Chapter 1
Gina
Gina Connolly checked her GPS watch and didn’t like what she saw.
They were three miles from Bearwater on the outward section of the trail, with storm clouds building fast over the peaks like an angry wall. The wind had picked up in the last ten minutes, carrying the scent and feel of snow.
In mid-May, at nine thousand feet in Wyoming, anything was possible.
“We should turn back,” she called to the group spread out along the narrow trail ahead of her.
Brooke was setting a punishing rhythm fifty yards up, her Moose Range Run 100 training plan apparently immune to common sense. Brooke’s cousin Nick kept up easily beside her, but his head kept turning toward the darkening sky.
Kelsey maintained her steady, efficient stride immediately ahead of Gina in the middle of the pack, while Joe brought up the rear, breathing hard as they made the climb up the hillside. He had slipped twice on patches of snow lingering in the shaded sections on the lower part of the trail, the north-facing slopes still holding winter’s grip despite the spring date.
The first fat snowflake hit Gina’s cheek.
“Seriously, guys,” she said, louder this time. “The weather’s turning faster than forecasted. Let’s bag it and head back.”
Brooke glanced back, her face flushed with exertion and something that looked like panic. “We can’t turn around. I pushed everyone to do this run today so that it would fit mytraining schedule. I need this distance. This climb. This exact route.”
“Gina’s right,” Nick said, his voice carrying an edge of authority that surprised her. She’d only met Brooke’s cousin an hour ago when they’d gathered at the trailhead, but something about his tone suggested he knew what he was talking about. “If it snows too much, we could get turned around and lose the trail.”
“It’s only another mile or so,” Brooke insisted. “If everyone would stop yakking and start climbing, we’ll get it done before it gets too bad.” With that, Gina’s friend put her head down and drove forward, pumping her arms to get her legs going.
Great.Brooke was cutting the mileage short. They’d done this run last July, when the weather was more predictable, and there was no way it was only a mile to the turnaround. Two miles was more likely, maybe even a little more.
And the entire trail had felt practically straight up. This stretch was no exception. It was a full-on climb that would test their legs and their endurance. Gina figured it would take at least an hour to reach the top.
She glanced back at Joe, who was falling farther behind. Make that an hour and a half, maybe two.
Brooke’s stubbornness could mean the difference between a good training story and a disaster. If they were on a flat paved road, they could do two miles in twenty minutes, easy.
But here in the mountains, on this technical trail, with an almost two-thousand-foot elevation gain, they’d be moving slow. Too slow to beat the snow.
Even if they turned back now and made it to the ghost town of Bearwater, they’d still face a forty-mile drive to anything resembling civilization. Elkridge was the closest town, and the first twelve miles followed a road that was little more than a four-wheel-drive track.
There were no bridges where it crossed the Sagebrush River again and again, and if this storm dropped real precipitation, the river would be impossible to ford.
“How waterproof is your pack?” she asked, catching up to Kelsey.
“Waterproof enough.” Kelsey’s response was clipped, distracted. “You worried about a little mountain weather?”
“I’m worried about a lot of mountain weather.” Gina lifted her hand toward the advancing wall of charcoal.
“What do you want to do?” Kelsey asked. “Turn back to the cars? Wait it out?”
Gina shook her head. “There’s not going to be any waiting it out. This isn’t a passing shower. It’s going to set in.”
“You think?” She glanced around and shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t look that bad.”
“Trust me on this. It’s going to dump.”
Kelsey Kensington was still new to the area, having moved to their little Wyoming town only about two years ago. She’d joined the Basin County Running Club and showed up regularly for the weekly town runs, often tagging along on the longer trail runs on weekends.
But she didn’t understand how things could turn here the way Gina did. After many years in Irma, Gina had learned to read the sky. Conditions could flip in an instant, and danger could come out of nowhere.
Nick dropped back while Brooke powered ahead like a woman possessed. His steady breathing and measured stride impressed Gina.
