Fire in the Hole

By D. Jean Quarles

When Abby is given the opportunity of a lifetime, she grabs her gear and races forward. What she doesn't know is she's on a collision course with Dennis. He's a man with a plan and when he meets Abby he knows she's just the person to help him succeed. Now Abby's only hope is to keep climbing.

The story will keep you riveted. Not sure you'll make it to the top. Filled with action and breathtaking scenery, Fire in the Hole will captivate you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. Jean Quarles
• Release date: Apr 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781933868233

D. Jean Quarles

D. Jean Quarles currently lives in Alexandria, MN with her husband. Having lived in Arizona, Washington, and Wyoming, she brings her various settings to her writing. Writing Women's fiction she takes on difficult topics weaving spirituality into her stories. Her adventure fiction, & young adult science fiction are also available.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

TUESDAY, JUNE 28

ABBY

The dark gray rock rose up in front of them, solid and unyielding. It protected them somewhat from the noise of traffic that passed below on the highway, sheltering them so they only heard a faint swish, swish as cars sped by.

Do you need help? Kurt called up.

Abby lifted a pale hand and waved. I’m fine, she said.

Maybe try over to your left. Kurt pointed, but Abby wasn’t looking at him.

Her attention was focused on the variegated rock inches from her face. Abby’s hand searched to her left for a hold. She found a knob and gripped it. Her legs shook and a rivulet of sweat mixed with sunscreen ran from her forehead down her cheek and threatened to drip from her chin.

Straighten your legs and they’ll stop shaking, Kurt advised from the ground.

Abby complied. She felt a little strength return. She shifted her weight, preparing to search for a higher place for her foot. The movement caused the hand on the knob to slip. She clutched at the rock in a futile attempt to stay her fall. She felt her hands and knees scrape as they grazed the rock and then the rope arrested her in midair, causing her to dangle in her harness.

Falling, Kurt called.

Uh, thanks. I know, Abby said.

You’re supposed to call out ‘falling’ when you feel yourself slipping, Kurt explained.

Abby nodded. I’m sorry. I remember now.

Had enough for one day?

Abby looked up. The top of the ridge was only another fifty feet or so above her. She dusted off her hands and checked the scrapes on her freckled skin. She’d been so close to making it. One more time, she said as she searched the rock for a toehold. Let me try once more.

This time, when you get to the same place, try smearing, Kurt said.

Smearing, Abby knew, was a technique that required a climber to use friction from their rubber-soled climbing shoes against the rock.

You’re doing great, Kurt shouted.

She could feel every small irregularity in the granite through the thin black bottoms of her shoes. The first time she’d put them on she’d complained of them being too small as her toes felt squished.

That’s the way you want them, Kurt explained. Then you can feel the rock. If you have too much room in the front you can’t toe in.

A breeze blew through the trees beside them and the odor of pine and sage was whisked up to her. She loved being up on the rock, the feel of the hard surface beneath her fingers. Even though she knew accidents happened – horrible falls when anchors didn’t hold or problems when a belayer’s attention was diverted – she felt secure somehow. The rock she clung to had withstood so much, it was stable, stability that in the past had seemed hard for her to find. Her legs started to quake again and before Kurt could even call up advice, she moved to straighten them. Soon Abby was at the same place where she’d fallen moments before. She passed by the knob, realizing it was turned in such a way that when she applied more pressure for the move she couldn’t hold on to it, and continued to search for a better one. To her left, and just out of her reach, was a ledge that looked perfect. Abby scooted each of her feet as far to the left as possible and then tried again to grab the ledge. Her fingertips could just touch it. She stretched even more against the rock.

Above her she heard a shriek. A red-tailed hawk circled over. Abby straightened her legs again, checked her hand hold, took a deep breath and then lunged with her whole body to reach the ledge. Her fingertips grasped it, but they couldn’t support the rest of her body and she fell.

Falling, Abby said as she hung from the rope.

Awesome try, Kurt told her. You were right there. We’ll come out again next week and you can give it another go.

