The Wrong Man Read online

  Libby had no idea how Kylie knew about Picabo Street. She laughed. “No way. I’m good, but nowhere near that good.” Libby took note of the upcoming stop. “Get ready to jump off.”

  “Okay.” Somewhat clumsily, Kylie managed to ski off the lift.

  Kylie studied the terrain below. “It looks scarier from up here. Kinda like when you stand on the high-diving board.”

  Libby detected a note of hesitation. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Of course!” Without another word, Kylie planted her poles and started cautiously down the slope, slowly picking up speed as she felt more secure.

  It wasn’t the most exciting run Libby had ever had, but it was, hands down, the most gratifying.

  TRENT BRACED HIMSELF against the bulkhead as the helicopter swooped lower toward their landing site, the cleared area of an old logging camp. Chad Larraby and Chuck Patterson sat on either side of him—all three of them studying the terrain map Trent held in his hands. Three other team members sat across from them. The last sighting of the small aircraft had been about two miles north of the logging-camp staging area. Although there was still hope the pilot of the private plane had managed a soft landing in a snowfield, there had, so far, been no radio contact except for the homing beacon. When the chopper landed, the men leaped out, then unloaded their equipment, which included first-aid supplies, sleds, snowshoes and mountaineering gear.

  Moving away from the rotor backwash, Chad held the radio up to his ear. “Roger that.”

  Behind him, Trent stood strapping on his pack. “What’s up?”

  Chad shook his head. “It doesn’t look good. Spokane flight control says there were three passengers aboard, including a teenager. Lemme see the map again.”

  Trent unfolded it and Chad pointed out new coordinates. “We’re about a mile and three-quarters away, but it’s almost all uphill.” He motioned to the other four team members. “There’s another crew coming in off the railroad bed, but we should arrive first on the scene. Strap on those shoes and hit the trail. Watch for avalanche threat.”

  In the thin, cold air, Trent could feel his heart pounding. He would need all his strength, skill and mountaineering experience. He didn’t know what they would find when they reached the downed plane, but he prayed their fast response would make a difference.

  Chuck clapped him on the back. “It’s good to have you with us, Baker.”

  As he studied the position of the sun in the sky, Trent mentally calculated how much daylight they would have to work with, then grinned at his old friend. “I’m glad to help.”

  “Move out!” Chad called.

  Kylie and Libby had a good day for skiing, Trent thought as he followed the trail Chad was blazing. He pictured Kylie’s delighted smile when she mastered a new skill. Nothing in a long while had pleased him so much as her enthusiasm for a sport he loved and could envision the three of them sharing.

  Those thoughts came to an abrupt halt half an hour later when they reached an ice field, requiring them to rope themselves together. Out came the ice axes and crampons—and a grim determination to overcome the obstacles lying ahead. One misstep, one freakish accident of nature and the condition of the plane’s occupants would become moot.

  Briefly Trent longed for the safety of the bunny slope. Then adrenaline kicked in, and he set one foot in front of the other, slowly, carefully traversing the potentially deadly expanse of white.

  KYLIE SET DOWN her half-eaten hamburger. “Can’t we ski some more after lunch?”

  A spoonful of soup halfway to her mouth, Libby studied her young charge. “I would think you’d be pooped.”

  “Not yet,” Kylie said matter-of-factly. “Just a few more times, please?” The imploring look on her face made the request hard to deny.

  Libby glanced out the window. “The clouds are coming and the temperature’s dropping.”

  Kylie studied her with the shrewd eyes of a veteran haggler. “Okay, just two more times.”

  Libby couldn’t help remembering the outings with Daddy Belton when she’d wanted one more ride at the county fair or a second hot dog at an Oklahoma University football game. With experience, though, she’d learned not to ask. The answer had always been no.

  Brushing aside memories of the man she’d dismissed from her life at age eighteen, she swallowed the last of the chicken noodle soup. “You drive a hard bargain, kiddo.”

  “Goody!” Kylie practically bounced in her chair.

  “After that, it’s home to my house for hot chocolate and a video.”

  “Miss Cameron?” Kylie wrung her paper napkin.

  “Do you think my daddy’s okay?”

