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The Drifter
Kate Hoffmann
About the Author
KATE HOFFMANN has been writing for Mills & Boon since 1993. Since then she’s published sixty books, primarily in the Temptation and Blaze® lines. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys music, theatre, and musical theatre. She is active working with high-school students in the performing arts. She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her two cats, Chloe and Tally.
Dear Reader,
When I began this trilogy, I was looking forward to writing three books set in three different seasons—winter, spring and summer. But with my writing schedule, I never seem to be writing the books in the season in which they’re set.
The first book of this trilogy, set in a snowbound cabin, was written during the heat of August. This book, set in the Colorado springtime, was written as the leaves were turning and the first frost set in. And the next book, set in Chicago in the summer, will no doubt be written while the snow is flying. I guess you could say I’m seasonally challenged.
Whatever the season, I find the escape of writing just as much fun as a vacation. So enjoy this trip to Boulder, Colorado. I’ve only been there once, but it was a great place to visit.
Happy reading,
Kate Hoffmann
The Drifter
Kate Hoffmann
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my ever-patient editor, Brenda Chin.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u515b7738-c7d7-51fa-81df-7f73843052c8)
About the Author (#u6183fe59-f4ba-5b94-ae98-17eb96e5059d)
Title Page (#u6aad841b-8dd5-5936-8998-afd76a921005)
Dedication (#uddffa83a-305f-5117-a330-d98c279c6e18)
Prologue (#u29c4d193-745f-505c-a485-e8ae085c28e4)
Chapter One (#ud70db157-312e-5e99-b1ab-aba63450827c)
Chapter Two (#u21976539-ec29-507d-9808-79532718738f)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
“IT’S GOT TO BE SIMPLE and concise,” Angela Weatherby said as she slowly twirled around in her desk chair. “The name has to encompass all the traits that make up this guy. He’s a wanderer, he can’t settle down. He’s always searching for the next big thrill, whether it’s climbing a mountain or seducing a beautiful woman. He freely admits that he doesn’t want to commit, yet women fall for him again and again and again.”
Now that her SmoothOperators Web site was such a success, Angela had found it much easier to work on the book she was writing. She’d chosen a title—Spotting the Smooth Operator: A Woman’s Guide to Avoiding Dating Disasters. She’d developed ten solid archetypes of the smooth operator. But, according to her editor, she needed to come up with clever names for each. The chapter on the Charmer had already been written and she’d moved on to the next in line, then become stuck on the header.
“So he’s a wanderer,” said Celia Peralto, Angie’s business partner and webmaster. “A … nomad?”
“That makes him sound like he’s tending sheep instead of seducing women. How about the Traveler?”
Celia shook her head. “Sounds like some stuffy businessman.”
A long silence grew between them. Ceci had been an invaluable help on the book and was always happy to brainstorm ideas. But this one had them both stumped. “It’s on the tip of my tongue,” Angela said. “He’s a … a …” She groaned and closed her eyes, clearing her mind. “He’s a—drifter!”
She opened her eyes to find Ceci grinning at her. “That’s it,” Ceci said. “He’s a drifter. I like it. He can’t settle down, he moves from one woman to the next, he’s footloose and irresponsible and every woman thinks she’ll be the one to change him.”
“But no one can,” Angela said.
“Well, there’s always an exception to the rule,” Ceci said. “If there wasn’t, there would be a bunch of eighty-year old guys hopping from bed to bed, seducing any woman they could find.” She paused. “There was a post on the Web site this morning. Alex Stamos has officially stepped out of the dating pool. His sister added a note to his profile saying that he’s getting married.”
“Well, it’s good I never got to interview him, then,” Angela said.
When she’d decided to do anonymous and anecdotal interviews with each of her “types,” Alex had been first on her list. He’d been the perfect example of a “Charmer.” Unfortunately, she’d never been able to talk to him and had to settle for a car salesman from Arlington Heights and a bartender from DePaul.
“You don’t believe men can change, do you?” Ceci asked.
“I used to think they could,” Angela admitted. “But how many profiles do we have on the site? Tens of thousands and yet, only a few men make the transformation from smooth operator to devoted husband. I’ve had just enough bad experiences to make me cynical.”
“Don’t you hope that someday you’ll find a great guy, someone who won’t treat you like a commodity?”
Angela sighed. In her heart of hearts, she still wanted to believe there was someone out there for her. But she was slowly creeping toward thirty and she knew the odds. The older she got, the smaller the bachelor pool became, until all that was left in the water were the bottom feeders and leeches and poisonous snakes. She was a practical girl who had let go of her fairy-tale dreams a long time ago.
