TY RODE IN THE BACKSEAT SO HE COULD KEEP A FIRM HOLD ON P.D., positioned on the floorboard between his knees. Pedro invited Theo to ride with him because the front bucket seats in his jeep had more padding than the rental’s.
The road wound through the trees beyond Dr. Calloway’s for a quarter of a mile, then it made a sharp right turn and immediately began to climb. And to deteriorate. In less than half a mile, Gabriella had to shift into fourwheel drive to claw her way up what had become a narrow pothole-strewn, boulder-blocked trail.
Pedro had explained that the serpentine trail climbed the mountain by traversing it, back and forth, higher and higher, each level of trail tied to the next by a hairpin switchback. Gabriella had just slammed down into a pothole the size of a washtub and then bounced up over a huge, gnarled tree root when she spotted the first switchback out in front of Pedro’s jeep.
The sight of it rendered her momentarily mute and airless. The strip mine where she had gotten experience in negotiating a jeep off-road had not prepared her for anything like this. The hairpin turn fastened the steep trail on which she was traveling north to its equally steep twin going back south. But the northbound lane of her interstate rested at least fifteen feet lower on the slope than the trail going south. The rutted, bumpy hairpin turn that joined the two together was carved out of solid rock. From where Gabriella sat, it appeared to be more a retaining wall than a turn, the grade so steep that nothing but momentum and centrifugal force would fasten the jeep to it. Hit the turn too slow and the jeep would slide sideways, maybe even tumble over on its side. Hit it too fast and you’d lose control and … all bets would be off.
But that was not all, said a voice in her head that sounded eerily like The Cat in the Hat. Oh, no, that was not all.
At the point where the top part of the curve joined the upper road, a metal gate stretched across the trail. The posts on both sides were sunk in concrete that had been poured into holes drilled into bedrock.
Pedro pulled to a stop well short of the switchback, got out and clambered uphill to the gate.
“Besides the one in your pocket, I have the only other key that fits this lock,” he called out, indicating the deadbolt mechanism that held the big metal gate to the post on the uphill side. He unlocked the gate and pushed it open.
“You couldn’t blast that out of the ground with a bazooka,” Gabriella said, secretly thrilled. “Why such an imposing gate? Seems a little … excessive. Was the good reverend expecting terrorists?”
Pedro laughed. “Oh, he was not trying to keep out the meanies. Most of the time when Jim is here, he does not lock eet. The gate posts were sunk in concrete because that is the only way to keep the gate from washing out.”
Pedro made his way back down the steep incline, got into his jeep and cranked the engine. It rumbled in muffler-less abandon. Gabriella’s heart began to pound. Her mouth went dry. Her hands were instantly so sweaty it was hard to hold the steering wheel. She watched Pedro give his jeep gas, hit the smoothest part of the angled turn, which was the more-or-less unrutted top side, and roar around it using a kind of slingshot effect to fire him up onto the higher road. He drove forward well past the open gate and stopped to wait for her, turning around in his seat. He smiled and gave her a thumbs-up. Swell. The only thing that could possibly have made this ordeal worse was an audience.
She knew if she sat and looked at it she’d freeze and they’d all have to walk back down the mountain. So she swallowed hard, told Ty to hold tight to P.D. and gunned it.
Somewhere out there in the world beyond the mountains, people were listening to music, getting their eyebrows waxed, buying a used car or planting chrysanthemums. But here on Mount Antero, a crazed woman was risking her life and the life of her child and his dog in a wild, bumping, tires-spinning, scrambling charge up the high side of a switchback turn.
Gabriella was that woman.
And the crazed woman was screaming, a ferocious yowl that sounded like a gut-shot yak.
Gabriella was that woman, too.
Her jeep bounced over the final hump and skidded to a stop behind Pedro.
“Muy bíen!” His admiration was real.
“Piece of cake.”
