LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

mountains in what was known as the Presidential Range—a series of high peaks named after U.S. presidents—Mount Washington had a weather observatory and a full café with hot dogs at the top.

      He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had hot dogs, but he’d helped himself to two on his brief stay on the summit.

      “It’s a beautiful spot, Dylan,” Noah said, meaning it, “but the same mosquito that bit me yesterday at the Lake in the Clouds has found me again. I think it followed me up and down this mountain.”

      “It’s not the same mosquito, Noah.”

      “I hate mosquitoes.”

      “At least it’s only one. It could be a hundred.”

      “Maybe my lack of showering discouraged reinforcements.”

      Dylan grinned at him. “You and mosquitoes. Imagine if you didn’t have bug repellant.”

      “No, thanks.”

      “You never hiked up Mount Washington while you were at MIT?”

      Noah shook his head. “Never even considered it.”

      “Too busy doing math problems,” Dylan said, amused.

      Math problems. Noah sighed. He had explained countless times in his long friendship with Dylan—practically since first grade—that “math problems” was too simplistic. It didn’t explain how his mind worked.

      “I’m not good at math,” Dylan added.

      “You don’t like math. There’s a difference. And your idea of ‘math’ is arithmetic. Adding fractions.”

      “I can add fractions. It’s multiplying them that does me in.”

      Noah glanced at Dylan but couldn’t tell if he was serious.

      “We shouldn’t sit too long,” Dylan said. “We don’t have much farther to go, but we want to make it down the mountain in time to get to Boston and turn into swashbucklers.”

      For a split second, Noah imagined himself lying back on the boulder and taking a nap. They’d encountered high winds, fog and temperatures in the low fifties on the last thousand feet or so to the summit. He appreciated the clear, quiet weather and relative warmth lower on the mountain. It was even sunny. By the time they reached the trailhead at Pinkham Notch, it would be in the seventies. He’d peeled off his jacket on the descent and continued in his special moisture-wicking Patagonia T-shirt and hiking pants. Dylan, who was built like a bull, was in Carhartt. Noah was fair and lean, more one for sessions in the gym or dojo than treks in the wilderness. Dylan had decided a few days in the White Mountains would be good for Noah.

      Same with the masquerade ball tonight.

      Good for him.

      Noah had gone along. Why not? It wasn’t as if he had a whole lot else to do. Not like even just a couple of months ago. A year, two years, ten years ago, he’d navigated a hectic schedule that would have flattened most people he knew. So had Dylan.

      “You couldn’t sign me up for a simple black-tie ball,” Noah said, sitting up straight on the New England granite. “No. No way. My best friend since first grade has to sign me up for a masquerade. I have to wear a costume.”

      “More or less. It’s not like Halloween.” Dylan was clearly unmoved by Noah’s complaints. “All in the name of fun and a good cause.”

      “Right.” Noah drank some water from his water bottle, relieved that he didn’t see any mosquitoes. “I’ve agreed to dress up in whatever swashbuckler outfit you’ve managed to find for me, but I’m skipping the long-haired wig and funny beard.”

      “Just not the sword,” Dylan said.

      Noah grinned. “Never the sword.”

      “A reenactment musketeer rapier is waiting for you in Boston. No one needs to know it’s you behind the black mask. I understand you don’t want your photo turning up on some gossip website asking if the most eligible bachelor in San Diego has lost his mind.”

      “Dylan, why do I have the feeling you aren’t taking my concerns seriously?”

      “Because I’m not. You’d have even more women flocking to you if they could see you in your sword-fighting duds.”

      Sword-fighting duds. Noah shook his head. Expecting Dylan to appreciate proper fencing terminology was a waste of time. No doubt he felt the same when it came to Noah and the nuances of hockey.

      “The costume has a cape, too,” Dylan added.

      “There’s no hope for you, my friend.”

      Dylan shrugged as he drank some of his own water.

      “You used to be the most eligible bachelor in San Diego,” Noah said.

      “Best-looking. You were always more eligible. You just have a habit of choosing the wrong women.”

      Noah tucked his water bottle into the side mesh pocket on his pack and got to his feet, lifting the pack onto one shoulder. “What wrong women?”

      “Hollywood babes for starters,” Dylan said, standing with his pack.

      “Only recently. I haven’t been the same since I got dumped by that computation engineer my senior year at MIT. She was brilliant, cute—”

      “Not that cute. I remember her.” Dylan jumped onto the trail. He didn’t seem to consider that he might slip and hit his head, twist an ankle or fall off the damn mountain. Of course, he landed lightly on his feet. “She wasn’t as cute as your latest actress.”

      “Her show just got canceled, and she’s not cute. She’s gorgeous.”

      “Smart?”

      “Yes, I guess so. We didn’t get that far before we went our separate ways.”

      “Not many people are smart compared to you. It’s a relative term.”

      Also one Noah seldom considered, but he had learned through hard experience that not everyone thought the way he did. And what did he know about relationships? His latest “relationship,” with the cute/gorgeous actress of the canceled Sunday-night show, had lasted three weeks and ended that spring. He’d known from the start it wasn’t an until-death-do-us-part match, but he’d thought it would last at least through the summer.

      He was the one who had ended it. Just had to be done. Expensive dinners, gifts and such were one thing. Manipulating him to bankroll a movie she could star in was another.

      “It’s good you had this time to enjoy nature,” Dylan said without any evidence of sarcasm.

      “Right. Sure. I didn’t even bring a cell phone.”

      Waving off a mosquito that seemed to have singled him out, Noah joined Dylan in heading down the mountain. In a few minutes, they were in dappled shade, and he could hear water tumbling down a rock-strewn stream. Several hikers passed them, ascending the rugged, steep trail. There were no guaranteed safe trails up Mount Washington, but thousands climbed it without incident every year. Preparation and the right equipment were key, but so was the right mindset—a clear understanding of one’s abilities and a willingness to turn back if conditions warranted. A foolish risk on Mount Washington could prove dangerous, even deadly.

      When he’d decided to start his own business, Noah had assessed his situation with the same clarity and objectivity as he had when he agreed to join Dylan and his hockey friends hiking in the White Mountains. He’d realized within weeks of forming NAK that he needed Dylan McCaffrey on his team. They’d grown up together in suburban Los Angeles, but Noah had gone on to MIT and Dylan into the NHL. After a series of injuries ended Dylan’s hockey career, he had blown most of his money and was sleeping in his car when Noah knocked on his window asking for his friend’s help.

      Dylan’s instincts and no-nonsense view of people and business helped Noah

Скачать книгу