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“I was just getting to my ropes refresher course. Knowing how to tie the correct knot can be the difference between life and death. You know how to tie a half hitch?”

She twisted her mouth, then huffed when the other spectators turned to acknowledge her as well.

“Yes,” she said curtly, jaw clenched.

“Come on up, then.” He flashed a wide grin, something he hadn’t done in what seemed like forever. “Show these men how it’s done.”

The woman forced a smile. “I’m sure you’re quite capable of showing them.”

Her voice held just the slightest of accents. South American, maybe? Yes, definitely. What little he could see of her face revealed exquisitely bronzed skin. Not the bottled-orange look, as many women here ended up with. And the few stray hairs that whipped her face were black as midnight.

Intrigued, he crooked a finger for her to come up. “Please,” he said. “I’ve already been challenged a couple of times today. It’s time someone else steps up. Besides, I must be boring, since I have folks walking out on me.”

The woman released an exasperated sigh but walked forward. The men stepped back, immediately making way for the shapely and apparently irritated woman.

As she approached the table, she removed her leather gloves, revealing more of her beautiful skin. “Here, hold these.”

Sam accepted the gloves with one hand, handing her a 550 line with the other.

She dropped her head a notch, staring above the frame of her sunglasses. Dark green eyes, the color of jade, held his. Without shifting her intense gaze from him, her long fingers had already started working the knot.

The woman handed him the half hitch, then held out her hand again.

“Give me another line.” He obeyed, and with her eyes still holding his, she proceeded to tie a bowline knot with one hand.

She dropped the paracord then raised a brow, as if challenging him to another test. Her full pink lips quirked up.

“Give me something hard next time.” She’d spoken so low that he doubted anyone else had heard her.

She turned and strolled off as he stared, dumbfounded.

What a woman! He gulped, licking his suddenly dry lips.

Sam stared out at the stupid grinning faces of the men who had parted once again, making a way for her to escape. Just as quickly as they’d separated, the men gravitated back, filling the empty space the woman had left.

“All right,” he muttered hastily. “Make sure you grab a safety manual before you leave. The booklet contains great emergency info if you find yourself in a bind.” He skirted the table, nearly hopping it as he tried to intercept the woman before the others inundated him with questions.

“Sam?” said the man who’d challenged him about the snowshoes.

Sam held up a finger. “Just a sec.” The woman was already hustling toward the parking lot. Nearly all of the people who attended his refresher course on backpacking had additional questions. Why was she running off? Because she’d shown him up?

“Sir?” The eldest gentleman in today’s class stepped in front of him. “You said that your company leads a trip. Is there a sign-up form? I think you’re right. I’m not sure I want to challenge Mount McKinley on my own.”

Sam forced a smile. “Good idea. There’s a clipboard on the table. My brother’s leading a group in a couple of weeks.”

Another man held up a hand. “I heard you were the youngest boy to climb Denali.”

Sam craned his head around the additional men closing in on him.

“I heard that rumor too.” He chuckled. “I was twelve the first time my father took me up, but we didn’t care about telling folks.

Climbing was just part of our daily life.

An eleven-year-old boy recently summited Denali, though, so either way, I’m out. ”

The man laughed. “Ah … so maybe it’s not as hard as you make it out to be.”

“Maybe not.” Sam forced a laugh, irritated. “I’m getting old, I guess. Excuse me just a second, gentlemen; there’s someone I need to speak with.”

The line of men finally shuffled out of the way, the synthetic material of their insulated jackets swishing as they moved. Seemed everyone was dressed for Alaska except him and the mysterious woman.

Finally free of the group, Sam stared forlornly at the retreating bumper of a Ford Taurus with Anchorage plates.

More than likely a rental. If a new woman had moved to town, he would have already heard.

News traveled fast in Falcon Run, but no news traveled faster than word of a new resident, especially a female resident when you were one of five single brothers.

If his mother didn’t inform him that a prospective wife just moved to town — or back, which was more common — one of the older women who’d known him since he’d been in diapers definitely would.

Oh well, such was life in Falcon Run. He turned back to the men, ready to answer their questions, and pushed away thoughts of the beautiful woman who’d stared out at the mountains as if she were lost.

As he walked, he looked down at his hands. She’d forgotten her gloves.