Running the Numbers (16 page)

The truck loaded and the storage room locked up, they climbed into Sadie’s truck, and she handed him a small cooler before starting the engine.

“Seems redundant,” he quipped.

Sadie grinned as she shifted into drive. “You’re welcome to put your sandwich somewhere else.”

The drive out to the lake was like something out of a wintery fairy tale. The Tetons rose up from the valley like tyrants looming over their minions—stark, formidable, and terrifying. The sagebrush coated in inches of thick white snow created dips and hollows that made the landscape seem especially foreign, like the surface of an alien planet. The elk were crammed into the refuge, thousands upon thousands, and herds of wild buffalo dotted the hills on either side of the winding highway.

“Wild buffalo. That’s unreal.”

“I’m always surprised when people are surprised.” Sadie paused a beat. “Your poor judgment concerning wild animals, like your fox friend, compels me to warn you buffalo will maul and kill you if you get too close. As will moose. And even elk. Hell, a whitetail deer might have a go if it’s got young nearby. Every year, some dumb tourists gets shredded to ribbons because they think Yellowstone is a petting zoo.”

Blake raised his hands in defense but kept his gaze trained on the passing landscape. “Knee-high or smaller. I’m stupid, not brave.”

Sadie pointed toward the valley opening up in the foreground of the Tetons, showing him where the Snake River wound through the lowest part of the valley, its every twist and turn given away by the evergreens and aspens that grew in thick patches along its banks. “Great fishing in the Snake. When I was a kid, my first stepdad took me fishing east of here, at the other end of town. There’s a spot under a bridge with some nice beach-like areas. So, he’s got this open-reel, hundred-dollar rod, right? And me, of course, he gave this crappy plastic thing, with thin line that snapped like nothing, and probably cost ten bucks. We’re fishing and we’re fishing, and he catches the first one, a brown trout a good eight or nine inches long. I wasn’t surprised, but I was definitely grumpy. My mom taught me to fish. I knew what I was doing. I hated being treated like I was playing at it when I was every bit as good of an angler as my stepdad, even at that young age. Anyway, a few hours in, he’s ready to leave. I’m not. I insist he let me cast a few more times. He grumbles and moans but starts packing our gear slowly, yapping on and on about his great catch, as I keep at it.

“And then,
wham!
Something yanks my line so hard I immediately think I’ve hooked on to a fallen tree in the water, because it’s solid. But then it starts to tug. Fallen trees don’t tug. I start working at it. Reel, stop, tug. Let out a little line, then yank it back to set the hook, praying the crappy line doesn’t break. It was like some kind of miracle when I reeled in a fourteen-inch rainbow trout. My stepdad was pissed
.
”

Riveted, Blake stared at her profile as she drove, admiring the reminiscent smile playing on her lips at the fond memory. “Does the fish get bigger every time you tell the story?”

Her small fist sprung out and caught his shoulder in a playful attack. “That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”

He laughed and rubbed his shoulder. “You said he was your first stepdad?”

Her jaw fell open, and she turned her smoky eyes to him. “Really? I tell you an amazing story, the crowning achievement of my angling youth, and that’s your question?” Her gaze swung back to the road. “Yeah, I had more than one. My mom wasn’t the type to settle. You know how guys are. Okay, maybe you don’t. Once they have you, they quit trying. The way men say a woman lets herself go. Well, with men, they quit being charming and romantic. They start watching television in their underwear and not caring what they smell like. Mom was a bra-burning mountain girl, with a painfully idealistic image of what constituted love. When they quit making an effort because she was ‘won,’ she left. They were supposed to chase her on their dashing steeds, move mountains for her, and vow to never lose her again. None of them ever did any of those things. She wanted the fairy tale and never got it.”

“What happened to her?”

Sadie kept referring to her mom in past tense. Blake wasn’t genius-grade material, but he could do simple math.

Sadie’s mouth formed a straight line. “Mountain climbing accident.” She pointed to her left, to the severe Tetons. “Climbing to the peak of the Grand Teton. She fell. She survived the fall itself. Broke her back and dozens of other bones. A rescue helicopter found her, and she was lifted to the hospital, where she died shortly after from internal injuries.”

Every word hit Blake like a gut-punch as he gazed through Sadie’s window at the majestic mountain. His brain wouldn’t allow him to attempt imagining the terror of falling from a mountain face like that. “That’s—that’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged. “It’s a risk she took. It’s also why I don’t rock-climb,” she added sardonically. “Besides, I made it to St. John’s hospital in time. I was able to hold her hand and say good-bye, and that’s more than a lot of people get.”

