Naked Edge (2 page)

I’m almost to the top when I decide to exit out a little to the right, over a small roof. It’ll require a short traverse, but it’s a much more challenging climb.
 

I shove my last cam into the crack then top out. I want to get some shots of Boone coming out of the chimney but I can’t do it from here. I call out for more slack and edge my way back over to the left and build an anchor.

When Boone gets close to the top, I yell at him to wait. “I’m going to lock off the belay.”

“Did you say ‘off belay?’”

“No.” I probably could have worded that better. “I’m using a mule knot so I can go hands free for a second.”

I snap off a half-dozen shots. Looking at Boone through the lens gives me the emotional distance I need to see him as something other than my goofy cousin. Even if we weren’t related, I wouldn’t be attracted to his Abercrombie blond-tipped hair, honey-brown eyes and pretty-boy face. I prefer a more rugged, darker, masculine look. A more Rowdy Daletzki look.
 

“Skylar? What the hell did you do?” Boone’s obviously not happy with the way I ran out the route.
 

“You’re the one that insisted I place pro every five feet. I ran out of cams.”

“No. I mean the traverse.” He points at the rope that’s angled sharply to the right. “Jesus.”

“Hang on. I want to get a few more shots.”

“How much longer?” Boone dips his fingers in his chalk bag then switches grips and shakes out his right arm. “I’m getting pumped.”

I loosen the mule knot then brace my feet on the edge and lean out over it.
 

“What are you doing?” Boone’s voice is tight, higher pitched than normal.

“It’s okay. I’ve practiced this stance a hundred times.” It was in a climbing gym twenty feet off the ground instead of three hundred, but the principles are the same.
 

Boone’s expression of pure terror is priceless. He’s a skilled climber, but he’s afraid of heights. Go figure. I fire off another series of shots. If I can get one of my photos on the cover of just one climbing magazine, I can justify pursuing an art degree instead of the more practical Business Administration. I don’t have the luxury of pursuing a ‘fun’ career unless I’m sure I can support myself with it.

“Sky, back off, now. This isn’t safe.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Okay. Sorry.” I bend my knees and reach behind me so I can pull myself around with the rope. I realize it’s the wrong move, even as I do it. But it’s too late.
 

I slip on the loose gravel, lose my balance and tumble, headfirst, over the edge. My foot catches the side of Boone’s helmet as the rope flips me right side up with a bone-jarring jerk. I watch in horror as he pops a nut then pendulums to the right. He screams when he slams into the cliff.
 

“Boone! Are you okay?”

“Fuck!”

“What hurts?”

“My ankle. I think it’s broken.”

“Anything else?” I don’t see any blood, but he’s pressed against the wall, so I can’t really tell.
 

“No. Just my ankle. But it really hurts.”

“You’re okay. Try to stay calm.” I love Boone like a brother, but he tends to be a little overly dramatic. At least that last cam held.

Someone below yells, “Hang on. Help’s coming.”

I check my watch every few seconds, so even though it feels like it takes forever, I know it’s only been ten minutes when a sun-kissed, ruggedly handsome face peers over the ledge. It’s been over four years since I’ve seen Rowdy Daletzki, but I’d recognize those ice-blue eyes even if it had been a hundred.

My stomach clenches as heat floods my cheeks. Damn. All I can see is his chiseled face and broad, muscular shoulders, but my imagination fills in the rest. His helmet hides his coal black waves but I’ll bet his hair is just as silky as it ever was. My fingers tingle with the desire to find out. It’s clear that Rowdy’s even hotter at twenty-one than he was at seventeen. Much hotter.

“Are you injured?” Rowdy’s voice is still smooth as velvet, but it’s deeper than I remember.
 

I blink and lick my lips as heat floods my body. It takes a few seconds for his words to cut through the haze of lust clouding my brain. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? What sort of a slut gets turned on during a rescue?
 

It’s obvious Rowdy’s checking me out, but it’s purely clinical. He acts as if he doesn’t recognize me. Sure, my hair’s shorter now. It only reaches my shoulder blades instead of my waist. It’s darker too, more of a mahogany brown instead of a sun-bleached, chestnut red. I spent the last three years indoors with my sick mother instead of surfing with my friends in San Deigo so the sun didn’t have a chance to lighten my hair. I’m a size six instead of a size two. My boobs are a solid C instead of barely a B. But I haven’t changed that much.
 

