s a lot of power behind the huge hunks of snow as they tear down those slopes. Enough power to uproot huge trees, that’s for sure.”

Amalie was getting paler by the second. She reached out to her nephew, as if an arm could shelter him from the awful reality. “But until you’ve found the bodies, we won’t know for sure….”

The woman obviously had no idea what they were dealing with. He tried to break it to her gently. “I’ve got a lot of experience with snow and mountains. Worked at Avalanche Control here at Rogers Pass for over ten years.” He leaned against the wall, folded his arms across his chest. “In my opinion, there’s no doubt your sister is dead.”

Along with Ramsey Carter. A good man who hadn’t deserved to die.

Amalie remained skeptical. “What if someone stole Helena’s wallet? Maybe she was never on that trail.”

“Then why didn’t she show up for work the next day?”

Amalie’s gaze circled the small office. “She could have moved on.”

“How would she have left? She sold her car shortly after she got here, before Christmas. We’d know if she took a bus or chartered a plane.”

“Stop!”

Amalie had her hand to her forehead, and he immediately saw what an ass he was being.

“I’m sorry. I realize it can’t be easy.” He stared past the visitors, reminding himself it wasn’t their fault Helen had been so careless, so foolish. These people were suffering, like him, like Ramsey’s family.

He tried to explain. “I just don’t want you to have false hopes.” What they couldn’t know was that he’d been through this so many times before.

“I understand.” Amalie Fremont’s voice sounded bleak. “But if you’d known my sister.”

She’d said that to him before, during their phone call. But he felt he had known her sister. At least, her type. He sat back at his desk and picked up his pen to sign the requisition forms in front of him.

Amalie returned to the chair, leaving Davin by the map. He sensed her presence as she leaned over his desk, and finally gave in and looked up. In a low voice she said, “You didn’t like Helena very much, did you?”

Now, there was an understatement. He’d first met the woman shortly before Christmas, and found her flighty, brittle and insincere, qualities he detested in anyone, whether male or female.

He liked her even less now. Undoubtedly, her reckless skiing had caused that avalanche. Ramsey Carter was dead because of her.

If only she’d never passed through their quiet mountain community. Her brand of trouble belonged in the big city as far as he was concerned and he was sure plenty of others would agree with him.

As far as the twin sister went, though, he wasn’t so sure. Amalie’s gaze held qualities of intelligence and reserve that he’d never glimpsed in Helen. Plus there was that inexplicable buzz he’d felt from just shaking her hand. Not once had he felt that sort of attraction to Helen.

“I can’t deny—”

“Is that why you won’t search for her body?” Amalie pressed her finger down inches from his pen, compelling his attention. As if she didn’t already have it.

“Listen, Amalie.” He’d remembered not to call her ma’am, but she didn’t appear too impressed.

“I am listening and it seems to me that if you really cared you would’ve done something about recovering her body days ago.”

He set down his pen. “My best friend was on that mountain with your sister. If I could have done anything to save them, believe me, I would have.”

“Your best friend? I’m sorry. I—I didn’t realize.” She closed her eyes, pressing her hands hard to her temples.

Something about the gesture got to him. He didn’t like weak people and Helen had been weak. But Amalie struck him as a strong person at a vulnerable point. He wondered if she had someone to comfort her back home in Toronto. She didn’t wear any rings.

Surprised by his newfound sympathy for this woman, along with his unexpected interest in her love life, Grant gave himself a mental kick in the butt. He knew where his thoughts—and his hormones—were leading him. Of all the times and of all the people…Was he trying to prove he could be as big a fool as Ramsey?

Davin came back to the desk. He’d been wandering out in the adjoining room, reading charts and examining photographs. “Wow. This place is wicked. Do you really use a howitzer to set off avalanches on purpose?”

Grant nodded. “That’s part of our program to control the snow on the mountains.”

“Awesome.”

“We have a video at the information center you ought to see if you’re interested—it’s called Snow Wars.”

Davin glanced at Amalie. “Can we?”

She smiled indulgently. “Of course. We’ll be here long enough.”

How long? Grant wanted to ask, but figured the question would be rude. Instead, he glanced at his watch. On a normal day he’d be heading home about now. He’d have a peaceful beer by the television, then a stroll down to the local pub for a steak sandwich or maybe over to Blaine’s restaurant for pizza.

“Where are you folks planning to stay?”

Amalie looked surprised by the question. “At Helena’s.”

Grant thought of the landlady he’d interviewed Monday afternoon. Heidi Eitelbach had made it clear what she’d thought of her former tenant. She wouldn’t be pleased about having the sister show up on her doorstep.

“Yeah, well, your sister rented a two-bedroom apartment not far from where I live, in Revelstoke. That’s a little ways farther down the highway from here. If you want to follow me in your car, I’ll introduce you to the landlady. We’ve still got your sister’s key. It was with the stuff we found at the cabin.”

He retrieved the sleeping bag and knapsack they’d brought back from the hut and tossed them to Amalie.

“Ready?” He pulled his own keys from his pocket, then shrugged into his jacket. As he led the pair through the narrow corridor, he noticed Ralph Carlson was back in his office.

“I think you should meet this guy,” he told Amalie. “He works for Parks Canada and is officially in charge of any rescue mission into the back-country.”

