In the Clear Page 6

  “For lack of a better word, yes. And overqualified.” She paused, taking a moment to appraise him. If he didn’t know better, he’d have said there was admiration and—yes, even interest—in her eyes. Was it the rescue that had done it? The speech? Or is it me? “How is it that I’ve known you almost my whole life and I’m only just discovering these things? You rescue people even though it scares the crap out of you. You look amazing in a suit. You have a natural gift for public speaking. What else could you possibly be keeping from me?”

  His mouth went dry.

  She turned her attention to the other man. “Mr. Barnes, if you don’t buy this man a truck for his SAR group, I don’t think I’m going to invite you to be Santa next year. In fact, I’m going to make you be an elf. Stripey tights and all.”

  Henry laughed, not the least bit put off by Lexie’s blatant handling of him. “It just so happens I might have a scheme in mind.” He handed Fletcher a business card, taking a moment to scrawl a phone number on the back. “That’s my personal line—none of that wading through secretaries stuff first. You call me next week, understand? I’ve just signed a deal with an aerotech company that might end up being a good deal for the both of us.”

  A thousand overwhelming words of thanks hung on Fletcher’s lips, but he couldn’t manage a single one. Instead, he nodded and tucked the card into his pocket.

  The familiar vibration of his pager going off gave him an excuse for his rudeness. With an apologetic smile, he checked the number. 27-04-18. It didn’t take him longer than a few seconds to translate it in his head. Mountain, Spokane County, Missing Persons.

  “Oh, is that a call now?” Henry’s eyes lit up. “Do you have to go?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  Fletcher caught sight of Lexie’s crestfallen face and hesitated. This was her luncheon, her job, her time. But it was the middle of the workday right before a major holiday. Volunteers were always scarcer around Christmas. “I’ll just call in to get the address, and then I should probably go.”

  “Okay.” Lexie looked around the room before returning to face him. “I should be able to duck out. I’ve just about hit everybody up for donations. There’s only Beatrice Watson left, but I’m trying to avoid her right now. There was this episode with an almond pastry last month . . . ”

  Henry barked out a laugh and clapped Lexie on the shoulder. “Not your fault, young lady. How were you supposed to know the old bat is as allergic as they come?”

  Lexie laughed, but Fletcher could see that it was a struggle. “These things always seem to happen to me, that’s all.”

  “I’ll talk to Beatrice for you,” Henry said with a wink. “I play squash with her husband. How much do you want me to squeeze out of them?”

  Lexie smiled primly. “As much as they care to donate, of course. Though five thousand would get us that new playground equipment. She does have those seven rambunctious grandsons you might want to slip into the conversation.”

  Henry rubbed his hands together, clearly delighted at Lexie’s tactics. “It’d be my honor.”

  “Let me just clear it with Joan first, Fletcher, and we can be off.”

  “Uh, Lexie?” He hated to let her down, especially when she already seemed so upset, but . . . “It’s not really the sort of thing that requires an audience.”

  She frowned. “You don’t want me there?”

  Oh, I want you there. He wanted to spend every minute of his life with her near. That was the problem.

  “I can’t,” he said. “You don’t have the right training and it’s too dangerous—”

  “You think I’ll be in the way.”

  The flatness in her voice was hard to ignore. “No, that’s not it. It’s cold and could last for hours and you . . . ”

  “Always mess things up.”

  “Lexie.” His tone was much sterner than he intended, but he couldn’t stand to see her misconstruing his intent this way. He wasn’t everybody else. Hurting her was worse than plunging into a thousand freezing lakes, more miserable than spending a hundred lifetimes alone. “You have to understand—this isn’t my call to make. I’m not in charge. I’m just a support volunteer.”

  “Oh, I understand.” She sniffled once and backed away. The distance felt like miles, but something about the gleam in her eye made him realize that sadness wasn’t her ruling emotion right now. That was the exact expression she gave Sean when she was planning some kind of retaliation. “But you’re forgetting one small thing. You didn’t drive here today.”