The two jeeps continued up the rutted, bone-jarring trail. Each of the switchbacks presented its own individual challenge. The second one was a right turn. Gratefully, the smoothest route was on the low side. That was fortunate because ten feet beyond the high side was empty air, a drop-off. The fall could have been five feet. Or a thousand. Gabriella had neither the time nor the inclination to look back over her shoulder after she had negotiated it to determine which.
She had assumed it would get easier as she went along. It didn’t. Her proficiency increased, but her fear did not lessen. As she started into the fourth switchback, she caught sight of her reflection when an errant tree limb whacked the adjustable side mirror. And she realized with a shock how nakedly her fright was revealed on her face. But being scared was the price of doing business. Though she had to admit that if she’d known how “challenging” it would be, she might never have attempted it, the ability to traverse this trail was a life skill she had to master to survive.
The trail was scary; Yesheb was infinitely scarier.
She also grasped as she bumped and scraped along, that she’d never have made it through the first switchback if Pedro hadn’t been there to show her how it was done, though he never gave her a word of instruction or advice and pretended not to notice that she went to school on his every move. By the time they came around the fifth curve, she understood that he’d known all along she’d never make it without him.
About fifty yards beyond the seventh switchback, Pedro made an abrupt turn to the left and began to climb what appeared to be a dry creek bed. He followed the wash up about sixty yards before his jeep disappeared over a crest. Gabriella struggled after him, taking care to go fast enough to keep sufficient momentum to make it to the top but not so fast that her back tires broke traction and spun out in the dry, crumbly rock.
Her heart had shifted back into high gear again, banging in her chest as she roared up over the crest behind Pedro. The dust from his ascent still hung in the air and it was a second or two before she could see clearly. A rock wall appeared on the right and she edged along between it and a sharp descent on the left.
The air cleared as she passed the forward edge of the rock outcrop and she found herself in … Narnia, without the snow—a world so foreign to the one she’d just left that the transition was jarring. That much hadn’t changed. The abrupt entrance into the hanging valley at 11,670 feet still packed the emotional wallop it always had. After clawing up the rocky, dusty trail and the dry wash, the struggle was over and the jeep purred into an aspen grove along barely discernible double worn tracks in a ground cover of small green ferns, rocks covered with gray-green lichen and fallen leaves. The aspens stood at attention, their white trunks straight and tall. The trees grew so close together they looked like cigarettes in a pack; their leaves trembled even though there appeared to be no breeze at all. Tall, lacy ferns grew in profusion among the trees. Blanket flowers—bright yellow blossoms with red centers colored like Indian blankets—painted the small clearings among the trees. The trail wound through the aspens, then spilled the jeep out into the open space beyond.
The pale shadows of Gabriella’s childhood memories were instantly filled with life and color—only brighter and crisper. The scene was hauntingly familiar but new, novel and strange at the same time. It looked just like she remembered … except it wasn’t really anything at all like she’d thought it would be.
Stretched out before her was a bowl-shaped hanging valley—about half a mile wide and maybe three-quarters of a mile deep—carved out of the mountain as if a giant had gouged a hole in the solid rock with an ice cream scoop. The land dropped away on the east side in a sheer cliff, offering a breathtaking, panoramic view of the whole Arkansas River valley 6,500 feet below.
The aspen grove she’d driven through on the north side of the valley gave way to a forest of stately ponderosa pine, Douglas fir and lodgepole pine trees standing sentinel above a carpet of brown pine needles. The woods, sprinkled with blue spruce and Rocky Mountain maples, circled around the back side of the bowl and down the south side to the cliff drop-off.
The back wall of the valley behind the forest was a rocky slope that climbed two hundred feet up the mountainside, topped by a boulder field and the bristlecone pine forest Dr. Calloway had talked about. In the back right corner of the valley was a trail that led up the slope to the boulder field. In the back left corner, Piddley Creek flowed out of the bristlecone pine forest, down the slope, over a pile of rocks and dropped fifty feet into the stream bed in the bowl, forming a small, gurgling waterfall. She didn’t know what the Benningers had called it, but her father had dubbed it Notmuchava Waterfall because in August the creek had gone almost dry and the waterfall had been reduced to barely a trickle.
