by Casie Bazay
K. J. plops down on one of the beds while I head straight for the shower. It’s not like I really worked up a sweat today, but I’d like to at least wash off the woods and bug spray. By the time I’m out of the shower, K. J. is fast asleep. Perfect, now we don’t have to interact.
I dry and straighten my hair and then reapply my makeup, enjoying the relative peace. After dressing in my nice jeans and a button-down denim shirt, I check the time again. We still have thirty minutes until dinner, but I might as well head down and have a look around.
The Inn’s gift shop is quaint, with all sorts of Yellowstone-themed decor, T-shirts, a variety of hats, and Christmas ornaments. I’ve never been a souvenir kind of person, but I pick out a buffalo ornament that says YELLOWSTONE across one side and go to pay for it at the counter. As I’m waiting in line, I spot Johan in the lobby, now sporting jeans and a flannel shirt. His hair is pulled back into one of those man bun things, and, holy cow, he looks good.
I make my way out of the gift shop, pretending I haven’t noticed him until I nearly bump into his side. “Oh, hey,” I say, trying to sound surprised.
He smiles, and my stomach does a loop-de-loop. “Hey, Becka.”
I look up into the old wooden rafters, as if hoping they’ll tell me what to say next. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “This is such a cool place. It really feels like we’ve stepped back in time.”
He nods, following my gaze. “It’s one of my favorite inns here.”
“I can see why.” I scramble to think of something else to talk about. “So, I enjoyed the hike today.”
“Good deal.” He glances around the foyer before noticing the married couple, Ben and Angie, and waving them over. My heart sinks a little. So much for that.
As we wait for the rest of our group, Johan tells us a little about the history of Old Faithful Inn, which is over a hundred years old. Again, I’m interested in the information, but I mostly just like to listen to the sound of his voice. If he needed a second job, he should consider doing audiobooks. I’d buy every single one of them.
When Phillip and his son, Chris, show up a few minutes later, we all start toward the adjoining restaurant.
“Has anyone seen the other girl?” Johan asks. “It’s K. J., right?”
“I haven’t seen her,” Sue says.
I start to answer, but then snap my mouth shut. She’s a big girl with an alarm on her phone just like me. Surely, she set it and will be here soon.
The restaurant is furnished with rugged tables and chairs that match the decor of the Inn’s rooms. Chandeliers made from deer antlers hang from wood beams on the ceiling, and the aroma of steak wafts through the air, making my stomach rumble. A hostess shows us to a large table, and as we settle into our seats, everyone grows quiet. It’s like we’re unsure of what to say now that we’re sitting face-to-face. The scenery gave people plenty to talk about on the hike today, but we’re all still basically strangers.
“I, for one, am having a beer,” Johan announces, and everyone seems to relax.
“Me too,” Phillip says.
“Me three,” Chris says.
I’ve never had so much as a drop of alcohol, but I wish I could say, me four.
A waiter comes to take our drink orders, but there’s still no sign of K. J. Ben and Angie each order a glass of wine, leaving me the only one with a nonalcoholic drink. Johan makes a joke about it, but when he winks at me right afterward, my heart skips a beat.
He glances at his watch again. “Maybe she’s just running a little late.”
Several people murmur their concern as the waiter returns to take our orders. I just shrug and order the lamb chops.
The alcohol seems to have a nerve-settling effect on everyone, and soon we’re all talking easily. Johan tells us what’s in store for tomorrow’s hike, and even though I’ve only had lamb chops cooked in red wine, I’m starting to feel all warm and fuzzy, too. I think it’s mainly because I’m sitting next to him. He’s wearing some kind of musky cologne that smells better than the food, and that’s saying something because the food here is outstanding.
I’ve completely forgotten about K. J. until we’re all standing to leave. She appears in the restaurant entrance, face flushed and her short hair sticking up on one side. Doesn’t the girl ever look in a mirror?
She strides toward us, moving in that gangly way of hers. Her eyes narrow in confusion or maybe annoyance. “Did you guys already eat?”
