Читать книгу Rescued by the Magic Of Christmas - Melissa McClone, Melissa Mcclone - Страница 6

JAKE PORTER double-checked the gear in his pack, his motions driven by habit and a sharp sense of purpose. Bivy sack. Avalanche transceiver. Probe. Shovel.

His friends were somewhere up on Mount Hood in the middle of one of the worst weather systems to ever hit the Cascades in December. And Jake was going after them.

Carabiners rattled as he closed the pack. Now came the hard part—waiting.

The other members of the mountain rescue unit sat at cafeteria tables inside the Wy’East day lodge, their faces tight and their voices low as they checked their own gear. Yawning reporters grabbed quick interviews between sips of coffee. Eager photographers snapped pictures of the early-morning mission preparations.

The overhead lights made everything look pale, stark and ominous, matching Jake’s mood. The weather, too.

Outside, visibility sucked. The wind howled at forty miles per hour. The morning temperature hovered around thirteen degrees. The threat of frostbite and the very real avalanche danger made going to a higher elevation a fool’s errand. But in his five years as a member of Oregon Mountain Search and Rescue, Jake had never been more eager to confront the elements for a mission.

He wasn’t the only one. Every single OMSAR member had responded to the alert. More than a few had already heard the news and been waiting for the call. Others hadn’t waited and had come here on their own. All they needed was the go-ahead to start moving out. Up.

Radios crackled as someone asked for additional gear from the rescue cache.

Jake tightened the strap around his shovel, ignoring the knot of concern in his stomach. The whiz of the rough nylon brushing through the buckle intensified his unease. His friends should have made it off the hill with no problem.

Where the hell were they?

Iain Garfield was one of the most talented climbers in the Pacific Northwest. Only twenty-three, he’d already made a name for himself, gaining sponsors and gracing climbing magazine covers with his numerous first ascents of peaks around the world. He could climb the Reid Headwall solo. Backwards. With his eyes closed.

And Nick Bishop. He knew the mountain better than almost anyone in the unit. When they were students together, Nick had once climbed the route overnight and made it to class the next morning for a midterm. After getting married and becoming a dad, he wasn’t such a daredevil now. Nick knew challenging the mountain was always a stupid idea. The mountain never lost. That was why after seeing a nasty weather system moving in, he and Iain had changed their plans from a more challenging route to an easier climb.

Radios sprung to life once again as someone asked for the ETA on a Sno-Cat. About time. Except what Jake really wanted was to see his friends walk through the doors with an epic tale to tell.

He stared at the door. No sign of Nick or Iain. Only two rescue leaders talking in hushed tones.

Damn. A heavy weight pressed down on Jake.

Nick had been his best friend since kindergarten class. They’d grown up together. Learned to climb together. Joined OMSAR together. Done everything together. Well, almost everything.

Jake swallowed around the lump of guilt in his throat. He should have been on the climb with them—a climb to celebrate Iain’s upcoming marriage to Nick’s younger sister, Carly—but Jake had said no. Attending the wedding was enough for him. A climb would have been salt to the wound. Okay, his heart. He thought he’d been following his gut, but maybe the decision not to climb had been selfish. If he’d said yes…

Sean Hughes, one of the rescue leaders who’d been talking by the door, motioned for Jake and two other experienced members, Bill Paulson and Tim Moreno, to come over. “Here’s the plan. Avalanche hazard is high and the weather isn’t the greatest. A Sno-Cat will take us to the top of Palmer. When we get there, SAR base is expecting us to call in a condition report to decide if we’re staying put or if any searching is possible.”

Every one of Jake’s muscles tensed. At the top of the Palmer ski lift was a building where they could warm up, regroup and wait for the conditions to improve. Sitting around wasn’t going to get the job done. They needed to head out in the field.

He zipped his parka. “Nick wouldn’t hang around and wait if one of us was up there.”

“We’re not waiting, either.” Sean lowered his voice so no one could hear him. “We’ll call in a report, then head up and bring them home.”

Jake picked up his pack and swung it onto his shoulders. “Damn straight we will.”

The two others grunted their agreement, even though rescuer safety came first in any mission. But when one of your own went missing, risk level changed.

“Let’s hit it,” Sean said, turning on his headlamp.

Jake followed Sean out of the lodge and into the frigid air. Tim and Bill brought up the rear. The media followed, taking pictures of them, the flashes like lightning, as they trudged their way through the heavy wind and darkness to the Sno-Cat. Freezing mist created a haze on Jake’s goggles. Each breath stung. It had to be hell at the summit. What could have happened up there?

Maybe Nick or Iain had gotten injured. Hurt. Maybe they couldn’t get cell coverage. Or the batteries had died. Maybe they were waiting out the weather in a snow cave. Maybe—

“Jacob.”

The familiar feminine voice wrapped around him like an electric blanket set on high. Soft, warm, perfect. He reminded himself that Carly Bishop’s heart belonged to Iain.

But that didn’t mean Jake couldn’t look and appreciate.

Even with her long, blond hair tucked inside a green ski cap, her cheeks flushed from the freezing temperatures and her eyes red and swollen from crying, she was the best thing he’d seen this morning.

“Carly.” He noticed a photographer watching them. The press would sell their firstborn to get an exclusive interview with the fiancée and sister of the missing climbers. “Get inside. It’s too cold out here.”

She shoved her gloved hands in the pockets of her orange down jacket, which was actually one of Iain’s. Her breath hung on the air. “Colder up on the mountain.”

Where Iain and Nick were. His eyes met hers in unspoken understanding.

Jake blinked against the biting mist, against the sting in his eyes. “We’re heading up to find them.”

She inhaled sharply. “Th-they said the search was on hold until conditions improved.”

“The conditions are good enough for us.”

“Thank you so much.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “You have no idea what this means to our family and me.”

Jake knew. He was closer to the Bishops than his own parents. That was one reason he’d tried to never treat Carly as anything other than his best friend’s kid sister. Well, that, and the age difference. She was twenty-two, four years younger than him. That difference in age meant nothing now, but the gap had been huge when they were teenagers.

Though right now she looked more like a kid than ever. Young and vulnerable. Jake wanted to say something to comfort her, but he hadn’t a clue where to start.

“I know it’s rough up there and what you’re up against. But please, Jacob, do whatever …everything you can.” Carly’s voice cracked. “T-tomorrow is…”

December twenty-fourth. Christmas Eve. Her and Iain’s wedding day.

Jake had the wedding invitation on his fridge and their gift under his Christmas tree. Tears streamed unchecked down her face. His already-aching heart constricted.

“I promise you, Carly.” He wiped the tears off her cheeks with his gloved hand. He didn’t dare allow himself to do more, and his caution had nothing to do with the photographer watching them. “I’ll find Nick and Iain. Today.”

Or Jake wasn’t coming back down.