Chapter Twenty-four
She slept like a rock and woke to the scent of coffee.
“Time to get your ass up.”
After blinking her eyes open, she stared at Miles. He stood beside the bed, fully dressed.
“What time is it?”
“Get-your-ass-up o’clock.” Taking her hand, he pulled her up to sitting.
“Why do women do that?” he wondered, when she dragged the sheet up with her. “I’ve seen you naked. I’ve seen your breasts, which, I’ve observed, are very nicely proportioned to the rest of you.”
“Because,” she said, and left it at that. Then she saw the mug on the nightstand. “You brought me coffee!”
“I brought you something pretending to be coffee. Knock it back, get up. You’ve got thirty minutes.”
“How long have you been up?”
“Long enough to grab a shower, drink actual coffee, get dressed, and make whatever it is you drink in the morning.”
“Okay, I can do all that in thirty, no problem. And I appreciate you bringing me coffee even if you don’t respect it. Where’s Howl?”
“He’s out on patrol. Thirty minutes,” he said as he walked to the door. “I have to make a couple calls.”
In thirty, because she considered it a challenge, she walked downstairs. She wore her hiking shorts and boots, a blue T-shirt, and a red ball cap. She’d hitched on a light backpack holding bug spray, a water bottle, a traveling first aid kit, a bag of trail mix, along with what she considered other essentials.
She found him in the kitchen, downing another cup of coffee.
“All set?”
He turned, looked at her. “What is it about women in boots and shorts? Sunscreen, bug juice?”
“Covered and coated—with more in my pack.” She went into the mudroom for the leash. “We are taking Howl.”
“Yeah, he’s expecting it.”
After Miles shrugged on his own pack, they went out the back. And when the dog spotted the leash, he sat where he was, looked deliberately away.
“He considers the leash insulting.”
“Of course he does. As if you wouldn’t be a good boy,” she crooned as she went to him. “The very best boy. But we can’t take you on the adventure without it.”
He suffered the indignity.
“We’ll take the car.”
“Oh, I figured we’d hike the trail about a half mile from here.”
Since she had the dog, Miles grabbed her free hand. “The Birch Trail’s a good loop, and when we’re done, we can pick up your car.”
“Works for me. I’m bound to be rusty,” she said as they piled into the car. “I haven’t been on a serious hike in a couple years. Time to get back in gear there so I can hike in the fall when the leaves change—and that won’t be long. I’ve never been here in the fall.”
“Tourists jam the place.”
“Which is good for the resort, and the town.”
“Yeah, but the trails get crowded. We’ll have some company today, summer brings them, too. But not like September and October.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Not summer ending, but seeing the fall.”
After he parked next to her car, she got out, shouldered her pack again before getting Howl out of the back.
“It’s a five-mile loop,” Miles told her, “but there’s a cutoff to shorten it to three.”
“I can handle five.” Another challenge.
“We’ll add to that walking down to the ropes course, zip line. The trailhead’s right there.”
“I rented a bike in the spring, a couple times, so I could tour the resort that way, get a better sense of the layout. I really thought about buying one, but it’s just too far to bike to work, and too late to risk biking home.”
“You don’t have to get a bike just for transportation.”
“No, guess not.” But she couldn’t justify just-because expenses. Not yet.
“Anyway, the way things are laid out? The walking trail around the lake, the hiking trails—at least the ones I’ve seen signposted. Then the zip lines, climbing wall, the cute little playground area. It all makes sense. I stopped in the Adventure Outlet, obviously, for the bike. Also smart to make it so easy to buy or rent gear, and right within sight of the ski lifts and runs. Then there’s the lake.”
She stopped to look out at the blue water dotted with kayaks and canoes. The mountains, green as their name, reflected on it. “I’ve never kayaked. I guess you have.”
“Sure. We’ll squeeze it in some weekend.”
“It’s something, to have all this at your fingertips really.”
“My great-grandparents bought the land and built the first lodge, the first couple cabins, because of the lake and that view.”
“You’re lucky they had that foresight. And what your family’s done with it. Building on it, yeah, but with respect. When I biked through, I’d spot a cabin, but it looked like it grew there.”