“Of course I do,” Angela murmured. “But I’m not going to hold my breath.”
“A more optimistic attitude might help,” Celia said. She crawled out of her chair and pulled Angela to her feet. “Go ahead. Close your eyes, click your heels together and say it three times. I will fall in love with a great man, I will fall in love with a great man, I will fall in love with a great man.”
Angela laughed and pulled her hands out of Ceci’s grip. “You’re a hopeless romantic. How can you do your job and not see that finding a good guy is like looking for diamond in a pile of dipsticks?”
Ceci sighed. “All right. Maybe it’s better you hate men, at least until this book is done.”
“I don’t hate men.”
Reaching across her desk, Ceci snatched up a magazine and tossed it at Angela. “You wanted to interview a drifter?” She pointed to the picture on the cover of Outdoor Adventure magazine. “Charlie Templeton. He has a huge profile on our site. And he is a classic example. He’s doing a couple lectures at the university in Boulder, Colorado. I figure you could fly out there, corner him and get him to talk.”
Angela peered at the photo. “God, he is gorgeous.”
“He is,” Ceci said. “Of course, if you’d rather, I could fly out there and interview him.”
“No. I’ll do it. If I surprise him, maybe he’ll agree to talk.”
Angela set the magazine down, then went back to scanning the newest profiles created on the Web site. Who would have known that a silly little blog chronicling her dating woes would have turned into a thriving business? She ought to be grateful to every guy who ever dumped her for giving her the opportunity of a lifetime.
There was one chapter she wasn’t ready to write, though. One that brought up all sorts of memories. She needed time to prepare for her memories of Max Morgan, the Sexy Devil. Time to work up the courage to call him for an interview. Would he even remember her?
All through high school, she’d had a secret crush on him and he’d never once noticed her. He’d been the most popular guy, the star athlete, the boy every girl dreamed of kissing. She’d followed him to college at Northwestern, attending all his football and baseball games, taking every opportunity to put herself in his path. Looking back on it, her behavior probably could have been considered stalking.
“Do you want me to make reservations?” Ceci asked.
“What? Oh, for Boulder? Yes. And do the hotel, too. Do that thing you do when you get the really good rates. If Charlie Templeton won’t talk, I don’t want to regret wasting money on a nice hotel room.”
She hadn’t been able to snag Alex Stamos, but she’d learned from her mistakes. The best way to catch a smooth operator was to eliminate any means of escape. They called it ambush journalism, but Angela preferred to think of it as just a way to get the job done.
1
CHARLIE TEMPLETON STOOD at the top of the world. Literally. He sucked in a deep breath from the oxygen mask covering his face. The air was thin at 28,740 feet and after climbing for nearly twelve hours, all he really wanted to do was lie down and sleep. But he knew the risks of taking just a moment or two of relaxation. Many climbers had died ascending Mount Everest, but the descent was even trickier.
Exhausted, his body depleted of energy reserves, cold, hungry and mentally numb, Charlie knew all the dangers. The thought of dying on the face of the world’s tallest mountain had haunted his nightmares. But now that he was here, it didn’t seem all that frightening. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift. Just a moment was all he needed.
Everest was the last on his list of seven summits. He’d attempted the climb twice in the past, but had been forced to stop because of weather. But when he’d stepped out his tent at midnight, ready for the final push to the top, he’d known today would be the day.
For an adventurer, there was no higher goal than bagging the seven summits—the tallest peak on each continent. He’d written about his quest for the adventure Web site Adrenaline and had done numerous speaking engagements at college campuses all over the U.S., all to fund his trips. He had a pair of lectures scheduled in just a few weeks at the university in his hometown of Boulder and he was banking on the fact that he’d arrive fresh off the top of Everest, ready to tell of his adventure.
But now that he’d accomplished his goal, Charlie was left to wonder what it all meant. He didn’t feel the way he’d expected—elated, awestruck, satisfied, humbled. In truth, Charlie didn’t feel anything.
He unsnapped his oxygen mask and pushed it aside, then shoved his goggles to the top of his head, taking in the view and waiting for the impact of the moment to hit him. It was all there, more stunning than he’d ever imagined it. Below him was the Rongbuck glacier and the North Col, and to the north horizon, the vast Tibetan plateau. He slowly turned, to the west and then the south, finishing with the most breathtaking view of all—the highest peaks of the Himalayas, jagged and snow-covered, jutting into the thin atmosphere to the east.
He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. An image flashed in his brain and he gasped. A face from the past. Charlie brushed it aside. God, he must really be oxygen-deprived to think of her at a time like this. He hadn’t spoken to Eve Keller in more than five years, not since the night before he departed for his first attempt at Everest.
