Page 35 of Grumpy on the Mountain
A laugh bubbles up from her chest, and before I know it, I'm laughing too—actually laughing, the sound rusty and unfamiliar.
I can't remember the last time I laughed like this. Months? Years?
I step back, taking half the load from her arms. "Let's go."
"Stay safe up there, Callahan," Jamie calls after us. "And Ms. Jennings? Hope to see you again under less rushed circumstances."
I don't acknowledge his comment, but I feel my jaw tighten.
Back in the truck, with the gear loaded in the bed, I glance at Molly. "You good?"
She nods, buckling her seatbelt. "Lead on, boss."
The North Ridge road is treacherous on a good day. Tonight, with fresh snow and ice patches, it's a nightmare.
But Jamie's right.
My truck is the only one in town that can handle it, and I navigate the familiar turns with the precision that comes from years of mountain driving.
Molly says nothing as we climb higher, but I feel her tension in the way she grips the door handle. The headlights illuminate steep drops on one side, sheer rock face on the other. Up here, there's no room for error.
"Scared?" I ask, not taking my eyes off the road.
"Terrified," she admits readily. "But also kind of exhilarated. Is that weird?"
I shake my head. "Normal response to danger."
"Is that why you do this? The rush?"
The question catches me off guard. "I don't do this often. Not anymore."
"But you could. Jamie made it clear they'd love to have you on the team."
I shrug, uncomfortable with her perception. "Got my reasons."
To my surprise, she doesn't press further. Just nods and says, "Fair enough."
We round a bend, and our headlights catch the reflection of taillights ahead. A dark SUV sits at a precarious angle, its front end dipped down the steep embankment, the only thing preventing a complete slide being a sturdy pine tree wedged against the bumper.
I pull up a safe distance away and kill the engine.
"Stay in the truck until I check it," I tell Molly, grabbing a flashlight from the center console.
The cold hits me as I step out. The wind has died down, but the temperature has dropped to single digits. Stars blanket the clear sky, and the moon casts enough light to see without the flashlight.
I approach the stranded vehicle carefully, testing each step on the icy ground.
A face appears in the SUV's rear window—a woman with panic-wide eyes. The back door opens just an inch.
"Oh, thank God," she calls. "Are you with Mountain Rescue?"
"Yes, ma'am," I answer, assessing the situation. "Everyone okay in there?"
"Yes, just scared. My husband tried to get out earlier and almost fell."
"Stay put. I'll stabilize the vehicle first."
I return to my truck, where Molly has ignored my instructions and is already gathering equipment from the back.