“Yah, we met at six,” Johan says. “Did you forget?”
“No.” Her eyes cut to mine. “I fell asleep and someone didn’t bother to wake me up.”
Crap. Here it comes.
“Who are you here with?” Johan asks, appearing surprised.
K. J. points a finger at me. “My lovely cousin here.”
Johan looks to me and then back at her. “You two are cousins? I didn’t realize you came together.”
“Yep,” K. J. says, her eyes shooting daggers at me.
Sue gives me a chastising look before turning to K. J. “You know what? I was thinking about ordering dessert and a coffee. I’ll stay here and eat with you.”
The corners of K. J.’s mouth lift ever so slightly. “Thank you, Sue. That’s very considerate of you.” Her eyes cut to mine again.
“Sorry,” I say, a little too late. “I thought maybe I should let you sleep. You seemed really tired.” It’s a lame excuse, but the only one I can think of on the spot. Internally, I cringe. I know how bad this looks. These other people have no way of knowing the situation with K. J. and me.
“Okay, everyone,” Johan says, turning the group’s attention away from me. “See you bright and early tomorrow morning in the lobby. Seven o’clock sharp.”
He glances back toward K. J. and Sue, seated at the table. K. J. gives a thumbs-up, and Sue, a nod of agreement.
“Good night,” Johan says before turning to leave.
I push my hands into my back pockets, following him toward the lobby. I try to think of something to tell him, some way to let him know I’m not a horrible person, but I’m not sure I can explain the situation. Especially not to a near-stranger. As the other group members head up to their rooms, Johan pauses and turns to face me. Much to my surprise, a grin stretches across his face. “So… do you and your cousin have some issues?”
“Um…” I scratch behind my ear, avoiding his eyes. “I guess you could say that.”
“I had no idea you were even related.”
“It’s kind of a long story.”
His eyes glitter with curiosity. “Oh yah?”
“Let’s just say that we didn’t come on this trip by choice. It was something our grandpa asked us to do. In his will. We have a ton of drama in our family.”
“I see.” His smile reappears. “I guess I sort of understand, then.”
My shoulders relax a little. “I’m really not a bad person, I promise.”
“No worries, I didn’t think you were.”
I should probably still feel guilty, but as I return to my room, all I can think about is Johan and that smile of his. Never mind that chiseled face and those gorgeous legs.
I could be mistaken, but I think he might like me, too.
CHAPTER 13
K. J.
AFTER A FIFTEEN-MINUTE SHUTTLE DRIVE, WE FIND ourselves at Norris Geyser Basin, which according to Johan is “Yellowstone’s hottest and most changeable thermal area.” I’m not really sure what he means by that, but I guess we’ll find out soon enough. Sporting a man bun again today, he hops out of the shuttle and does a few leg stretches. The dude’s all right, but he seems like the type who drinks green smoothies and visits the gym every day—when he’s not leading eight-mile hikes, that is. And apparently he’s totally Becka’s type. She’s been drooling over him ever since we got here.
I glare at the back of my cousin’s head as she steps out of the shuttle and pulls on her backpack. I’m still pissed she didn’t bother to wake me up for dinner last night. Total dick move. E
veryone else shuffles out, and I’m immediately sidetracked by the putrid smell in the air. Like rotten eggs, only worse.
“That’s the sulfur coming from the thermal openings,” Johan explains with that corny smile of his.
I take in the brown and barren landscape. Random plumes of steam rise from the earth for nearly as far as I can see. It’s like some kind of futuristic wasteland in one of Carter’s video games, totally different from yesterday’s scenery, but just as intriguing. I just wish it didn’t smell so bad here.
Following Johan, we cross the parking lot and start along a sidewalk that leads to the dismal landscape. I’m at the back of the group, just behind Angie and Ben.
“This place is incredible,” Angie says.
Her husband nods in agreement. I don’t think I’ve heard him say more than two words on this whole trip. Johan makes up for it, though; the guy hardly ever shuts up.