Maybe that was it. He’d completed the circle and he was back to where he’d begun. Or was it something more? Charlie had learned to live his life without regrets. It wasn’t easy, but he’d had to put aside relationships in order to focus on his ambitions. It hadn’t seemed like a sacrifice at the time, but now that he’d come to the end of his quest, he had to wonder if it had all been worth it.
“Evie,” he murmured. She’d been the one person who’d tempted him, the one relationship that might have changed the course of his life. Hell, if he’d stayed with her, he’d probably be married with two or three kids by now.
“Charlie!” He opened his eyes to find his Sherpa guide waving at him. “Come. Up here long enough. We start down.”
“Just give me a few more minutes,” Charlie replied.
“Put mask back on,” Pemba Ang said, his heavily accented words muffled by his oxygen mask.
“No. It gets in the way. I’m all right. I am. Don’t worry. Just a few more minutes.”
The guide studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Few minutes. Stay up here for half hour already. We must go.”
Had it been that long? Time seemed to be slipping through his fingers at an alarming rate. It seemed like just days ago that he’d graduated college and now he was fast approaching thirty.
Charlie turned again, slowly, taking in more of the view. It was over. He was finally finished. He had the rest of his life in front of him and no plans for how he’d spend it. Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner? What would he do with his time? There was always the “Second Seven,” the second-highest peaks on each continent. But was he willing to invest another five years of his life?
“Charlie!”
The words echoed in his ears. But in the thin air, it didn’t sound like Ang at all. It sounded sweet and soft, tantalizing. Funny how he still remembered her voice. There’d been so many other women since Eve, women he’d easily forgotten. Yet she was still there, indelibly imprinted into his brain.
Charlie stared down the route of their descent, his footprints still visible in the snow. He still had to get down the mountain and he knew the dangers. Fatigue, the weather, cerebral edema, snow blindness, avalanches, crevices that could swallow a man in the blink of an eye. A successful ascent didn’t guarantee a safe descent. But what was waiting for him at the bottom? Would anyone really care that he’d made it up to the top and back again?
Did she even remember him? Did she think of him at all or had the passion they’d shared been replaced by the love she felt for … hell, what was his name? Dave? Dan? Odd that he couldn’t remember. She’d married him, chosen security and dependability over uncertainty. He hadn’t blamed her for making the safe choice. She deserved better than a man who warmed her bed every six months in between adventures.
“Charlie! Move. We head down.”
“I’m thinking I might stay here,” he said, sitting down in the snow.
“Get ass up!” Ang shouted, grabbing his arm and tugging. “I not leave you here. You walk down or I carry. Kill us both.”
“Who’s waiting for you?” Charlie asked.
Ang reached for Charlie’s oxygen bottle and turned up the flow, then held the mask over his face. “Breathe. Clear head.”
“I’m perfectly clear,” Charlie said, waving him off. “Do you have a wife, kids?”
“Wife,” Ang muttered. “We marry last year.”
“And she’s all right with this? She doesn’t mind that you tramp up and down Mount Everest.”
“This my last trip. We have baby. I tell wife, no more. I save money from many climbs, we open laundry in Namche. We have happy life. Grow old together.” He held out his arm and pointed to his watch, strapped over his sleeve. “See? We leave now. You move or I roll you down to base camp.”
“No one would care if I didn’t make it down,” Charlie said.
“I would,” Ang said. “I never lose client.” He helped Charlie to his feet. “Maybe, you need wife. Someone who care. Maybe kids. Can’t do that frozen to mountain. You go find happy. Find girl you love.”
“No,” Charlie said. “I think I had her once, but I let her go.”
“Two years back, I love my girl. Another man love her, too. I make her see we have happy life together. All is well.”
For an instant, Charlie’s mind cleared. What was to stop him? Maybe that’s what he needed to do. Go back and figure out if he had made the wrong choice that night five years ago. And if he had, try to fix it. Suddenly, he had a reason to get down the mountain. He’d go see Eve. He’d figure out why it was her face he’d seen.
“All right,” Charlie said, clapping Ang’s shoulder. “Let’s get off this damn mountain.” He snapped his oxygen mask back in place and pulled his goggles down over his eyes.
In a week’s time, he could be back in Boulder, Colorado. Back where it all began. Then maybe he’d figure out what he was supposed to do with the rest of his life.
“LONELY GUY AT TABLE SEVEN. And he’s a hottie!”
Eve Keller glanced over her shoulder at her best friend and business partner, Lily Winston, then shook her head. “In case you haven’t heard, the Garden Gate is one of the best restaurants in Boulder according to a recent article in the Denver Post.”
