Chapter One
Meg Delaney heaved a loaded backpack out of Edward's BMW trunk and onto his brand-new three-hundred-dollar hiking boots. She wanted to dump the pack's contents on his thick, insensitive skull. "Okay, don't come with me. If you don't care, why should I?"
As she spoke, a rusty green pickup with homemade wooden stock panels rattled into the grassy area that marked Yellowstone's Slough Creek trailhead. At the end of an isolated dirt road, miles from the route traveled by most tourists, Meg and Edward had been alone until the truck arrived. Solitude hadn't helped them communicate. The way things were going, nothing would help.
Through a haze of dust and a film of her own tears, she saw a bearded man raise a hand from the truck steering wheel in greeting. The engine's rumble moved past and cut off somewhere behind her. Abrupt silence accented the birdsongs, the faint buzz of insects. Meg glanced toward the trail leading from the wildflower-strewn meadow into a forest of new-green aspen and darker spruce. She shored up her courage to ask the one question that mattered most. "Do you care, Edward?"
"Of course I do," he announced without hesitation. He loomed closer, blocking out sky and mountains. "Once I close this deal, I'll buy you a piece of national park. We'll take a trip later, after the wedding."
"'Later' will be too late." She searched for understanding in his contact-enhanced blue eyes, but found only an uncompromising glitter. As a last resort, she tried the logic most likely to appeal to him. "We've already bought camping gear and made arrangements for office backup. You wouldn't want all that effort wasted, would you? Let someone else handle PenUltimate for the next few days."
He flicked at a blue dragonfly that had dared to land on his fresh-off-the-shelf Gore-Tex parka. "The German contract is important, Meg."
She tilted her head, studying him from a new angle, not liking what she saw. "And I'm not important, is that it? We've spent four months apart, and a big money deal still out-weighs time alone with me."
Edward shrugged. "Yellowstone was your plan, not mine. I know you promised your dying grandmother you'd come out here and walk holes in your shoes, gape at a waterfall, sniff moose shit. All in her memory. In a weak moment, I said I'd go along. How was I to predict PenUltimate would have millions at stake?"
"The negotiations could wait," Meg pointed out.
"Maybe," he allowed. "But let's be realistic. What the hell difference will it make? The old lady is dead, princess. Put a few flowers on her grave and leave it at that."
Meg straightened her spine, an attempt to offset the hollow feeling in the region of her heart. All the way from their starting point in Salt Lake City, between his marathons on the cellular, she'd tried to explain. Obviously, he hadn't been listening. "A promise is a promise, Edward. Maybe she'll never know the difference, but I have to be honest with myself."
"Is that a dig at my character?" He looked down his long, thin nose with an air of wronged nobility. "The way I see it, you're no role model."
She felt as if he'd knocked the breath out of her. Edward had stood by her when the roof of her life caved in. He'd offered her a future. Naturally, she'd assumed he believed in her innocence. She'd loved him for that.
Now it seemed he understood nothing about what she'd done, or why. She gasped a deep, painful breath that blasted her lungs like ice water. A protest froze in her throat.
He ran a hand through his blonde hair, ruining the blow-dry styling. "Sorry. I didn't mean...."
"Yes, you did," Meg managed to choke out.
"For God's sake, don't dramatize." He kicked her backpack into the dew-laden grass while slamming down the trunk of the silver Beamer. "A fax on the offer will be at Old Faithful Lodge within the hour. I advise you to come along and look it over. If Athena's Promise does well stateside, your game might be one of the first PenUltimate titles to go overseas. With me pushing things the right direction, we can up our percentage of foreign profits considerably."
If Edward had a scrap of insight, he'd know she gave not one flying flip for profits, especially now. But he was a man who scarfed financial gain like chocolate cream pie. The fact that she wanted more out of life seemed to escape him.
A truck door shut somewhere behind her, followed by the sound of boots trudging through grass. The bearded stranger was leaving. She and Edward were isolated again in the mountain quiet, in what should have been peace.
