On the Mountain (Follow your Bliss #5)

by Riordan Hall, Deirdre

  On Friday night, Baskia stayed up until nearly three a.m. online, catching up on gossip, updating her social media accounts, and buying, buying, buying. She ordered warm socks, durable winter boots, and a pair of knee-high black boots, just because. Then she stumbled upon a designer flash sale and got three handbags each in a different color. She also ordered a coffee maker with little pods, because she couldn’t be bothered measuring. She hadn’t yet made a cup of coffee that equaled the one Trace had prepared.

  The velvet night persuaded her to type Tracey Wolfe into the search bar, hoping for a Facebook match, or anything. In point forty seconds it came up with zero exact matches. He was nowhere to be found. Gone, never to be seen again. And good thing too, she tried to convince himself; he was nothing but trouble.

  The only thing that pulled her from the internet the next day was getting ready to go out with Wes. She sported her favorite pair of jeans and brown ankle booties with a zipper up the side. She did her hair and then went back online to wait for Wes’s arrival.

  At five after six, butterflies danced in Baskia’s belly. She tried to ignore the unfamiliar nervousness. Back in the city, she was in demand and in command; she never got antsy before going out. At quarter past, she landed on an article about the ten hottest cocktails for the fall. Thanks to her parents’ stocked liquor cabinet, she began concocting, if only to settle her nerves.

  At six-thirty, she’d sipped three-quarters of a cranberry gimlet, and heard the distinct sound of an approaching vehicle up the gravel drive. Moments later, Wes knocked on the door.

  “Hi. Nice place you’ve got here,” he said, looking around at the polished wood, the enormous fieldstone fireplace, and blend of luxurious décor and comfortable furnishings. “Rustic, yet modern. I, uh, studied architecture. I like the exposed beams.”

  “It’s my parents’ place. But, thanks to you, I’ve upgraded to the twenty-first century. I have internet. Before we go, do you want a drink? I made a cranberry gim—”

  “Thanks, but uh, I don’t drink,” Wes interrupted.

  “Oh, okay. Sorry. Ready?”

  Feeling bubbly from the cocktail and realizing Wes was a guy of few words or just nervous, Baskia chattered most of the way down the mountain. He chimed in when she mentioned her modeling career, travels, and current conundrum with school, but otherwise didn’t offer up conversation.

  When the colorful lights of the spinning Ferris wheel came into view, he pulled off onto someone’s lawn and paid five-dollars to park.

  “So, have you ever been to a small town fair before?” he asked, slightly more talkative out from behind the steering wheel.

  “I’m a fair-virgin,” she said, jokingly, the cocktail playing with her words. In the light of the ticket counter, she thought she saw him blush.

  Once inside the gate, they strolled past prize tables for biggest pumpkin, best apple pie, and tastiest preserves. They went on the zipper, in the fun house, and watched a bad country band for a few polite minutes. While they stood there, Wes shyly took Baskia’s hand, transporting her to seventh grade, when the boys were still cautious around girls and she had greasy skin and pimples.

  “Want to get something to eat? There’s a stall over there that has really good cheesy fries, and there’s apple cider, fried dough, caramel apples, cotton candy…”

  “Not only am I a fair-virgin, but I’ve never had any of that, oh, except cheesy fries. Once in Milan, it was like three a.m. and there was nothing open, so we found this little dive place with-quote-un-quote American food. That was the first and only time I’ve eaten a fry with cheese.”

  “These will blow your mind, promise.” Wes led the way to the concession stands, while people waved at him and said hello. It looked like the entire county was there, and they all knew Wes Carter. He didn’t stop long enough to introduce Baskia, thankfully. Anne might criticize her friends and girls like London, but at least she had all her teeth and didn’t look trapped in 1995, unless of course it was intentional.

  After agreeing that those were the best fries she’d ever eaten, Wes bought her a cup of warm apple cider.

  “Cinnamon. Mmm. I’m not sure which is better,” Baskia said, taking a sip.