Howl, forgetting the insult of the leash, strolled and sniffed his way along the walking trail.
“Word is you’re going to transition to electric shuttles.”
“Yeah, by the fall peak. We’re putting in more charging stations.”
“Also smart.”
They came in sight of the ropes course, tucked in the trees. Morgan shook her head at the guests climbing, balancing, swinging high above her head.
“I can see doing that,” she said as Miles steered her to the trailhead, “when the zombie apocalypse hits, or the inevitable invasion by aliens hell-bent on exterminating the human race. It might be necessary to build rope bridges and walls, learn to balance on swinging tires and wood planks. But until then?”
She shifted her pack. “I’ll stick with hiking trails for my adventuring. And this is why,” she added, as they started the climb through the birch trail that gave the trail its name.
“It’s beautiful, already beautiful.”
“It gets better. Let me know when you’re tired of handling the leash.”
“We’re fine. I’m going to take a million pictures, so be prepared for it. Like now. Oh, I remember this. Wild lupine.” When she crouched down to frame the spears of purple, Howl licked her cheek.
Miles waited, patient enough, each time she stopped to capture some spotted joe-pye weed, or whatever she found interesting in the bark on birches, old-growth maples.
They passed a group heading down, were passed by another couple heading up.
He liked her company, liked she didn’t chatter endlessly, but could appreciate the quiet and the song of birds. He hadn’t made enough time for this lately, he admitted, for just walking through the hills and forest he loved.
She stopped, held up a hand. “Wait, I hear … Is that a waterfall?”
“Around the next bend in the trail. It’s small but scenic. Little White Falls. Resort property ends there, so we have the cutoff to loop back, or we can take the longer that runs through the national forest. It gets steeper.”
“Definitely the longer, but I want to see the falls.”
They tumbled down, dashing into the river below and foaming white against the weak-tea brown.
“It’s beautiful. It’s like music.”
And it sparkled over the rock, beat water against water so the river showed its floor. Where the shade spread, moss-carpeted limbs turned the light soft. Yet the sun struck the tumbling water, bright as a laser.
The couple who’d passed them took a couple selfies, then turned to take the trail back down. A group of three rose from a low rock ledge, then continued on up the trail.
Miles took the leash so she could pull out her phone yet again. While she got her pictures, he pulled the collapsible cup out of his pack, poured water into it.
A grateful Howl lapped it up.
He glanced up in time to see her take their picture as he crouched down to offer the dog a second cup.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist. I tossed an old plastic bowl in my pack. The cup’s better.”
She lifted her face to the sky. “This is the most perfect spot. I hate selfies,” she said looking back at him.
“I’m with you on that.”
“But it’s a waterfall, and I’d like to make an exception to my no-selfie rule.”
“Go ahead.”
“It includes you. It’s a waterfall, Miles, and the light’s perfect. So please, just this once.”
He should’ve known it would happen, just as he accepted refusing made him a jerk. He didn’t mind being a jerk, but he’d mind more spoiling the moment.
He stepped over to her.
“Thank you.” She held out the camera, turning it until she got the angle she wanted. “On three. Don’t scowl.”
“I’m not scowling.”
To solve it, she turned her face just enough to press her lips to his cheek. When his lips curved, just a little, she took the picture.
“What happened to ‘on three’?”
“That was better. Look.” She brought the photo up. “We’re adorable. And I’m going to do more of this.” She pocketed the phone. “That’s my solemn vow in front of the magic waterfall.”
They continued up. It did get steeper, and Morgan supposed she had Jen’s relentless workouts to thank for the fact she climbed without muscles twinging.
A group of teenage boys bounded by like antelopes, cackling like hyenas.
“It’s all fun and games,” Miles commented, “until somebody breaks an ankle.”
“What were they, about sixteen? The age of indestructibility.”
“Where were you at sixteen?”
“I honestly can’t tell you. I used to keep a book to write down the place and the dates. After the divorce, we kept moving around so much, I kept writing it down. Then I tossed it—which was stupid—when I went to college.