Edward opened the driver's side of the BMW and braced an elbow on top of the door frame. "Let's go, Meg. We can argue some other time." His gaze strayed to his Rolex.
She shook her head. "I'm staying here."
He grimaced. After drumming his fingernails on the roof a couple of times, he said, "Okay, I give. Take your walk on the wild side. I'll pick you up--when? Tomorrow, about dark?" He came toward her, arms extended, apparently expecting a farewell kiss.
All of a sudden, his fifty-bucks-a-bottle after-shave smelled worse than the nearby chemical toilet. Nausea roiled in Meg's stomach as she dodged his hands and lips. "No need to hang around in a Yellowstone hotel for my sake, Edward. Go home and latch onto a fat bank account before it gets away. When I'm ready, I'll find my own ride."
The average rock was more sensitive than Edward, but at least he recognized sarcasm. He shot her an icy glare. "You're provoking me, princess. That's a serious misjudgment."
Loving him had been the most serious misjudgment of all. Pain bubbled inside Meg. Before she could stop herself, angry words boiled out. "At least now I know how I rate with you. I'm an inconvenience. Probably an embarrassment, too. So do us both a favor and cross our wedding off your day planner. While you're at it, cross me off your list of employees. I quit."
His cheeks puffed like he was about to explode, then collapsed with a sharp exhale. "Fine. Just fucking dandy." He flung himself into the leather-upholstered seat and jammed a key in the ignition.
The heat of Meg's anger evaporated. Her heart sank into the dust. He wasn't going to argue. She'd thought he .... She'd expected him to ....
Edward lowered the window halfway and narrowed frigid blue eyes. "You'll regret this." The window ascended again, tinting him gray. The BMW peeled forward, headed for the main road.
Meg already had regrets. As she watched the car's dust tailings grow smaller, the full implications penetrated. Edward would not be back. She told herself she was glad. If he didn't love her, she was better off solo.
Truly she was.
Ransacking her backpack, which had narrowly escaped being flattened by the BMW's departing tires, she drew out a lavender windbreaker. She zipped the jacket against the June morning's chill and plopped cross-legged in the damp grass. After months of isolation from all that was familiar, Meg needed someone to talk to in the worst way. G.T., her much-loved grandmother, had been her closest confidante for most of her life. But G.T. was gone forever. And Edward, it seemed, had no interest in tuning in to Meg's frequency.
They lived happily ever after. What a crock. She had romanticized Edward beyond all recognition, only to discover her erstwhile Prince Charming preferred the company of a fax machine to her own paltry appeal. She'd offered him her soul, only to find he'd rather have an increase in quarterly profits.
So much for fairy tales.
No, she took that back. She designed computer fantasy games for a living. Myth was her trademark. Illusion was her one skill. As G.T. liked to say, "A girl has to keep on dreaming, Meggie." And she would.
Somewhere, sometime, she'd find a man who could accept her for herself, with all her quirks and flaws. Meanwhile, she’d be more wary of imposters, no matter how promising they appeared. By now, she ought to know enough about reality to expect the unexpected. To accept disappointments without too much surprise.
Leaning back on the heels of her hands, she took a deep breath. The earthy scent of humus blended with the sweet perfume of grass and flowers. Above her, two squirrels scrabbled, chasing each other around a thick evergreen trunk. Birds chirped. Insects whirred. Wind shimmered through aspen leaves and sighed in the boughs of giant spruce.
Across a verdant meadow, Slough Creek's silver ribbon made lazy curves on its journey to the Yellowstone River. The very heartbeat of Earth pulsed in Meg's veins. The dew of life seeped into her pores. She closed her eyes and let herself drift. Dream.
A thumping sound at her back startled her. She spun around to see the rusty pickup parked less than twenty feet away. The bearded driver hadn't left after all. He sat on the tailgate securing a sleeping bag onto a huge pack. His hiking boots showed signs of high mileage. His blue jeans had twin holes in the knees, and a T-shirt emblazoned with a grizzly bear stretched across his broad chest.
