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Synopsis
Rancher and mountain climber Josh Conway has never backed down from a challenge. So when a photographer disappears in the wilderness during a blizzard, Josh answers the emergency call and leaps into action. Yet he's soon shocked to find the person in "distress" is doing fine-and she's a gorgeous blond spitfire who's as brave and bold as he is. Sierra Moore will stop at nothing to capture the perfect picture, even if it means braving a snowstorm in the mountains. She's not used to being rescued, especially by a ruggedly handsome cowboy who makes her heart skip a beat. Sierra can't turn down Josh's invitation to ride out the storm at the Conway family ranch-and she can't resist his slow, steamy kisses, either. But this mysterious beauty is hiding a deadly secret. Now as a dangerous force closes in on her, Sierra fears it will destroy everyone she cares about . . . starting with Josh.
Release date: September 25, 2012
Publisher: Forever
Print pages: 368
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Josh
R. C. Ryan
“Ryan takes readers to Big Sky country in a big way with her vivid visual dialogue as she gives us a touching love story with a mystery subplot. The characters, some good and one evil, will stay with you long after the book is closed.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Quinn is a satisfying read. R. C. Ryan is an accomplished and experienced storyteller. And if you enjoy contemporary cowboys in a similar vein to Linda Lael Miller, you’ll enjoy this.”
—GoodReads.com
“Engaging… Ryan paints a picturesque image of the rugged landscape and the boisterous, loving, close-knit Conway family.”
—Publishers Weekly
“I thoroughly enjoyed reading about the Conway family and their ranch. Each of the brothers was interesting in different ways and it will be fun to read their stories… a wonderful introduction to a new trilogy that looks to be unique and full of surprises.”
—NightOwlReviews.com
“The child adds a lovely emotional element to the story, the secondary romance is enjoyable, and all loose ends are nicely tied up.”
—RT Book Reviews
“[The Montana Trilogy] is a good series of hunky cowboys and nail-biting mystery. Zane and Riley have great chemistry and are a read that you can’t put down.”
—Parkersburg News and Sentinel (WV)
“These not-to-be-missed books are guaranteed to warm your heart!”
—FreshFiction.com
“Ms. Ryan did an amazing job keeping the story line at a perfect pace… A standalone novel, but I would definitely recommend you grab the other two… because I promise you will love them, too!”
—TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
“Wonderful romantic suspense tale starring a courageous heroine who is a lioness protecting her cub and a reluctant knight in shining armor… a terrific taut thriller.”
—GenreGoRoundReviews.blogspot.com
“5 Stars! Watching this wild rebel and independent woman attempt to coexist was so much fun… The author, R. C. Ryan, delivers an ongoing, tantalizing mystery suspense with heartwarming romance. Sinfully yummy!”
—HuntressReviews.com
“Ryan’s amazing genius at creating characters with heartfelt emotions, wit, and passion is awe-inspiring. I can’t wait until Montana Glory comes out… so that I can revisit the McCord family!”
—TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
“The series continues to intrigue, and each page brings you closer to finding the treasure. Another terrific story from R. C. Ryan.”
—SingleTitles.com
“[A] wonderful series… I couldn’t put this book down. I can’t wait until Zane’s story comes out.”
—NightOwlReviews.com
“A captivating start to a new series.”
—BookPage
“Heart-melting sensuality… this engaging story skillfully refreshes a classic trilogy pattern and sets the stage for the stories to come.”
—Library Journal
“Fabulous… a well-written story with fully developed characters that I easily came to care for.”
—HuntressReviews.com
“Delightful… Jesse and Amy are a breath of fresh air, and R. C. Ryan beautifully translates the intense feelings they stir in one another.”
—SingleTitles.com
“A fresh, entertaining tale that will keep you wanting to read more… We only get tantalizing hints of Wyatt and Zane, but I can’t wait to read their stories.”
—RomRevToday.com
Conway ranch—Wyoming—1990
Quinn.” Cole Conway, weary from a day of unrelenting ranch chores, paused in the mudroom to roll his plaid shirt to the elbows before scrubbing the grime from his hands. “Go fetch your brothers for supper.”
“Yes, sir.” As the oldest of Cole’s three sons, twelve-year-old Quinn was accustomed to running and fetching. He saw it as part of his responsibility to his younger brothers, especially since the mysterious disappearance of their mother, Seraphine.
He hurried to the barn, where he found seven-year-old Jake struggling to unsaddle his pony. While he helped, Quinn glanced around the cavernous building. “Where’s Josh?”
Jake shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen him.”
Quinn tossed the saddle over the side of the stall. “Better get inside. Pa’s ready to eat.”
When Jake hurried away, Quinn searched the barn, then made his way to the house, where he climbed the stairs to Josh’s bedroom.
Standing in the open doorway he called, “Josh. Better hurry downstairs. Pa’s hungry.”
His words were greeted by an ominous silence.
He started across the room toward the bathroom, when a scrap of notepaper in the middle of the bed caught his eye. He picked it up, scanned the words, then raced down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the rest of his family was gathered.
Old Ela, a member of the Arapaho nation, who had been with the family for nearly forty years, was cutting warm corn bread into squares. Phoebe Hogan, their newly hired housekeeper, was placing a platter of steaming roast beef, potatoes, and gravy in the center of the big trestle table. Cole and his father, Big Jim, stood on the far side of the room, before a roaring fire, sharing a beer and an animated conversation.
Cole looked up. “Quinn, I told you to fetch—”
“He’s gone.” Quinn paused to catch his breath.
