The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

He promised his mother he would—how could he refuse her exuberant plea, her excitement of having “her two boys” home for the holidays? He hoped he got credit somewhere for being at least a decent son, because the last place he wanted to be was in Huntsville, Texas just before Christmas.

When he said goodbye to his mom, Cooper had to get out of that room. Besides, it was genetically impossible for him to be in a place like Pine River on a day like this and not be outside. The weather was good, really good—no clouds, no breeze, nothing but blue overhead. He’d read in the local paper that the area had experienced an unusually dry couple of months. It was harming the ski industry, the article went on to report, but for Cooper, it was perfect. It looked like an excellent day to drive up Sometimes Pass and check out Cheyenne Canyon. Eli had mentioned it, and Cooper had read about it in one of the Grizzly Lodge brochures. Remote Colorado wilderness! Pristine trails through spectacular mountain scenery. Hikers will be treated to the melodic sound of a rushing stream and the thrill of redheaded finches. The granite face of massifs and valley vistas will greet you as you descend to the floor of the canyon, where the state’s best white water awaits.

The trail was probably closed for the winter, but he hoped to at least get a visual to know if it was worth coming back.

Cooper strolled down to the store he’d seen on the main drag: Tag’s Outfitters. He ducked in through the door of the adobe building and instantly felt closed in by the low ceilings and the sheer amount of stuff crammed into that massive interior. The establishment carried everything from clothes to mountain gear to enormous clay pots. In the front of the store, corralled by yellow tape and stacked one on top of the other, were Christmas trees. A variety of mishmash hung from the ceiling—pi?atas, pots and pans, bird feeders. Blow-up pumpkins and turkeys and Christmas trees dangled, too, all of them carrying a layer of dust so thick that he could only assume they’d been batted away by shoppers for more than a few years.

In the middle of all that crap was a single, L-shaped counter. One half of it was piled high with papers and magazines. An enormous and ancient cash register dominated the other half. A massive man sat behind the register on a spindly stool, balancing himself with one foot planted firmly on the ground. His neck was as thick as Cooper’s thigh, and he wore a scraggly beard and a stained canvas hiking hat.

“Hello,” Cooper said.

The man responded with a slight lift of his double chins.

“I’m hoping you can give me some information,” Cooper said.

No answer.

Cooper glanced around the store, half expecting someone to appear to tell him the mountain man was deaf and dumb, but no one else seemed to be about except a man near the front of the store looking at snowshoes.

“I wanted to drive up and take a look at Cheyenne Canyon—”

“Can’t,” the man said. “Pass is closed.”

“Sometimes Pass?” Cooper asked.

The man gave that lift of his chins again. “That’s why it’s called Sometimes Pass. Only open sometimes.”

“But it hasn’t snowed in weeks,” Cooper said. “Wouldn’t it be open?”

“They close it every winter,” another voice said.

Cooper turned around to the man who had spoken. He’d moved away from the snowshoes and was standing in the aisle now. He was wearing loafers and jeans that rode so low on his hips there wasn’t much keeping them up. His clothing was expensive; he gave off a hipster vibe.

“The county doesn’t have enough money to plow that far out and it’s easier just to keep it closed. I know another way into the canyon if you’re interested.”

With his heather-green sweater and upturned shirt collar, this guy reminded Cooper of the guys who wandered around West Hollywood—not someone who knew a back way into Cheyenne Canyon. “Oh yeah?” he asked curiously.

“A couple of the logging roads are open. The Forest Service is taking advantage of the weather to clear out some fire fuel.”

Cooper glanced at the man behind the counter for confirmation.

“Don’t ask me,” the mountain man said. “Jackson here’s the one who knows.”

“I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Jackson Crane,” the man said, extending his hand. “Sorry to butt in, but I couldn’t help overhearing. Tag hasn’t been up in the mountains in years.”

“Got all the gear you need, but I ain’t no guide,” the man agreed.

Cooper’s gaze shifted back to Jackson Crane. He was a head shorter than Cooper, and slender. “I’ll take you up,” he offered.

Cooper must have recoiled slightly because the man laughed. “That must sound strange, but I only mean to be helpful. Tag will vouch for me.”

“He won’t rob or murder you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Tag said.

As if that was the first thing to pop into Cooper’s mind. “I wasn’t thinking that—”