Abby nodded and wiped the sweat from her eyes. Yeah, next week, she said looking up. I’m done for the day. She turned to face the rock, placed her feet against the surface and sitting in her harness, walked down as Kurt released the rope gradually.

Great day. That was a 5-10 route, Kurt said.

Yeah, but I wanted to get to the top. At the bottom Abby untied the rope and sat on a nearby boulder. I’m still shaky. She looked over to the west and saw the Tetons, purple against the bright blue sky.

Quite a workout. Next week you’ll get up there. Kurt wound the rope carefully and sat beside her. Not bad for a beginner.

Abby pulled off her shoes and shivered as the cool air touched her feet. It felt good to be able to stretch her toes. She took a pair of wool socks from her backpack, put them on and slid her feet into sandals. A thin sheen of sweat covered her body. She shivered and pulled on a sweatshirt.

So have you thought anymore about going with us up the Grand? Kurt asked.

Abby exhaled. If I can get the money for the down payment on the house and have a couple of bucks extra. You bet I want to go. But right now the house comes first. I’m so sick of having to move. Every time I find a nice place to rent, it gets sold out from under me. Not this time. This time I’m going to invest in my future. Hell, I’m almost thirty and what do I have to show for it?

Don’t be so hard on yourself. Ryan and I are almost your age.

Yeah, but for guys it’s different. People don’t expect you to have settled down with a nice man in the suburbs.

Kurt laughed. There are no suburbs in Jackson.

Abby tilted her head and smiled wide. She shifted her body to the left and bumped into Kurt, causing him to lose his perch on the rock beside her and fall to the ground.

There’s also no nice guys here ready to settle down, Abby said.

Kurt nodded. Well, Ryan and I are glad you’re our roommate. In fact, we’re pleased there isn’t a Romeo in the picture right now. We do get to stay after you buy the place, right? Kurt rubbed his hand over his head, a habit he’d formed this summer after cutting his long, blond hair short. He didn’t even attempt to get up from the ground.

Hell, if you and Ryan move out I won’t be able to make the house payment. I’m planning on you staying at least through this first winter. That’s still the plan, isn’t it? Abby removed the hair-tie that held her long, red locks in a braid.

We agreed to stay one winter, after that we’ll see. He looked off toward the Tetons. It’s a nice climb. We could hold off until the end of August or early September if that would help you get your money together. I don’t think Ryan has any problem waiting until most of the tourists head home. In fact, that might even be better for him. RiverRats is short – handed and they’ve asked us both to work extra days for the next month.

How’s the river? Still up?

Kurt shrugged; his blue eyes twinkled. The tourists get a good ride down no matter.

Well, we’ll see about the Grand. I don’t want the two of you to miss a good climb because of me. Abby looked at the watch she’d clipped to her key ring. Shit. You’re going to be late for work if we don’t take off. Abby rose and started down the wooden steps.

Yeah, I guess we should go. Kurt hurried to catch up.

Traffic was slow, but steady and they were fortunate not to find themselves behind a motor home. Abby dropped Kurt off at The Whole Earth, where he worked nights clearing tables and then went around the block and parked in front of Billy’s Burgers.

Kurt would have died if he knew she was planning to eat there, but she had cravings for their French fries and juicy hamburgers for weeks. The smell of grilled meat made her mouth water as she entered. She sat up to the counter. In the adjoining room, the bar was full of people who had come in for happy hour. Abby wasn’t in the mood for all that excitement after coming down from Blacktail Butte. She wanted a gentle re-entry into the real world.

Billy burger in a basket, no cheese, Abby ordered when the young dark-haired cook asked. Oh, and a diet soda. The diet soda ordered with her meal almost made her laugh. She didn’t care about the calories today; her workout would surely allow her to eat whatever once in a while.

Coming right up, the cook/waiter said. He wore a white apron over his jeans, and cowboy shirt with a nametag that was tilted so it couldn’t be read.