Cole looked annoyed at this disruption of their routine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Josh is gone, Pa.” Quinn held up the scrap of paper. “I found this note on his bed.”
Cole crossed the room in quick strides and snatched the paper from his son’s hand. After reading it, he passed it to Big Jim.
As he read the words, the older man’s eyes narrowed in concentration.
Cole turned away, muttering every rich, ripe oath he could think of. “When I get hold of that boy, he won’t be able to sit down for a—”
“Hold on.” Big Jim put a hand on his son’s arm. “You stay here. I’ll go after him.”
“That note says only that he’s gone to the mountain.” Cole glanced out the window at the Teton mountains towering in the distance. “He could be anywhere.”
“He can’t be too far ahead. He was mucking stalls less than an hour ago. You stay with your boys. I’ll find him.”
Before Cole could argue, Big Jim snagged a handful of corn bread and some slices of roast beef, which he stuffed into a plastic bag before striding out the door.
Along the way he grabbed his parka and one for Josh. Though the spring days were shirtsleeve weather, the nights, especially in the mountains, grew downright frigid after sundown.
Though he would have preferred the comfort of his truck, he saddled the big bay, knowing a vehicle would never make it where he was headed.
He pulled himself into the saddle and prayed that the light would last another couple of hours. Just until he could find one ten-year-old boy who’d taken himself off to the mountains to brood.
There weren’t many things left in this world that frightened Big Jim Conway. He’d been little more than a boy when he’d left Ireland to seek a life in this brave new land. He’d buried a wife and five sons, and had raised his only surviving son on his own. He’d faced the fierce whims of Wyoming weather, had turned extreme poverty into extreme wealth, taming this wilderness and making his ranch one of the finest in the country. And he’d done it all his way, by the sweat of his own brow. But the words scribbled on the scrap of paper by his middle grandson had him running scared.
I’ve gone off to the mountain.
It was so like Josh. The boy had always been the rebel of the family. The rule breaker. The independent thinker. The loner.
Big Jim had no idea why the Tetons, towering over their land, called to the boy. But they seemed to hold some sort of power over him. Whenever Josh could manage to slip away, his family knew they could find him somewhere in those hills, climbing. Always climbing. And each time he climbed, he went higher than the time before, without regard to the perils that lurked.
That was what had Big Jim so afraid. The boy had no fear. Not of the cougars that roamed the higher elevations, nor the storms that often blew in without warning, covering the mountains with wind and sleet and snow. A boy of ten wouldn’t give a thought to the fact that a single misstep could cause him to fall hundreds of feet into an abyss where he might never be found, or leave him with crippling injuries that could cause him to be paralyzed for life.
All these fears played through Big Jim’s mind as he tethered his horse and began making his way along the steep trail, picking up an occasional thread or torn scrap of fabric that told him Josh had passed this way.
He looked up at the spectacular sunset, unable to appreciate its beauty. To Big Jim it meant only that dusk would soon be upon the land, making his task even more perilous.
He rounded a bend and spotted a lone figure sitting on a shelf of rock overlooking the land to the west.
The sight of his grandson left him weak with relief, and he took a moment to study the boy, his knees drawn up, arms around them, a pensive look on his face.
Big Jim took a deep, calming breath before striding closer and sitting down beside him.
Josh barely spared him a sideways glance.
“Your pa was worried, boyo.”
“No need. I’m fine.”
“It’s late. A lot can happen on this mountain.”
“I know how to take care of myself.”
“Yes, you do.” Big Jim leaned his back against a rock and turned his head to study the boy beside him. “Feel like talking?”
Josh shrugged. “Why bother? Nobody ever listens.”
“I’m here. I’m listening.”
The silence stretched out for so long, the old man began to think he’d made a mistake intruding on his grandson’s solitude.
Then, haltingly at first, the words began to tumble out of Josh’s mouth.
“Nobody ever talks about Mom.”
“It’s painful to talk about her. Ever since she went missing, your pa’s heart’s been broken. To cover it up, he turns to work, hoping if he pushes himself far enough and hard enough, it won’t hurt so much.”
“What about my heart? And Quinn’s? And Jake’s? How’re we supposed to keep on going without ever seeing her again?”
And there it was. Out in the open. All the nerves exposed and raw.
Big Jim prayed for the right words.
“I know your hearts are all broken, boyo. I know a thing or two about a broken heart. I learned a long time ago that it’s the price we have to pay for loving someone. When the time comes to let them go, we’re never ready. But it isn’t our choice. It’s up to the Almighty.”
“Are you saying God took my mom? ’Cause if that’s so, why can’t we find her body? Or is God really some evil spirit, like Ela’s Arapaho spirits?”
Dangerous territory, Big Jim thought. But he had no choice now but to plow ahead.
“As far as I know, Ela’s native spirits don’t do harm. As for the Almighty, I’ve always thought of him like a father. Tough, but fair. Loving, but always expecting us to do the right thing.”
“And if we don’t? What if we do something bad? Is that why Mom is gone?”
Big Jim lay a hand over his grandson’s. “Don’t ever think that. Bad things don’t happen to us as punishment for something we did or didn’t do. They just happen. They’re part of life. They happen to good people and bad. As for your mom, we don’t know if she’s dead or just missing. The fact that she disappeared without a trace left more questions than answers. I wish I could make you a promise, but I can’t. We may never know what happened. But we’re trying, boyo. Your pa’s hired a team of private investigators, and the police chief has the state police working on it. Chief Fletcher said that if they believe your mom crossed out of Wyoming, we can count on the FBI to lend a hand. But for now, we have to carry on with our lives. You know that’s what your mom would want for all of us. To get up every morning, put one foot in front of the other, and do the best we can.”
