Denali Dreams by Ronie Kendig, Kimberley Woodhouse Page B

David’s chest as he gave his fellow ranger a nudge. “Dude, c’mon. Get a grip.”
    Teeth grinding, David severed the emotional tie those caramel eyes held over him. He took a step back, and humiliation flooded in as he felt the shocked stares of those around him.
    “What is with you, man?” Logan asked in a low tone, guiding him away.
    “She’s a Decoteau.”
    Logan hesitated and looked back, and that little hesitation gave David the affirmation he needed—someone to understand what riled him. Holding David’s arm—right at the tender bruise—Logan stopped. “Look, man. I get your anger, but you gotta wind down your temper.”
    “Why do you think I’m heading to Base Camp?” David stretched his neck. “Days alone with nothing but wind, ice, and snow.”
    “And a Base Camp manager, a ranger doctor, and another ranger.”
    “Yeah, but there’s nearly forty miles of glacier to give me the space I need.”
    Logan laughed. “Dude, I don’t know if
Denali
has enough space for you. Listen, seriously, man.” He sighed. “You need to get over this. It’s eating you up. Mariah wouldn’t—”
    “Don’t.”
    “I will because Mariah was your sister—she loved you. But as an experienced climber, she knew what—”
    The
whoosh
of each heartbeat clogged David’s hearing. He swallowed in an attempt to clear it.
    No-go.
    “All right,” he called out to the others loud and strong, cutting off Logan’s lecture. “Get your gear and lay it out for inspection.”
    David stalked away from Logan, away from the mountain of pressure building at the base of his neck. As he and Logan checked the Decoteau team’s equipment, he tried to scratch the look of shock and hurt lingering in his mind along with the memory of a pair of caramel eyes. It bugged him that he’d hurt her feelings. But he stretched his neck and dug into the check.
    Though he’d hoped to find their equipment faulty or to discover vital pieces missing, each check confirmed they’d followed protocol and smart climbing measures to a T. To boot, their gear was top-notch quality.
    “Everything should be here,” said a stocky-built guy who was ranked as the senior climber. James Sheppard. His son, Aidan, repacked their gear as David finished checking it. “I’m very careful about my climbs. It’s an adrenaline rush, but I realize who has the power.”
    David straightened and considered the man with salt-and- pepper hair. “Yeah? Who’s that?”
    He thumbed toward the mountain. “Denali.”
    With a nod, David moved to the next spread of equipment and crouched to inspect. He hesitated when someone in brown insulated overpants came into view. Jolie. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Why hadn’t Logan checked her stuff? She was thin and pretty. And blond. Probably had just enough skill to make the climb. But what if she got into trouble up there? Would he be hauling her dead body off the mountain the way he had Mariah’s?
    Something in him clenched at the thought. He leaned on her ice axe with his knee, begging it to snap. If it snapped, he could deem her unprepared. Send her packing. A twinge of guilt hardened—just like the axe. It didn’t give.
    He stood and stared at the equipment. Everything in pristine order. And just like Sheppard’s—the best available. No surprise for the rich, spoiled daughter of an Alaskan oilman. Yet the gear wasn’t new. Not even gently used. It had enough wear to prove it’d roughed mountains.
    “Was this Gael’s?”
    Jolie frowned. “No. Why would you ask that?”
    “It’s seen some good use, but it’s taken care of, too.”
    She turned toward him, shock in her expression. “I—”
    “Jolie’s an expert climber,” a guy with too much goop in his hair said as he joined them.
    “Not true, Derrick,” Jolie said.
    Derrick. The guy she’d said was driving the truck when they hit him. This was the type of guy she wanted to climb with? Someone who would run another person down, then not even stop to