He handed it over to her, predicting the expression on her face about to come his way. Sure enough, after a few moments of replaying what he’d filmed, River’s eyes narrowed.

“Why is there only film of my ass on here?”

“Because technically, that’s what I saw when I was climbing.” Sticking to innocence seemed the safest approach. “Why? Was that wrong?”

Rolling her eyes at him, River stood with the camera instead of resting, turning in a circle to take in the vista. Despite the difficulty of their trek so far, River was all but bouncing on her heels in sheer excitement.

She might not have been a professional climber, but River was pretty darn close.

“All right, Easton. This is our final interview before the climb. Do you have anything you want to say to all the people watching us at some indeterminate point in the future?”

Maybe he could have thought of something if she hadn’t flashed him the prettiest smile, a strand of her auburn hair blowing across her eyes.

Easton wasn’t a big talker, but he wasn’t used to being absolutely tongue-tied around a woman. She was just so beautiful. Easton had never met a woman more determined, bullheaded, and maddeningly reckless in his life.

He’d never wanted someone more.

“Nope.”

Laughing, River handed the camera back to him. Then she knelt, her hands scooping up a double handful of snow. He knelt too, setting the camera next to him so it wouldn’t get damaged by her intentions, watching as River deliberately formed a massive snowball. Two more joined the first in a pile at her hip, with a fourth balanced and waiting on the palm of her hand. They were at the top of the world, one wrong breath from death, and she wanted to have a snowball fight.

“I’m going to do this,” River promised him. “You’ve never been snowballed like I’m about to snowball you.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“Oh, it’s totally a threat. Are you ready for me?”

He hadn’t been ready for her in the least, not since he pulled over on the side of the road. But like back then, try as he might, he simply couldn’t help himself.

“Bring it,” Easton told her, because he knew that was exactly what she planned on doing.

The first snowball was lobbed in his direction, a warning shot. The next two were a direct frontal assault. The fourth was intended to force him into action instead of sitting there, by way of gloved fingers bopping the snowball against his nose.

“That was cold,” he murmured.

“You’re absolutely no fun, are you?” She frowned, nose wrinkling. Then a gust of wind across the mountainside stirred up a spray of snow all on its own, making that cute nose wrinkle become an even cuter sneeze.

“Are you done torturing me?” he asked.