“I think I’d be angry. I feel the risk wasn’t justified. Was it really worth it to her?”

Sadie offered him a quick glance and a small amused smile before focusing on the winding road again as she slowed for a curve. “Hundreds of people climb the Tetons every year, Blake. Besides, I don’t hold others’ freewill against them. We live for ourselves at the end of the day, and we have to live in a way that jives with our needs. Mom needed to climb mountains. I can’t blame her for that.”

They’d dropped farther down into the valley to where the trees were, and now a barren forest gorged with snow crowded the highway on both sides. Finally, the trees opened up as they crossed the Jackson Lake Dam. Sadie rounded one final curve and flicked on her turn signal for the parking lot where they’d unload their gear.

He wasn’t ready to let it go at that. “Seems rather generous, don’t you think? Not holding people accountable for their freewill?” It explained why she thought of him as some kind of good guy. With that kind of mentality, everyone was a good guy.

Sadie flashed him a wry glance. “You misunderstand. Do I hold your freewill against you? Of course not. This is America. Do as you please. Now, ask me if I hold the consequences of how you choose to exercise that will against you.”

Blake hiked an eyebrow.

Sadie gave a decisive nod. “Damn right I do.”

Gravel crunched under the tires as Sadie maneuvered the truck into position beneath a stand of aspens.

Sadie dropped the gearshift into park, undid her seat belt, and swiveled to face Blake. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. You’re drawing some kind of correlation between you and my mom, and it’s ridiculous. I’m not mad at her because it was her right to go climb mountains. It wasn’t your right to be unfaithful to your wife. Now, quit philosophizing, and let’s go.”

* * * *

Even in the tent with the heater blowing warm air, Blake’s extremities were stiff from the bone-deep chill.

Sadie didn’t seem to notice. She’d had the physical tasks of hauling the ice sled across the lake while Blake followed, slipping and cursing, with the lunch cooler. She’d used the ice auger to drill out a core of ice to give them access to the water and then put up the tent. Plenty to get her muscles moving and her blood flowing.

Blake stood by, once again the holey pocket of uselessness.

Now, a couple of hours and not a bite later, they were huddled in canvas camping chairs. He was grateful Sadie had thought of something so practical, because it hadn’t crossed his mind that he didn’t want to park his butt on the ice until she pulled one of the chairs from its mesh bag.

“This is great. I’m having a blast.” He sat hunched forward. The words stuttered through his quivering lips.

She grinned, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Nothing worth having is easy to achieve.”

He raised a brow. “So, a normal fish caught off the bank isn’t worth having because it would be easy to catch?”

“It’s not the destination; it’s the journey.” Her grin widened.

No doubt about it, she was amused. Well,
he
didn’t find freezing his tenders off all that hilarious. “So, it’s not the giant fish we’re after, it’s the freezing our butts off that counts?”

She shook her head and reached for the cooler with their lunches. From it, she retrieved two brown paper sacks and hurled one into Blake’s lap. “Here. Set your reel down and eat, grumpy.”

He hadn’t realized he was ravenous until he pulled out the squished, misshapen sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly. His mouth watered. He ignored the rest of the snacks in the bag and sank his teeth into the soggy sandwich with a moan. “
Ohmgitsgo
.”

Sadie studied him over the rim of her Thermos, yet another thing Blake hadn’t had the foresight to bring along. He should’ve asked for a list of necessities.

He swallowed the wad in his mouth. “It’s good.”

She smiled. “Thank you. You’ll like the cinnamon almonds, too. I made them myself, if you can believe it.”

“Not for a second,” he replied before taking another massive bite. The sandwich was half gone already.

Sadie’s face scrunched up. “Caught me. Got ’em at the grocery store.”

Blake successfully hid his amusement. It wouldn’t do for Sadie to realize how much he enjoyed her company or how funny he found her or how he was having more fun in the middle of a frozen lake freezing his nuggets off than he’d had in weeks with Amanda.

His good mood snuffed out like a candle. There he went again, comparing the two women.

