Rugged Rockclimber (River's End Ranch Book 8) Read online

  Without a word, he ran back across the small meadow and grabbed a free rope that was dangling from the rock face. He climbed up until he was next to Peter and began speaking to him.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Harold.

  “I don’t know. Peter just stopped moving and looked like he was freaking out.”

  Amber stood up and dashed back over to the base of the cliff, Harold following behind at a slower pace. She came up alongside Paislee, who was still coaching Giles from below. Noah was very focused on whatever was going on with Peter and Wes.

  “What’s the matter up there?” she asked.

  “Your friend just got nervous, that’s all. Wes will talk him through it.” Paislee gave Giles a little more rope.

  Amber stepped back and looked up, noting that Wes wasn’t wearing a harness. “Is he going to be all right? Wes, I mean? He’s not wearing the same equipment.”

  “He’s fine. This is a fourth class, meaning that an experienced climber doesn’t need all this stuff.” Paislee nodded at the ropes and harnesses still lying on the ground, waiting to be used.

  Amber took a deep breath, reminding herself that these were professionals.

  Peter hadn’t moved an inch since Wes had gone up after him. Amber refocused her attention on what was going on up there, and she could hear what Wes was saying.

  “There’s a handhold six inches to the right. Can you reach out and grab it?”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Peter replied, his voice muffled because he was facing the cliff wall.

  “Well, let’s make a choice. Do you want to keep climbing, or should we rappel back down?”

  “I think I’d better go down.”

  “Okay, not a problem.”

  Wes began to explain to Peter what they were going to do next, and Noah down on the ground adjusted his footing and grip on the rope. Slowly, so slowly that Amber was getting a crick in her neck from staring upwards, Wes talked Peter down as Noah handled the rope from below. Amber could easily see how Noah’s anchoring wouldn’t allow Peter to slip, which alleviated her mind somewhat, but not enough to make her want to try it herself.

  Once Peter finally made it to the ground, he unbuckled with shaking hands and then sat down, putting his head between his knees. Noah took over for Paislee on Giles’s rope, and Paislee went into first-aid mode, getting Peter some water, checking his vitals, and all that sort of thing. Wes scampered back down like a two-legged goat, looking like nothing whatsoever had just happened.

  Paislee stood up from her crouched position next to Peter. “I think it’s best if I run him back to the bunkhouse,” she said.

  “I agree, and have Emily check him out,” Wes replied. He turned and said to Amber, “Emily’s our on-site nurse.”

  Amber was glad to hear they had one, but it only made sense, after all. With so many people coming in and out, and all the activities they offered, it was a good safety practice.

  Paislee had Peter climb on the back of her four-wheeler, and they bounced back along the trail and out of sight.

  “What do you think’s wrong with him?” Amber asked. “I’m not sure you get everyone checked out by the nurse for being scared.”

  Wes hooked a thumb through his belt loop. “I’m not an expert about things like this, but it looked to me like he was having some kind of panic attack,” he said. “There’s scared and then there’s terrified, and he didn’t seem to be handling the situation in a healthy way. I don’t know how to explain it.” He glanced around and then lowered his voice. “If he’s under a lot of stress at work or if you’ve noticed him having other symptoms of anxiety, I’d recommend that you talk to him about seeing someone.”

  Amber thought back. Had she noticed anything unusual? No—Peter was always so self-assured, so . . . well, “pompous” was a good word. “Do people with anxiety overcompensate by looking overly confident to hide what’s really going on?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Wes replied, “but like I said, I’m not an expert, and I don’t want to be leading you off on the wrong path.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

  In the meanwhile, Giles had climbed to the top and was now rappelling back down with Noah as the anchor.

  “That’s a little more how it’s supposed to go,” Wes said with a chuckle. “But we plan for just about every eventuality. Including people who don’t go up at all.” He surprised Amber by giving her a slight shoulder bump. It was nice, like they were friends, and she realized that she hadn’t taken time to do things with friends for quite a while. She wondered if she still even had any friends.

  “I’m positive I’d be even more of a mess than Peter. Be glad I didn’t try to go up.” Amber watched as Harold buckled up his harness, adjusting the straps for his larger girth. “Will Noah be able to hold him?” she asked in a softer voice, nodding that direction.

  “No problem. It’s all about leverage, really—Noah doesn’t have to weigh more than the person on the rope.”

  “That’s good.” Noah wasn’t as muscled-out as Wes, but he did look strong.

  “So, what kinds of things do you enjoy doing, since we struck out with rock climbing?” Wes asked.

  “Oh, lots of things. Hiking, which is what I thought we were doing today. Swimming. Horseback riding. Playing golf. Mostly things that keep me on the ground. I’m okay with horses because they’re slow. I’m only sort of okay with airplanes, and flying in here this morning required some Dramamine and a stern self-lecture.”

  Wes laughed. “Well, we have all of the above available at the ranch. Do you know what other activities you’re already signed up for?”

  Amber patted her pockets. “We had a list somewhere . . . Giles, do you know what we’re doing this weekend?”