“But it’s like she was never in our lives now. Pa never talks about her.”
“He can’t, son. He’s tried, but every time he does, he breaks down. He doesn’t want you boys to see him cry. That’s why he takes himself out to the barns, or up to the hills, to work off his grief.” Big Jim cleared the lump from his throat. “But she’ll always be in our lives. Your daddy only has to look at you and he sees her. In your eyes. In the shape of your face, the tilt of your head, the jut of your chin. And know this, boyo. I give you my solemn promise. From now on, whenever you or your brothers want to talk, I’ll be here to listen.” In the silence that followed he closed his hand over his grandson’s shoulder and squeezed. “You hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Good.” The old man let out a long, slow breath and realized that it was the most he’d ever said about the terrible loss that had them all reeling. And though he’d been forced into it, it had been good to finally get it out. Like cutting open a festering wound and letting the poison seep out.
He leaned his back against the stone and allowed himself to admire the sky streaked with deep red and pink and purple, and to relish the silence that had settled over the land as darkness descended.
“This is a good place, boyo. You come here a lot?”
The boy remained pensive, but some of the tension had slipped from his hunched shoulders.
He nodded. “It’s my thinking place. Sometimes, when I’m up here, I swear I can hear Mom telling me what to do.”
“You’ll make her proud, I’m thinking. You’ve got some very special talents, boyo.”
Josh’s head swiveled. “I do?”
“Yeah. There aren’t many lads who can climb this mountain the way you do. Not many, I’d wager, with your fearlessness. You have the sort of pioneer spirit that built this great land. You just keep on honing your skills, and your future is going to be bright.”
He could see that his words touched the boy’s heart and seemed to settle deep in his soul.
Seeing the boy relax, Big Jim pulled on his parka, and handed one to his grandson. Then he withdrew the plastic bag from his pocket and shared the corn bread and beef, wishing he had a tumbler of good Irish whiskey to wash it down.
At last, warm, replete, content, the smile came to Josh’s face. That same wide slice of mouth that was so like Seraphine’s, crinkling the eyes, putting a light in them. A smile that could brighten the darkest hour. “Thanks, Big Jim.”
The old man knew Josh wasn’t thanking him for the food, but for something much deeper. A chance to be heard. A chance to share a real conversation. A chance to know that he mattered. That he was valued.
“You’re welcome, boyo.”
The old man and the boy remained there for what seemed like hours before they began the slow descent.
When they reached the tethered horse, Big Jim pulled himself into the saddle and his grandson climbed up behind him, wrapping his arms around the old man’s waist and pressing his cheek against his broad back.
They never again spoke about the incident, but a very special bond was formed between the old man and his middle grandson during that time shared on the mountain.
Conway ranch—Present Day
Hoo boy.” Josh Conway, fresh from morning chores in the barn, shook the rain from his dark, shaggy hair before hanging a sodden rain slicker on a hook in the mudroom. He bent to wash his hands at the big sink, and stepped into the kitchen of the family ranch. “Rain’s coming down out there like the storm of the century.”
“That’s what it looks like to me, boyo.” Big Jim was standing by the window sipping coffee and watching dark clouds boiling around the peaks of the Tetons in the distance. Jagged slices of lightning illuminated the ever-darkening sky and turned the leaves of the cottonwoods to burnished gold.
Though it was early autumn in Wyoming, there was a bite to the air, hinting at what was to come.
“Do I smell corn bread? Now that ought to brighten my day.” Josh made a beeline for the counter beside the oven, where Ela was cutting a pan of her corn bread into squares.
“Wait for the others.” The old Arapaho woman rapped his knuckles with her wooden spoon, but she couldn’t help grinning as he stuffed a huge slice in his mouth before turning away to snag a glass of orange juice from a tray.
Cole, who had been going over financial papers in his office, paused in the doorway just as Quinn and his new bride, Cheyenne, came striding in, arm in arm.
“Good,” Quinn said in a loud stage whisper. “They haven’t finished breakfast yet.”
“Haven’t even started.” Phoebe, the family’s longtime housekeeper, hurried across the room to hug them both.
After the disappearance of their mother, she had been hired to help Ela with the household and to help raise the three boys. A young widow herself, she’d sold her hardscrabble ranch and moved in to become their trusted friend and confidante, and their biggest supporter as they’d made the difficult journey through childhood and adolescence. Now, looking at the grown men she’d helped raise, she was as proud as a mother hen.
“And you just happened to be in the neighborhood,” Josh deadpanned.
“That’s right.” Quinn helped himself to a cup of steaming coffee. “After morning chores at Cheyenne’s ranch, we figured we’d amble over here and see if you needed any help.”
“Amble? Bro, you had to drive a hundred miles an hour to get here in time for breakfast.” Jake, their youngest brother, and the family prankster, stepped in from the mudroom, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, his hair wet and slick from the downpour.
Cheyenne shared a smile with her husband. “I told you they wouldn’t buy the story that we just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
“The only thing that happens to be in this neighborhood is Conway cattle,” Big Jim said with a chuckle. “And maybe a few of Quinn’s wolves and Cheyenne’s mustangs.”
“I’m betting they’d start a stampede for some of Ela’s corn bread.”
At Quinn’s remark, they all laughed louder.
“That’s one of the reasons we’re here.” Quinn turned to Ela. “Cheyenne and I have used your recipe, but it never turns out like yours.”