My eyes are still hazel and too big for my face. There’s still a cleft in my chin. I still have the same full lips Rowdy could never get enough of. There’s no way he doesn’t know who I am. “I’m fine. But Boone thinks he’s hurt.”

Rowdy’s gaze unlocks from mine. His brow furrows. “Boone? Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better.” His voice is soft, quiet. No longer frantic. And that scares me. Maybe he really is hurt.

I shouldn’t have pushed Boone to let me lead. I shouldn’t have gone off route. I should’ve tied Boone off into the anchor instead of keeping him on belay while I traversed back and forth trying to get the best shot. This is my fault.
 

Rowdy presses a button on the two-way radio attached to his shoulder harness. “Base, this is Rowdy Daletzki. We have one injured climber on the top third of the final pitch of The Bastille Crack. Male, twenty-one, conscious and responsive. We also have an uninjured female stranded near the summit.”
 

Rowdy continues to talk into his radio as another helmeted face peers over the ledge. A gorgeous, feminine face. Crap. It’s Rowdy’s stepsister, Anna. She was always trying to get Rowdy to break up with me.
 

She appraises me with undisguised loathing then looks at Rowdy with more than just sisterly affection in her gold-flecked, dark brown eyes. I want to claw them out of her head.

Rowdy returns his gaze to me. He speaks with cool professionalism. “Okay, Skylar. Let’s get you out of here so we can get to Boone.”

I knew he recognized me. I want to say something to him, but my brain seems to have blown a fuse. All I can do is nod like an idiot as Anna slips over the edge to attach redundant gear to my harness. She glares at me the whole time. I’m tempted to ask, ‘just what the hell is your problem,’ but decide antagonizing the person who literally has my life in her hands is a bad idea.
 

Rowdy pulls me to safety then passes me off to a kid that looks way too young for the job. Anna double checks Rowdy’s gear then belays him down to Boone.

The kid guides me into a rescue litter and holds the back of my head as he lays me down. It takes me a second to figure out what’s going on. I try to sit up, but he puts a restraining hand on my shoulder.
 

“My name’s Wade Summers. I’m with Boulder Mountain Rescue. Do you mind if I check you out real quick?”

“I’m fine.”
 

“What’s your name?”

“Skylar Layton.”

“Well, Skylar, I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me do a quick exam.”

“Whatever.” I figure it’ll be quicker to just let him do his thing than to argue with him.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

I repeat the story as he pokes at me from head to toe.

“How long were you suspended in your harness?” Wade wraps a blood-pressure cuff around my arm.
 

“Ten…fifteen minutes? I don’t know.” It felt like forever. “Why?”

“Suspension trauma.”
 

I have no idea what that is.

The blood pressure cuff deflates. Wade grins at me. “Other than a couple of scrapes, you seem to be pretty healthy, but it wouldn’t hurt to get you checked out at Avista while they’re taking care of Boone.”

I sit up and lean towards the edge, hoping to get a glimpse of Boone…and if I’m being totally honest…Rowdy.
 

Wade grabs my arms. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I just want to see how Boone’s doing.”

“The last thing Boone needs is for you to shower him with scree or fall on top of him. Stay put.”

“What’s taking so long?” My body trembles, but it’s probably just from the adrenaline leaving my bloodstream. It has nothing to do with seeing Rowdy again. Yeah, right.

Wade tears open a foil packet then dabs at my bloody hands with an antiseptic wipe.
 

I yelp and jerk my hand out of his.

“Sorry. I’ll try to be more gentle.” He holds a gloved hand out to me, palm up, and waits for me to place my hand in his.

I talk to Wade to distract myself from the pain. “I’m not a wimp. I just have a more advanced nervous system than most people.”

Wade arches his eyebrows.

“I’m joking.”
 

He grins and shakes his head then gives my shredded knuckles another swipe.

I flinch. I really do have a low pain threshold but I refuse to let it get in my way.

“I’m almost done.”

I recognize the Boulder Mountain Rescue insignia screen printed on his royal blue t-shirt, but not the WEMT acronym embroidered over his impressive left pectoral muscle. “What’s WEMT?”

“Wilderness Emergency Medical Technician.”
 