  “So do you like it here so far?” he asked.

  “I’m not really here to like anything. I mean, I just needed to get away, yanno?”

  “I meant the fair. But are you staying through the winter?”

  “Oh, right. It’s great, Thanks for inviting me.” She looked around. It wasn’t terrible, but not her first choice either. She drew a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m sticking around,” Baskia said, affirming her vow to figure out what she wanted before she could leave the rural refuge.

  “I can get you some wood, if you want. It’s going to get cold soon.”

  “So I keep hearing.”

  “Yeah, it’s about all anyone talks about this time of year. Then when winter comes, all everyone does is complain. Then spring, the mud and bugs—”

  “Don’t make it sound so appealing.” Baskia said, laughing. “But that would be great. I’ll need a tutorial though. I uh, don’t know the first thing about fireplaces. Wouldn’t want to burn the cabin down or anything.”

  “Is there a woodstove in the basement too?”

  “Uh. Maybe? So, what will you do all winter to keep warm?” Baskia asked, edging closer.

  Wes looked up at the sky, as red, white, and blue fireworks blossomed in the darkness. Another shot up into the night and another. From the crowd surrounding them came oohs and ahhs. Baskia felt Wes’s arm stretch tentatively around her shoulder, like he waited for her permission or wasn’t sure what he wanted. It was endearing, but she was used to guys being unable to resist her and just going for it. She leaned toward him as if to say, yes. The tenderness and tentativeness threw her off. Wes was sweet and at times, quiet, as if his mind was somewhere else entirely, but certainly not on her.

  When the fireworks were over, Baskia decided she’d had a good enough time, but small town festivals, weren’t her thing. Her mind swam toward the bottle of vodka, sitting on the counter in the cabin, some online shopping, and maybe some FB sexting with one of the innumerable guys she’d hooked up with back in the City. Then there was Wes, looking handsome in the half-light of the fair. Maybe he could make the night more interesting.

  When they arrived back at the cabin, Baskia asked if he wanted to come in.

  “I probably shouldn’t.”

  “Come on, it’s still early.”

  “It’s ten-thirty,” he countered.

  She gave him a pitiful look, and he followed her in.

  “You sure you don’t want a drink?” she asked while she shook the metal shaker back and forth.

  “I’m good. So what do you like to read?” he asked, thumbing through the books on the coffee table.

  “I’ve covered nearly half the library in town, so I guess you could say everything. Now that I can go online though, I can order whatever I want. I’m sure the UPS guy and I will get to know each other well.”

  “Oh, he’d probably love that.” Wes said, laughing.

  “You?” Baskia asked.

  “Mostly books about architecture and some Hemmingway, Faulkner...”

  She suddenly wondered if they had anything in common. “So, you said if I stuck around long enough, I’d find some fun.”

  “Did you have a good time tonight?”

  She nodded. “What else do you do around here besides read, chop wood, help out damsels in distress when they’re stranded without wheels or modern day conveniences?” She slid down next to him on the couch.

  Wes sat there blankly. “I, uh...”

  She leaned closer.

  “I go running. Um. I knit.”

  Baskia nearly choked on her drink. “Are you serious?”

  For a moment, he looked offended. “It’s not like it’s all I do—”

  “No, I think that’s so cool. You’ll have to teach me.”

  Wes shifted uncomfortably.
“Yeah, sure. Anytime.”

  “But, I’ve been thinking—” Baskia paused. The liquid tipsiness from the drink made the wood and stone soften along with the edges of sobriety. “I owe you. You’ve done so much for me. How can I pay you back?”

  Wes cleared his throat. “You really don’t have to.”

  “But I want to,” she said, taking the last sip and putting her hand on his leg. “Just tell me what you want.”

  For a moment, he looked pained. Like there was something he wanted more than anything else in the world, but couldn’t say it. “How about dinner. Next weekend?”

  Baskia smiled, her eyes slightly heavy. “Not if you want to go to that diner in town.”

