The Mountain Between Us. Cindy Myers

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СКАЧАТЬ Mistress. Aspen glowed yellow against the darker green of conifers on the flanks of the mountains, the road a red-brown ribbon wound between the peaks. The truck engine whined as Jameso shifted into low gear to climb a steep grade.

      “Most years there’d already be a foot of snow up this high,” he said. “Bob’s saying we might not get any snow at all before Christmas. Telluride’s making snow on a few slopes, but it’s not the same as the real stuff. It ices up too much.”

      A native of Houston, Maggie wasn’t sure how she felt about snow. The longer it held off, the better, she thought, though Jameso didn’t share that opinion and she wasn’t in the mood to argue with him.

      “You’re being kind of quiet this morning,” he finally said as he turned his truck onto the dirt track that led to the mine. “You feeling okay?”

      “Just a little queasy.” That was true enough. Between the winding mountain roads and her misgivings about the news she had to give him, it was a wonder her breakfast was staying down.

      “Are you coming down with something?” He took one hand off the steering wheel and laid it on her forehead. “You don’t feel like you have a fever.”

      “I’ll be fine.” She blinked back sudden tears. His palm on her forehead had been cool and slightly rough, yet the gesture itself had been quite tender. The kind of gesture she could imagine a father making toward a daughter. Or a son. She swallowed hard. If she burst into hormonal tears here, Jameso might freak out and run the truck right off the side of the mountain. For the sake of her unborn child—and her own dignity—she had to keep it together.

      “Let’s go by the house first and check on things,” she said.

      Her father’s house—her house now—was a three-room miner’s shack with no two windows the same size. Solar panels, a wood stove, and a cistern provided all the comforts of home. Though her father had lived here year-round for years, the road wasn’t plowed in winter and Maggie had no desire to commute to work on a snowmobile, so she’d relocated to a place in town, next door to Jameso.

      Three weeks ago, they’d come up to the cabin and drained all the water lines, emptied the refrigerator, and closed everything up tight for the winter. But she felt the need to revisit the place as long as they were here. It had been the first home she’d ever had that was hers alone. She’d gone straight from her mother’s house to her husband’s apartment. Living on her own had been a heady sensation—a privilege she hadn’t been willing to give up when Jameso asked her to move in with him. Judging by the look of relief in his eyes when she’d turned down the invitation, he wasn’t ready to give up his independence either, which didn’t bode well for their baby.

      “I’ll go around back and make sure marmots haven’t gnawed the insulation off the pipes,” Jameso said as he and Maggie climbed out of the truck, parked on the only semi-flat stretch of dirt in the yard.

      “Marmots?”

      “They like the way the insulation tastes, for some reason. Porcupines like to gnaw foundations, but since the cabin’s built on rock, you don’t have to worry about that.”

      “Between potential avalanches and rock slides, lightning storms and attacks by wildlife, it’s a wonder anyone ever even tried to live up here,” she said.

      “Nature’s always trying to take back its own,” he said, and disappeared around the side of the cabin.

      Maggie climbed the steps of the front porch, the grayed boards creaking beneath the soles of her boots. The house perched on the side of the mountain, the back porch jutting into space. She knew strong bolts kept the foundation anchored firmly to the rock, but on her first visit here she’d been sure she was in danger of sliding down into the canyon. She hadn’t known anything about her father, Jake, then, but his choice of a place to live seemed to confirm the picture his lawyer had painted of a first-prize eccentric.

      Maggie had spent the first night in the house—divorced, unemployed, and absolutely unsure of the future—disappointed that her inheritance was this ramshackle house and a mine that produced no gold. Yet, she’d found everything she needed to get back on her feet right here in this mountaintop cabin.

      Jameso came around the side of the house. “The pipes are okay.”

      “Do you remember that first night we met, when you drove up here on your motorcycle?” she asked.

      “You threatened me with a stick of firewood.”

      “You accused me of trespassing.” Jake hadn’t told many people he had a daughter, so when Maggie told Jameso the cabin was hers he’d thought she was lying.

      “I was a goner from the moment I met you.” Jameso closed the gap between them in a few strides. “You were so beautiful—and clearly scared out of your skull, but determined to be brave. Even without the firewood, you knocked me for a loop.” He kissed her, his lips firm and warm against hers.

      She turned away, heart fluttering wildly. It’s just the altitude, she told herself. They were above 10,000 feet in elevation, where the air contained less oxygen, making breathing more difficult.

      “Is something wrong?” Jameso’s dark brows drew together, giving him a foreboding look.

      “I’m just”—she looked around for some excuse that would explain her attack of nerves—“it’s just sad, that’s all, closing the place for winter. I really enjoyed living here. I felt like a real mountain woman.” For the first time in her life she’d made her own decisions, done what she wanted. She’d come to understand why Jake had chosen to live here, surrounded by sky and mountains.

      “Jake would love knowing that. This place was always special to him.”

      Jake had been a larger-than-life figure to everyone who knew him. The people in Eureka had filled Maggie’s head with stories of things he’d done—both heroic and awful. These stories had kept company with the fantasies she’d built up over the years about the father who was only a smiling young man in a photograph to her. He’d walked out on her mother when Maggie was three days old, but before she’d died, Maggie’s mother had forgiven him. Maggie had spent months uncovering Jake’s story, and though she still didn’t know it all, she had learned how his experiences in Vietnam had left scars that wouldn’t heal—psychological wounds that made it impossible for him to stay with the ones he loved the most.

      “Do you ever think much about Iraq?” she asked Jameso.

      “Iraq?” His expression darkened. “Why are you talking about that now? What difference does it make?”

      “I was just thinking how Vietnam messed up my dad’s life so much.”

      He compressed his lips into a thin line. “I’m not your dad. Come on.” He took her arm and they started down the path toward the mine.

      The air held a winter chill at this altitude, and the wind blew from the north as they headed up the path. Maggie drew her coat tighter around her. “I’m surprised we haven’t seen Winston,” she said. Her father had tamed the bighorn ram by feeding it cookies, and Maggie had continued to hand out the treats.

      “He’s probably found some pretty little ewe to cozy up with for the winter,” Jameso said.

      “No more Lorna Doones.”

      “No, СКАЧАТЬ