Josh winked at his new sister-in-law. “I bet she left out a key ingredient, just so you’d always have to come back here to get the best.”
“You see, Ela?” Jake was grinning from ear to ear. “I told you it would work.”
They all joined in the laughter.
“Sit down, everybody.”
At Phoebe’s invitation they gathered around the big wooden trestle table and began passing platters of ham and eggs, potatoes fried with onions and peppers, and Ela’s corn bread, as well as an ample supply of wild strawberry preserves, a favorite of Big Jim’s.
Phoebe circled the table, topping off their cups of coffee.
Jake filled his plate before handing the platter to Josh. “Big Jim and I are heading up to the hills after breakfast.”
“You’re heading right into the storm,” Josh remarked.
“Yeah. I’ve been watching those clouds.” Jake nodded toward the window, where the sky had been growing murkier by the hour. “Want to come along, bro?”
Josh helped himself to eggs. “Sure. A little rain doesn’t bother me. I can lend a hand. You doctoring some cattle, Doc Conway?”
Jake nodded. “Pretty routine stuff. But the work goes a lot faster with an extra pair of hands.”
When Josh’s cell phone rang, he idly glanced at the caller ID. His voice took on a businesslike tone as he answered. “Josh Conway.” He listened in silence before saying, “Okay. I’m on it.”
As he tucked his phone into his shirt pocket, he turned to Jake with a grin. “Guess I’ll have to take a pass on going along with you and Big Jim. I’m needed on the mountain.”
Cole shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to climb those peaks in this storm. How come they never call on you to climb on a sunny day?”
“I guess because no fool hiker ever gets himself lost in good weather, Pa.” Josh drained his cup and pushed away from the table. “I think it’s some kind of rule of the universe that every careless hiker in the world decides to climb the Tetons just before the biggest storm of the century blows through.”
He left the room to fetch his gear, which he always kept packed and ready for emergency calls. Through the years Josh Conway had built a reputation as a fearless, dependable climber who could be counted on to locate lost hikers who couldn’t be found by the rangers.
When he returned to the kitchen, Phoebe handed him a zippered, insulated bag.
At his arched brow she merely smiled. “Something to eat on the drive to your mountain.”
“Thanks, Phoebe.” He brushed a kiss over her cheek before giving a salute to the rest of his family. “See you soon.”
“Take care, boyo,” Big Jim said gruffly as Josh turned to leave the room.
Big Jim listened as his grandson’s footsteps echoed through the mudroom and out the back door and then glanced at his family gathered around the table. Though their conversation had resumed, it was muted. And though they never spoke of it, every one of them knew that there was no such thing as a routine climb. Not when the one doing the climbing was there because the professionals had already tried, without success, to find a missing hiker.
Josh was their last resort. The strong, capable loner who would never give up until the one who was lost was found.
See you soon.
Josh’s parting words played through Big Jim’s mind.
Funny, he thought, that ever since Seraphine disappeared all those years ago, none of them could ever bring themselves to say good-bye.
Maybe it was just as well.
Good-bye seemed so final.
“The missing hiker’s named Sierra Moore.” Mitch Carver, a ranger who had been working the Teton Range for over twenty years, tipped back his chair and idly tapped a pen against the desktop, the only sign of his agitation. “A professional photographer and veteran hiker. When she filled out the required backcountry use permit, she was warned of possible storms in the area, and she said she was hoping to capture them on film. I didn’t think much of it until she failed to check in with our station. I tried her contact number, and she never responded. It could mean that she simply forgot to power up her cell. Or the storm may have knocked out any chance of a signal. But her lack of response could mean she’s in trouble. And since she didn’t fill out the names of any friends or family to contact, I decided to send Lee to track her. But she wasn’t found in the area where she’d said she was heading.” He glanced at the papers she’d filled out. “Midlevel, possibly climbing as high as the western ridge.”
“Lee knows his stuff.” Josh had worked with rangers Mitch Carver and Lee Haddon for years, and was comfortable that neither of them would ask his help unless they were convinced that they’d chased every lead they could.
Mitch returned to his pen tapping. “Lee found no trace of her. None of the rangers spotted her. So far she hasn’t taken advantage of any of the rest areas or campsites, though they’re all on alert to watch for her. It’s like she just vanished.”
Vanished.
Josh felt the quick little shiver that passed through him and resented the fact that even now, all these years later, the word could have this effect on him.
“Okay.” He forced himself to relax. “We know she’s somewhere on the mountain. And with the storm, she’s probably hunkered down somewhere until it blows over. Mark all the places that Lee hiked, and I’ll chart a different route.”
Mitch handed over the map with a highlighted overlay.
Seeing Josh’s arched brow, he grinned. “After all these years, I’m pretty good at anticipating what you’ll ask for.”
Josh studied the trail taken by Lee Haddon. It was the logical path to the area the missing hiker had indicated. That meant that she’d been sidetracked along the way, or had chosen to climb higher than she’d first planned. The latter seemed unlikely, considering the fierce storms she must be dealing with. But he had to consider every possibility.
He began making a mental trail of his own. Though most hikers came to these mountains once or twice in their lives, this was Josh’s home turf. He didn’t need a physical map to tell him where every peak, every dangerous dip, curve, and valley lay.
The storm changed everything, though. Here at ground level, he had to contend with only thunder, lightning, and heavy rain. If forced to climb to the higher elevations, that would change to snow and sleet and tremendous winds.
Josh picked up his gear and strode to the door of the ranger’s office. “I’ll be in contact.”