Introductions went quickly, and Ralph reiterated Grant’s own conclusion—that a recovery mission couldn’t be implemented at this time.

Out in the parking lot Amalie’s blue Jetta stood out in the line of four-by-four trucks. Grant was glad to see she had new-looking winter treads on her tires. Too many drivers underestimated road conditions on this stretch of the highway.

He waited as she unlocked the driver-side door. In the back seat he could see two rolled-up sleeping bags and pillows, a large cooler and stacks of books and papers.

“Is your trunk full, too?” he asked.

Amalie glanced over her shoulder to see what he’d been looking at. It didn’t take long for her to get his point. “Yes, it’s full. We’re planning to stay as long as it takes. I’ve taken a leave-of-absence from work.”

“What about his schooling?” He nodded at Davin, who was just sliding into the front passenger seat.

“I’ll home-school him while we’re here. Thanks for your concern.”

The sound of her slamming car door still rang in his ears by the time Grant reached his own truck. Obviously, he’d made a second impression even worse than the first. He supposed he hadn’t come across as very sympathetic. Or very welcoming, either.

Well, that was too bad. She wasn’t the only one grieving over someone. And hadn’t he warned her not to come in the first place?

THE TIRES of Amalie’s Jetta crunched in the snow, as she slowed and pulled over to the side of the street behind Grant Thorlow’s truck. They were just two blocks from the Columbia River, on Mackenzie Avenue. The three-story apartment block was a Bavarian-styled structure of stucco and stained wood, with balconies on every unit.

A nice enough place. But Helena was a city girl. And this town—while prettier than Amalie had expected—was no Toronto or Seattle.

And it was so cut off from the rest of the world. Those mountains! Amalie had never seen anything like them. She knew she ought to be impressed with their beauty, but instead she found them oppressive, frightening.

Just by Golden—the last town they’d passed before Rogers Pass—the mountains had felt like prison walls. The curves in the road had tightened, and the sheer rock face on her left had seemed close enough to touch from an open window.

The view to the right was worse—she hadn’t dared look at the valley below. The short concrete guardrail had seemed to offer woefully inadequate protection against a sheer drop into nothingness.

“Is this the place?” Davin asked.

“I guess so,” she said. Grant was already at the front entrance, pacing impatiently as he waited. Amalie turned to Davin. “How are you doing?”

“Sick of driving. Sick of this car.” Davin got out and slammed the door behind him.

Amalie followed more slowly. Her neck and shoulders were tight from hours of concentrating on the snow-covered, winding roads, and she had a dull ache in her lower back.

Ahead, Davin ran up to Grant, his young voice raised in yet another question. Whatever he said, it made Grant laugh.

Snow had begun to fall when they were leaving the Rogers Pass compound earlier; now it covered the road with a clean white film. Amalie could see clearly the footprints of the two people who had preceded her. The smaller, even-treaded prints were from Davin’s sneakers, while Grant’s rugged hiking boots had left behind large, deeply grooved tracks.

She couldn’t quite figure what to make of him, this Grant Thorlow. In his office, as on the phone, he’d been cool, broaching on rude. She didn’t know where he got off. Did the man not have a shred of compassion in him? His stiffly offered words of sympathy about her sister’s death had felt like an insult. Obviously, he wasn’t happy that she’d ignored his advice and driven here, either.

It was evident that he’d disliked Helena. He’d expected to dislike her, too. The message had been plain.

Well, she’d be happy to return the favor and dislike him back.

Except…It wasn’t fair that he was so ruggedly attractive. She never met men like him in the city. His features weren’t anything special; he wasn’t even well groomed. His hair looked as though he cut it himself, a button was missing on his faded blue shirt and his collar curled up from lack of a good ironing.

What did details like those matter, though, when a man was tall and well built, with browned, slightly ruddy skin and sharp blue-gray eyes. When Grant moved, he clearly had total command of himself, and when he spoke, his words might not be phrased tactfully, but they carried the ring of uncompromising truth.

No, in all honesty she couldn’t say she disliked the man, even though he manifestly had no use for her.

“I’ve buzzed the landlady,” Grant explained when she was almost beside him. “She should—”

He dropped the end of his sentence as a thin woman in her fifties, with sharp features and her hair up in curlers, pushed open the security door.

“Don’t just stand there, Thorlow. You’re letting in the cold.” She stood back, surprised when not one but three of them entered the warm vestibule. Her piercing gaze skimmed right past Grant and Davin to settle on Amalie.

“Ohhh!” She sucked in a breath and stared.

One corner of Grant’s mouth curled in amusement. “Identical twins.” He leaned against a bank of metal mailboxes. “Heidi Eitelbach, this is Amalie Fremont. And her nephew, Davin.”

Amalie stepped forward. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Eitelbach. My nephew and I were hoping to stay in Helena’s apartment while we—while we settle my sister’s affairs.”

“If you’re planning to settle her affairs, you can start right now.” Heidi Eitelbach stamped a small slippered foot on the linoleum flooring. “Your sister was three weeks late on her rent, and if you’ll be staying more than a few days, you’ll have to pay for the whole next month, as well.”

Amalie hadn’t counted on this. “How much?”

“Four hundred and fifty per month.”

Times two. She’d have to transfer funds from her savings. Oh, Lord, what was she doing? “Fine. I’ll write you a check now.”