Fishing rods—short, stocky handheld models designed specifically for fishing within the confines of a thermal tent—were back in hand a short time later, lunches wiped out entirely. A quiet loomed over them that Blake blamed squarely on Sadie. She had a faraway look in her eyes, like she’d become lost in her thoughts. He didn’t doubt for a second they had to do with him. Conceit had nothing to do with it; it was the way she kept stealing none-too-subtle glances at him every few minutes, a considering thoughtful gleam behind her ashen gaze.

By the time they were nearing the end of their time window, Blake was tired and disappointed. Not the faintest of tugs on his line all morning, and Sadie’s ogling had started to get under his skin.

He finally snapped. “You want to say what’s on your mind instead of staring at me like I’ve turned purple?”

“Fine. You
have
turned purple, by the way, but sure, let’s play.” Her succinct tone didn’t bode well. He braced himself. “You’re bored, Blake.”

Part of him backed up defensively, while another part of him breathed out heavily in relief. He ran a hand over his face and stared at the side wall of the tent because he couldn’t quite bring himself to look Sadie in the eye. “I know.”

“You know?” Her surprise convinced him to look at her.

“Why so shocked? You said it.”

She shrugged. “I guess I didn’t expect you to admit it.”

“I probably shouldn’t. But, hell, I am bored. At least, I think I am. I don’t know. I mean, I convinced myself I was bored with Quinn, too. I’m probably
not
bored, actually, I just have some mental disorder where I tell myself I’m bored to justify seeking out excitement.” He stared into the black water through the hole in the ice.

That made a lot of sense, actually.

Sadie broke into his rumination with a
tsk
laden with disdain. It was the first time he’d ever heard her sound annoyed. With him, anyway. “Man, you’re
really
hung up on your past. Past wives, past mistakes, past this, past that. What about right now? This minute. This week. This place, this time. Are you going to wait until you’re fifty to concern yourself with the present, or wait until it’s part of your past, too?”

She’d struck an exposed nerve Blake hadn’t realized was there. She’d gone beyond a sensitive spot and stabbed into an open wound.

His first instinct was anger. Sadie didn’t know anything about him. She couldn’t know how deeply he’d ruined his life and how determined he was not to make the same mistakes. She wanted to believe it had everything to do with women, but there were other things he’d forfeited in his pursuit of a good time.

He calmed himself with a deep breath. She couldn’t understand unless he explained. “This isn’t just about Amanda. Or Quinn. It goes back to Hunter, my baby with Kira. He came into the world like a bucket of ice water over my head. At that time, my relationship with Seth was beyond repair. It took Quinn threatening my rights to open my eyes to how far away he was. We were virtual strangers. In my heart, Hunter was my redemption. My second chance to do it right. To be a good dad. When I found out he wasn’t mine, it killed me.” Worse, Kira had ripped him straight out of Blake’s life, without ever asking if he’d raise the baby, despite the truth.

He would’ve done it. He would’ve raised Hunter as his own had it ever been an option.

Blake ran a hand over his face. The pain had faded, but a new one had sprung up in its place. “Then came Maddie. In a perfect world, one where I didn’t screw up everything I touched, she’d be mine. She
should’ve
been mine. Instead, she’s a living, breathing reminder that I don’t deserve a redo. Have you ever desperately wanted something you knew you’d never get? I’m forty, rusty at dating, and I’ll never get another chance to be a dad. To be a
good
dad, to be a kid’s go-to parent. Hell, Seth gets Jack’s advice before he asks mine.”

He stopped and looked away. He’d never dreamed he’d say any of this out loud. Somehow, it was equally freeing and damning. Hearing the words aloud, he believed them. A tiny bit of the hope he clung to evaporated. He shook his head. “Or maybe I just wanted another shot at having a family of my own, where I have a deeper value than an uncle. So, there you have it. I can’t go back in time and be Father of the Year or the World’s Greatest Husband, but I can be a better man here and now.”

Sadie’s eyebrows gathered in puzzlement. “Dating Quinn’s doppelganger is some kind of redemption, then? Oh, I get it.” The concept seemed to light a fire beneath her, and her sarcasm cut into his vulnerability. “She’s Quinn, I’m Kira, and you find yourself at that same crossroads with the same two women. What can you do but the exact opposite of what you did last time, all for some skewed idea of atonement? That’s wrong on so many levels; it’s inconceivable I have to explain it. Amanda is
not
Quinn. I’m not Kira. You do us both an injustice when you ascribe another woman’s traits to our physicality. You’re pasting Quinn over Amanda, and it’s wrong.”