“I know you will.” Mitch Carver lifted his hand in a salute as the door closed.
Josh had been climbing steadily for hours. And though he’d found no trail, not even a trace of another human being, he continued on.
As he’d suspected, the rain had turned to sleet in the higher elevations and now had turned to a bitter snow driven by an even more furious, blinding wind. It whistled up the side of the mountain, flinging a sudden spray of ice and snow in his eyes, like a slap in the face.
He needed to stop for the day and make camp. His muscles were beginning to protest the extra e. . .
—RT Book Reviews
“Quinn is a satisfying read. R. C. Ryan is an accomplished and experienced storyteller. And if you enjoy contemporary cowboys in a similar vein to Linda Lael Miller, you’ll enjoy this.”
—GoodReads.com
“Engaging… Ryan paints a picturesque image of the rugged landscape and the boisterous, loving, close-knit Conway family.”
—Publishers Weekly
“I thoroughly enjoyed reading about the Conway family and their ranch. Each of the brothers was interesting in different ways and it will be fun to read their stories… a wonderful introduction to a new trilogy that looks to be unique and full of surprises.”
—NightOwlReviews.com
“The child adds a lovely emotional element to the story, the secondary romance is enjoyable, and all loose ends are nicely tied up.”
—RT Book Reviews
“[The Montana Trilogy] is a good series of hunky cowboys and nail-biting mystery. Zane and Riley have great chemistry and are a read that you can’t put down.”
—Parkersburg News and Sentinel (WV)
“These not-to-be-missed books are guaranteed to warm your heart!”
—FreshFiction.com
“Ms. Ryan did an amazing job keeping the story line at a perfect pace… A standalone novel, but I would definitely recommend you grab the other two… because I promise you will love them, too!”
—TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
“Wonderful romantic suspense tale starring a courageous heroine who is a lioness protecting her cub and a reluctant knight in shining armor… a terrific taut thriller.”
—GenreGoRoundReviews.blogspot.com
“5 Stars! Watching this wild rebel and independent woman attempt to coexist was so much fun… The author, R. C. Ryan, delivers an ongoing, tantalizing mystery suspense with heartwarming romance. Sinfully yummy!”
—HuntressReviews.com
“Ryan’s amazing genius at creating characters with heartfelt emotions, wit, and passion is awe-inspiring. I can’t wait until Montana Glory comes out… so that I can revisit the McCord family!”
—TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
“The series continues to intrigue, and each page brings you closer to finding the treasure. Another terrific story from R. C. Ryan.”
—SingleTitles.com
“[A] wonderful series… I couldn’t put this book down. I can’t wait until Zane’s story comes out.”
—NightOwlReviews.com
“A captivating start to a new series.”
—BookPage
“Heart-melting sensuality… this engaging story skillfully refreshes a classic trilogy pattern and sets the stage for the stories to come.”
—Library Journal
“Fabulous… a well-written story with fully developed characters that I easily came to care for.”
—HuntressReviews.com
“Delightful… Jesse and Amy are a breath of fresh air, and R. C. Ryan beautifully translates the intense feelings they stir in one another.”
—SingleTitles.com
“A fresh, entertaining tale that will keep you wanting to read more… We only get tantalizing hints of Wyatt and Zane, but I can’t wait to read their stories.”
—RomRevToday.com
Conway ranch—Wyoming—1990
Quinn.” Cole Conway, weary from a day of unrelenting ranch chores, paused in the mudroom to roll his plaid shirt to the elbows before scrubbing the grime from his hands. “Go fetch your brothers for supper.”
“Yes, sir.” As the oldest of Cole’s three sons, twelve-year-old Quinn was accustomed to running and fetching. He saw it as part of his responsibility to his younger brothers, especially since the mysterious disappearance of their mother, Seraphine.
He hurried to the barn, where he found seven-year-old Jake struggling to unsaddle his pony. While he helped, Quinn glanced around the cavernous building. “Where’s Josh?”
Jake shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen him.”
Quinn tossed the saddle over the side of the stall. “Better get inside. Pa’s ready to eat.”
When Jake hurried away, Quinn searched the barn, then made his way to the house, where he climbed the stairs to Josh’s bedroom.
Standing in the open doorway he called, “Josh. Better hurry downstairs. Pa’s hungry.”
His words were greeted by an ominous silence.
He started across the room toward the bathroom, when a scrap of notepaper in the middle of the bed caught his eye. He picked it up, scanned the words, then raced down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the rest of his family was gathered.
Old Ela, a member of the Arapaho nation, who had been with the family for nearly forty years, was cutting warm corn bread into squares. Phoebe Hogan, their newly hired housekeeper, was placing a platter of steaming roast beef, potatoes, and gravy in the center of the big trestle table. Cole and his father, Big Jim, stood on the far side of the room, before a roaring fire, sharing a beer and an animated conversation.
Cole looked up. “Quinn, I told you to fetch—”
“He’s gone.” Quinn paused to catch his breath.
Cole looked annoyed at this disruption of their routine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Josh is gone, Pa.” Quinn held up the scrap of paper. “I found this note on his bed.”
Cole crossed the room in quick strides and snatched the paper from his son’s hand. After reading it, he passed it to Big Jim.
As he read the words, the older man’s eyes narrowed in concentration.
Cole turned away, muttering every rich, ripe oath he could think of. “When I get hold of that boy, he won’t be able to sit down for a—”
“Hold on.” Big Jim put a hand on his son’s arm. “You stay here. I’ll go after him.”
