Carlie stared out the window at the snow. The skies were partly sunny, but fog had settled into every pocket and cranny. Yesterday she’d thought the mountain peaks spectacular, yet today she shivered at the prospect of hiking over steep, snow-covered trails.
She turned from the window. Sean stalked toward the front door, gliding as quietly and smoothly as a shadow, reminding her how much he seemed a part of these untamable mountains.
She glanced at a map on the wall, then back at Sean. “How far from here is Jackson’s cabin?”
Sean opened a closet and disappeared inside. “Not far. Maybe ten miles.”
“Ten miles?” That meant a round-trip distance of twenty miles. While a man like Sean would consider the hike just a morning jaunt, she didn’t look forward to the prospect. “I don’t suppose you have a car?”
“Sure do.” Sean’s muffled voice came from deep in the closet. The clang of metal, falling boxes and rustling clothing mingled with his husky reply. “My car’s garaged in town. It’s already been stored for winter. I won’t break her out until spring.”
Not for the first time, Carlie wondered how she could have agreed to live here. No phones. No cars. No neighbors within sight. Just snow and forests and mountain men who didn’t seem to get lonely. The one she’d married apparently didn’t even have a need for hugs.
“Got it.” Sean emerged from the closet with an adorable smudge of dirt on his squared chin and a bundle of rubberlike clothing in his hands.
She hurried over to help him. “What is this?”
“Snowsuits.”
What was wrong with the clothing they’d worn yesterday? “For the snow?”
His gray eyes twinkled. “For the snowmobile. Unless you want to walk?”
Heat rose to Carlie’s cheeks. He’d told her everyone up here traveled by snowmobile, and she should have recognized the black rubbery outfits were similar to the orange ones Ian and Roger had worn. She thought about Florida’s balmy weather where her biggest clothing decision was whether or not to carry a jacket outside. Dressing correctly in Alaska wasn’t a mere fashion statement. Her choice of apparel might make the difference between freezing and survival.
By the time she’d donned her Arctic parka, a woolen scarf and the snowmobile suit, she felt thirty pounds overweight, sweaty and eager to go outside. “You sure we aren’t dressed too warmly?”
Sean closed the door behind them and didn’t bother with a lock. He led her behind his cabin to a shed she hadn’t noticed yesterday. “Any speed over twenty miles an hour, the wind chill factor is considerable.”
Dressed in black from knitted hat to thick boots, he looked fit for this rugged land. Moving with the ease of a wolf on a lazy morning, he opened the shed and gestured her inside.
“Haven’t ridden her since last winter, so I need to check a few things.”
She thought he was referring to the motor or gasoline, mechanical stuff. He surprised her when instead of opening the engine compartment he lifted the seat.
Although Sean expected the drive to take no more than half an hour, she saw him pack the snowmobile with care. Inside the storage compartment beneath the seat, Carlie saw emergency flares, a map encased in plastic, a pot, a knife, matches and a lighter, a mirror, a first aid kit, a tightly rolled sleeping bag and rope.
She pointed to several shrink-wrapped packages. “What’s that?”
He handed her a helmet. “Dehydrated food. It lasts for years and can come in handy in an emergency.”
He sounded so casual, like someone packing chewing gum to take on a plane ride. She didn’t know whether to be glad they were prepared or to worry over dangers she hadn’t the knowledge to cope with. With determination, she put the thought of ending up stranded in these mountains behind her. Sean obviously knew what he was doing.
He started the engine and eased out of the shed. She closed the door and hopped on behind him. The wide padded seat was surprisingly comfortable.
“Hang on,” he told her, with a hint of eagerness in his tone.
She placed her hands around his waist, held tight, thinking they would jerk forward. But he increased speed slowly, letting her get the feel of the snowmobile. The smooth riding machine took the occasional bump with a minimum of jarring. Wind whipped her suit and she was grateful for the warmth of her protective clothing, appreciative of Sean’s wide chest and shoulders that broke the wind.
Sean circled the cabin as if marking his territory before heading back toward the steep trail they’d slid down yesterday. Recalling their near death at the cliff’s edge, she shuddered. Tumbling off the mountain at thirty miles an hour—
Perhaps she should have insisted on walking. She squared her shoulders.