  From her wistful expression, Libby knew the girl was fearful. It wouldn’t do for her to dwell on Trent’s safety. Libby sighed. That was good advice for herself, as well. “He’s experienced and careful, sweetie. The team is trained not to take unnecessary risks.” She could tell Kylie was unconvinced. Better to distract her. “If you’re finished eating, let’s hit the slopes.”

  After Libby paid the cashier, Kylie shyly tucked her hand into Libby’s. “I’m glad you let me ski today, even without Daddy. It’s my favorite thing to do and I’m getting really good. Thank you.” Then, after they picked their skis out of the rack and headed for the lift, Kylie added one last thought. “I think you’ll be a really great new mommy.”

  Those approving words warmed Libby’s heart as she guided Kylie down the intermediate slope later, carefully avoiding the small, strategically placed jumps, which provided youngsters the illusion of moguls. A steady stream of boys whooped it up as they made their jumps. The morning sun had caused some surface melting. Now with clouds overhead, the watery patches were refreezing. The areas just beyond the jumps, well worn with ski tracks, would be especially icy, so Libby avoided them. At the bottom, she framed Kylie’s cheeks between her gloved palms. “Are you tired? We don’t have to do this last run, you know.”

  Kylie’s eyes narrowed and her chin jutted forth. “You promised.”

  “I know. But you can always change your mind.”

  “No way,” the girl said, already starting for the lift. Libby shook her head. Trent wasn’t the only Baker with the stubborn gene.

  At the top, Libby heard children’s voices calling excitedly, “Miss Cameron, Miss Cameron. Kylie.”

  When she drew closer, she spotted several boys from second grade. Bart Ames, his cheeks rosy with cold, approached them. “It’s my birthday. We’re havin’ a blast.”

  “Well, happy birthday.”

  “Yeah,” Kylie said halfheartedly.

  A bearded man separated himself from some of the other boys. “Miss Cameron? Jeff Ames. Good to see you.”

  She turned to greet Bart’s father. But before she could utter a word, she saw Kylie plant her ski poles and shove off down the hill, not following the usual path, but heading straight for the first jump, only a few yards from the edge of a dense grove of trees.

  Libby sped after her, crouched over her skis. She hoped she could reach Kylie before she attempted the jump. Time stood still, each foot of snow seeming to take endless seconds to cover. Libby executed a quick turn to avoid hitting the skier in front of her, then hunkered lower over her skis, her poles held behind her. She was gaining on Kylie. Another twenty feet and she could catch her.

  But Kylie, too, had increased her speed, the small but potentially difficult jump rising to meet her.

  At the last minute, Kylie glanced over her shoulder as if making sure others would witness her feat of daring. Then she sailed onto the jump, head low, legs spread.

  Libby watched helplessly as the little girl, spread-eagled against the sky, fought for control, then landed safely and swooped to the base of the run. As Libby skied after her, Kylie’s triumphant shout rang in her ears. “I did it!”

  Although she didn’t want to take anything away from Kylie’s sense of accomplishment, after congratulating her, Libby admonished her for taking chances and suggested they head
for home. Bart and his father, trailed by the other boys, caught up with them at the edge of the parking lot, which had been cleared except for occasional patches of packed snow. “Miss Cameron, do you have a minute?” Jeff Ames pulled her aside. Behind her, Libby was aware Bart and Kylie were discussing something heatedly. She couldn’t quite hear what they were saying because Bart’s father was asking her about his son’s behavior in her class. She glanced over her shoulder, satisfied that Bart was moving off, leaving Kylie alone.

  Just then the boy’s voice rose in a taunt. “You’re a stupid girl. Just cuz you can jump, you’re not so hot.”

  “Am, too.”

  “Bet I can run faster’n you.”

  “No you can’t, you big ignoramus!” And heedless of the traffic, Kylie dashed across the lot toward the far end, chased by a rapidly gaining Bart.

  “Kylie, come back!” Libby started after her, her words lost in the wind.

  Bart closed in on Kylie and in a frantic lunge, Kylie stretched toward the fence bordering the lot. In that moment, a horrified Libby watched as the girl lost her footing and fell.