  “Din’s? No.” Wes laughed, the discomfort leaving him, once again on safe and familiar ground. “Across the border in New Hampshire, by Dartmouth, there are some great restaurants. Italian, Chinese, American. Whatever you want.”

  “Sounds good,” she said, leaning closer to him. She was used to people telling her they’d do or give her whatever she wanted. There were things she wanted, of course, but didn’t want to have to ask. The memory of Trace nudged at her, but she swatted it away, eager for Wes’s hand to move from his lap to hers.

  A shadow of something painful, maybe regret or denial crossed his face. “I’ll pick you up at five,” he said.

  “Okay, but first—” She hadn’t had to come on to a guy in, like, well, never. But being in the wilderness for so long had made her lonely, plus Wes was unquestionably hot. She knew he didn’t have a girlfriend if he’d asked her to the festival, not that it mattered. Her thinking got gummy as she leaned closer. The light in the room faded as her eyes closed. She felt Wes’s lips softly on hers, but he quickly shifted away.

  “I should really get back. I had a good time. Thanks,” he said, moving to the door.

  In any other circumstance Baskia would have cared, but the heavy food from the fair, the vodka, and the cool night air that gusted in when Wes exited, made her want to crawl under a blanket and sleep, only to be woken by her prince charming.

  Part Two: Dig

  “Keep close to Nature’s heart…and break clear away, once in a while, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean.”

  -John Muir

  Chapter Eleven

  After putting off calling her mother, Baskia went to town for a signal. The next day she and Wes were going to dinner, near Dartmouth, so she prepared to divert any criticism Anne started up with by assuring her, she was thinking about college and would be sure to pay her mother’s alma mater a visit while in Hanover. Thankfully, Anne’s phone went straight to voicemail and Baskia left a message.

  While cruising through the small town, Wes was never far from her thoughts. He was different from all the guys she’d known: modest, hardworking, humble, and polite. Like Trace, he was something of a mystery, but if knives and guns protected Trace’s secrets, Wes simply kept his close to his heart. But that was something he clearly kept well hidden. She wasn’t sure she’d be the girl to find it.

  That night, as she tucked into bed, she finally pulled out the romance novel with the guy that looked like Trace on the cover. She ran her finger over the image, finding herself yearning for him and despising him in equal measure. Several chapters in, a cool breeze whispered through the window, sending the curtain down on sleep.

  ^^^

  Baskia pulled on her sneakers and a thin, zip-up jacket. She was as far from figuring out what she wanted as she was from the sidewalks in New York. But she’d started to enjoy, and almost require like food or water or sleep, the long hikes on the trails around the cabin. The forecast predicted sheets of rain the next day, so she headed outside, planning to be back in time to get ready for the date across the border in New Hampshire.

  She laughed at the idea that she’d come down in the world, leaving the luxuries of Manhattan for a simple life in the woods. Her agent had been in touch with a series of shows in December, just in time for the holidays. The hikes did double duty of keeping her in top form and by the time the cabin was out of view, she’d usually left all her thoughts behind and found her mind in a state of quiet stillness.

  The sun was low in the sky when she returned to the cabin. She uncorked a bottle of wine to let it rest while she showered. She had the awareness that being with Wes was a slightly awkward affair, prompting her to want to mellow the vibe with alcohol. Then she argued that a cocktail or glass of champagne was part of the customary party-prep routine she and London adopted while living with models in hotels across the world. She told herself it did not indicate she was returning to her old ways. She’d left her problems in Manhattan. The vodka, last time, and wine that waited for her in the kitchen helped casually fill the vacancies in conversation. It dulled her self-consciousness, and it made the whole guy-girl thing easier. She hoped not to endure any more of Wes’s uncomfortable pauses like the first time they went out.

  When she opened the glass door enclosing the shower, the steam billowed and puffed; she could hardly see across the bathroom. Before she could find the plush, oversized bath towel, the door burst open.

  “What are you doing here?” she gasped, standing naked. Water puddled around her feet.

  “Not happy to see me?” Trace said, handing her a glass of wine and reaching toward her waist.