The landlady appeared surprised. “I want you to know we’re real strict around here. No parties, no loud noise after ten.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

The woman wasn’t about to take her word. “Any sign of trouble and you’re out. And don’t think just because you have a kid—”

Was everyone in Revelstoke this callous? Amalie had to struggle to keep her tone civil. “There won’t be any parties, Mrs. Eitelbach. Even if I knew anyone in this town—which I don’t—my sister has just died. I’m hardly about to start celebrating.”

Grant intervened quickly. “Amalie has a key, Heidi. I’ll take her and the boy up, then come back with your check.”

“Don’t let her sweet-talk you out of it.” Heidi pointed a finger at Grant’s chest. Right about the spot where that button was missing.

“I won’t.” Grant opened the door to the stairwell. “Up one floor.”

Amalie followed Davin, with Grant behind them both. The landlady had been downright rude, and not a word of condolence about her sister’s death. Obviously, she shared at least some of Grant’s antipathy toward Helena.

A sudden urge to cry was almost overwhelming. Amalie faltered and grabbed at the railing.

“You okay?” Right away Grant was beside her, and she wondered how he could be concerned about her tripping on the stairs, when he didn’t seem to care a whit about her sister’s death.

He put a hand under her elbow as she regained her balance. Lord, he was big. His presence loomed like the mountains. Solid. Unyielding.

And very masculine.

“I’m fine.” She picked up her pace, despite the pounding of her heart, which had accelerated rather than abated during her brief pause.

At the top landing, Grant gave directions again. “First door on the right.”

Davin rushed in as soon as Amalie twisted the key. She let him go ahead, while she hesitated on the threshold with Grant.

“This is just a hunch, but I’m guessing Mrs. Eitelbach didn’t care much for my sister, either.”

Grant leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. His posture was relaxed, but Amalie felt that he was watching her keenly.

“She’s a sharp old bird,” he said, “but she didn’t mean any harm. She had a lot to put up with.”

Amalie pulled her checkbook out of her purse, then searched for her ballpoint pen. “I suppose you mean from Helena?”

His gaze unwavering, he didn’t say a word.

Quickly, Amalie wrote out the check for nine hundred dollars, unable to stop her hand from shaking as she added her signature. It was so much money. Her parents would really think she was crazy if they knew.

When she was done, she contemplated her companion. The hall light overhead cast long shadows across the lower portion of his face. She noticed a mark now, under his bottom lip, where he might have cut himself shaving that morning.

“Just what is it you have against my sister? What did she ever do to you?”

Grant stepped away from the wall. “It’s not so much what she did to me as what she did to my friend.”

“Oh?”

“The man she was skiing with?”

She tried to remember. “Ramsey—”

“Ramsey Carter.” The name came out short, clipped with anger. “My best friend. My married best friend.”

Amalie stared at him. “You can’t mean—”

“Your sister was having an affair with a married man. Now he’s dead, and his widow will have to raise their two children on her own.”

Grant took her check, holding it between his thumb and forefinger gingerly, as if it were something he’d rather not touch.

“That’s one of the things I have against your sister.”

CHAPTER THREE

HELENA’S APARTMENT WAS A SHOCK. Amalie stood with her back to the closed door—Grant Thorlow’s final words still echoing in her ears—and surveyed the scene.

“Kind of weird, isn’t it?” Davin said. He’d turned on the television and was manually searching the channels. “I mean, there’s nothing here. Not even a lamp.”

It was true; the only illumination came from a bare bulb in the center of the ceiling. An old sofa—the kind you might see discarded at the side of a curb—was against the long wall of the living room. Opposite was a small TV, sitting directly on the stained, tan carpet.

“I guess Helena didn’t have much money.” Or maybe she hadn’t planned on staying very long.

Amalie set down her purse, then followed the short hallway to the right. Here was the bathroom and two bedrooms. The first was empty; the second was obviously Helena’s. On the floor was an old mattress, the bedding scattered and wrinkled.

An old oak dresser stood in the corner, next to the open doors of a closet. Eager to find something, anything, that would connect this place with the fastidious sister she remembered, Amalie opened the drawers of the bureau, but here, too, all was a jumble.

Automatically, she started sorting and folding, only pausing when the lush wool of one sweater had her peeking at the label. Cashmere, sure enough, from a designer Amalie had seen advertised in fashion magazines.

Intrigued, Amalie checked over the rest of the clothing. Interspersed with regular, department store items, the kind she normally bought for herself, she found a couple more treasures—a beautiful hand-knit sweater, some silk lingerie.

In the closet, the same dichotomy was evident. Mixed in with a beautiful Anne Klein suit and butter-soft leather pants were no-brand jeans and cotton T-shirts.

Probably the less-expensive items had been purchased here in Revelstoke, but it was the high-end clothing that most puzzled Amalie. Presumably, money had once not been a problem for her sister—an hypothesis borne out by the contents of the carved wooden box that sat on top of the bureau. Once opened, it released a delicate scent of sandal-wood and light chimes played “My Favorite Things,” from The Sound of Music.

Amalie smiled, remembering the first time she’d watched the musical with her sister, on an outing to the theater with some friends. Their mother had been livid when she found out. Strictly speaking, dancing was forbidden by their church, and the sight of her daughters whirling and singing around the living room had prompted her to ground them for an extended period.