She watched him pull the pre-formed patty out of the fridge and slap it onto the grill. Two other couples were seated around the counter. Tourists, most likely, she thought. One couple wore matching Jackson Hole T-shirts and the other couple was gazing lovingly into each other's eyes while hardly touching the food in front of them.

While Abby waited, a girl from the bar came in and out with more orders: onion rings, French Fries, Reubens, and of course more burgers. Abby tilted her head and spent a moment trying to read the cook’s nametag. Oron, it said. Not Orion, but Oron. She smiled and turned to look out the window at the tourists who sauntered past nonstop. Not of the heavens, Orion, but Oron of the . . . she tried unsuccessfully to finish the thought.

A tour bus stopped across the street at the town square. A group of about twenty senior citizens stepped off and started taking pictures of each other in front of the elk antler arches that adorned each corner of the park.

Billy’s was Abby’s favorite place to eat, but she’d curbed her desires for the last couple of months, trying to save up for the down payment on the house. Tonight she felt she’d earned the treat. The closing on the house was less than a month away and it looked as though she was going to be able to get her financing. With her next two paychecks she would have the down payment. She shook her head. So much money came through town with the tourists, yet it seemed harder and harder for the little people to make a living. The town was changing, that was for sure. Chain stores were buying out the mom-and-pop shops. As she looked out at the square’s surrounding businesses, she wondered how many would still be open in a year. Already she could see the change in the storefronts. Newer, more elaborate facades replaced the original western ones. It surprised her how much had changed in the few years since she’d moved to Jackson after her failed marriage.

Oron brought her order. Ketchup and mustard? He placed them on the counter. Anything else?

Abby shook her head. He was treating her like a tourist. Two months ago she’d been considered a regular, but she couldn’t blame the cook, he was new too, although she thought she’d seen him around town somewhere. It was his mustache that had caught her attention, shaggy and too long, it attempted to cover his teeth, which she could see were stained a dark brown.

Abby felt a draft of cool air whip past her legs as the outer door opened and someone came in. She took a bite of the hamburger and closed her eyes. Nothing tasted better than this, other than the French fries that she sampled next. An attractive young man with slightly receding brown hair sat down beside her. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed him nod to Oron.

Dennis, Oron said sounding surprised. A what?

Dennis cut off whatever Oron was getting ready to say and asked Abby in a deep voice. How’s the burger?

It’s great, she managed to get out between bites.

A cheer went up in the bar. The man smiled at her – white teeth, deep blue eyes, nice looking, mature, but probably still too young for her.

Don’t I know you from somewhere? Stage? Television? Magazines?

Abby wished he hadn’t opened his mouth. Nice try, she said and picked up her burger for another bite. Were all men losers or was there something wrong with her. Why did she only attract that type of guy?

Rebuked, Dennis turned toward the cook. Eleven? he asked.

Oron came over, placed both hands on the counter and turned to look at Abby. Eleven? Oron stared back at Dennis. Yeah, eleven is fine. You going to work?

Dennis nodded.

I’ll see you later then, Oron said.

With that decided, Dennis stood to leave. Hope you enjoy your visit to Jackson, he said. Maybe I’ll see you around.

Abby felt the draft of air behind her as the door opened and closed. She finished her meal, placed a good tip for Oron in a glass jar and left for home.

The phone rang as she climbed the last few steps to her house. She hurried, shoved the door open and dumped her climbing gear on the floor before grabbing the receiver. Hello? she gasped.

Mac?

Brad? What’s up?

Her employer, Brad Wilson, was the only one Abby knew who preferred to call her by her nickname, Mac. It was short for her last name, MacPherson.

Listen, I’m sorry. I’ve got some bad news.

Abby had already figured it had to be bad for Brad to call her at home. She checked the rooster clock that hung on the kitchen wall. Six o’clock. Monday evening. He wasn’t even supposed to be back in town until Wednesday. He’d left a few days ago with a group of four teachers to hike the divide in Grand Teton National Park. She glanced at the calendar – confirmed it, tomorrow was Tuesday. And then she knew. Are you all right?