The stream below the waterfall wound among the trees and down out of the valley along the steep incline next to the cliff face. Between the aspen grove on the north and the pine forest on the west and south sides of the valley was a meadow of wildflowers. On the eastern edge of that meadow, looking out over the cliff to the panorama of the valley beyond, sat St. Elmo’s Fire.
When the images settled, solidified out of the realm of memory into reality in Gabriella’s mind, she realized that the hanging valley itself had not changed since she last saw it almost thirty years ago. Oh, the trees were taller, the aspen grove denser, the meadow more colorfully painted with all manner of mountain wildflowers. But the cabin had changed dramatically. She’d seen the changes over the past few years in Jim’s Christmas cards, but somehow that hadn’t prepared her for the reality. Even from the outside, it was apparent that Jim Benninger had completely remodeled the structure. What had been a simple, rustic cabin in Gabriella’s childhood had been transformed into an alpine lodge with a wraparound porch and secondfloor decks on the front and back. Stretching the whole length of the cliff edge in front of the cabin was a three-foot-tall creek-rock fence.
Pedro pulled up beside the lodge and she stopped next to him and turned off the engine. Ty and P.D were out of the jeep before she even had time to unfasten her own seatbelt. The two of them bolted around the back of the cabin and into the meadow beyond where P.D. smelled every stem of grass and every flower, jumped and danced and snapped at butterflies. If dogs could laugh, it would be a sound like P.D’s joyous barking now. Ty made a beeline across the meadow toward the stream, hollering over his shoulder, “Look—a waterfall!” Apparently, Ty thought it was Moreava Waterfall than her father had. The boy’s jubilant cry was borne on a wind that had set the trembling aspens to jitter in anxious, nervous anticipation of the coming storm.
“Don’t go too far,” Gabriella called after him.
She climbed out of the jeep and found Pedro at her side, his eyes following the progress of the boy and the dog.
“They never even looked at the view,” she said with a sigh, as she turned and walked slowly, almost in a trance, toward the rock wall in front of the cabin.
“Sometimes Steve’s friends bring their sons to fish with them, teenage boys from the city who’ve never stood on anything taller than a skyscraper.” Pedro gestured toward the Arkansas River Valley below them with US 285 stretched across it like a strand of spaghetti and Buena Vista a toy town in the distance to the left. The view encompassed hundreds of square miles. “And you know what they look at when they’re in the mountains?”
He answered his own question. “Their shoes. In the presence of all this stunning beauty, they’re staring at their Reeboks or Converse.”
“If those boys are staring at their shoes when they’re in your store there’s something seriously, seriously wrong with their hormones. Anza is a knock-out.”
Pedro smiled. “Both of my girls are muy bonita. Angelina is almost seven. My little angel ees so beautiful she takes your breath away.”
He said the child’s name with something like reverence, as if speaking it was almost a sacred act. But there was something else in his voice, too, that she couldn’t define.
“My son, Joaquin is sixteen. His name means ‘established by God.’ The boy is tall, much bigger than his father. And everything is still growing, like a sapling. It is hard to tell what the tree will look like.”
He didn’t mention a wife. Gabriella stole a glance at his left hand. No wedding ring.
Danger, danger, danger Will Robinson!
Gabriella heeded the robot’s warning and quickly slammed shut an emotional door that had eased open a crack—but not before her heart bleated out a single, “yippee!”
Theo got down out of the jeep carefully and didn’t look toward the view either, just watched Ty and P.D. race across the meadow toward Piddley Creek. Gabriella saw his head tilt backward as his eyes traced the ascent of the remaining 2,600 feet of mountain to a rock crest that towered 14,269 feet tall. Antero was only two hundred seventy-one feet shorter than Mount Elbert, the tallest mountain in Colorado.
“So, how did Theo do on the trip?” she asked Pedro quietly.