Stop it. Don’t you have enough trouble?
Carlie took a deep breath and brushed all thoughts of danger aside. Sean handled the vehicle with the same dexterity as she handled her weapon. He knew the mountain. He kept the pace appropriate to the terrain. Where the trail narrowed and curved into sharp S’s, he slowed.
For the first time since she’d awakened without her memory, she relaxed and took in the beauty around her. The rising sun burned off pockets of fog. Eagles soared overhead. Peace settled over her as they sped past a trickling waterfall and scared off a deer drinking at a rock pool.
The majesty of the land had a certain soothing effect. Besides the snowmobile, she couldn’t see any signs that mankind inhabited the planet. No airplanes overhead. No honking horns from traffic. No telephone lines spoiled Mother Nature. And each breath of air was as sweet and fresh as mountain pine.
All too soon, the ride ended in front of a cabin similar in design to Sean’s, although the logs appeared older, as did the shingles curling through the layer of snow that had managed to stick to the steep A-frame roof. The stone chimney didn’t puff even a smidgen of smoke, lending a deserted air to the site. Snow around the cabin appeared pristine and untouched except by squirrel and raven tracks.
Sean shut off the engine and helped her with her helmet. “What exactly are we looking for?”
“Jackson’s personal papers. A diary.” She unzipped her oversuit, her body warming in the midday sun. “Phone bills.”
“He didn’t have a phone.” Sean reached into his pocket and took out a set of keys, but the front door was unlocked.
Carlie surmised security in the mountains wasn’t a problem.
She strode inside, noting a handheld radio amid the dust and clutter. “What about cell phones?”
“When the peaks aren’t blocking a direct satellite link, the minerals in the mountains play havoc with the signals. We mostly use radio and walkie-talkies.”
While he spoke in the husky voice she was beginning to rely on, she looked around the cabin and peeled off the protective layers of clothing. Outside an electric generator squatted against the southern wall, and as backup, inside, a potbellied stove dominated the den next to a huge stack of split firewood. A dilapidated leather sofa sat next to a late-model big-screen TV.
Noticing the direction of her gaze, Sean’s lips curved upward. “During the winter Jackson holed up here with videos of almost every movie made. He had quite a collection.”
Glad to be free of the outer bulky clothing, she kept her parka on to avoid the chill. Jackson’s home wasn’t equipped with central heat. “Are his videos valuable?”
“I doubt it. Why?”
“I’m looking for a motive to commit murder. Money is often right up there as a reason. And money usually leaves a trail of paperwork.”
Sean threaded a hand through his dark hair. “Every nickel Jackson had he plowed back into the mine.” He led the way through the kitchen-living area into a back office. “This is where he kept his papers.”
A calendar hung on the wall along with black-and-white pictures of miners. When Sean moved out of the way and Carlie saw the stacks of papers over-flowing the desk and spilling onto the floor, the file cabinets with open drawers too full to close, she groaned. “Didn’t he ever throw anything away?”
Sean strode forward and cleaned papers off two chairs. “Maybe we’ll find some clues in this mess.”
“Too bad we don’t have ten years.”
He blew the dust off the chair and gestured to her to have a seat. “Looks worse than it is. I used to help him keep his papers straight when I lived here.”
She cleared a pile of file folders from her feet. “When was that?”
“Before I left for college.”
“You don’t look that old,” she teased. When he didn’t respond with a smile, she wondered if she should be so flippant. Jackson had obviously been like a father to him. And this was the first time Sean had been back since the old prospector’s death. The cabin must hold many good memories for him and she felt as if she was intruding.
She rested one boot on her chair and bit her lip. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful of your feelings. Coming back here must be difficult for you.”
“Thanks for the sentiment.” He stood stiffly, spoke stiffly, his features a mask. “But having you with me is…You keep distracting me from…”
He looked as if he needed another hug. But she wasn’t ready to renew that particular conversation. Instead she reached up and smoothed away the smudge he’d gotten on his chin when he’d retrieved the snowmobile suits from the closet.
His jaw was firm, his freshly shaven skin warm. She was close enough to smell his soap mixing with a clean male scent that reminded her of wintergreen. All of a sudden the room seemed crowded.