“That note says only that he’s gone to the mountain.” Cole glanced out the window at the Teton mountains towering in the distance. “He could be anywhere.”
“He can’t be too far ahead. He was mucking stalls less than an hour ago. You stay with your boys. I’ll find him.”
Before Cole could argue, Big Jim snagged a handful of corn bread and some slices of roast beef, which he stuffed into a plastic bag before striding out the door.
Along the way he grabbed his parka and one for Josh. Though the spring days were shirtsleeve weather, the nights, especially in the mountains, grew downright frigid after sundown.
Though he would have preferred the comfort of his truck, he saddled the big bay, knowing a vehicle would never make it where he was headed.
He pulled himself into the saddle and prayed that the light would last another couple of hours. Just until he could find one ten-year-old boy who’d taken himself off to the mountains to brood.
There weren’t many things left in this world that frightened Big Jim Conway. He’d been little more than a boy when he’d left Ireland to seek a life in this brave new land. He’d buried a wife and five sons, and had raised his only surviving son on his own. He’d faced the fierce whims of Wyoming weather, had turned extreme poverty into extreme wealth, taming this wilderness and making his ranch one of the finest in the country. And he’d done it all his way, by the sweat of his own brow. But the words scribbled on the scrap of paper by his middle grandson had him running scared.
I’ve gone off to the mountain.
It was so like Josh. The boy had always been the rebel of the family. The rule breaker. The independent thinker. The loner.
Big Jim had no idea why the Tetons, towering over their land, called to the boy. But they seemed to hold some sort of power over him. Whenever Josh could manage to slip away, his family knew they could find him somewhere in those hills, climbing. Always climbing. And each time he climbed, he went higher than the time before, without regard to the perils that lurked.
That was what had Big Jim so afraid. The boy had no fear. Not of the cougars that roamed the higher elevations, nor the storms that often blew in without warning, covering the mountains with wind and sleet and snow. A boy of ten wouldn’t give a thought to the fact that a single misstep could cause him to fall hundreds of feet into an abyss where he might never be found, or leave him with crippling injuries that could cause him to be paralyzed for life.
All these fears played through Big Jim’s mind as he tethered his horse and began making his way along the steep trail, picking up an occasional thread or torn scrap of fabric that told him Josh had passed this way.
He looked up at the spectacular sunset, unable to appreciate its beauty. To Big Jim it meant only that dusk would soon be upon the land, making his task even more perilous.
He rounded a bend and spotted a lone figure sitting on a shelf of rock overlooking the land to the west.
The sight of his grandson left him weak with relief, and he took a moment to study the boy, his knees drawn up, arms around them, a pensive look on his face.
Big Jim took a deep, calming breath before striding closer and sitting down beside him.
Josh barely spared him a sideways glance.
“Your pa was worried, boyo.”
“No need. I’m fine.”
“It’s late. A lot can happen on this mountain.”
“I know how to take care of myself.”
“Yes, you do.” Big Jim leaned his back against a rock and turned his head to study the boy beside him. “Feel like talking?”
Josh shrugged. “Why bother? Nobody ever listens.”
“I’m here. I’m listening.”
The silence stretched out for so long, the old man began to think he’d made a mistake intruding on his grandson’s solitude.
Then, haltingly at first, the words began to tumble out of Josh’s mouth.
“Nobody ever talks about Mom.”
“It’s painful to talk about her. Ever since she went missing, your pa’s heart’s been broken. To cover it up, he turns to work, hoping if he pushes himself far enough and hard enough, it won’t hurt so much.”
“What about my heart? And Quinn’s? And Jake’s? How’re we supposed to keep on going without ever seeing her again?”
And there it was. Out in the open. All the nerves exposed and raw.
Big Jim prayed for the right words.
“I know your hearts are all broken, boyo. I know a thing or two about a broken heart. I learned a long time ago that it’s the price we have to pay for loving someone. When the time comes to let them go, we’re never ready. But it isn’t our choice. It’s up to the Almighty.”
“Are you saying God took my mom? ’Cause if that’s so, why can’t we find her body? Or is God really some evil spirit, like Ela’s Arapaho spirits?”
Dangerous territory, Big Jim thought. But he had no choice now but to plow ahead.
“As far as I know, Ela’s native spirits don’t do harm. As for the Almighty, I’ve always thought of him like a father. Tough, but fair. Loving, but always expecting us to do the right thing.”
“And if we don’t? What if we do something bad? Is that why Mom is gone?”
Big Jim lay a hand over his grandson’s. “Don’t ever think that. Bad things don’t happen to us as punishment for something we did or didn’t do. They just happen. They’re part of life. They happen to good people and bad. As for your mom, we don’t know if she’s dead or just missing. The fact that she disappeared without a trace left more questions than answers. I wish I could make you a promise, but I can’t. We may never know what happened. But we’re trying, boyo. Your pa’s hired a team of private investigators, and the police chief has the state police working on it. Chief Fletcher said that if they believe your mom crossed out of Wyoming, we can count on the FBI to lend a hand. But for now, we have to carry on with our lives. You know that’s what your mom would want for all of us. To get up every morning, put one foot in front of the other, and do the best we can.”
“But it’s like she was never in our lives now. Pa never talks about her.”