It was a silly accident really. I stepped on a boulder. The sun was behind me and I didn’t notice it was wet or had moss growing on it or something. Anyway, I fell.

Oh, no, Abby groaned.

I broke my leg in three places. Pins. The works, he continued. I’m out for the season.

Brad, I’m so sorry.

Can you believe it? I’ve risked my life every winter walking on the worn boardwalks of town, but it’s a boulder that gets me.

The wooden boardwalks had been one of Brad’s biggest complaints each year. After a frost they were terribly slick and he’d always predicted he’d break his leg going to get breakfast or the mail.

What can I do to help? Abby asked.

I’ll be okay, but we can’t afford to keep you on. I mean, I’m going to have to cancel all of my groups and well, there’s no reason why I can’t answer the phone myself. I wish we could offer you something else. I’ll write you a glowing recommendation. It’s the least I can do. You’ve been so great and then maybe this winter, if you’re looking for something, you know we’d love to have you come back. I hate to have to do this, but we really don’t have a choice.

Abby cleared her throat. You’re letting me go? She sank to the floor.

Mac, I wish I could do something. Really I do. Listen, come in tomorrow and I’ll have your last paycheck ready. Okay? Maybe I can call around town and see if any of my friends are hiring.

Okay, Abby said far from okay. If she didn’t have a job, she could forget about buying the house.

CHAPTER 2

DENNIS

The light above his head flickered and buzzed. It had been doing that for the last two days, but he didn’t even notice it anymore. He squeezed the metal trigger and sprayed water on the congealed gravy, soggy potato peels and leftover lettuce, in greasy dressing, off each plate.

Dennis, someone yelled at him.

What? Dennis shouted as he placed the last two dishes into the washer and swung the metal door closed. Steam rose and drifted away, most of the vapor attaching to his body. He turned to watch the restaurant manager walk over.

A friend of yours is here. He came to the front. Dunce. I sent him around to the back door. Make sure you tell him that’s where he needs to meet you from now on. No friends out front, got that?

Dennis nodded and began to remove the drenched kelly-green apron.

Hey, hold on, his manager said as he swung his arm out to stop him. You’re not planning on leaving are you?

My shift was over thirty minutes ago, Dennis muttered. I was hanging around finishing up this last load. The dishwasher could be heard frantically swishing water back and forth behind him.

Yeah, well we’ve got a party of fifteen finishing off their salads. Your shift ends when the last of the diners are done and all the dishes have been washed. Understand?

Dennis understood. If he didn’t do what he was told, there were a dozen others who’d step right in and take this job. Everyone wanted to live in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. They wanted to hike, bike and ski in what they called the most beautiful place in the United States. And that translated into having to do shit jobs to stay there, not to mention living in small apartments with six other people. Dennis had thought he’d never share a room again after dorming with a geek for a year in college. Then he came to Jackson and, in order to survive, he’d had no choice. At least his roommates gave him some space. They were a bunch of extreme skiers and climbers that spent most of the daylight hours on the mountains and the evenings waiting tables or doing dishes themselves. Dennis wasn’t sure he’d even recognize them if he bumped into them trying to get into the bathroom, and he counted on the same anonymity. Dennis turned back to his manager; he needed to keep this job a couple of more days. Can I at least go talk to my friend and let him know?

Sure, I’m a nice guy. Take five. The manager turned on his heels and walked away. Before Dennis opened the back door he heard him chew out one of the sous chefs.

Asshole, Dennis said under his breath and walked outside. Oron was just coming around the corner, having walked all the way around the block to get to the back door. The red end of a cigarette glowed from his mouth. Dennis looked the other direction and was pleased to see no one else was hanging around the alley. He turned back in time to see Oron step into the light from the restaurant’s door. Dennis shook his head. Oron was dressed in the same clothes he’d worn at work, grease-spattered jeans and a shirt that had a partially ripped-off front pocket. No wonder his manager had been quick to send him around back. Couldn’t have the clientele seeing what amounted to a beggar here in the richest county in Wyoming. Dennis waited until Oron was close before he whispered, What the hell are you doing here?