  Fletcher groaned inwardly. She was right. “Do you think maybe I could borrow your car? Someone here could give you a ride home, right?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “Nope,” she repeated, firmer this time. “My car. My rules. Unless you plan on hitchhiking your way to the scene, it looks like you’re going to have to depend on little old Lexie Sinclair for a change.”

  Before Fletcher could try to rationalize further, she turned on her heel, giving him a full view of her back. Her dress plunged in a deep vee to the smallest part of her waist, the delicate line of spine leading to the untold wonders of her backside.

  He gulped and loped to catch up with her. She had no idea how badly he wanted to catch a glimpse of that backside. She had no idea how badly he wanted to depend on little old Lexie Sinclair for everything. His happiness. His future. His heart.

  But getting over his fear of blood and danger was one thing. Getting over his fear of public speaking was another.

  Getting over his fear of losing her?

  He wasn’t sure that would ever happen.

  Chapter Seven

  “It’s like we’re having a baby.” Lexie watched as Fletcher grabbed an oversized backpack by the door and shoved his feet into a pair of heavy-duty boots.

  He whipped to face her, an unnatural shade of white taking over his face. “What did you just say?”

  She laughed and leaned on the doorframe, glad to have finally discomposed him. Ever since Fletcher’s pager had gone off, he’d been like some kind of robot, clicking into action and refusing to look her in the eye. Even now, moving efficiently through his freakishly neat house, he barely registered her presence.

  She gestured at the backpack. “A bag at the door, double-checking to make sure you have everything, an overriding sense of panic. I’ve always assumed this is what happens when a husband and wife get ready to head to the hospital for a baby. It’s like that. You know, minus the baby. Or that whole husband-wife thing.”

  The white in Fletcher’s face was quickly replaced by a blossoming red. In Sean, red signaled his short temper. In Fletcher, it was more likely embarrassment. Great. She was at it again.

  “We should probably get going,” she said, attempting to play it off. “What’s in the baby bag, anyway?”

  “It’s just my gear. Supplies and stuff.”

  Despite their rush, Fletcher took the time to hold open the door for her as they exited, and even made sure she was settled in the driver’s seat before buckling in next to her. They weren’t big gestures, but they were gestures that mattered to Lexie. Small kindnesses had a way of hitting her right in her sweet spots.

  “What kind of supplies do you have?” she asked as she started the car. “You mentioned to Henry that you provide your own stuff. All that is yours?”

  As she moved out of the driveway, she peeked at the backpack. Backpack was hardly the right word for it—the thing was huge, one of those enormous metal-framed things people hiked up to the tops of mountains with, right down to the sleeping bag rolled up and tied on the bottom.

  How odd, imagining Fletcher making his way to the top of a snowy cliff. A tingle moved through her. Odd and exciting.

  “Oh, you know.” He shrugged. “Mostly outdoor basics. Flashlight, overnight gear, extra gloves and socks, first aid kit. My compass.” This last one he said almost reverently.

  “Just like a good boy scout, huh?”

  “It was my father�
�s.” He ducked his head. “My mom threw away a lot of his stuff when she remarried, so it’s one of the few things I have of his.”

  She stopped and stared, flooded with the same sense of panic she’d felt during his speech, as if he was slipping away from her. As if maybe she’d never really known this man at all.

  She’d always been aware that his father’s death had affected him pretty deeply—Fletcher wasn’t the sort to get over a loss like that easily—but she’d had no idea how much it had shaped his life, his decisions, his past. That such an important part of him, so much pain, could be hidden away like that . . . Frankly, it made her want to cry.

  She’d failed him. As one of the people who’d known him the longest—as his friend—she should have been a part of his struggle to overcome his fears. She should have offered a helping hand every step along the way. Instead, she’d spent the past eighteen years of her life feeling sorry for herself because he and Sean didn’t invite her to the arcade with them.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said softly, though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for. For being a crappy human being, maybe. For not understanding his struggles. For taking him for granted.