“Done with that.” She flicked her hand as if tossing something away. “But it was mostly a minor temper tantrum, and I regret it.”
“Your mom probably knows if you ever want to put places and times together.”
“Maybe, but…”
She went speechless when the world opened up. “Oh God! You didn’t tell me.”
“Makes a nice surprise. Not a half-bad view.”
“It’s glorious.”
A world of mountains, valleys, hills, rivers spread out in vivid greens, tender blues, the sturdy gray of rock in jutted outcroppings. The soft peaks as they rolled on spoke of age and endurance.
I’m here, and have been long before, will be long after.
She could see the folds and cuts of land and water, the rise of trees, the climb of trails, all so clear under the wide bowl of sky. And like a gift, the white tumble of a distant waterfall.
A painting, she thought, unframed and open to anyone who stood at this spot.
She wondered how it looked when fog crept through and rose in mists to blur the hills. Or when the trees turned vivid in the fall, or the winter spread its bright, blanketing white.
Today it said summer, with life at its peak.
The silence was music.
“I have to do it again.” She turned to him. “Sorry, but it’s too perfect not to.” She held up the camera. “It’s your own fault. I don’t even care if you scowl.”
She slid an arm around his waist, angled the camera.
When she’d taken the shot, she pointed at Howl.
“Your turn. Sit down. Good dogs sit.”
She crouched down to frame him in, with his eyes full of happy, head angled in anticipation.
That might’ve been the moment, Miles would think later, just the moment when he started to slip. Watching her convince the dog to pose—and damned if he didn’t—with her absolute pleasure in the moment, in the place, in the quiet soaring like the hawks overhead.
The moment when she looked up at him, glowing, simply glowing while surrounded by the world that had always been his.
Then she stood, put her phone away, and took his hands. “Thanks. You couldn’t have picked a better day, a better trail.”
“That’s a killer in the fall.” He nodded toward the view.
“I bet, but right now, it’s just so full of summer.” Looking out again, she tipped her head to his shoulder. “Fall’s bounty, winter’s waiting, spring’s beginning. But summer? It’s fruition.”
The silence broke as voices carried up the trail, so he moved on. Putting the moment aside, he walked with her and the dog.
“Now you’ve done it,” she told him as the track wound downward. “I’m going to have to make a lot more time for this. Even an hour now and then on a day off. How do you feel about camping?”
“I feel humanity’s progressed through work, innovation, necessity, and luck since they were cave dwellers or pioneers, and I respect their efforts, and value those efforts toward indoor plumbing, thermal windows, sturdy mattresses, and broadband. I don’t see a reason to choose to ignore those innovations and sleep in a tent.”
“That would be a no to camping. I’d say it’s nice that I also have a healthy respect for progress and innovation. But I bet you know how, which would be handy in the event of that zombie apocalypse or alien invasion.
“And that’s a bear,” she said, stopping dead when one crossed the path about two yards down. “An actual bear.”
“He’s not interested in you.” But Miles took the leash as Howl began to mutter and wag. “Brown bear, usually not aggressive. We’re not taking another selfie with it.”
“The thought never occurred. It’s a bear. It’s a really big bear.”
But it lumbered its way into the trees.
“We’ll give him a minute. You hiked with your grandfather a few times, right? You never crossed paths with a bear?”
“I did not. He told me what to do, what not to do if we did. I remember being disappointed we never saw one. Now I wonder why.”
“We have some wander onto the resort now and then, especially around the cabins.”
As they walked she looked toward the direction the bear had taken, but didn’t see a sign of it.
“I’d probably be excited to see one—if I were sitting inside a cabin.”
He shrugged. “They were here first.”
It made her smile at him. “Dear Diary, today I saw a waterfall, stood and looked out over miles of mountains, and had a bear walk by.”
“Do you do that? Keep a diary?”
“No. Who has time? But if I did, I’d add in the bear. I’m going to stop by the bakery after we pick up my car, get something for dessert for tomorrow.”
“Nell’s doing this cake thing she does.”
“Nell bakes?”
“Sometimes. Plus, I’m grilling—you’re doing the potato thing. She’s not about to be outdone.”