Keen gray eyes surveyed her. "I heard the fond farewell," he said in a gruff bass. "You're better off without the sonuvabitch."
Her cheeks heated with embarrassment. "No one invited you to eavesdrop."
He shrugged. "Didn't take much of an effort for anyone this side of Bliss Pass."
A weird combination of pride and misplaced loyalty bristled through Meg, causing her to shore up the miserable truth. "Edward would have stayed, but he had to do some international haggling. Business, you know."
"You're defending that asshole? From what I heard, I thought you hated him." He arched a dark eyebrow, daring her to admit otherwise.
"I guess I . . . No, I don't hate him." She'd imagined herself in love with Edward. That kind of fantasy didn't poof into nonexistence in the time it took for a car to fade into the distance. "I'm disillusioned, but I'll get over it. Eventually." What choice did she have? She reached down to re-order her pack and prepare it for travel.
"You’re not going out there by yourself, are you?" the stranger asked, scowling.
"I . . . haven’t decided yet."
His question made her realize that he would be "out there", too. Physically powerful, as scruffy as a mountain man, he was a scary-looking dude. For all she knew, he could top the FBI's Most Wanted list. She’d rather he didn’t know where she was going, or not going.
His scathing gaze traveled down her body and back up to her eyes. "New boots, new backpack. Have you ever been in the wilderness before?"
"Of course." She didn't want him to think she was helpless. She'd been down this very trail, although many years ago and never alone. Truth to tell, her wilderness knowledge was a bit limited. But if he was going to propose she accompany him, he could forget it. She’d be insane to trudge into the backcountry with a total stranger.
He eased off the tailgate while hitching his muscular arms into backpack straps. "I wouldn’t mind you tagging along if you could keep up. But we both know that’s not too likely." Tiny lines formed around his eyes as he squinted at the morning sun. "If I were you, I'd wait right here until a ranger comes by and gives you a lift to a telephone. Believe me, you're not ready for a backcountry trip. A greenhorn's no match for the grizzlies." He slammed the pickup tailgate closed. After a slight nod in her direction, he started up the trail at a long-legged pace.
The reminder of bears prickled Meg's scalp, but she was stubborn, as Edward had often accused. She needed a good dose of the great outdoors, minus the grizzlies. And minus rude, insulting, achievement-oriented males. At least she didn’t have to worry about the mountain man being a sex-crazed murderer. He gave no indication of being concerned about her one way or the other.
Swinging twenty-something pounds of supplies onto her back, she lifted her face to the sun. Though hiking alone might not be the best choice, she was here. She wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. She needed the time to think things through.
When she returned to civilization, she'd have a few adjustments to make. More than a few, now that she'd quit both Edward and PenUltimate. However, she had survived bad times before. Somehow or other, she'd get by.
A spruce-scented breeze stirred her hair, caressed her skin. High altitude June rays warmed like a microwave, going straight to her marrow. A strange calm welled inside Meg. She was alone for now, but maybe that's how it was meant to be.
Squaring weighted-down shoulders, she started along the path at a rate to rival Buns of Steel, who had already vanished over the first hill.
#
Zack Burkhart headed up Slough Creek trail like he had a forest fire at his back. He felt sorry for the little woman with the halo of windblown golden hair. An image of her green eyes and slender body stuck in his mind. He couldn't see her paired with the Beamer jockey who'd deserted her, but she had no business alone on a Yellowstone trail, either.
He shook off a vague uneasiness at leaving her behind. He'd given sound advice. A neophyte in the backcountry was a disaster in the making. He hoped she'd join the tourist crowd and stay out of trouble. Whistling in counterpoint to the bear bells jingling on his pack, he attempted to forget he'd ever seen her. The last thing he needed was to take on someone else's problems. He had plenty enough trouble of his own.