  She sunk back. “Did Will send you back up here? If he did—”

  “What are you going to do, thank him?”

  “Don’t be so cocky. It’s not flattering.”

  “I disagree. I think you like it.” He took a slow sip of wine as if trying to discern bitterness or teasing. He didn’t look as tired as he did the first time they’d met, but then again, it wasn’t the middle of the night. His windblown hair hung around his wild smile. “It’s hot in here,” he said, taking off his jacket to reveal his broad shoulders and the sculpted chest beneath his t-shirt.

  Baskia reached for her towel, but he held it away from her.

  “You think you can just come up here, have a good time, leave, and—” she said, swiping for the towel.

  “That’s exactly what I think I can do.” He tilted his head, a stray lock of hair breezing across his cheek.

  She wanted him so bad. Instead, she chugged the wine in one sip and then grabbed her towel. He watched her leave before following her to the bedroom. She slammed the door in his face.

  Baskia sat on the bed, the wine mellowing her. She put on the off-the-shoulder sweater and skinnies that she’d selected for her date with a respectable young man to a quaint, little college town. The clock indicated there was under an hour before Wes was due to arrive. Stuffing the battle between anger and desire deep down, she returned to the bathroom to demurely braid her blond hair around her head in a cool updo she’d seen online and apply makeup. Trace was in the shower.

  “You know, I could kick you out. Right now. Naked. In the cold.”

  “Or you could come back in here with me. It’s warm, steamy.” His laugh checkered her mood red with desire and black with irritation.

  She gritted her teeth and then took a sip of the glass of wine he’d abandoned on the vanity. She ran her brush through her long hair. As she applied foundation, Trace opened the shower door. Her pulse quickened. She’d seen many guys, both on set and off, but no one compared to the perfection of Tracey Wolfe. She pressed her lips firmly together.

  “Like what you see?” he asked, wrapping his towel around his waist.

  She swallowed hard and applied her mascara, steadying her hand against her cheekbone. He brushed her thigh when he leaned in to retrieve his glass of wine. Then he rested against the vanity watching her with a hunger she couldn’t help but want to fill. She wouldn’t give in. She smoothed moisturizer over her hands and added a pair of earrings.

  “So, are you going out? Hot date?” He followed her out of the bathroom.

  “I met someone, and he’s picking me up in a half hour, if you must know.”

  Still in his
towel, Trace refilled their wine. As she took the glass from her lips, he stood close to her. His eyes, steadily on hers, asked a silent question. Against her better judgment, she answered by stepping closer. Her breath caught as the space between them closed. He caressed her jawline with both hands. Then his lips were on hers, kissing her like he meant it, like the world around them stopped and the only thing that would make it spin again was their mouths and tongues pressing together. The kiss electrified every inch of her body that pressed against his bare skin.

  He took the glass from her hand and hoisted her on the kitchen counter, his towel falling away. If he was hungry for her, it was nothing to the craving that filled her when he pulled off her top. His hands ran over her thighs, and they both breathed heavily.

  “I want you,” Trace said unable to take his eyes from her lips, even between kisses as he nibbled on her lip and nipped her chin. He ran his hand down her back and then pulled her forward on the counter as her legs wrapped around him. She wanted the moment to stretch into forever, and yet couldn’t help but want more, more, more. Their bodies moved together fluidly, madly. He gripped her hips, ready to slide her even closer, when the doorbell rang. Baskia didn’t want to stop, she wanted him more than anything, but he froze, as solid as granite.

  “Your date is here.” He pulled his towel back on.

  “Hang on a minute,” Baskia called, catching her breath. She cleared her throat, wondering why, after the long absence, her date suddenly mattered to Trace. Was Wes competition? A challenge to get in her pants first, faster? Why did she give in? Was she crazy? Confused and irritated, Baskia searched for her underwear and bra.

  “What the hell?” she hissed, doubly annoyed as she pulled on a boot, hopping as she searched for the other. “You wanted it as much as I did.”