“I like that about her. The way she competes. It has to be challenging, being sandwiched between two brothers.”
“Maybe it’s challenging to be the oldest.”
“Is it?”
“Not really. But it could be.”
“It’s not, because when it comes down to it, you’re a team. There’s one of your cabins. Look how it’s all nestled in there, with rockers on the big front porch. I didn’t realize we’d circled back so close to the resort.”
“Nearly back where we started.”
“I see that now.”
They crossed the little bridge over the narrow stream, and the trail opened up to the ropes course.
She spotted Liam carting a couple of harnesses over to a bench.
“Good hike?” he called out as they crossed to him.
“It was wonderful. Waterfalls and vistas and bears. No takers this afternoon?” she asked as she scanned the empty course above.
“We’re booked for a private run.”
He held out a harness.
“What?” Nell clasped her hands behind her back. “No.”
“Just the thing to cap off a hike.”
“No, it’s not. It’s just the thing to make you squeal like a five-year-old or curl into a ball and whimper for your mommy.”
“You’re not afraid of heights.” Miles picked up a harness, began to strap it on. “Not the way you stood up at the lookout.”
“No, I’m not afraid of heights, but—”
“If you were, we’d skip this.”
“I’m not afraid of heights, but I have a healthy respect for gravity.”
“You won’t fall. See this?” Liam held up the harness, showed her the carabiner on the belay system. “You clip this on, and it locks. It can’t unlock until you physically unlock it. You’ll always have at least one safety line attached at all times, even when you’re standing on a platform.”
“I question why I’d stand on a platform up there.”
“It’s fun!”
“If she’s afraid…” Miles let than hang, started to remove his harness.
“‘Afraid’ is a strong word.” And one she knew he’d used on purpose. “Wary. I prefer ‘wary.’”
“What’re you going to do when the zombies swarm?” Miles asked her.
“Die a horrible death, then spend the rest of my zombie existence eating brains. Damn it, this is an ambush.” She grabbed the harness. “Show me how this thing works.”
As he hooked it on her, Liam smiled into her eyes. “This’ll hold easily three times your weight. We’re both going to be up there with you, but first, I’m going to go over the basics right here on the ground.”
“I like the ground.”
Liam was thorough, and the basics didn’t seem too complicated.
“What about Howl?”
Miles hooked his leash to the leg of the bench, set out water and a chew stick. “He’s fine,” he said, and handed her a safety helmet.
She wasn’t that competitive, she thought, but found herself climbing to the first platform behind Liam with Miles behind her. On the platform, with Howl far below, Liam went over the belay and safety system again.
“The bridge will sway some as you step on those wood crosses, but you’re hooked on.”
“You go first.”
“Sure. I’ll wait on the next platform.”
He might as well have walked across a solid stone bridge two feet above a lazy stream, Morgan thought as she watched him.
“You’re fine,” Miles said from behind her.
She spared him one dubious look, held her breath, stepped off the platform.
It swayed all right, but she kept her eyes on the second platform, even when Howl howled from below.
She didn’t fall, and didn’t end up dangling in humiliation.
“You did great! Want to go across first this time?”
“No, second’s fine with me.”
“Remember what to do?”
“Yeah, I’ve got the not-falling part down solid.”
She watched Liam walk over vertical logs that seemed unnecessarily narrow and spaced unnecessarily wide, then glanced back to see Miles cross the bridge with the same ease as his brother.
Show-offs, she decided, and carefully unlocked her first carabiner, switched it to the next wire, gave it a nice testing tug before she did the second.
The logs swayed, too, but the idea of freezing halfway across kept her moving, kept her stretching a leg out to step from one to the next. The fact she swallowed a couple of squeals before they sounded boosted her confidence.
There were narrow wood swings that swayed, a rope net to traverse.
Liam let out a hoot of approval as she managed them. “You’ve got it! We could sign you up on crew!”
No, she thought as she made her careful way over a long vertical log, then what was, essentially, a tightrope. Definitely no to that.
She climbed a rope ladder, felt her abs sing as she swayed and balanced over the course of tires.