After covering the forested part of the trail in record time, he emerged in a grassy meadow above Slough Creek's first series of falls. He spent an hour fruitlessly searching the brush along the water for Elsa, his lost llama. He'd loaned the animal to a friend, a professional fishing guide who had "misplaced" her. How the hell could a man misplace a two-hundred-fifty pound llama?
Zack had been inclined to delay the search. Eventually, he figured, a hiker would report Elsa begging for handouts. But Winona, his Sioux mother-in-law, had insisted he needed a "spirit stretch", and the missing pile of mobile wool was a good excuse.
So here he was, although his "spirit" didn't seem any better off than before. A godawful negligence lawsuit in the wake of Sky's death had drained his ability to make peace with Fate. A few days away from his Idaho llama ranch wouldn't help a damn thing.
Even after nearly a year, he thought of Sky all the time, dreamed of her. Sometimes he almost hated her for leaving him so alone. I'm not good at this, Sky. Not good at letting go. Not good at putting Band-Aids on a five-year-old son's broken heart. Especially since Zack could use some salve and adhesive tape himself.
He'd hiked eight miles without a sign of Elsa when he reached a campsite near the turnoff to Bliss Pass. After suspending his pack between two lodgepole pines to keep bears and mice out of the Hershey bars, he decided to pitch the tent later. Setting up camp reminded him of Sky. Better to do that chore at the end of a long day, after he'd found the wayward llama.
With a halter and rope looped over his torso like a guerrilla ammunition belt, he backtracked, weaving from one side of the valley to the other. He used binoculars to search rises and hollows.
As he neared one of Slough Creek's deep crescent bends, he found an abandoned blue backpack. Directly across the creek, a faint trail through the grass led to a bluff overlooking the stream's abrupt descent to a lower meadow. The pack's owner must have taken a side trip.
Zack slitted his eyes at sun reflecting off sheer granite. Near the top of the cliffs, a spot of pale purple swayed. He glimpsed blonde hair and knew it was the woman he'd met at the trailhead. By the time Zack focused his binoculars, she and the splash of color had disappeared behind a boulder.
What the hell was she doing up there? She must be bound and determined to get herself killed. A pebble fell from high on the bluff, ricocheting through a narrow, rock-strewn gorge beneath. He scanned with his binoculars until he spotted her hanging from the uppermost sheet of vertical granite. She wore a lavender jacket swathed around her waist. Legs dangled in mid-air. Boots groped for purchase. Without benefit of a rope, she was lowering herself to a rock shelf tucked in the side of the cliff. If she didn't land exactly right, she would plunge to unforgiving boulders and vicious current.
Zack had a sinking feeling in his gut. She hadn't seemed distraught earlier, but obviously she was suicidal now. He should have let her tag along with him. He should have talked to her, consoled her, reasoned with her. When a person's life fell apart, death seemed an easy out. He knew that better than most.
From a side view of her pretty face, he saw her mouth open wide. He registered her scream, although no sound reached him over the roar of Slough Creek's whitewater. Tossing the binoculars in the direction of her discarded pack, he started to run, with his heart doing tricks that would win a gymnast an Olympic medal.
He splashed across the icy, snow-fed creek. Soaked to the knees, hiking boots heavy with water, he circled the butte and pounded uphill at a point where the climb was relatively easy. Scrambling a hundred vertical feet took less than two minutes.
When he reached the top, she wasn't there. If she'd plummeted into the swift river current, she was beyond anyone's help. His chest ached with a deep sorrow, entwining memories of another accident with this one.
"Hello," he called over the edge, hoping she still clung to the sheer rock face, hoping he could save her.
No answer. No sign of life.
As he dropped to his belly for a closer look, a football-sized chunk of granite broke off and crashed to the water far below. Cursing, he inched forward to peer over the rim. He saw part of a ledge, but no blond lady.
Nothing but a distant wink of lavender, churning through rapids and out of sight.
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