  Giles, ever dependable, reached into his pocket and removed a neatly folded sheet of paper. How he’d kept it so nice while wearing a harness, she had no idea. “Later this afternoon, we’re going swimming, and then we’re free after dinner. Tomorrow is whitewater rafting, and after that, we’re having a trust-building exercise surprise.” He glanced up. “That’s what it says. Nothing else.”

  “So you’re free tonight, then?” Wes asked.

  Giles consulted his paper again. “That’s right.”

  “Are you obligated to eat with each other, or are you allowed to do your own thing?”

  “I’m sure we can do our own thing,” Giles replied.

  Amber noticed that Wes was directing his questions at her, but Giles was doing the answering. Poor guy—social cues had never really been his thing.

  “Well then, Amber, can I invite you to have dinner with me? The dining room here at the ranch is really good, and tonight’s amateur night, which is always fun.”

  “Amateur night? Like, people get up and make complete fools of themselves in front of strangers?” That didn’t sound fun at all, but doing something with Wes . . .

  He grinned. “Absolutely. What do you say?”

  She hadn’t come all the way from Oklahoma to listen to terrible singing, but the way Wes was asking, with just a little bit of pleading in those blue eyes . . . “Okay. What time should I meet you down there?”

  “Six o’clock. I have a standing reservation on Friday nights, so we’ll be able to get right in.”

  “A perk of being a member of the Weston family, or do you just always have a date on Friday night?” She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t resist the urge to tease him.

  As she’d expected, his eyes sparkled. “I just never miss a chance to see people make complete fools of themselves in front of strangers.”

  Chapter Three

  Amber hesitated before knocking on Peter’s door. They weren’t friends—they were definitely just colleagues, and he was the boss’s son. But still, she felt the need to check on him and make sure he was all right, and she hadn’t forgotten what Wes had said about a possible sign of anxiety. If Peter was struggling in other ways too, she’d want to make sure he had the
help he needed.

  When the door opened, she was relieved to see Harold on the other side, and Giles was in the room too. That made this little visit slightly less awkward.

  “Hey,” she said, entering the room and walking toward the chair where Peter sat. “How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” he said, waving it away. “It was a little more complicated than I’d anticipated, that’s all.”

  Amber glanced at Harold, who shook his head slightly. She’d take his cue. “Well, it’s good to see you back on the ground.”

  “I have to say, Amber, there was something exhilarating about being up there. You missed out.”

  She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. “It certainly is beautiful here.”

  Giles cleared his throat. “The nurse from the first-aid station came by a few minutes ago.”

  “Oh?” Amber swiveled back to Peter. “What did she say?”

  “She suggested that I see someone for anxiety,” he said as though it was the silliest thing on earth. “I told her I’d give my doctor a call when I get home, but honestly, I’m fine.”

  Amber glanced at Harold again, but this time, his face held no clues.

  “Now, what’s all this about taking us rock climbing without telling us?” she said, deciding it was time to lighten the mood.

  “Dad and I thought it would be fun. We had no idea it would be so . . . challenging,” Peter replied.

  “I wish you’d told us. Then I could have had my little freak-out moment at home instead of here in front of everyone,” Amber said. She hoped he’d stay focused on her freak-out moment and not on his.

  Thankfully, that’s how he took her statement because he laughed. “Yes, that was entertaining, but all’s well that ends well. I believe that’s the most dangerous thing we have planned, so it should be smooth sailing from here on out.”

  “Funny that you should say ‘smooth sailing.’ Isn’t whitewater rafting on the agenda for tomorrow?” Amber asked.

  “Yes, it is,” Giles replied. “Are you going to be up for that, Peter? What about swimming this afternoon?”

  “Of course I will be. I’m perfectly fine. I was out of my element for a few minutes—that’s all. Everything’s under control.”

  “All right. Well, it looks like we’re due at the pool in twenty minutes. Guess I’ll see you there.” Amber left the room, pulling the door closed behind her, but she didn’t let go of the knob right away. Instead, she stood there, wondering about the slight pallor to Peter’s skin. Was he pale because he’d been behind his desk too much lately, or was there more going on?

  ***

  If anyone had suggested to Amber that she go swimming in September, she would have laughed. However, the temperature was perfect, and she did six laps before coming out of the water and lying on one of the lounge chairs at the water’s edge. One small family had come out to swim with them, but they were in the shallow end on the far side, so she only heard occasional laughter. She closed her eyes, lifted her face to the sun, and basked like a lizard on a rock. It felt wonderful.

  “So, Amber.”

  She opened her eyes to see Peter standing over her, looking uncomfortable.

  “Yes? Have a seat.”

  He lowered himself onto a nearby chair. “I couldn’t help but notice on the schedule that we’re free for the rest of the day, and I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me.”

  Wow. That was weird. And out of the blue. And awkward. “I’m sorry, Peter, but Wes already asked me. I also wonder if coworkers should date—it seems a conflict of interest.”

  “You’re right, of course, but I have to admit that I’ve sensed a certain . . . mutual attraction . . . between the two of us, and I thought we might explore that and see where it led.”

  Amber had no choice but to blink several times as she processed what he’d just said. “I think it’s best if we don’t,” she said at last, which was much more composed and professional than snorting, which was her first impulse, or laughing until her sides burst, which was a close second.