Pedro laughed. “You mean other than complaining about every rock, hole, bump and jolt the whole way up the mountain? He was true to his word, though. He said he planned to keep his eyes closed and he did not open them a single time from the moment we left Steve’s until I told him we had arrived.” He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “Never had a four-year-old ask me any more often, ‘Are we there yet?’”
“Did you enjoy the ride?” Gabriella called out to Theo.
“Hide? There wasn’t no place to hide. If there had been, I’d a found it. All that bouncing around—I’d rather clean dog poop off my shoe.” He turned and crossed slowly to the cabin’s front porch. He kept his head down as he walked as if he found the ground at his feet positively fascinating.
A sudden crack and rumble of thunder announced that the storm that’d been tuning its instruments as they climbed the mountain was about to strike the opening bars of its performance.
“Ty!” Gabriella, called instantly terrified. What was she thinking to allow him to run off like that with a storm looming! The lack of oxygen must have muddied her thinking. She rushed around to the back of the cabin and called out for him again. “Ty, come back here. The storm’s coming.”
He’d obviously heard the thunder, but either didn’t hear her call or pretended not to.
“Ty, now!”
As if to reinforce her words, lightning flashed, followed by a grumble on the mountaintop.
“Beep! Beep!”
She jumped when Pedro sounded the horn on his jeep. Ty heard that, turned and came running back across the meadow with P.D. at his heels.
He and the dog almost made it to the cabin before a fine mist swept down off the peak and across the valley, followed by a torrential downpour that formed a curtain of water between the cabin and the cliff face, scrubbing away the view with a gray eraser of water.
Pedro herded them all up onto the front porch under the second-floor deck. A rustic sign proclaiming “St. Elmo’s Fire” hung by two chains above the porch steps and it whipped back and forth in the rising wind. Thunder cracked and rumbled around them. Gabriella had forgotten how quickly storms came up in the mountains. Five minutes ago, there’d been a handful of gray clouds; now the sky bubbled and boiled, rain lashed the sides of the cabin and the cold wind blew the water up under the decking.
Pedro produced his own key quicker than Gabriella could lay hands on hers, unlocked the door and shoved it open. “I’ll get your stuff in before it’s soaked.”
Ty commanded “Shake!” and P.D. performed his amazing, all-body spasm, sending most of the water flying off his coat before he went inside.
When Gabriella stepped through the doorway, she recognized only one thing from the simple cabin of her childhood. Covering the whole wall of the living room between it and the kitchen was a huge stone fireplace. A massive structure, the stones built it up two feet off the floor; the creek-rock facing stretched up to the ceiling and the fireplace also opened up as large into the kitchen on the other side. She and Garrett had played on the hearth as children, used rocks to build forts there for the stick soldiers they’d made.
Pedro burst through the door, drenched, carrying luggage. He deposited his load of suitcases on the floor and turned to rush back out into the rain for the supplies.
Lightning flashed bright nearby and thunder boomed.
“No,” Gabriella said, grabbed Pedro’s arm and wouldn’t let go. “The lightning’s too close.” She didn’t mean to sound so frightened but that’s how it came out. “Stay inside. The bags are plastic; the rain won’t hurt the groceries.”
Either Pedro decided he agreed with her or merely acquiesced to the superiority of her emotion because he turned and closed the door behind him, took off his hat, slapped it against his leg to knock the water off and hung it on a hook by the door.
“Ty, go get Pedro a towel to dry off on. The bathroom’s right over … at least it used to be and … well, I guess there are towels.”
“Towels in the bathroom, sheets on the beds, canned goods in the cabinets, a refrigerator full of the basics and a freezer full of meat—from hot dogs to sirloins.”
“A refrigerator and freezer. Then there must be …” she looked around, spotted a switch, stepped to it and flipped it. A big chandelier made of elk antlers burst to life. “… electricity.”
“You mean tell me you thought we was gone stay up here in the dark?” Theo said. He was striving for grumpy, but didn’t quite get there. He didn’t look good and he was breathing hard, almost panting.