Sean stared into her eyes, then took her hand away from his face. “I’ll tackle the desk. Why don’t you try the filing cabinet?”
Fine. If he wanted to reject her every effort to comfort him—so be it. She’d done her wifely duty. Only she didn’t feel like a wife. He wouldn’t let her.
Turning away before he could read the hurt in her eyes, she stared at the files. “What’s the name of Jackson’s bank?”
“Kesky National.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“Ian’s granddaddy had big dreams. As far as I know, the family never even opened a second branch.”
“But you told me Ian is rich. And if Kesky isn’t that big, where did the family make their money?”
“Ian’s granddaddy mined gold right alongside Jackson’s father. He struck a thick vein, sold out and opened the bank and the store. Buying the land around the railroad made him even wealthier.”
While she found the small-town history interesting, she’d best dig into the files. “Did Jackson file in alphabetical order?”
“Yep. Try under the Bs.”
“B for Kesky?”
“B for bank.”
“I suppose I’ll find his legal papers under L?”
Sean nodded. “Now you’ve got his secret filing system down pat.”
Two hours later, Carlie had uncovered the deed to the cabin and another to the mine. Her nose itched from dust mites and she longed for a shower. She’d sorted and stacked hundreds of assayer’s slips documenting the sale of gold dust and gold nuggets. But she never found any canceled checks.
She stretched her shoulders and sighed. “Where could Jackson have kept his bank statements?”
Sean looked up from where he sat behind the roll-top desk. “I doubt he had any.”
“What?” She looked up wearily and rubbed the crick in her neck. No one could run a business without a bank account.
“Jackson paid our suppliers in gold. He paid his bill at the general store in gold. Even paid for Sally—”
“Sally?”
Sean hesitated, as if debating how much to tell her. Although she didn’t know him well, she discerned her question made him uncomfortable and that made her all the more curious.
Finally, he answered. “Sally is Jackson’s lady friend.”
“Lady friend?”
“They had an arrangement. She gave him comfort and he helped her—”
“He paid her for comfort?”
Sean winced. “She lived in town and he paid her bills. And he lived up here alone.”
Carlie frowned. “Does Sally have arrangements with any other men?”
“Not lately.” Sean’s eyes lightened and his tone teased. “Why? Are you afraid I might visit Sally?”
“Not exactly.” Her thoughts wrapped around the murder investigation, trying to grasp the situation.
“Sally’s gorgeous—” Sean winked at Carlie, his comment coming from left field “—but I’m strictly a one-woman man.”
She hadn’t seen this lighter side of Sean before and rather liked it. While she hated to bring the conversation back to murder when he was trying so hard to lighten the mood, she didn’t have time for playfulness. “Maybe Jackson was killed over this woman.”
Sean’s eyes darkened. “That hadn’t occurred to me.”
“She could have been two-timing him.” Carlie bit her lower lip. “Or maybe someone wanted Jackson out of the picture so they could move in on his woman. Or maybe Jackson and Sally had a lover’s quarrel and she—”
“Hush.” He held up his hand, and pointed to his ear, indicating she should listen.
What had he heard?
Carlie listened hard, barely breathing. Was someone out there eavesdropping on their conversation?
In the den, out of her line of sight, someone cocked a shotgun.
Automatically, Carlie checked for a second exit and reached for the gun she wore strapped to her ankle, the gun Sean knew nothing about. Reluctant to display her ace in the hole, she nevertheless couldn’t allow someone to fire on them without fighting back. While she might escape and squeeze through the back window, Sean’s shoulders wouldn’t make it.
“Come out with your hands up,” a gruff voice ordered.
Sean raised his hands above his shoulders and boldly stepped through the door. “Roger, is that you? It’s Sean. I’m coming out.”
No!
How could he offer himself as a target? And to Roger, of all people.
Weapon drawn, Carlie darted low, through the doorway, past Sean, and rolled. At the same moment, Roger raised his shotgun.
Rolling into the room, Carlie stabilized on her belly and aimed at Roger.
Sean pounced on top of her, grasping her wrist, knocking the wind from her straining lungs. “Don’t fire.”
Was he nuts? Didn’t Sean understand that Roger was about to shoot them?