Their parents’ religious doctrines had been such a confining presence in their lives. Amalie knew that Helena in particular had resented it. She herself, however, still found them a comfort, although in her heart she took significantly more moderate views from those of her parents and their minister.

Inside the carved box were little velvet bags. Amalie selected one and pulled the silk cord gently. Out tumbled a gold ring with a sapphire as big as her thumbnail. Gasping, Amalie put it back in the bag, then checked another.

This time she found a short gold chain strung with diamonds. Where had Helena found the money for this jewelry? Or had they been gifts…?

Amalie shut the lid on the ornate box and was about to turn away, when she noticed a small indentation next to a carved rose at the bottom of the case. She picked the box up and worked the nail of her index finger into the hollow. A small drawer sprang out from the bottom. Inside was a pouch of dried grass and several sheets of thin white paper.

Amalie didn’t have to smell the one rolled cigarette to know what she’d found.

She pulled the drawer out from the case and carried it to the bathroom. One flush, and the marijuana was gone. The papers she threw in the trash.

Amalie returned to the bedroom, pushed the drawer back into the box, then shoved the whole thing underneath a pile of Helena’s lingerie.

As far as she knew, Helena had never used drugs when she’d lived on her own in Toronto. And certainly not when she was still at home with their parents. Alcohol and tobacco had been major taboos. Drugs were unthinkable.

So when had Helena changed, and why hadn’t Amalie sensed the changes from the occasional letters and phone calls that had tenuously linked them over the years?

Amalie closed the bedroom door behind her and went to check on Davin, who remained transfixed in front of the television.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He nodded, his eyes not leaving the screen.

An open doorway to the left gave access to a small galley kitchen. She was relieved to see the counters and stovetop were clean. Beside the fridge, though, stacks of empty beer and wine bottles brought back Mrs. Eitelbach’s admonishment: “No parties. No loud music.”

After toeing a case of Kootenay Mountain Ale out of the way first, Amalie opened the fridge, then checked the cupboards. Not much to choose from, except boxes of macaroni and cheese.

Amalie smiled. She’d forgotten how Helena had loved these. Just like Davin.

She pulled out a package, then put water on to boil. There was milk in the fridge, but it had gone bad. She would have to mix the dried cheese sauce with water and a little margarine. First thing tomorrow she’d go shopping.

Amalie set the table, picturing yet more dollars flying out from her savings account. This trip was going to cost her much more than she’d expected, putting her goal of owning a house even further into the future.

And yet she couldn’t regret having come. Despite all the disturbing reports she was getting about her sister. Or maybe because of them.

THE NEXT DAY Amalie cleaned the apartment and stocked the cupboards and refrigerator with enough food to last a couple of weeks. She stopped at the local hardware store to pick up a few items, including a foam mattress for Davin’s sleeping bag.

A phone call to her parents, after dinner, confirmed their opinion about this trip.

“You’re wasting your time and money,” her father said, on the upstairs extension.

“And what about your job and Davin’s education?” her mother asked.

“I’ve taken a leave of absence from the hospital and I talked with Davin’s teacher before we left. I’m going to make sure he keeps up with the curriculum.” The sound of shattering glass had her twisting toward the kitchen counter. Davin had been drying the dishes and a bowl had slipped from his fingers to the floor.

She covered the mouthpiece. “That’s okay, hon. I’ll clean it up later. Why don’t you go in the living room. It’s almost time for your program.”

Back on the phone, her parents were wondering how long they’d hold her job at the hospital with the way she was behaving.

“Frankly, I don’t even care right now. You have no idea how Helena was living here, Mom. She had barely anything in her apartment.” Except drugs and beer.

It still didn’t make sense to Amalie. At twenty-nine, she’d assumed her sister had been making something of her life. Although she’d never given specifics, Helena’s letters had hinted at jobs, friends, a normal existence.

“Look, Mom, Dad, I’ve got to go. Davin needs my help. I’ll call back in a few days and tell you what’s happening.”

She hung up from the duty call with relief, then went to the cupboard for the broom and dustpan. Just as she was dumping the smashed glass into the garbage, the phone rang.

No doubt her parents. What had they forgotten to warn her about?

But it was Grant Thorlow on the line. Immediately, she was on her guard. The man’s brusque manner had definitely wounded yesterday. And yet, she couldn’t say she was sorry to hear his voice again.

“I was wondering if Davin would like a tour of the Avalanche Control Center tomorrow. He seemed pretty interested in our program the other day. Plus there’s that video I was telling you about…”

Snow Wars, she remembered, impressed by the offer but slightly suspicious, as well. Why was he suddenly being so nice? “That’s very kind of you.”

“Yeah, well…” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to be rude yesterday. Especially in front of the kid.”

Amalie’s opinion of the man went up a notch at his apology. She liked people who had soft spots for children. “I guess you were pretty plainspoken, but I came here wanting the truth about Helena.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then his voice, a little more tentative this time. “Are you sure about that? Maybe you and the boy are better off not knowing….”

Amalie felt a buzz of anxiety. “Not knowing what?”

“Nothing. It’s just that you two seem like nice people.”

“And so was Helena.” Amalie turned to face the wall, lowering her voice so Davin couldn’t hear her above the sound of the television in the next room.

