Out of Mind Page 5

  Oliver plucked a brochure and a waiver from the rack on the wall. “So, Amber, what’s brought you to Upper Limits?”

  “I already told you. I need to learn how to climb walls.”

  He was a heartbeat off chuckling when he stopped himself. Her steely expression indicated she wasn’t joking, and the fact that she’d used the word “need” waved a red flag in his brain. Nobody needed to know how to rock climb. It was a passion, a desire, born from an urge to get fit and have fun doing it. Not because they needed it.

  Shoving his curiosity aside, he unfolded the brochure to the four-page spread showing a panoramic photograph of his rock walls. “Then you’ve come to the right place. We have all stages of training, from beginner to expert.”

  “I need to learn them all.”

  Again with the need? He frowned and cocked his head, trying to capture her gaze. “So what’s your ultimate goal?”

  Her haunting blue eyes seemed to pierce his brain. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, is this for fitness, fun, to get social, or do you want to do competition stuff? What’s your motivation for coming in?”

  She shifted her gaze, and Oliver had a weird feeling she was about to dart for the door. Sensing her uncertainty, he said, “Most people start it for fitness and take it from there.”

  “Yes,” she said, but didn’t elaborate.

  “Okay, well, I just need you to fill out this form and sign the waiver, then we can lock you in.”

  “For private lessons.” She said it as a statement rather than a question.

  “Look, Amber, I don’t—”

  She pointed at the brochure. “Your lessons are twenty-two dollars. I’m willing to pay you four times that amount for private lessons.”

  Her argument was a strong one. “But our lessons are group sessions, so I usually have four to six people in each group, therefore I’m making at least one hundred dollars per session.

  Her intense gaze deepened. “Two hundred dollars.”

  He blinked, hardly able to believe the offer. It was ludicrous, but mighty tempting.

  “Three hundred dollars.”

  “Oh jeez.” He held up his palms in a peace gesture. “Okay, sure…private lessons.”

  “For that price I want the building to myself. No other customers.”

  “That’s a big ask. We’re open every night till seven, six days a week.”

  “Then we’ll start at seven.”

  “Look, Amber. This is my business, and I make the decisions around here.”

  “If you’re not interested in my money, Mr. Nelson, then I’ll find someone who is.” Her voice was firm, but she strangled her fingers like she was wringing a rag.

  Her use of his surname caught him off guard, though. It seemed Amber had done her research. He flicked his gaze from her lupine eyes to the scar on her cheek. He instantly regretted it when she angled her head to hide it.

  It wasn’t all she was hiding. Amber seemed to have a whole bucket of mystery going on.

  Oliver felt he was about to enter into something he’d completely regret, but the money was too good to refuse. Not only that, Amber had captured his interest. It’d been a very long time since anyone had done that. Especially a woman.

  In a small town like Brambleton, it was an opportunity he wasn’t willing to blow.

  “You strike a hard bargain, Amber.”

  Her pale pink lips drew into a thin line and she simply nodded in response.

  “Okay, so when do you want to start?”

  “Now.”

  He burst out laughing. “We’re not starting now, and that’s not negotiable. I coach my brother’s baseball team every Wednesday night.” He glanced at the simple round clock hanging over his business certificate. “It starts in thirty minutes.”

  Her shoulders slumped and she seemed to stew on her response. “Tomorrow night.”

  “Okay, tomorrow it is.”

  She folded the brochure and collected the waiver form, shoving both into her bag and then she stood. “Mr. Nelson?”

  “Please, call me Oliver.”

  “Oliver, I need you to keep my patronage a secret.”

  He frowned, and when her fingers wandered over the brutal scar on her cheek, he thought he saw fear in her eyes.

  “Okay, my lips are sealed.” He made a twisting motion on his lips as a joke.

  But Amber seemed to crumble before him. A powerful desire to protect her fluttered over his heart. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but Oliver had a strange feeling he’d been destined to meet this troubled woman.

  Chapter 8

  After six hours of trying to finish Dr. Nikanomar’s patient report, Holly gave up just before four o’clock and shut down her computer. She wandered to the bathroom and turned the shower faucets on full. All day she’d tried to picture herself climbing that wall at Oliver’s gym, and each mental image ended in failure. As she stood under the hot cascade, her mind sparked endless questions and her stomach flipped at her inability to produce answers.

  By the time she stepped from the shower, the urge to throw up was so strong that she leaned over the toilet bowl and fought the hideous wave with short sharp breaths. It was a long horrible pause before she swallowed back the bile and stood again. She glanced at the mirror but quickly snapped her eyes away from her ghostly reflection.

  After drying off, she dressed in track pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt and put on the brand new gym shoes she’d bought online months ago but hadn’t even removed from the box. When she’d purchased the shoes, she’d had every intention of taking a daily walk, but her fear of being seen had overridden her urge to exercise.