Carlie had Roger targeted in her sights. He stood still, not even trying to run. With Sean’s hard body pinning her to the floor, his powerful wrist twisting hers, he forced her to drop the weapon.
She’d expected Sean to, at the very least, stay out of her way. His tackling her and protecting Roger made no sense.
“Hold still.”
Not in this lifetime. Suspicion and anger gave her strength. “You son of a—”
Roger set down his shotgun and collapsed onto a stool. “Where did she get the gun?”
She drew up her knee, aiming for Sean’s groin. Sean twisted, and instead of striking a vital area, her knee glanced off the muscle of his thigh.
Damn. She rammed an elbow into his gut and took satisfaction in his grunt of pain. Overpowered and underleveraged, she couldn’t hope to win. But she refused to let him hold her down so Roger could kill her.
“Hey. Calm down. I don’t want to hurt you,” Sean murmured in her ear.
“Of course not.” She would have spit in his eye, but he flipped her to her stomach. “You just want to pin me down so Roger can do it.”
Roger opened a metal flask and sipped. “Is she crazy?”
“I’m not certain.” Sean eased some of his weight off her, but not enough so that she could threaten him with another blow.
Slowly, she inched her fingers toward her gun. But with Sean’s chest pressed to her back, he couldn’t help but notice her struggle. With a casual movement, he scooped the gun from the floor and then released her.
She scrambled to her feet, her chest heaving to draw oxygen into her lungs. What the hell was going on? This morning Sean had thrown Roger out of his house. Just now, Roger had aimed the gun and…and…
Sean simply rolled to his side, rested his head in his palm and eyed her warily. “You aren’t going to hurt me again, are you?”
Hurt him? She might as well have pounded granite. Pummeling him with all her strength hadn’t caused a lick of damage.
“I…” She looked from Roger, who sat on the stool sipping whiskey, to Sean lying sprawled on the floor. Neither man looked particularly threatening. This morning they’d acted like mortal enemies. Now they were both eyeing her as if she were from Pluto.
She pointed a finger at Jackson’s brother. “You had your gun aimed at Sean.” Or maybe Roger had tried to shoot her. The entire situation was confusing.
Sean shrugged. “If Roger had wanted me dead, my heart wouldn’t still be beating.”
Carlie eyed Roger. Jackson’s brother raised his flask to Sean in a toast. “That’s the truth.” He sipped, closed the flask and flipped it to Sean, who caught it with one hand.
This sudden lack of animosity between them confused her. “But you had the gun pointed—”
“Didn’t know who I would find in my brother’s cabin. I recognized Sean’s snowmobile but it could have been stolen. Didn’t mean no harm.”
Carlie rubbed her temple. “You always walk in with a loaded gun?”
Roger rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “This is my house now. You heard Ian read the will. If Sean wanted to come snooping, he should have asked for an invite.”
Carlie didn’t get it. Yesterday, Sean and Roger had argued. This morning Roger had practically accused Sean of murdering Jackson, and now they were both acting as if it were nothing unusual for Roger to aim a gun at Sean. And they had the nerve to question her sanity?
She wished she was back in Florida dealing with the good-old-boy network. At least she understood Southern male chauvinism. But these Alaskan miners were hard to figure out. It must be a mountain-man thing. Like a fistfight that ended in a draw and both men respecting the other’s punch enough to make friends.
Realizing she’d misinterpreted the situation made her face flush. How the hell should she have guessed? Obviously, Sean and Roger went way back.
“Find anything in Jackson’s papers?” Roger asked.
Sean took a sip from the flask and passed it back. “Nope. We haven’t finished.”
“You can come back any time. Just ask first.”
“She didn’t kill him, you know,” Sean said conversationally.
Roger didn’t even look her way. “So then, who killed my brother?”
Sean’s tone hardened. “We’re going to find out. I promise you.”
Carlie leaned against the counter where she could eyeball both men. “Did your brother mention any enemies, any unusual business problems he might have been having?”
“Jackson didn’t talk much,” Roger told her.
On a hunch, Carlie prodded. “Maybe he talked more to Sally?”
Roger rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “You leave her out of this.”
“But she might know something important about your brother, something you and Sean don’t know.” Carlie pushed harder, thinking Roger a mite overprotective.
Roger picked up his one-barreled shotgun and waved the gun at the ceiling. “You’ve outstayed your welcome.”