“She may have made some bad choices in her life, but basically Helena was a good person.”

“A good person?” Grant’s incredulity was clear, even over the phone. “Look, she was your sister, and you can believe what you want. But if it wasn’t for her, Ramsey Carter would still be alive today. Denise Carter would still have a husband. Her kids would have a father.”

There was something so inherently unfair about Grant’s judgment. Amalie twisted the telephone cord and fought for self-control. “It works both ways. Nobody forced Ramsey Carter to go up that mountain with Helena. Did it ever occur to you that the ski trip could have been Ramsey’s idea? That it might be his fault that Helena died?”

“THERE ARE OVER 130 avalanche slidepaths that intersect with the Trans-Canada Highway along the Rogers Pass route through the Selkirk Mountains,” Grant told Davin later the next day, after Amalie and Davin had sat through the Snow Wars video in the information center theater.

He was still a little angry with himself. Even though he’d claimed to have arranged this outing for Davin’s sake—he knew the truth. He’d wanted to see Amalie again.

“Maybe some parts of the world aren’t meant to be lived in,” she said now, studying a picture of the 105 mm howitzer used to trigger avalanches in designated situations.

“The trains need to travel through the mountains somehow,” Grant said quietly. “So do motorists. This corridor was the best available.”

“But it’s so dangerous.” Despite her thick wool sweater, Amalie looked chilled. She hugged her arms around her body, her gaze caught by the view from the glass entranceway. She didn’t seem to appreciate the scenery.

“Yes, it’s dangerous,” Grant agreed. “In an average year we have about 1,500 slides along this highway. Can you imagine how many are happening out in the wilderness?”

Davin whistled. “But you control the avalanches, don’t you, Mr. Thorlow? With the howitzer.”

“That’s my job, but avalanche control is hardly an exact science.” Grant shoved his hands into his dark-blue nylon pants. Amalie had moved on to another exhibit.

Don’t stare, man! This is one woman who’s definitely off-limits.

“We monitor air temperature, wind speed and direction, precipitation and relative humidity,” he continued. “Then we perform field tests to check the layers in the snowpack. But people who think they can predict the timing and size of an avalanche with certainty are just kidding themselves. Even the avalanches we trigger intentionally sometimes surprise the heck out of us.”

“Why are there so many avalanches on this part of the highway?” Davin asked, his attention on a large model of the mountain pass that dominated the main room of the information center.

“Steep slopes, lots of snow.” Grant shrugged. “Those are the basic ingredients.”

Amalie was now walking around the three-dimensional replica of the mountain pass. She was about to ask him a question, when he noticed someone at the main doors.

Denise Carter stood there, her brown hair tied back in a ponytail and cheeks pink from the cold. She spotted him right away and he stepped forward to engulf her in a hug.

“Denise. How are you? How are the kids?”

She shook her head at the first question, only answering the second. “The kids are coping…Mom and Dad are with them.” She leaned into his chest, crumbling like powered snow in a harmless sluff.

And then she noticed Amalie.

“Helen?” First shock, then hatred transformed her features and stiffened her body.

“No. I’m her twin sister. Amalie Fremont.”

“You didn’t tell me Helen had a sister. That she would be coming…That she looked so much like…” Denise glared at Grant as if he’d betrayed her in some way.

“Amalie lives in Toronto. I didn’t expect her to travel all this way.” Grant began explanations, then halted. “I’m sorry, Denise. I should have prepared you. I was shocked, too, the first time I saw her.”

Amalie had her hands to her face, as if trying to conceal the features that reminded them all of a different woman.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” Denise made a move toward Amalie, whipping off her mitten to point her finger.

“Denise.” Grant took hold of her arm. “There’s someone else you should know about. A child. His name is Davin.”

At the sound of his name, Davin glanced up from the model. “Hi there,” he said uncertainly, eyeing the peculiar expression on this new stranger’s face.

Denise looked back at Amalie. “Your son?”

“I adopted him and raised him from birth,” she answered. “But he’s really…he’s really Helena’s child.”

“Helen had a child?” She whipped around to Grant. “Did you know this?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Denise. Come on, let me take you home. Or maybe you’d like to go have a cup of coffee. We can—”

Denise shook off his hand. Spinning back to Amalie, she pointed her finger once again.

“Ramsey was a good husband until he met your sister!”

In a flash, anger became despair. Denise began to sob. Grant pulled her against his body, but his gaze stayed on Amalie.

YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE COME. Amalie read the message in Grant’s face as clearly as if he’d spoken the words.

Helena was a person, too! she wanted to cry back at both him and Denise. Her sister deserved to be mourned, deserved to be missed, deserved to be cared about.

Remembering Davin, Amalie reached for the boy and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. He was staring at the crying woman, watching as Grant urged her out the door and into his truck.

“Why does everyone hate Helena so much?” he asked finally. “Was she a bad person?”

Resentment tightened Amalie’s chest as she turned her back to the door, to the people who had just left. True, Denise was in pain, but she was a mother, too. How could she have said such things in front of Davin?

“They just didn’t know her, Davin. That’s all.” She gave him a hug and made a second, silent deduction.

And neither did I.

CHAPTER FOUR

“YOU KNOW RAMSEY was in the middle of renovating our basement, don’t you?” Denise asked.