“Isn’t it?” he pipes up now. “This is one of the coolest spots in Yellowstone. Well, not literally of course.” Another corny smile.
Ha ha, I think. I study his man bun as he continues yapping, realizing that it probably takes him way longer to do his hair than it takes me. He looks all studly and tough, but I’d bet anything he goes to a stylist and uses expensive hair gel he prefers to call “product.”
Everyone pokes along, checking out the red, cracked earth on either side of us. It looks like it hasn’t rained in a hundred years, though I know that’s not true. Johan’s already given us the scoop on yearly rain and snowfall totals. The cement walkway turns into a raised wooden boardwalk as pools of blue and gold water replace dry ground. The rotten egg smell gets worse. A grayish stream runs beneath us, hissing like an angry cat. Everyone’s starting to get into full picture mode, including me. I snap a photo of nearly everything I see. Chutes of steam, bubbling streams, giant holes in the ground—you name it.
Ahead, a crowd has gathered where the boardwalk widens into a large rectangle. I soon see why. A big pool of bright turquoise water gurgles off to the right, steam rising from its center.
“What the crap?” I whisper. I’ve never seen anything like it. I take several more photos, including a peace sign selfie with the pool in the background.
“The thermal pools reach temperatures of roughly four hundred and fifty-six degrees Fahrenheit,” Johan says. “The water is so acidic, it can melt the skin right off a person’s body.”
Everyone gasps, but I give an appreciative nod. Very interesting. If I were going to dispose of Becka, this would be the perfect place to do it.
We continue along the boardwalk, and like yesterday, she stays close behind Johan, hanging on his every word. I smile and sidle up next to her. She glances my way, eyes narrowing, but keeps walking. When Johan pauses again, this time in front of a small geyser, I stand so close to Becka, our arms touch. Her lips pinch together, but she doesn’t dare say anything while our guide is talking. His gaze falls on us, his brow knitting, but he continues his spiel. I swear, the guy is like a walking encyclopedia.
I stick close to Becka as we move on.
“What are you doing?” she hisses under her breath.
“Just trying to spend some quality time with my cousin. It’s what Gramps wanted, remember?”
Her jawline tightens, and she shakes her head.
“Hey, Johan,” I call.
“Yas?”
It’s so funny to hear him say that, I’m tempted to ask him another yes or no question just to hear it again, but I need to stay focused. “Becka was wondering how old you are. She wanted me to ask you.”
Becka’s face flushes pink, and Johan turns around, giving me an odd, squinty look before turning back to focus on the boardwalk ahead of him. No one wants to fall off this thing.
“Twenty-two,” he says.
“Oh. That might be a little too old.”
Becka elbows me in the side, and I wince.
“Too old for what?” he asks.
“To date Becka. She’s only eighteen, you know.”
She elbows me again, harder this time.
My reaction is automatic. I shove her away, and she stumbles several steps backward.
Her eyes widen in surprise and then quickly narrow into slits. “You…” She doesn’t finish the insult but shoves me back with an amazing amount of force for someone her size.
“Hey!” I yell. Anger flashes through me. I’m suddenly back in the sixth grade, having it out with Charlie McDonald, the bully of bus number nine. I push Becka back with everything I’ve got. This time, she squeals as she loses her balance and teeters close to the edge, but with cat-like reflexes, she manages to duck down and recover her balance. As she squares up at me, the look on her face is murderous. Okay, maybe I went a little too far that time. I open my mouth to apologize, but before I can say a word, she draws a fist back and throws a punch that lands just below my left eye.
“Son of a…” Specks of light cloud my vision, and the world around me spins. Now I’m worried I’ll be the one to fall into the acid water.
“Girls!” Johan yells, and he’s suddenly between us. He places a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Stop it.”
I hold the injured side of my face while Becka looks half-mortified, half-triumphant. The rest of our group stands there, gawking at us like we’re circus freaks. No one says a word. Guess they didn’t see that coming.
But shit, neither did I.
