“I tried to persuade him to go to the clinic, but he refused,” Connor said. He shrugged. “He’ll probably be all right.”
“He probably doesn’t have any insurance,” Brian said. “Except for those bloodshot eyes, by tomorrow he won’t even be able to tell anything happened.” He nodded to Stacy. “Thanks for your help today.”
“You’re welcome.”
Brian glanced at Connor, then nodded again to Stacy. “I’ll get back to work.”
She followed Connor back into the ski patrol building. Farley resumed his spot in the chair. “Your soup is cold,” Connor said as he settled behind the desk. “There’s a microwave if you want to reheat it.”
She carried the soup to the microwave, though her appetite had deserted her. “Are you really as calm as you seem right now?” she asked.
He looked up from his sandwich. “What do you mean?”
“That guy almost died. You saved his life.”
“What did you think we do?”
“I thought it was all about clearing snow and getting people with twisted knees to the medical clinic.”
“Some days it’s about that. Other days it’s tending to a heart attack victim or a lost child or someone who died after hitting a tree.”
“Have you dealt with many dead people?”
“Even one is too many.”
The microwave beeped, and she pulled out the steaming cup of soup and carried it to the desk. “That guy, Jace. He looked really familiar to me.”
“Oh?”
“I think he was at that meeting last night. He was one of the protestors. One of the hard-core group, even.”
“Do you think there’s a connection between the meeting and what happened to him today?”
She shook her head. “I don’t see how there could be. I just thought it was odd, to run into him again today.”
Someone knocked on the door. They both turned as an older man with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair entered. “Anybody home?” he asked.
Stacy shoved to her feet. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
The newcomer grinned—a charming, big smile full of white teeth. “Hello, Stacy,” he said. “It’s good to see you again.”
Connor had risen also. “Stacy?”
Stacy’s cheeks were flushed, and she didn’t look pleased. She remained focused on the older man and didn’t answer Connor.
The man stepped up to the desk and thrust out his hand. “George Macrae,” he said. “I’m Stacy’s dad.”
Chapter Six
The meeting Friday evening was at a pavilion at a Forest Service campground that was closed for the winter. George had insisted on coming with Stacy, and to her surprise, Connor showed up to ride with them. Stacy slid into the driver seat of her rental SUV before her dad could protest, and guided the vehicle down the narrow snow-covered road in stony silence.
Her father had plenty to say, of course. “How do you know Stacy?” he asked Connor before the man even had his seat belt fastened.
“Someone stole some of the explosives ski patrol uses for avalanche mitigation,” Connor said. “I reported the crime, and Stacy showed up to interview me.”
George, in the front passenger seat, turned toward Connor in the back seat. “What’s your background? Former military?”
“Uh, yeah.”