“Jim put in electricity right after he bought the place,” Pedro said. “He ran a line up from Steve’s. Cost him … well, probably more than I make in a year. Jim inherited a lot of money when his parents died—said once that when he told them he was going to seminary, they wrote him out of the will. So he was stunned when he got the whole estate. Last I heard, he had given about all of it away. In fact, the only money he spent on himself was fixing up this cabin. Oh, how that man loves the mountains.”
Ty arrived with the towel as thunder shook the house again.
“Guess storms sound worse here ’cause you so close to the sky you got to lean over so you don’t bump your head on it,” Theo said.
“No, storms sound worse here because they are worse here,” Gabriella said, her voice tight. Though she’d already told them how Antero actually attracted lightning, it was a warning worth repeating. “Storms come out of nowhere. You can’t see them building on the other side of the mountain until they pop up over it like a target in a penny arcade. One minute the sky’s clear and the next minute lightning ... And you’re the target. In any open space—the meadow out back, the boulder field, the bristlecone forest, above the tree line. If you’re the tallest thing around, you’re warm and you’re moving, lightning will take a bead on you and …” She had raised the drawbridge between those memories and her mind a long time ago, but now they were swimming the moat.
She didn’t even realize she’d started to cry until Ty came and put his arms around her waist. His shirt was wet. She needed to tell him to go put on a dry one, only she couldn’t find her voice.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
She reached up and quickly wiped the tears off her face, embarrassed by her sudden display of emotion and the awkward silence that followed.
“I’m sorry. It’s just … I’m fine.” She cleared her throat and then announced too cheerily, “Check this out!” She looked around at the kitchen in genuine awe. “New everything. New cabinets and stove. And there’s a microwave. New flooring—it’s oak, gorgeous. It’s all changed, everything’s better.”
Once she pulled back from the edge and recovered her emotional equilibrium, she didn’t have to manufacture excitement about the cabin’s transformation.
The small windows she remembered on the front had been replaced by a huge picture window that provided an unobstructed, panoramic view of the whole Arkansas River Valley. The décor was typically Southwest, tastefully done. A big cow skull with massive horns hung on a piece of tanned rawhide over the mantle in the living room. A leather couch with a matching loveseat and recliner were made cozy with colorful Indian blankets and rugs on the hardwood floors. On one wall was an oil painting of the Chalk Cliffs on Mount Princeton; on another was an abstract watercolor of what appeared to be the meadow behind the cabin—with red, purple, yellow and white wildflowers as big as trees.
A small office opened off the kitchen, as did a mudroom in front of the back door. There was one bedroom off the living room with an adjoining bath that could be accessed from the living room as well. In the open doorway next to the bathroom was a staircase to the second floor.
Ty and Gabriella went upstairs and found two additional bedrooms and a single bath. A doorway on the far end of the landing in front of the stairs opened onto a deck that overlooked the view. The front upstairs bedroom also had a door leading to the deck and Gabriella claimed it as her own and assigned Ty the other upstairs bedroom—which had a door leading to a smaller deck on the back of the house facing the mountain. That left the bedroom on the ground floor for Theo. All the beds had four-poster oak frames with hand-carved designs on the footboards—a wagon train on Gabriella’s, a cattle drive on Ty’s and a herd of wild mustangs on Theo’s.
Gabriella and Ty came downstairs and Ty grabbed his suitcase and headed back up to his room to unpack. P.D padded along one step behind him. She passed Theo on his way to lie down. He had not once cast so much as a glance out the big picture window.
“That doctor we met has a slow leak,” Theo mumbled.
“Has a slow— ?”
“I don’t have no idea what he was talking about, but that’s what Pedro said. You figure it out.”
She found Pedro in the kitchen opening cabinets and drawers, checking on the supplies. The rain still battered the roof, but the lightning and thunder were moving away across the valley.
“What did you say to Theo about Steve?” she asked.
“I told Mr. Slapinheimer—”
Gabriella barely choked off a laugh. “You can call him Slappy. He was only kidding. Or Theo.”