But the trapeze got her. She watched Liam grip it, swing like a circus act from perch to platform.
Her heart hammered; her muscles trembled. This was work! But she gripped the trapeze, sucked in her breath, and pushed off.
And it was like flying. For a second, maybe two, like flying with the air on her face, her body—as the song said—defying gravity.
When she landed on the last platform, her laugh rang out.
“That!” She threw her arms around Liam before she turned to where Miles waited on the trapeze perch behind. “Who knew?”
And that, he knew, was the moment. She stood, face flushed with the effort, with the sudden delight, her arms still around his brother.
Her smile could’ve lit the world.
He didn’t slide out of affection into love, didn’t slip from attraction into forever, but fell long and hard. No safety system could have stopped the fall.
It left him breathless, stunned, and a little bit pissed off.
So he’d think about it later, he told himself. Later, when he’d cleared his head and she wasn’t right there distracting him.
When they’d started down, he swung over, then joined them on the ground.
“Fun, right?”
“More than I expected,” she told Liam. “A lot more than.”
“Wanna go again? There’s time before the next group. I wasn’t sure how long it would take you, but you’re a natural.”
“Once is enough. Absolutely.”
“There’s the zip line, the rock wall.”
“Get out of here.” Laughing, she gave him a shove. “Those are definite nos.”
“Next time, zip line. It’s such a rush and you can see for miles.”
“You’re a maniac. Your brother’s a maniac,” she said to Miles. “I’m going to free Howl.”
“She’s great,” Liam began when she walked away, then shifted his feet. “Look, I wasn’t hitting on her or anything.”
“I know that. And let me add, as if she’d go for it.”
“Well, you look a little pissed, so—”
“No, not that, and yeah, she did fine.”
“I really like her. I mean, sure, in general, but for you. I like her for you.”
“So do I.” Miles unhooked his helmet while the dog greeted her as if she’d been to war. “And maybe that pisses me off a little.”
Liam just slapped his shoulder. “You’ll get over it. The pissed part, I mean.”
“Maybe. Thanks for doing this. I figured she’d be more comfortable with you than one of the Adventure crew.”
“It was fun.” He took the harness from Miles. “She’s gutsy. You gotta give her gutsy. Before we go over, any more on that asshole?”
“Nothing definite. They’re still following leads out west. Maybe Oregon.”
“Maybe he’ll run out of room and take a dive into the Pacific.”
“I could live with that, but it’s better if they find the bastard. She’s never going to be all the way steady until she knows he’s locked up.”
“He can’t run forever, Miles. Nobody can.”
No, Miles thought, but that was the problem. Sooner or later, Rozwell would stop running and try again.
At home, he lured her into the shower. Not just because he wanted her, and Christ knew he did. But with the hope the sex would clear his brain, return his balance.
It didn’t.
When she went to work, he wandered around his house wondering how it was she filled so many spaces even when she wasn’t there.
He went into his office, looked out of the turret view that had so captivated her. He sat, worked awhile. That filled spaces, too.
But he kept returning to those moments. The moment at the lookout when he’d felt that slip. Then the moment on the ropes, when he felt the fast fall.
And other moments, he admitted. The first time he’d seen her working behind the bar. That little click inside him he’d ignored. Watching her drive away in that rattletrap excuse for a car and wondering. Just wondering.
Seeing the way she worked out in the gym because she was determined to get strong enough to protect herself.
A lot of moments up to the one he’d stepped outside and seen her standing in his front yard with her tub of cookies.
“So what now?”
Beside his chair, Howl muttered his opinion.
“I don’t need your advice. She’s got you wrapped, or you’ve got her. Hell, I guess it’s mutual.”
He sat back, closed his eyes. “So that’s just the way it is.”
Absently, he laid a hand on Howl’s head, and realized his little brother had it right. He’d pretty much gotten over the pissed part.
“She’ll be home in a couple hours.”
And that was the way it was, too, he realized. She’d be home, and he’d be waiting when she got there.
“You might as well do your last patrol.”
They went down, and while Howl did his last patrol, Miles poured a glass of Cab. Thought of her.
Waited for her to come home.