She’d stopped crying at last. Now she was sitting in Grant’s living room, holding the cup of tea he’d made her out of desperation. He hadn’t known where else to take her. She hadn’t wanted to go home, couldn’t face a restaurant. So he’d brought her here.

Grant was prepared for a lot of emergencies. He’d led many a search-and-rescue operation, could provide basic first aid better than many doctors and had even survived a couple of unexpected encounters with grizzly bears.

But what to do with a crying woman? That wasn’t one of his fortes.

Now he sat on the very edge of his reclining chair and thought about the question Denise asked. Of course he’d known Ramsey was finishing the basement of the house he shared with Denise and their two children, Colin and Chrissy. He’d helped Ramsey haul in a load of drywall two weekends ago.

“What am I going to do, Grant? I’ve got a half-finished basement I can’t afford to hire someone to complete, mortgage payments due every month and two children who adored their father and can’t understand why he was out skiing with a woman when he told us he was going to be working on a special assignment.”

The pain in Denise’s eyes was too naked to look at. Grant cleared his throat and glanced instead at the cup in his hand. He thought about the issues she’d raised, and picked the easiest to deal with.

“Don’t worry about money. There’ll be insurance.” Ramsey was the type to have arranged provisions for his family. Which only made his death that much more of a puzzle. What was he doing out on that mountain with Helen Fremont? Had the man totally lost his mind?

To Grant, it was incomprehensible. Especially considering the flak Ramsey had always given him about getting a wife, having some kids. Apparently, family life wasn’t as idyllic as Ramsey had made it out to be.

“I can’t believe he took her there, to the Asulkan Hut.” Denise’s mouth twisted bitterly. “That’s where we went the day he asked me to marry him. It was his special place, our special place. Whenever he had an important decision…”

She choked back a sob, took a stabilizing breath. “Did you know, Grant? That he was seeing that woman?”

He was relieved that he could honestly shake his head no. “I didn’t have a clue.”

No one had been more surprised than him to find out Helen Fremont had accompanied Ramsey to that mountain retreat. The two of them had obviously spent Saturday night together. And the ramifications were now tearing Denise apart.

Grant, too, felt betrayed. Ramsay had lied to him, as well as to Denise, concealing a relationship that went against every principle the young doctor had presumably believed in.

“Who’s going to take Colin to his hockey games now?” Denise asked, more tears pooling in her eyes. “My car needs an oil change—Ramsey was supposed to do that last weekend….”

Grant’s impulse was to tell her he would do all these chores. He’d finish the basement; he’d drive Colin to his games; he’d service the cars and do whatever else had to be done. After all, he’d been Ramsey’s closest friend. Ramsey would expect him to help his family. And Grant would be happy to do so.

But something told him Denise was looking for more than a handyman to help pick up the pieces. She needed emotional support, a confidant. He wasn’t so sure he could fit that role. Watching her cry now was so hard. He just didn’t know what to say.

“Is your tea sweet enough? Can I get you anything to eat?” In the freezer he had some miniature pizzas he could heat in the microwave.

“The tea is fine. I’m not hungry.” Denise leaned closer toward him, setting her cup down on the plank table between them.

“You’ve been such a good friend, Grant. I really appreciate having your shoulder to cry on. I can’t talk to the kids, obviously, and my parents are too old for me to burden with my heartache. I told them Ramsey was skiing with someone from work. Fortunately, they haven’t heard any of the gossip that must be circulating around town.”

While Grant had cautioned the initial rescue party to keep details of the situation private, he had to agree that there would be talk anyway. It was unavoidable in a town the size of Revelstoke.

“Seeing her sister this afternoon at the center—for a moment I thought it was Helen. That she’d somehow survived.”

“I know. I had the same reaction when she came into the office yesterday.” The resemblance was uncanny. And yet, already he’d stopped seeing Helen when he looked at Amalie. There was a difference, in the way she carried herself, the way she spoke….

Much as he’d been predisposed to dislike the woman, it was impossible. She had a certain dignity that made him feel guilty whenever he said something particularly harsh about her sister. Still, she claimed she wanted the truth about Helen, so he wasn’t about to sugarcoat the facts.

“You’ve told her it’s too dangerous to recover the b-bodies?”

“I have.”

“Then she’ll be leaving soon?”

The look in Denise’s eyes was almost pleading. Grant wished he could reassure her. “I can’t say. My impression is she plans to stay until we can go in there.”

“But that could be weeks, even months!”

Grant shrugged. He realized that. But what could he do?

Denise’s gaze slid off to the side, her mouth set in a bitter line.

“I’m sorry for all you’re going through, Denise. You and the kids meant the world to Ramsey. I know you did. Helen…” Grant cast his eyes about the room, searching for words that never came easily in the best of circumstances.

“She was nothing, compared with you and the kids,” he said finally. “Ramsey would have straightened out. I’m sure he would’ve.”

“For me right now, that’s the hardest part. Not knowing if Ramsey really did love me. How am I supposed to mourn a man who was cheating on me, Grant? Can you tell me that?”

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t tell her that.

Denise was crying again, behind cover of her hands. Feeling awkward, Grant moved closer and stroked her shoulder. Before he knew it, her face was tucked against his chest, her arms were clutching him desperately. The sobs came out so harshly now he was afraid she might get sick.