  Holly’s thoughts tumbled to the last time she’d done any form of voluntary exercise. It was the same day her life had become a living nightmare. She been at the peak of her physical fitness when she’d fallen into that crevasse. Maybe that’d been what saved her. It certainly hadn’t stopped the pain. She could vividly recall sitting on that ledge and begging the agony to subside. A mental image of the couple she’d shared that crevasse with catapulted into her mind. They were the reason why she needed to fight past her fear.

  The vision was the jolt she needed. She turned back to the mirror and clutched the sink. Staring into her own eyes, she forced determination into her brain. “You can do this.”

  She strode to the kitchen, pausing at the bench to pinch two leaves off her gotu kola plant and pop them into her mouth. After she’d given up on the plastic surgeons, she’d turned to alternative medicine. This plant was the result of extensive research. Two leaves each day were meant to be enough to help with scars. Burn scars in particular. She had no idea whether or not it’d helped, but she’d hate to see what her cheek would look like if she hadn’t been eating them.

  Holly strode to the sofa, grabbed the remote, and settled back to rewatch the documentary that’d given her a sense of purpose. She hit play and the footage on the television panned from pristine mountain scenery to the tail of a plane jutting above the white snowy blanket like a blade. Carter Logan, the National Geographic photographer who’d discovered the plane, was a jovial man who described the discovery with delightful animation. Holly had watched the documentary so many times she could recite his monologue word for word.

  Like every other time she’d watched it, she paused the footage on the image of Dorothy holding up the photo.

  Despite their significant age difference, Holly felt a strange connection to the elderly woman. It was like they’d walked the same life-changing path. She saw the pain in Dorothy’s eyes when she talked about the accusations against her one and only child.

  It was the same pain she saw in her own reflection each morning. Holly knew how it felt to be falsely blamed for a person’s death. Although she may never be able to clear her own name, she was determined to help Dorothy before the light faded ou
t of the old woman’s eyes.

  By the time she walked out her front door and headed toward Oliver’s gym she was ready to give this thing—this quest, or mission, or whatever she wanted to call it—everything she had. Or die trying.

  Which was just as likely too.

  Nothing in the last three years had made more sense than this.

  She was ten minutes ahead of schedule and, slinking into the shadows outside of Upper Limits, she watched through the open door. Oliver was holding one of those ropes for a man who was halfway up the wall. His obvious concern for the man he was helping seemed so genuine that Holly was mesmerized by his facial features. She recalled the way he’d looked at her yesterday. His eyes had an intensity about them that she hadn’t seen in a very long time. Several times during that first meeting she’d teetered on the urge to run from his office, but he’d seemed so genuine and his gentleness coaxed her through her fierce apprehension. She wouldn’t be there otherwise. Of that she was certain.

  Occasionally, Oliver’s deep voice was loud enough to carry to her outside, presumably also to the man on the other end of the rope. His words were assertive, yet laced with a gentle encouragement.

  She wondered what Oliver had thought of all her secrecy. Not that it was important.

  She needed her privacy.

  Becoming a recluse was much better than risking the same humiliation she’d suffered back in Seattle. She honestly believed changing her name and moving cities was the only thing that’d kept her sane.

  The climber made it look easy. Each movement upward was as smooth as a cat. He shifted lightly on his feet and gave the impression that the tiny lumps he was clinging to were the size of bricks rather than mere finger holds. He scaled at speed, barely pausing from one colorful knob to the next. Based on his swiftness, Holly assumed the man had followed the same route upward dozens of times, and at the top he smashed a bell with his fist and cheered.

  She just about yelped when the man fell backward. But the rope that slithered down the wall caught him, and hand over hand, Oliver lowered him to the padded blue mat. Oliver and the climber high-fived each other and seemed to share a joke.

  The last time she’d laughed with Milton flashed into her mind. The two of them and Kane had spent the morning skiing and were on their final run before they planned to stop for lunch. As usual, Kane had been showing off his expert skiing skills and after a moment of egging on, challenged his father to a race. She’d never known Milton to back down from a challenge and this was no exception. When Milton had leaned in to kiss her cheek, he’d whispered, “See you in a sec.”

  Father and son took off in a flurry of powdered snow and colorful jackets, and when they disappeared around a tree-lined corner she pushed off the ledge and skied down behind them. But when she next saw him, Milton was facedown in a mound of snow. Her heart had been in her throat as she’d dashed to his side. But it’d all been a ploy. Kane had raced on ahead, which meant Milton and Holly could finish the ski run on their own.

  They’d laughed together as she’d flicked the snow from his beard stubble and straightened his beanie. Little did they know that less than four hours later, he’d be dead.

  Holly cast the ill-timed memory aside and watched Oliver and the man finish with the climbing apparatus. The man grabbed a pack and the two of them strolled toward the front door. Oliver said goodbye and the man left. If Oliver saw her in the shadows he didn’t indicate. Instead, he ambled toward the back of the gym.

  She waited a few more minutes, making sure everyone had left, and when Oliver disappeared into his office she sucked in a huge calming breath and walked out of the shadows.

  As if he’d known she was there, Oliver stepped from the room and smiled. “Oh. Hey, Amber.”