“He can’t, son. He’s tried, but every time he does, he breaks down. He doesn’t want you boys to see him cry. That’s why he takes himself out to the barns, or up to the hills, to work off his grief.” Big Jim cleared the lump from his throat. “But she’ll always be in our lives. Your daddy only has to look at you and he sees her. In your eyes. In the shape of your face, the tilt of your head, the jut of your chin. And know this, boyo. I give you my solemn promise. From now on, whenever you or your brothers want to talk, I’ll be here to listen.” In the silence that followed he closed his hand over his grandson’s shoulder and squeezed. “You hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Good.” The old man let out a long, slow breath and realized that it was the most he’d ever said about the terrible loss that had them all reeling. And though he’d been forced into it, it had been good to finally get it out. Like cutting open a festering wound and letting the poison seep out.
He leaned his back against the stone and allowed himself to admire the sky streaked with deep red and pink and purple, and to relish the silence that had settled over the land as darkness descended.
“This is a good place, boyo. You come here a lot?”
The boy remained pensive, but some of the tension had slipped from his hunched shoulders.
He nodded. “It’s my thinking place. Sometimes, when I’m up here, I swear I can hear Mom telling me what to do.”
“You’ll make her proud, I’m thinking. You’ve got some very special talents, boyo.”
Josh’s head swiveled. “I do?”
“Yeah. There aren’t many lads who can climb this mountain the way you do. Not many, I’d wager, with your fearlessness. You have the sort of pioneer spirit that built this great land. You just keep on honing your skills, and your future is going to be bright.”
He could see that his words touched the boy’s heart and seemed to settle deep in his soul.
Seeing the boy relax, Big Jim pulled on his parka, and handed one to his grandson. Then he withdrew the plastic bag from his pocket and shared the corn bread and beef, wishing he had a tumbler of good Irish whiskey to wash it down.
At last, warm, replete, content, the smile came to Josh’s face. That same wide slice of mouth that was so like Seraphine’s, crinkling the eyes, putting a light in them. A smile that could brighten the darkest hour. “Thanks, Big Jim.”
The old man knew Josh wasn’t thanking him for the food, but for something much deeper. A chance to be heard. A chance to share a real conversation. A chance to know that he mattered. That he was valued.
“You’re welcome, boyo.”
The old man and the boy remained there for what seemed like hours before they began the slow descent.
When they reached the tethered horse, Big Jim pulled himself into the saddle and his grandson climbed up behind him, wrapping his arms around the old man’s waist and pressing his cheek against his broad back.
They never again spoke about the incident, but a very special bond was formed between the old man and his middle grandson during that time shared on the mountain.
Conway ranch—Present Day
Hoo boy.” Josh Conway, fresh from morning chores in the barn, shook the rain from his dark, shaggy hair before hanging a sodden rain slicker on a hook in the mudroom. He bent to wash his hands at the big sink, and stepped into the kitchen of the family ranch. “Rain’s coming down out there like the storm of the century.”
“That’s what it looks like to me, boyo.” Big Jim was standing by the window sipping coffee and watching dark clouds boiling around the peaks of the Tetons in the distance. Jagged slices of lightning illuminated the ever-darkening sky and turned the leaves of the cottonwoods to burnished gold.
Though it was early autumn in Wyoming, there was a bite to the air, hinting at what was to come.
“Do I smell corn bread? Now that ought to brighten my day.” Josh made a beeline for the counter beside the oven, where Ela was cutting a pan of her corn bread into squares.
“Wait for the others.” The old Arapaho woman rapped his knuckles with her wooden spoon, but she couldn’t help grinning as he stuffed a huge slice in his mouth before turning away to snag a glass of orange juice from a tray.
Cole, who had been going over financial papers in his office, paused in the doorway just as Quinn and his new bride, Cheyenne, came striding in, arm in arm.
“Good,” Quinn said in a loud stage whisper. “They haven’t finished breakfast yet.”
“Haven’t even started.” Phoebe, the family’s longtime housekeeper, hurried across the room to hug them both.
After the disappearance of their mother, she had been hired to help Ela with the household and to help raise the three boys. A young widow herself, she’d sold her hardscrabble ranch and moved in to become their trusted friend and confidante, and their biggest supporter as they’d made the difficult journey through childhood and adolescence. Now, looking at the grown men she’d helped raise, she was as proud as a mother hen.
“And you just happened to be in the neighborhood,” Josh deadpanned.
“That’s right.” Quinn helped himself to a cup of steaming coffee. “After morning chores at Cheyenne’s ranch, we figured we’d amble over here and see if you needed any help.”
“Amble? Bro, you had to drive a hundred miles an hour to get here in time for breakfast.” Jake, their youngest brother, and the family prankster, stepped in from the mudroom, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, his hair wet and slick from the downpour.
Cheyenne shared a smile with her husband. “I told you they wouldn’t buy the story that we just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
“The only thing that happens to be in this neighborhood is Conway cattle,” Big Jim said with a chuckle. “And maybe a few of Quinn’s wolves and Cheyenne’s mustangs.”
“I’m betting they’d start a stampede for some of Ela’s corn bread.”
At Quinn’s remark, they all laughed louder.
“That’s one of the reasons we’re here.” Quinn turned to Ela. “Cheyenne and I have used your recipe, but it never turns out like yours.”
Josh winked at his new sister-in-law. “I bet she left out a key ingredient, just so you’d always have to come back here to get the best.”
“You see, Ela?” Jake was grinning from ear to ear. “I told you it would work.”
They all joined in the laughter.
“Sit down, everybody.”
At Phoebe’s invitation they gathered around the big wooden trestle table and began passing platters of ham and eggs, potatoes fried with onions and peppers, and Ela’s corn bread, as well as an ample supply of wild strawberry preserves, a favorite of Big Jim’s.