  Legs churning, Libby raced toward Kylie, her breath coming in frantic gasps. Please, God. Please, God.

  But it was too late. Kylie landed sideways on a patch of treacherous ice and slid toward the base of a metal light pole. With a cushioned “thunk,” her head came to rest against the pole, her body sprawled awkwardly on the thin layer of snow.

  A violent wind roared in Libby’s ears. As if from a great distance, she heard a howl, which she finally recognized as her own tortured scream. “No-o!”

  Somehow she made it to Kylie’s crumpled body, aware only of a deathly silence. The girl’s blue-veined lids were closed over her eyes, and a trickle of blood oozed from beneath her ski cap, turning the snow beneath her head a cruel pink. Oblivious to the cold, Libby sank down beside Kylie, leaning her ear to the girl’s mouth. Frantically she stripped off her gloves, then laid two fingers on Kylie’s slim neck, searching for a pulse.

  “Let me,” a woman behind her said, drawing her away. “I’m a nurse.”

  A young man huddled beside Libby, holding her by the shoulders. “We’ve sent for the ski patrol. Help will be here soon.”

  Then Libby heard Bart’s disembodied voice behind her. “I didn’t mean to, honest, I didn’t mean to.”

  The nurse, a woman with kindly eyes, turned back to Libby. “She’s breathing. I’m putting a compress on her wound. Meanwhile, we can’t risk moving her. Are you her mother?”

  The world around her revolved in a kaleidoscope of colors, and Libby felt tears fill her eyes. She shook her head, then croaked a ragged no. A mother? She barely controlled a bitter, hysterical laugh. A mother would never have let this happen. Trent wouldn’t have let this happen. “Oh, God, Trent.”

  The kindly young man leaned closer. “What?”

  Libby’s mouth was cottony. “The girl’s father. He needs to be notified.”

  “The ski patrol will take care of that. Tell me, are you all right?”

  She would never be all right again. Remembered accusations deafened her. She had called Trent irresponsible. What if Kylie was seriously injured? What if…

  She couldn’t lose another child, not Trent’s child. Not this precious girl she loved with all her heart. Libby suddenly whirled away from the man and vomited into a snowbank.

  Dizzy and shaky, she wiped her mouth, then looked back at Kylie. So beautiful. So peaceful. So still.

  Behind her, she sensed onlookers stepping aside. Then, to her relief, two members of the ski patrol replaced the nurse and began taking Kylie’s vital signs.

  At the insistent tap on her shoulder, Libby turned around. Bart stood there, clutching his father’s hand. “Miss Cameron, I’m sorry. It was just a dumb ole race. Is Kylie all right?”

  “It was an accident,” the boy’s father said quietly.

  Bart wiped his nose with his gloved hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

  When she saw the boy’s tear-streaked face, her first instinct was to scream at him, but then she looked into his fear-riddled eyes. “Maybe not. But this is a good lesson about not teasing people, isn’t it?” Fearing she could no longer be civil, she attempted to stand, tottering against a bystander, who hooked an arm through hers. “Miss, let us help you to a bench.”

  “Not yet. I have to know how she is.”

  One of the paramedics glanced over his shoulder.

  “Looks like a concussion with head lacerations and a possible broken arm.”

  “But she’s not conscious,” Libby said, her voice thready.

  “Not yet. We’re taking care of her, and an ambulance is on the way. I suggest you meet her at the hospital emergency room.”

  “Her father…we need to contact him.”

  “Where is he?” the other member of the ski patrol asked.

  Swallowing the fear in her throat, Libby said, “With the search and rescue team on a mission.”

  The man exchanged a guarded look with his partner, as if he’d heard about today’s rescue attempt. “We’ll do our best to reach him by radio. What’s his name?”

  “Trent Baker.”

  The paramedic stabilizing Kylie’s head and neck said, “I know him. Good man.”

  Libby closed her eyes. A good man. But good enough to forgive her for this unspeakable carelessness?

  No way.