  “I also carry snacks,” he said, ignoring her.

  She accepted the change of subject with a soft laugh. “Snacks?”

  “Snacks are the most important part. I even have coffee in there—provided we have a fire to make it with. It doesn’t always happen.”

  “I’ve never understood how people can drink that stuff without at least ten sugars in it first. Surely you guys can think of some other way to keep warm out there.”

  “There are ways,” he conceded, though with his face averted to the window, so she couldn’t tell if he realized she’d made a joke.

  The drive took about twenty minutes. Lexie could have gotten to the base of the mountain faster—she had a slight lead foot hiding inside the fur-lined winter boots and snowpants she’d thrown on in the car—but it looked like the snow advisory on the news that morning hadn’t been lying. Large, swirly flakes blanketed her Jeep, obscuring her vision and adding a sheen of slippery ice to the road.

  These were the sort of conditions that made most of her passengers sit on the edge of their seats, sucking in sharp breaths and gripping the dashboard as if she might slide off into a ditch at the tiniest swerve. But a girl didn’t make it through ten winters as a driver in Spokane without learning a few tricks. Slow down. Pump the brakes. Turn into the skid. She wasn’t an idiot.

  Fletcher, though, just sat relaxed in his seat, watching as the scenery changed from white, slushy buildings to white, not-quite-as-slushy trees. As she turned on the road he indicated with the point of his finger, there was no question they’d finally arrived at the scene.

  Lexie wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. In her head, a winter rescue search party included nebulous visions of sirens and big yellow snow-cats, helicopters buzzing around and people in uniform barking orders. What she got instead was one forest-green sheriff SUV, a small circle of cars, and two heavy-duty trucks parked near an RV that had clearly made its debut in the mustard-yellow glory of the seventies. Both trucks were hitched to trailers to add a touch of authority, but other than a snowmobile pointed in the direction of what was clearly a trailhead, the heavy artillery had been left behind.

  Even the small cluster of people—vibrant pillows of oversized coats with neon yellow vests over the top—seemed awfully anticlimactic. There were half a dozen of them, at most.

  “Thanks,” Fletcher said as the crunch of her tires came to a stop. “I should be able to get a ride back with one of the guys.”

  “That’s it?” She stopped her hand on the door handle. He wasn’t even going to let her get out?

  Apparently not. Without offering an excuse or explanation, Fletcher reached into the back seat and grabbed his pack. The corner of it snagged on the dry cleaning hook, and it took him half a minute to extract it.

  And that was it. He was out the door, his lean frame moving in the direction of the circle of people, cool and efficient even in the face of an emergency like this one.

  An overwhelming urge to cry hit her. All the familiar sensations of her own ineptitude were there—the hot, sharp stinging behind her eyes, the hazy lines in her vision—and she hated herself for letting the situation get to her. Stabbing the keys back in the ignition, she vowed not to give in.

  At least not until she hit the highway.

  The passenger door yanked open again, and Fletcher’s head appeared. She was just able to hold back a large sniffle. “What now? Any last minute instructions on how I can stay out of trouble on the long drive home?”

  His eyes softened, drooping at the corners and filling her with the profound urge to rub each line of sadness away. “I’m sorry I was so short with you before. I do appreciate you. It’s just that I’m not used to sharing this part of my life with anyone. Especially . . . ”

  She waited, expecting him to say something along the lines of someone like you. Instead he shook himself and took a deep breath, as if bracing for pain. “Is it okay if I call you later? When I get home?”

  There was a warmness in his tone that, in any other man, she’d take as the rumblings of interest. Real interest. The sexual kind, with nipples and everything that came with them.

  “Of course,” she replied, her own tone a little wobbly. Since when had Fletcher’s gaze become so direct? Since when did it have the power to make her feel so throbbingly, achingly feminine?

  “Be careful out there, okay?” she added. “No jumping into freezing lakes or careering off mountains unless you have to.”