  “Wise as always. I wish every woman were as thoughtful as you are.” He gave her a nod as he stood up and walked away, his white chest and back and arms and legs flashing like neon signs in the sunshine. Harold was rounder, but at least he’d seen some sun once in his life, and Giles . . . well, Giles was a boring Adonis in his navy blue trunks. She’d much rather be swimming with Wes right now.

  She smiled, imagining what that would be like. And then frowned, realizing she shouldn’t be thinking it. They were having dinner—that was all. Just friends, just eating . . . no reason to think there would be a swimming date or any other sort of date. He might turn out to be more boring than Giles . . . except that no one was more boring than Giles.

  Chapter Four

  Wes shaved carefully, not that he really needed to since that morning, but because he didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Amber was something else. Sure, he hadn’t known what to think of her at first, but the more he talked to her, the more impressed he became. He usually went for the girls who liked the same things he did, rock climbing being top of the list, but he liked how open she was about her phobia, and that she hadn’t whined about it. She’d simply said no, taken a seat, and cheered the others on. He could respect that.

  He’d gotten a call from Emily at the first-aid station, reporting that Peter would be all right. She’d recommended that he see his doctor the following week to discuss his symptoms, but she felt that he’d be all right for the rest of the weekend. Wes reminded himself of the list of activities Giles had read off—there shouldn’t be anything too stress-inducing in their plans, except for maybe the rafting, but Will and Ellie could handle that. However, Wes didn’t know what that trust-building exercise was, and it raised a red flag. Just what kind of trust were they talking about?

  He opened the medicine cabinet over the bathroom mirror and grabbed his bottle of cologne. Sheesh, when was the last time he’d even worn this stuff? The last time he’d had a date. Okay, and when was that? Trying to remember was depressing.

  He splashed on just a little bit, trying to smell good without smelling desperate, then put the bottle back in the cabinet. His hand hovered over a bottle on the bottom shelf—a nasty mixture he’d come up with a few months before but had only used once. “Eau de Bigfoot” was written on the label, and he chuckled as he took it down. He’d go spray some around outside in the bushes before he met up with Amber. It had been a few days since he’d messed with Kelsi.

  ***

  Wes crept through the bushes and sprayed his custom-created potion in liberal amounts, careful not to get any on himself. Then he hid the bottle behind a rock and looked around to make sure no one had seen him. He knew Kelsi and her husband, Shane, would be eating on the ranch that night—they loved watching the amateurs as much as he did, and truth be told, they did giggle about some of the performances afterward. Dani did not approve of such childish behavior, but Will was always good to chime in about it.

  When Wes stepped into the dining room, he glanced around, looking for Kelsi, but his gaze fell on Amber instead. She wore a red dress that showed off her knees—they were cute knees—and cowboy boots. She was chatting with one of the waitresses off to the side of the room, but Wes couldn’t even name the waitress because his brain was buzzing just looking at Amber.

  She glanced over, saw him, and smiled, and he was glad he’d taken that extra minute to shave. He held out his hand, motioning toward his reserved table, and she came to his side and followed him to their seats.

  “You look incredible,” he told her as he pulled out her chair.

  “To be honest, I felt a little self-conscious about the cowboy boots,” she told him. “It seemed sort of . . . I don’t know. Corny, maybe, to bring boots to a ranch, but they were on sale and they were cute, and it was a spur-of-the-moment thing . . .”

  Wes started to laugh, but stopped himself when he realized she didn’t know what she’d said.
He pasted on a solemn expression. “I often find that buying boots is a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

  She smacked his arm. “Okay, okay, fine. Make fun. But you know what I mean.”

  He picked up his menu and pretended to study it—he had it memorized. “Such violence, ma’am. I hardly think it’s fitting for a nice place like this.”

  “You’re right. I should behave myself.” She picked up her menu as well. “What’s your favorite thing here?”

  “Well, my favorite is the pizza. I don’t know if you like fancier stuff, though.”

  Amber leaned forward like she was going to tell him a secret. “I would kill for a good pizza right now.”

  He leaned forward too. “Kill? Like, literally kill? We’re surrounded by witnesses. I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  “I’d have a great lawyer. You met Harold—he doesn’t look scary, but dang if he doesn’t make grown men cry in court.”

  Wes nodded. “But I can only assume that I’m the intended victim.”

  She looked shocked. “That would be silly. Why would I murder the provider of the pizza? You must note that I didn’t actually specify who would be the victim. That’s so when you’re questioned, you won’t have any knowledge of the situation. I’m protecting you.”

  “I appreciate that very much. Most considerate. Now, what do you like on your pizza?”

  “Everything but anchovies.”

  Wes grinned. “What, you aren’t into black slimy things on your pizza?”

  “I never said that. I like olives.”

  “And olives don’t taste like fish.”

  “Exactly my point.” She set her menu to the side. “And what do you like on your pizza?”

  “Pretty much everything too, but pepperoni and pineapple don’t mix.”

  Her eyes widened again. “Of course they don’t! Anyone who thinks otherwise is . . . well, I’ll call it as I see it. They’re crazy.”