By day three, our last day of hiking, I’m in a mega-pissy mood. My leg muscles are achy and tight, and I have a nice greenish bruise below the eye where Becka decked me. To make matters worse, I haven’t had a cigarette on this entire damn trip because I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.
When we stop to watch a herd of bison grazing in a meadow, I complain to Johan, telling him I’m not sure I can finish today’s hike. He reassures me I can and that the view of Yellowstone Lake will be worth it. He even digs into his backpack and hands me a small packet of Icy Hot to rub on my calves. Becka gives me a smug look as I sit on a fallen tree to massage it in. I’d like to kick her right in the back of her calves, but I know how that would likely turn out.
Sue slows to walk beside me once we get going again. “Feeling any better?”
Not really. “A little, I guess.” I stare down at my hiking boots, which are slightly scuffed on the toes now. I’m definitely breaking them in. “Sorry to be such a weenie.”
She laughs. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Not everyone’s used to this sort of thing.”
Since Sue’s taken up with me, I’ve learned she’s a retired botanist from Tennessee. She hikes nearly every weekend in the Smoky Mountains, near where she lives. She must feel sorry for me because of the whole Becka thing, but it’s kind of strange how on both trips so far, I’ve made friends with the grandma types. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had a real grandma. Or maybe it’s because I’m just weird like that.
“Up ahead,” Johan says, coming to a stop, “we’ll see some giant boulders to our right, and if you look closely, you may see some of the yellow-bellied marmots. They’re one of the largest members of the squirrel family.”
“Ooh, exciting,” I deadpan. “Giant squirrels.”
Sue nudges me with her shoulder. “You better get your camera ready.” A small group of marmots does indeed appear on a boulder as we approach. “Aren’t they cute?” Sue says, lifting her camera to get a shot.
I’ll admit, they are sort of adorable, like a cross between a beaver and a squirrel on steroids. I follow Sue’s example and take a few pictures with my phone just for the heck of it, but what I’d really rather see is a bear.
A half hour later, the Icy Hot has worn off, and my legs are killing me again. I had no idea we’d be walking so far. Or that Yellowstone would be so freaking huge. It could practically be its own state. When the lake finally comes into view, I could cry with relief. A pointed strip of land Johan calls Storm Point juts out into the water—our destination—but I’ve had all the sightseeing I can handle for t
oday. All I want to do is sit down and rest. Our small group splits up, some going left and others going right to walk along the rocky beach, but I find a large rock near the water’s edge and perch myself on it. Reaching down, I dip a finger into the water, finding it ice-cold.
“Not too good for swimming,” Sue says with a laugh. I hadn’t heard her approaching.
“Does it ever warm up?”
“Don’t think so. I think I heard Johan say the average temperature is forty-one degrees.”
I must’ve missed that piece of information.
Sue sits beside me, taking a drink from her water bottle. “So whatcha think, kid?”
I survey the lake in front of me. It’s pretty, but it’s hard to appreciate things when you’re tired and cranky. “I think… I’m ready to go home.”
“I’m getting there, too, but this has been fun. Haven’t been here since I was a kid.”
I draw up my knees so I can massage the backs of my legs again. Becka and Johan walk toward us along the beach, engrossed in conversation, as usual. I wonder what in the world they could possibly be talking about because they can’t have that much in common. She’s probably complaining about me. Maybe along with going to a stylist and using hair product, he’s also the sensitive, good-listener type.
“I can see the resemblance,” Sue says.
“Huh?”
“Between you and your cousin. You look the same right through here.” She sweeps her fingers across her eyes.
I glance back toward Becka. “Really? I don’t see any resemblance at all.”
“Maybe you two should give each other a chance.”
“I don’t know…”
“Life’s short, kiddo. You’ve got to forgive and move on.”
I stare out at the steel gray water and sigh. “Yeah, maybe so.”
I feel bad for agreeing, but not bad enough to tell the truth—that there’s pretty much no way in hell that’s ever going to happen. There’s just no coming back from where Becka and I have been.