“Theo maybe … eet ees hard to call a grown man Slappy.” He opened the empty bread box. “You got bread, right?” She nodded and he turned to the pantry. “I just told Theo that Steve was the speaker at a fly-fishing class at the Chalk Creek Canyon Lodge on Saturday. Thought maybe he would want to learn.”
He turned to face her. “Why?”
Gabriella thought for a moment, then burst out laughing.
“What?”
“You said Dr. Calloway has to go speak, didn’t you?”
“Uh huh.”
“Theo said you told him Dr. Calloway has a slow leak.”
“He’s losing his hearing, isn’t he?”
“You know when you text, how your phone fills in the rest of the word after you type only a few letters—that must be what Theo’s brain does with sounds. Only sometimes the sounds it fills in aren’t the right ones. He told Ty the day before … once, that I said we’d have roaches in the kitchen all winter when what I’d really said was we were having roasted chicken for dinner.”
Gabriella leaned against the kitchen doorframe for a moment studying the kitchen, then asked, “How’d he do it?”
“He who do what?”
“He Jim Benninger. Do … this.” She made an all-encompassing gesture. “It was all I could do to get myself and a rented jeep up that road. How did Jim Benninger get all this furniture—a stove, refrigerator, couches, a recliner—up here?”
Pedro closed the pantry door, checked out the array of cereal boxes in the cupboard and turned to face her.
“He brought most of it up here by helicopter, landed in the meadow out back.”
“A helicopter?” Gabriella felt an empty sensation below her rib cage. She’d thought this place was totally inaccessible, but if a helicopter could …
“It took some doing, negotiating a chopper in these mountain wind currents. Could only come up on a still morning and they had to unload quick so the helicopter could get out of here before the afternoon storms.”
“So if it was storming …”
“A chopper would get blown right off the mountain.”
Gabriella let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and remembered her manners. “Please sit down. Would you like something to drink? I bought some Diet Pepsi—but you know that because you sold it to me. Or I guess I could make coffee. Do you know if there’s a coffee maker?”
“In there,” Pedro pointed to a cabinet beside the stove. “It’s one with all the bells and whistles, grinds coffee beans I have to special order from Denver and makes a sound like an F18 Hornet taking off the deck of an aircraft carrier.” He said that with the authority of a man who had actually heard a fighter jet take off an aircraft carrier.
Pedro settled his large frame into one of the six chairs around the oval oak table that had a bowl in the center piled high with miniature cowboy boots. “I only tried to make coffee with it one time and the result would have eaten the chrome off a trailer hitch. A glass of water is fine with me. It’s pumped here from the creek and then purified. The refrigerator has an ice maker.”
Gabriella shook her head as she searched the cabinets, found two glasses and filled them with ice water. “A refrigerator with an ice maker. We had ice in a cooler—until it melted, then we put Daddy’s Coors in the creek to keep them cool.”
She sat down across from Pedro at the table.
“Yes, but roughing it makes great memories. I bet your family had a wonderful time vacationing in this cabin.” He must have seen the look of surprise and pain on her face. “Forgive me, por favor, I did not mean to pry, I just—”
Might as well tell him the truth, at least part of it.
“It was only one summer and it wasn’t exactly a vacation. The aquamarine drew my parents here. And then there was a family tragedy, a death.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” he said, and sounded like he meant it.
“After that, we never came back.”
“And now?” he asked quietly. She wasn’t expecting the question.
“Now … Ty, Theo and I need to … get away from the world for a while.”
Pedro set his water glass down on the table.
“Speaking of getting away from the world, I think I have been away from mine long enough.”
“But it’s still raining.” Actually, it was only sprinkling. “You can’t go down that trail in the mud.”
“It has good drainage—water doesn’t puddle. And it is easier going down. Besides, if I did not travel on wet roads in these mountains I would never go anywhere.”
He stopped then, and looked at her. The silence thrived, full and heavy.
“If you need anything, anything at all, Mrs. Underhill, I—”
“No way. You can balk at Slappy, but I’m Gabriella.”