  “I’m always careful.” As he turned away, she thought she heard him add, “Too careful.”

  But that might have just been a figment of her imagination.

  # # #

  She almost missed it.

  The flash was so small it was barely noticeable. The snow was coming down thick enough now that cars had to have their headlights on or risk being unseen amidst the swirls of fluffy white snow, and a car pulled into the parking lot with its brights on high. Lexie had to look away so that her eyes didn’t over-adjust, which was when she noticed the tiny silver medallion, almost like a jewelry locket, wedged next to the passenger side door.

  Fletcher’s compass.

  She touched the brakes, cursing as the wheels locked. It would be a treacherous drive home if she waited much longer, but there was no way she was releasing Fletcher into the wild without his navigation system and good luck charm, no matter how much they might rely on GPS these days.

  She turned the car around and parked again, this time behind a small turnoff so Fletcher wouldn’t come running the moment he saw her car. Pocketing the compass, she pulled her scarf tight around her ears and ventured into the cold.

  And cold it was. Not city cold, where buildings and cars brought the temperature up a few degrees and made everything a grubby mess, but mountain cold, the overspread trees the only thing standing between her and the afternoon sky. It was hard to imagine Fletcher’s backpack containing enough blankets to keep him from freezing in this stuff overnight.

  She approached the rescue site cautiously, not wanting to interrupt. As he’d mentioned this being a missing person situation, the gathering of vehicles and people appeared to be their base of operations, a sort of mobile rescue center for the men and women initiating the search. The people—ten in all—stood gathered around a heavily mustachioed older man in what looked like a ranger’s outfit, many of them taking notes, all of them shuffling anxiously.

  This was a bad place to be lost, that was for sure. Further up the hill, Mt. Spokane was a popular ski resort, but down here at the bottom, the forest stretched off for miles in every direction. Unofficial cross-country skiing tracks were located down here, and prints of several long, heavy skis went up one well-marked path.

  That wasn’t where the group’s attention rested, though. They were focused on several sets of roundish prints head
ing into the woods—right next to a sign clearly marked Trail Closed.

  Lexie shivered and wrapped her arms tighter around herself. It was all too easy to imagine herself in that situation, lost and scared, leading the way with yet another well-meaning attempt gone wrong. It was a good thing she kept her athletic endeavors well within the confines of yoga and Zumba, where the gym’s well-lit and fully staffed interior kept her away from any major harm.

  She must have been louder than she thought, crunching along in the snow. Fletcher’s head—a good half a foot above everyone else’s—turned her direction. With a leap, she vaulted herself behind the larger of the two truck trailers.

  No need to make this a bigger deal than it already was—no need to draw Fletcher away from his task. Get in, get out, get home. Leave the professionals to the real work while she went home to drink her expensive hot chocolate and curl up with a book.

  All while someone else faced death. Never before had Lexie felt so ornamental. So useless.

  There were a few packs on the ground next to the trailer. She didn’t see Fletcher’s, but the door to the trailer was slightly ajar. It was one of those tallish ones, the kind people used to move furniture, big enough to stand up in, as long as she hunched. Pushing gently on the door, she peeked inside. There. The space looked to be full of extra gear—harnesses and huge jugs of water, a first aid kit. A stretcher. Included with these more ominous items were the rest of the packs.

  It didn’t take long to spot the dingy blue of Fletcher’s. Crouching near it, she reached into her pocket so she could clip the compass to the outside. But her hand grasped nothing, save for a ball of lint and one really old Godiva chocolate.

  “What the—?” She shed her glove and dug harder. Typical. Trust her to lose the darn thing between here and the car. When her hand finally hit metal—seriously, how deep did this pocket go?—she was so relieved she shot to her feet.

  She heard the sound of her head cracking against the ceiling of the trailer before she felt it, loud and splintering and reverberating through her skull. The last thought she had before the bright white behind her eyes gave way to darkness was that she hoped they didn’t hear her outside.