You said eleven and it’s . . . . Oron flicked the ashes from his cigarette to the ground.

I know. We’ve got a late party, Dennis said.

Oron stood with his head down and hands in his pockets rocking back and forth, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. I need to talk to you. I’m not sure if I can do this. At five-five and a hundred and twenty pounds, Oron was scrawny, and he dressed in torn and greasy clothes most of the time.

Dennis on the other hand, always dressed his best. His brown hair, blue eyes and great body made him a typical chick-magnet. Not that Dennis cared. Dennis liked to play the ladies every so often, like today with the tourist he saw in Billy’s. But most of his time was spent thinking of other things, like how he could get rich quick.

Oron, never the confident one, loved having women swarm around him in order to get to Dennis. They even talked to him, mostly about what Dennis liked and didn’t like in his women, but still it was more female attention then he’d ever had.

Shit, I can’t talk right now. My boss is having a cow about me even having a visitor. I can’t get out of here for probably another hour. I’ll meet you at your house as soon as I can. Oron’s ‘house’ was a small, one-room rental on Kelly Street, much more discreet than Dennis’s apartment. Dennis grinned. Just stay cool man. It’s going to be fine.

Oron lifted his cigarette, took a deep puff and smiled. One of his front teeth was black from decay. I’m heading to the Cowboy Bar. I’ll wait for you there.

Dennis winced every time Oron showed off his smile, glad that most of the time his mustache covered it. He had no doubt it would be a memorable feature that would be played up in the media once their identities were discovered. Hopefully, long after he’d left the country.

I’m not sure that’s a good idea.

Oron shook his head. I need a drink. Bet you’ll be glad to be out of this shit hole? I mean, washing dishes for rich folks. Can’t get any worse than that.

Oron thought his job grilling hamburgers at Billy’s was better, even though it paid minimum wage and tips. Dennis was paid minimum wage too, but the tips from the elite who dined at The Huckleberry tripled his take home pay.

Yeah, I’ll be glad to be out of here, Dennis said. Take off. I’ll meet you in an hour or so. Don’t have too much before I get there. One beer.

Oron waved and headed back down the alley toward town.

Dennis didn’t make it to the Cowboy bar for another hour and a half. He searched the crowded line of saddles at the bar, but instead found Oron patiently waiting at a dark table in a corner away from the country band that played too loudly and the throng of dancing, drunken tourists. A brunette in a mini skirt sidled up to Dennis as soon as he stopped moving. What can I get for you, darling? The scent of her flowery perfume wafted up to his nose.

Dennis leaned over and inhaled deeply. He wasn’t in the mood. How about, he winked and sneered, an iced tea?

Her smile faded. Sure, whatever you want.

Dennis pointed toward Oron. I’ll be sitting at that table. Thanks, he said. Oron hadn’t noticed him yet. His eyes were fixed on the band that had ended a song with a drum solo and was now getting ready to take five. Smoke curled up from the ashtray where Dennis noticed almost a pack of cigarette butts lay. All of them were Oron’s brand. Sorry I’m late, Dennis said.

Oron looked up startled; his eyes were red-rimmed. Dennis patted him on the back and then gave a quick squeeze to his shoulder. Oron rubbed a hand over his eyes. Sorry, I’m tired, that’s all. Been working lots of hours lately, he said.

Yeah, I know what you mean. This is such a busy time of the year. Dennis laughed.

Oron took a moment before he joined in.

Take it easy, man. We’re almost there, Dennis said, suddenly serious.

The waitress set his drink on the table. Can I get you gentlemen anything else?

Oron? Dennis asked.

I’m . . . a Bud, he stuttered. Once the waitress had moved away he leaned close. Shit. I can’t do this, Oron said.

Sure you can. Dennis sat back in his chair and took a long sip from his glass. The tea tasted bitter and he wondered about adding liquor to it, but Dennis was more concerned about being able to stay focused on the