He nodded. “I am right down the mountain. I would give you a phone number to call, but cell phone service up here is hit and miss—mostly miss—and Jim never saw the need for a land line. But I weel check on you—often.”
Gabriella was unexpectedly embarrassed by his solicitousness. It had been so long since anyone had been kind to her she didn’t quite know how to respond.
He seemed to sense that, too, because he backed off, gave her emotional space.
“Thank you, Pedro. If you hadn’t ‘tagged along’ I wouldn’t have made it.”
“That is true, you would not have made eet,” he said with disarming honesty. “But you figured it out. You will be fine now. Except … you need to know. Going down takes a whole different skill set than coming up.” He didn’t have to be intuitive to see her obvious dismay. “Please do not worry. St. Elmo’s Mercantile delivers—at least to this cabin. Jim needed twiceweekly supplies so we worked it out that he would come down to the store on Tuesdays and I would bring supplies up on Saturdays. Of course, that was just an excuse for me to come up here, enjoy the view and spend time with Jim.” He smiled and got to his feet. “Jim Benninger is an amazing man.”
Then the smile faded and he added, his accent more pronounced, “The kind of friend who weel stand by you no matter what choo have done.” The moment passed. “Do you know him well?”
Gabriella shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Actually, I never met the man.”
She could tell her answer surprised and intrigued Pedro, but he didn’t ask about it. All he said was, “I will be back in a couple of days. You can follow me down the mountain and I will show you how it is done. You are a quick study.”
He lifted his hat off the peg by the door, called up the stairs to Ty, “Adiós, muchacho,” and left.
PEDRO RODRIGUEZ HAD been up and down the trail to St. Elmo’s Fire dozens of times. But he still could not put it on autopilot. Lose your focus, daydream on this trail and you could run right off a cliff.
This was one of the most dangerous jeep trails in the mountains. Of course, he did not tell Mrs. … did not tell Gabriella that. Though he suspected she would have climbed up the mountain if there had been no trail at all. She looked that determined. That desperate. Maybe even that afraid.
When Pedro joined the Marine Corps out of high school he discovered he could predict with uncanny accuracy which recruit would make it and which would wash out, could tell who was going to freeze when shots started flying, who was going to take crazy chances, who had something to prove and whose wife had told him she had a headache last night.
He had always been able to read people. Even before his own heart, his whole soul had been ripped out of his chest and stomped into a bloody lump at his feet. Even before he understood emotional pain on a personal, visceral level so intense he would be forever sensitized to it in everyone he met.
And all those heightened sensitivities told him Gabriella Underhill was one hurting woman.
He did not allow himself to picture what must have happened to her that put a scar on her face so disfiguring even a quarter-inch blanket of makeup couldn’t hide it. It had to be a moment-to-moment torment to know people were staring at it or trying not to. Obviously, a bad burn. But what kind and how it happened—he did not like where his mind wandered when he considered the possibilities, so he shifted gears altogether, thought about the curly-haired little boy with oversized Gandhi glasses. The boy had a kind of lost look, too, or maybe Pedro was just imagining it. He certainly wasn’t imagining the old man’s gaunt face, his scarecrow-thin frame and the ashy gray tint to his skin. Just old maybe. Or sick. Pedro’s money was on Door Number Two.
And Gabriella had never even met Jim Benninger! Oh, how Pedro wanted to call Jim and ask him about her. Could not do that though, even if he had been convinced checking up on the people at St. Elmo’s Fire was a good idea—which he was not. Jim was unreachable, off being a missionary in the wilds of Sudan. Serving and helping, that was Jim. He had invited these people to spend the summer at St. Elmo’s Fire for a reason, though it was possible, even likely, Jim did not know what the reason was.
Pedro owed Jim a debt he would never be able to repay. All he could do was pass on what Jim had given to him to somebody else, and as he bumped over rocks and down into potholes, he suspected the intended recipient of some act of kindness on his part was sitting up there on the mountainside trying to start a fire in the fireplace with wet wood. Of course, she would figure out how to do that on her own. But maybe there were other things she would not be able to figure out without a little help.