“Shh, shh…” God, he felt so helpless.

“You would never do something like that to a woman, would you, Grant?”

Denise’s breath was hot and moist against his ear, and Grant felt a sweat of his own break out on his brow.

“I could change your oil for you, Denise. I have time right now, if you like.”

She stilled in his arms. After about a minute, she lifted her head and examined his face.

He felt too embarrassed to meet her eyes. “And why don’t I come round and case out your basement. There’s probably not as much work left as you think.”

Denise brushed the hair at the side of his head with her hand. “You’re a very good-looking man, Grant. I’ve always thought that about you.”

“Thanks. So are you. A beautiful woman, I mean.” It seemed like the right thing to say, although Grant had never viewed Denise in that way and really had no opinion on the matter. She was the wife of a good friend. That had been enough.

“Why don’t I get you home now, before your parents start to worry.” Then he remembered her vehicle was still at the information center. “I’ll get one of the guys to help me bring your Jeep back after I change the oil.”

Somehow, he’d eased them both into a standing position. Now he bent to retrieve the cups from the table and carried them to the dishwasher. When he came back, she had her coat on and was picking up her purse.

That was good. He started to whistle, then stopped when his lips were too stiff to cooperate. Swallowing quickly, he pulled his truck keys out of his coat pocket and then opened the door for her. On the way out, she managed a weak smile.

He felt an instant tug of sympathy. For all she had lost, for all she had left to face. And his anger toward Helen Fremont flared higher. They would have all been so much better off if she’d never moved to town.

And he’d never met her sister, Amalie. From the moment he’d found out she intended to come to Rogers Pass, Grant had expected Amalie to be a thorn in his side. Pressuring him to mount a recovery mission before the mountain had stabilized; reminding him, by her very presence, of the woman who’d caused all this trouble in the first place.

Instead, he found himself sympathizing for her position. And undeniably attracted. Reactions he couldn’t justify to himself, let alone Denise. He knew his loyalties had to lie with the people of this town. Yet he also knew that before too long, he would find another excuse to see her again.

“I DO FEEL BAD for Denise,” Amalie said. She dropped her spoon in the mug of hot chocolate and looked cautiously at Grant, who was sitting in the opposite kitchen chair.

He’d dropped in late, after Davin was already in bed. Ostensibly here to apologize for Denise Carter’s behavior at the information center yesterday, he’d done nothing but justify it.

“I know you don’t agree,” Amalie continued, “but it isn’t fair for everyone to place all the blame on Helena. After all—” she lifted her spoon to emphasize the point “—he was the married one.”

Grant didn’t appear convinced. “He was such a steady guy. A real family man. He wouldn’t have strayed unless he was sorely tempted.”

“Davin was devastated. Denise said some pretty ugly things.” That was the part she just couldn’t forgive. She understood the other woman’s anger. But in front of a child…

“There may be other ugly scenes to come. You know, you could always leave and he wouldn’t have to face them.”

Amalie was reminded of what Grant had said to her the other night in the hallway. How Helena’s affair with Ramsey had been one of the reasons he hadn’t liked her.

“Are you warning me off?”

“Not exactly,” he said. Then changed his mind. “Hell, yes. I’m warning you off. As I tried to explain on the phone, there’s nothing you can do here. Your sister’s dead and that’s not going to change…whether we pull out the bodies tomorrow, next week or after spring thaw!”

“Spring thaw?” Amalie thought of her financial situation and shuddered. “Could it really take that long?”

“It might.” He slanted her an appraising look. “Are you prepared to wait it out? And what about Davin? Besides missing school, he’s going to have to face what the townspeople will say about your sister. And I’m warning you, a lot of it won’t be pretty.”

Amalie refused to listen. Grant was biased against Helena. Absentmindedly, she stirred the cocoa again, melancholy slowing her motions. She and her sister hadn’t been close in years, but it was so hard to think that she was gone now. Forever.

“Well, I can see I won’t change your mind.” Grant sounded disappointed.

“That’s what you really came here for, isn’t it?” Not to apologize but to ask her to leave. And she’d thought he’d been worried about her and Davin. Which had been foolish of her. His allegiance would remain with the people from this town. People like Denise Carter.

“Your leaving would help smooth things over.”

For Denise, it would. And maybe, in the short term, for her and Davin, too. But in the long run, the questions would surely drive them crazy. They’d never know how Helena had ended up in Rogers Pass, why she appeared to have been hooked on drugs and alcohol, how she’d come to the point where she’d been having an affair with a married man. There had to be explanations for these things; people didn’t just change for no reason.

“I owe it to Davin to find out the truth about his mother. About her life, as well as her death.”

“Why? He seems more interested in my work than in what happened to Helen. He didn’t even know her, right?”

Amalie bristled under the implied criticism. “They corresponded. Occasionally,” she had to confess.

“Corresponded?” Grant’s eyebrows rose in dark, arched lines. “Did she ever visit him?”

No, she never had. Not once in eleven years. It wasn’t something Amalie herself understood, but then, they’d never gone searching for Helena, either.

“Grant, she was his mother and my sister. We can’t just shrug and return to Toronto as if she never mattered.”

He understood. She saw the flash of sympathy in his eyes in the second before he turned away from her. In that instant she realized he wasn’t cold and unfeeling but a man torn by conflicting loyalties. Which made it easier for her to disregard his next statement.