  JEFF AMES and the bystander who’d helped her now escorted Libby across the parking lot to her car. They offered to drive her to the hospital, but she shook her head. “I’ll be okay,” she assured them, even as she fumbled for the keys. She needed a few moments to herself—to replay the awful scene and to pray that somehow, someway, everything would turn out all right. Yet even as the ambulance wheeled from the parking lot, she had a sick feeling in her stomach. Kylie had not yet regained consciousness.

  While her car warmed up, she used her cell phone to call Weezer, who said she’d be waiting for her at the hospital. They had to get hold of Trent somehow. And, dear God, the Chisholms. As the enormity of that thought struck her, Libby feared she might be sick again.

  Somehow, as if driving a fun car in some surreal carnival ride, she made it to the hospital with absolutely no recollection of the route or other traffic. She ran to the emergency-room entrance and flung open the door. Weezer, already seated in the waiting room, rose to greet her.

  “How is she?” Libby asked.

  Her face creased with worry, Weezer shook her head. “No word yet.”

  “Trent?”

  “The paramedics notified the emergency dispatcher. They’re trying to reach him.” Weezer took her by the hand and led her to a seat. “But it’s going to be a while before he can get here. He’ll have to be evacuated by helicopter.”

  Libby grabbed her stomach and rocked to and fro, feeling as if she might hyperventilate.

  A nurse knelt in front of her, offering her a cup of coffee, and for the second time in one day, someone asked if she was Kylie’s mother. “No, I’m her teacher…and her friend.”

  “Here, take this.” The nurse thrust a paper cup into her hand. “You’ve had quite a shock.”

  After one sip, Libby set the coffee aside. The bitterness nearly choked her. “Please, how is Kylie?”

  “The doctor will be out shortly.” The woman stood. “We’ve had no luck reaching the father yet. Are there other relatives we should notify?”

  Libby looked at Weezer, her stomach sour with dread. “Do you know how to reach Kylie’s grandparents?”

  “Trent gave me that information to have in case of an emergency.” Weezer dug in her purse and handed the nurse an index card with the names and number.

  “Thank you.” She bustled off toward the treatment rooms.

  With Weezer’s hands gently and lovingly kneading her back, Libby’s tears came at last, not in a violent spate, but in an unrelenting stream. “Ooh, little one,” Weezer crooned. “I know, I know.” The long, rounded vowels intoned by the
older woman had a soothing cadence all their own. “It’s too much, too much to carry.”

  Letting her head fall into Weezer’s lap, Libby listened to the comforting words, accompanied by the healing pressure of Weezer’s hand rubbing circles up and down her back. “You’re blaming yourself. You mustn’t. It was an accident. All the what-ifs in the world can’t change what happened. Now, all we can do is pray and love.”

  Pray and love? Libby had been praying from the moment she watched Kylie slide into the base of the lamppost. As for love, her heart was cracking under the pressure of all she was feeling. Libby sat up, then leaned her head against the wall, expelling a long-pent-up sigh. “Oh, Weezer, she’s got to be all right.”

  The old woman squeezed her hand and simply said, “She will be.”

  IT WAS NEARLY TWO when the team reached the site of the crash. One broken wing of the plane tilted at the sky and the nose was buried in a snowdrift, but miraculously the fuselage was more or less in one piece. Damaged tree limbs and long skid marks told the story. The plane had apparently skimmed the treetops before gliding into a snow-covered upland meadow. The man strapped in the front passenger seat was dead, but the pilot, though unconscious, was still alive. Huddled in the back seat was a high school-age boy, white with shock, his lips blue in the cold, a deep gash in his shoulder.

  The team immediately began treating the two survivors. Chad raised the second group of rescuers on the radio and gave them an update. He had already called for a medevac chopper to be dispatched from Kalispell.

  “Hell of a deal,” Chuck muttered as they helped steady the plane and extricate the passengers.

  “I hope we got here in time to do some good,” Trent replied under his breath. Arriving first at the scene, he had taken one quick glance in the cockpit before yielding to the paramedics. He hoped he never again had to view such carnage.

  Within twenty minutes, the helicopter hovered overhead, unable to land. Carefully, first the adult survivor and then the boy were strapped into stretchers and hoisted into the chopper. When they were safely aboard, the pilot gave a two-finger salute and lifted off.