“Is that what Rowdy is?”

Wade’s eyebrows disappear under the fringe of curls on his forehead. “You know Daletzki?”

“I used to.” I can’t help the sigh that escapes.

Wade’s mouth quirks to the side. “Daletzki’s actually a full paramedic with several specialist certs.”

“Certs?”

“Certificates. He’s an expert in just about every type of wilderness rescue. If you get into trouble, Rowdy Daletzki’s the guy you want.”

Rowdy’s the only guy I want, whether I’m in trouble or not, but I keep that thought to myself. “From what I remember, Rowdy was pretty damn good at getting himself, and everyone else, into all sorts of trouble.”

“Sounds like you have a few stories to tell. I’d love to hear ‘em over a cup of coffee.” Wade’s grin widens.
 

I look away. Even though I’m getting nothing but friendly vibes from the guy, and he’s extremely cute with a drool-worthy, athletic body, I don’t want to encourage him. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with Wade Summers. He isn’t the problem—Rowdy Daletzki is.
 

The awkward moment stretches out between us as half a dozen rescuers slip over the side. Wade’s radio squawks. Rowdy’s voice crackles through the mild static. “Patient is secure. Belaying to bottom. What’s the status of the female climber?”

“She’s shaken up with minor lacerations. I’ll escort her down Fowler Trail to the parking lot.”

“Hey, I’m not shaken up.”
 

Wade grins and shakes his head. “Correction. Female climber is
not
shaken up. I’m still escorting her to the parking lot.”

When we get to the trailhead, I’m shocked to find Boone sitting sideways in the back seat of his beat-up old Jeep Wrangler with his leg in a vacuum cast. Rowdy, Anna and half a dozen other blue-shirted rescuers are standing around, talking.

“Boone? What’s going on?”

“My ankle’s definitely broken.”

“Holy crap. Why aren’t you on your way to the emergency room?”

“I’m not paying for an ambulance and I can’t exactly drive myself.”
 

I don’t blame him. An ambulance is too expensive to be used as a taxi. “Rowdy wouldn’t give you a ride?”

At the sound of his name, Rowdy snaps his head around and lasers me with ice-blue eyes. It simultaneously heats my blood and sends a chill up my spine.
 

I refuse to let him intimidate me. “Why’s Boone still sitting in the parking lot?”

“He refused transport in an ambulance.”

“And you couldn’t drive him?”

“Liability issues.”

“You’re his friend. Or at least you were.”

“Sky, it’s okay.”
 
Boone shifts his weight and grimaces.

“No, it’s not. You’re in obvious pain and he’s just standing around with his hands in his pockets.”

“Can we go now?”

I jog around to the driver’s side and slide behind the wheel.

Rowdy shuts Boone’s door then leans in through the window. “I’ll follow you to Avista.”
 

“Why?” If he couldn’t be bothered to drive him to the hospital, why does he want to follow us there?

Rowdy gives me another arctic glare. “Like you said, he’s my friend.”

I glance in the rearview mirror and see Wade slide into the passenger seat of Old Blue. It thaws a little of the ice around my heart to know that Rowdy still has the same old Chevy truck he had in high school. We had lots of deep conversations and intense make-out sessions in that thing.

I hope Wade is tagging along for Boone’s sake and not mine. Boone didn’t have many friends growing up. He tried so hard to fit in with the fringe groups in high school. The goths and stoners tolerated him without actually accepting him. Rowdy was his only real friend. As far as I know, Boone never even had a girlfriend. “So, is Wade a friend of yours?”
 

Boone’s mouth curves up into a shy smile. “We met at CU last year. He’s a great guy.”

I pull into the ambulance unloading area at Avista but before I can get my door open, Rowdy’s pulling Boone out of the back seat.
 

“Go ahead and park. I’ll get Boone inside.”

By the time I park the car and persuade the ER nurse to let me join Boone, Rowdy’s gone.

The Dark Horse Bar and Grill is surprisingly crowded for a Wednesday night. I don’t come here often. Can’t afford it on my salary. But until the fall semester starts at CU, it’s the best place to pick up women. And after that run-in with Skylar, I definitely need a woman. What the hell is she doing back in town? And what was Boone thinking, letting her lead on The Bastille Crack? Skylar’s always been reckless, but Boone knows better.