Phoebe circled the table, topping off their cups of coffee.
Jake filled his plate before handing the platter to Josh. “Big Jim and I are heading up to the hills after breakfast.”
“You’re heading right into the storm,” Josh remarked.
“Yeah. I’ve been watching those clouds.” Jake nodded toward the window, where the sky had been growing murkier by the hour. “Want to come along, bro?”
Josh helped himself to eggs. “Sure. A little rain doesn’t bother me. I can lend a hand. You doctoring some cattle, Doc Conway?”
Jake nodded. “Pretty routine stuff. But the work goes a lot faster with an extra pair of hands.”
When Josh’s cell phone rang, he idly glanced at the caller ID. His voice took on a businesslike tone as he answered. “Josh Conway.” He listened in silence before saying, “Okay. I’m on it.”
As he tucked his phone into his shirt pocket, he turned to Jake with a grin. “Guess I’ll have to take a pass on going along with you and Big Jim. I’m needed on the mountain.”
Cole shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to climb those peaks in this storm. How come they never call on you to climb on a sunny day?”
“I guess because no fool hiker ever gets himself lost in good weather, Pa.” Josh drained his cup and pushed away from the table. “I think it’s some kind of rule of the universe that every careless hiker in the world decides to climb the Tetons just before the biggest storm of the century blows through.”
He left the room to fetch his gear, which he always kept packed and ready for emergency calls. Through the years Josh Conway had built a reputation as a fearless, dependable climber who could be counted on to locate lost hikers who couldn’t be found by the rangers.
When he returned to the kitchen, Phoebe handed him a zippered, insulated bag.
At his arched brow she merely smiled. “Something to eat on the drive to your mountain.”
“Thanks, Phoebe.” He brushed a kiss over her cheek before giving a salute to the rest of his family. “See you soon.”
“Take care, boyo,” Big Jim said gruffly as Josh turned to leave the room.
Big Jim listened as his grandson’s footsteps echoed through the mudroom and out the back door and then glanced at his family gathered around the table. Though their conversation had resumed, it was muted. And though they never spoke of it, every one of them knew that there was no such thing as a routine climb. Not when the one doing the climbing was there because the professionals had already tried, without success, to find a missing hiker.
Josh was their last resort. The strong, capable loner who would never give up until the one who was lost was found.
See you soon.
Josh’s parting words played through Big Jim’s mind.
Funny, he thought, that ever since Seraphine disappeared all those years ago, none of them could ever bring themselves to say good-bye.
Maybe it was just as well.
Good-bye seemed so final.
“The missing hiker’s named Sierra Moore.” Mitch Carver, a ranger who had been working the Teton Range for over twenty years, tipped back his chair and idly tapped a pen against the desktop, the only sign of his agitation. “A professional photographer and veteran hiker. When she filled out the required backcountry use permit, she was warned of possible storms in the area, and she said she was hoping to capture them on film. I didn’t think much of it until she failed to check in with our station. I tried her contact number, and she never responded. It could mean that she simply forgot to power up her cell. Or the storm may have knocked out any chance of a signal. But her lack of response could mean she’s in trouble. And since she didn’t fill out the names of any friends or family to contact, I decided to send Lee to track her. But she wasn’t found in the area where she’d said she was heading.” He glanced at the papers she’d filled out. “Midlevel, possibly climbing as high as the western ridge.”
“Lee knows his stuff.” Josh had worked with rangers Mitch Carver and Lee Haddon for years, and was comfortable that neither of them would ask his help unless they were convinced that they’d chased every lead they could.
Mitch returned to his pen tapping. “Lee found no trace of her. None of the rangers spotted her. So far she hasn’t taken advantage of any of the rest areas or campsites, though they’re all on alert to watch for her. It’s like she just vanished.”
Vanished.
Josh felt the quick little shiver that passed through him and resented the fact that even now, all these years later, the word could have this effect on him.
“Okay.” He forced himself to relax. “We know she’s somewhere on the mountain. And with the storm, she’s probably hunkered down somewhere until it blows over. Mark all the places that Lee hiked, and I’ll chart a different route.”
Mitch handed over the map with a highlighted overlay.
Seeing Josh’s arched brow, he grinned. “After all these years, I’m pretty good at anticipating what you’ll ask for.”
Josh studied the trail taken by Lee Haddon. It was the logical path to the area the missing hiker had indicated. That meant that she’d been sidetracked along the way, or had chosen to climb higher than she’d first planned. The latter seemed unlikely, considering the fierce storms she must be dealing with. But he had to consider every possibility.
He began making a mental trail of his own. Though most hikers came to these mountains once or twice in their lives, this was Josh’s home turf. He didn’t need a physical map to tell him where every peak, every dangerous dip, curve, and valley lay.
The storm changed everything, though. Here at ground level, he had to contend with only thunder, lightning, and heavy rain. If forced to climb to the higher elevations, that would change to snow and sleet and tremendous winds.
Josh picked up his gear and strode to the door of the ranger’s office. “I’ll be in contact.”
“I know you will.” Mitch Carver lifted his hand in a salute as the door closed.
Josh had been climbing steadily for hours. And though he’d found no trail, not even a trace of another human being, he continued on.
As he’d suspected, the rain had turned to sleet in the higher elevations and now had turned to a bitter snow driven by an even more furious, blinding wind. It whistled up the side of the mountain, flinging a sudden spray of ice and snow in his eyes, like a slap in the face.
He needed to stop for the day and make camp. His muscles were beginning to protest the extra e. . .
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