  She still couldn’t get used to being called that, but returned his smile all the same.

  “Head into my office, I’ll just shut the front door.” He walked past her and she was surprised at how tall he was. She hadn’t realized that yesterday. Or maybe it was because she had on her new gym shoes rather than the three-inch wedges she’d worn when they’d first met.

  She settled into a seat in his office and looked around. The side wall was cork-lined, and every inch was covered in photos. Most were of people climbing walls and working out. Beaming smiles were the theme.

  “Okay, how did you manage with those forms?” He strolled in and pulled out the chair opposite her.

  Holly plucked the paperwork from her pack, unfolded the pages, and pushed them across the table. Oliver scanned his eyes over her responses, his forehead corrugated into a frown as he paused about a third of the way down the page. She had an inkling he’d paused at the previous injuries and ailments section. Holly had answered nil to every one of those questions.

  “Looks like you’re fit and healthy.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “Hmmm, I wouldn’t say fit.”

  A grin transformed his face and his eyes twinkled in the florescent light. “That’s why you’re here, right?”

  “Correct.”

  He signed the bottom of the form, stood, and placed the signature page on the top of the photocopier glass. “Okay, so how do you want to pay?”

  Holly cleared her throat. “About that.”

  He groaned and met her gaze.

  “I noticed you have a monthly rate of two hundred dollars for unlimited lessons.”

  “Group lessons,” he clarified.

  “Right. Well, what would you consider a fair price if I chose to take the monthly option?”

  He blinked at her, maybe trying to understand her worth, or maybe seeing a business side to her he hadn’t expected. He finished at the copier, sat back down, and handed the copy to her. “How many nights a week do you anticipate coming?”

  “Six.”

  He burst out laughing. “I love your enthusiasm. But I can’t commit to six nights per week.”

  She huffed out a sigh. “How many nights can you commit to?”

  “How about we work on three nights per week to start and reassess in a month’s time?”

  Holly stewed over his response. But there was really no choice—Brambleton had no other facility like this, and she needed him. “What would your price be for three nights a week?”

  “This’s fun.” He leaned back and folded his arms. “You start.”

  She frowned. “Start what?”

  “The negotiation. You say the first amount.”

  “Oh, um.” She did the math in her head and calculated his casual rate into a monthly figure. It was less than she’d offered yesterday for just one lesson. She felt like a fool, but it was too late to rectify. Getting value for that money was now the priority. She leaned back and copied his move by folding her arms across her chest. “I’m willing to offer five hundred—”

  “Done.” Oliver slapped his hand on the table and she jumped.

  “You’re a bit hasty, Mr. Nelson. I haven’t stipulated what I want for that price.”

  He offered her a sly grin, and looked to be enjoying this way more than the negotiation warranted. “Okay then, Miss Hope, let’s hear your demands.”

  “I want three nights each week. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

  “Can’t do Wednesday, ’cause I coach my brother’s baseball team. Can’t do Friday either.”

  She’d forgotten about his brother’s baseball. “What’s wrong with Friday night?”

  “Friday’s drinking night.”

  She glared at him, wondering if he was taking this as seriously as she was. “How about Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday.”

  “Done.” He held his hand forward.

  She ignored his hand. “I haven’t finished.”

  “Sorry.” He curled back. “Carry on.”

  She fiddled with her hair, trying to angle it over her burn scar without covering her eye. “I need complet
e secrecy.”

  “Interesting…but okay, agreed.”

  She blinked at him, surprised that he hadn’t queried her request. “And I want my equipment included.”

  He seemed to consider that for a moment. “Okay. But you’ll need to buy new shoes.”

  “These are new shoes.” She glanced at her feet.

  “I noticed. But they’re not good enough.”

  She cocked her head. “Why not?”

  “Believe me, Amber, when you’re up that wall, you’ll want to feel every inch of those holds. You need as little fabric as possible between the hold you’re clinging to and your flesh. If you’re as serious as you say you are, then you need proper footwear.”

  Again she felt like a fool, and she fought the red flush leaching up her neck. She lowered her eyes. “Okay, I understand.”

  “We sell a range of shoes specifically for rock climbing.”

  Her heart skipped a beat as the ghastly wounds to her left foot flashed across her mind. It was imperative that he didn’t see her feet. Holly’s only hope was that her socks would conceal her foot enough to go undetected.

  Other than the buzz of the florescent light above, a silence settled over the room. It surprised her that it didn’t make her feel awkward. Oliver had a calming quality about him that had her relaxing a little. She met his gaze and had a crazy notion that he knew how important this mission was to her. Which was strange given that they’d known each other for all of ten minutes. “Okay, I’ll take a look at your shoes.”

  “Excellent.” He opened his palms as if welcoming her. “Now, I have a few requests.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Like what?”

  “If you really truly want to learn this, and I think you do, then you need to follow my instructions exactly.”

  “I will.”

  “In order to understand how well you’re progressing, you need to be honest with me.”