“Okay.” Carlie didn’t want to set off the man’s temper. No matter how harmless Sean thought Roger was, she’d prefer to get out while the getting was good. “We’re going. Thanks for the hospitality.”
Sean rolled to his feet and rubbed his upper lip. Carlie could have sworn he was hiding a grin behind his palm. Maybe if he was the one being accused of murder he wouldn’t think the situation was so all-fired funny.
They’d spent a good part of the day here and learned little. At this rate, her investigation wouldn’t end before the snow melted next spring. Rubbing her hip, which ached from her wild tumble across the floor, she preceded Sean out the door, trying to forget how easily he’d overpowered her.
For a moment back there when she’d been fighting with Sean, she’d recalled playfully wrestling with another man, a man with blond hair and laughing blue eyes. Were her memories starting to surface? And if so, who was the mysterious man in her past?
Swollen gray clouds blocked the sun and snow fell heavily from the darkened sky. Carlie shivered, and even her protective clothing couldn’t dispel the cold seeping into her bones. The day was almost over, and she wasn’t any nearer to clearing her name.
Perhaps once she reached town and a phone, she could resolve the mystery of the two missing years that still eluded her. But no one beside the murderer could tell her who had killed Jackson. And the killer wasn’t talking.
She couldn’t stop thinking that she didn’t belong in this frozen land. A wolf howled in the distance and she stepped closer to Sean. She had a sudden hankering for sun-kissed beaches and gentle breezes whispering through the palm fronds of southern Florida.
Without her having to ask, Sean returned her weapon. His lips curled up in a wry grin. “Try not to shoot any two-legged creatures.”
“I’m not making any promises,” she replied lightly. But his teasing banter couldn’t pull her from gloomy thoughts. Only the familiar weight in her ankle holster and the knowledge she soon would be speaking to her family kept her spirits up.
For ten minutes they rode in silence. She expected Sean to head downward to town at the fork she’d noted on the ride over. But he steered the snowmobile back the way they’d come, ignoring the trail to Kesky.
Shouting over the roar of the engine, she fought to be heard. “I need to go to town. Use the phone. Talk to Sally.”
“Not now. Weather’s coming in.” Sean jerked his thumb at a mountain peak to the north.
Above the entire valley, the sky thickened with tumbling vapors, interspersed with diminishing tracts of blue. Cold whipped down the mountain. Arctic birds called Ptarmigan roosted together, conserving body heat. While minute by minute the belching cloud deck descended, growing thicker, darker, spitting snow at them like bullets.
Could the snowmobile outrun the weather? Sean seemed to think so. But as unappealing as spending more time with Roger would be, Carlie wondered if the wisest course would be to turn around.
“Should we go back?”
“We’re more than halfway home.”
She’d never call this winter wilderness home. Despite her helmet, wind tunneled behind her face plate and tiny snowflakes stung her cheeks and lips. Pummeling snow found its way into the crevices between glove and sleeve.
Her teeth chattered, seemingly of their own volition, and she could no longer feel her fingertips. Carlie kept reminding herself that this snow would keep the authorities from flying in. The horrible weather would give her more time to investigate—if she didn’t freeze to death first.
Surely they must have almost reached Sean’s cabin? Sean started a curve uphill and she peeked behind her, over her right shoulder. The darkest clouds chased them with a vengeance. Glancing forward, around Sean’s shoulder, she squinted through the snow, searching for his cabin.
She’d give two months of memories for a hot shower and a mug of steaming coffee. But the view ahead looked bleak. Snow, rocks and a straight line that didn’t belong.
Oh, God. A line stretched between two spruce trees.
At neck level.
There was no time to stop. No time to warn Sean.
Reacting on pure instinct, Carlie threw her arms around Sean and toppled him sideways off the speeding snowmobile. “Roll. Roll, damn it. Roll.”
Once again the two of them tumbled, banging against the snowdrifts, skidding along patches of ice. Luckily the area was flat and they needed only to contend with their momentum from the bike.
Carlie slid to a bruising stop against some gooseberry brush. Dazed, she stumbled to her feet. She couldn’t see Sean. Why didn’t he stand up where she could find him? He must be hurt.
And she was all alone.