“It isn’t going to be pleasant for you. You’re not going to like some of the things you find out.”

Amalie didn’t see how the situation could get much worse. “We’ll deal with that if it happens.”

Grant’s gaze was suddenly personal. “You’re very determined. Stubborn.”

There was grudging respect behind his assessment. And even a gleam of admiration in his eyes. She was unexpectedly driven to explain herself.

“I feel that I owe Helena. I’ve always had it easy. She’s the one who was dealt all the tough breaks.”

“What do you mean?”

“Growing up with my parents…they’re good people, but they were rigid in their expectations.” Partly due to their religion and partly because they’d never lost the fear that this new, free country might somehow corrupt their daughters.

“Oh?”

“Nothing Helena ever did could please my mother. While I—” she shrugged disparagingly “—I could seem to do no wrong. It wasn’t fair and it only got worse when Helena announced she was pregnant.”

“With Davin?”

She nodded. “My parents were furious. To them, pregnancy outside of marriage was a woman’s ultimate disgrace. Unforgivable. Besides being ostracized, Helena also had to cope with severe medical problems. Believe me, she suffered terribly.”

“She deserted her son once he was born.”

His stark judgment proved he didn’t understand. Amalie wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t realize that when their mother had told Helena she wasn’t capable of raising a child on her own, Helena had believed her.

Grant rubbed his face. He looked beat. Amalie remembered him telling Davin his day started at 4:30 in the morning. It was close to ten at night now. “It’s late. You must be exhausted.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, but the physical evidence was to the contrary. As he fought back another yawn, she took their empty mugs to the sink.

He watched for a moment, then eventually he rose, too, looming large in Helena’s tiny kitchen. She dropped the dishrag, aware of his broad shoulders, barrel chest and powerful arms. Solid muscle, all of him. No wonder Denise had fallen against him for support. He was definitely up for it.

“You’re right. I’d better go.” His voice rasped in the quiet of the apartment.

Amalie turned, caught his gaze, and was surprised at what she saw in his eyes. Something tender she hadn’t noticed before. And intense. Almost as if…

But no, he couldn’t be attracted to her. True, they’d exchanged a few unsettling looks this evening. But they hadn’t meant anything….

“Amalie?” He took a step forward, not breaking eye contact.

She had to fight not to hold out her hands to him. When his gaze dropped to her mouth, she guessed he was wondering what it would be like to kiss her.

She turned away, knowing she was being foolish, that she had to be imagining his interest in her. He didn’t even like her—well, maybe he’d softened a little since their first meeting, but that hardly constituted—

“Are you serious about delving into your sister’s life?”

The question startled her, but her answer came quickly. “Yes, I am.”

“Tomorrow’s Friday. I could take you to the bar where she used to work. You could talk to some of the people there.”

“Helena worked in a bar?”

“Yeah. The Rock Slide Saloon.”

The name made her smile. “Yes, I’d like to go check it out.”

He moved a few inches closer. Maybe she hadn’t imagined that spark between them. For a moment it seemed he truly would kiss her. This time she resolved she wasn’t going to back away at the last minute.

But he surprised her by speaking, instead.

“I still think you should return to Toronto.”

The warning was mitigated by a new warmth in his smile.

“And I say I’m staying.”

“Then it’s a date? Tomorrow at the Rock Slide Saloon?”

“Yes.” A date with Grant Thorlow. She never would’ve guessed the evening would end like this.

DAVIN LISTENED TO THE SOUND of the door closing, then the scrape of metal as his aunt turned the dead bolt.

He rolled over in his sleeping bag, careful to stay on the foam pad underneath him.

So Grant was gone. Too bad he’d come so late. Davin had gotten up once for a drink of water, hoping his aunt would invite him to stay and visit, but they’d both been quiet until he went back to his room.

What had they talked about? He hadn’t heard their words, only the murmur of their voices.

But it was probably Helena. Everyone seemed to want to talk about her around here. And no one had much good to say.

Aunt Amalie kept telling him it was because folks didn’t know her. But Davin was beginning to think maybe everyone here did know Helena. It was his aunt who was wrong.

Helena had been a bad person. That’s what Grant thought. And so did the woman who’d been crying at the information center yesterday.

Davin agreed. Leaving your kid to be raised by your sister wasn’t normal. He’d figured that much out in kindergarten.

Sometimes he wished Aunt Amalie had never told him about Helena. He wished she’d just pretended he was hers, and they could be like a regular family and he could call her Mom, which was what she was, after all.

More than Helena, that was for sure. A mother wasn’t someone who wrote a letter or sent a present sometimes, only when she felt like it. And always something the wrong size or a toy he wasn’t interested in.

Some nights he made up stories to get himself to sleep. He imagined his aunt coming into his room and explaining that it was all a mistake. She really was his mother, and that woman who wrote the letters and stuff was his aunt.

Only it wasn’t that way.

Helena was his mother and now she was dead, and he didn’t even care.

Davin stared up at the ceiling, remembering his aunt calling him to their kitchen in Toronto to tell him about the avalanche, to explain that they had to drive to Rogers Pass.

At first he’d been excited. They were going on a trip, and he was going to miss school. It had seemed like an adventure, setting out to find where his mother had lived and what she’d been like.

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