The Last Resort

by R. S. Kovach

  She was exhausted but she couldn’t stay put; even if she had to wait out the storm, it had to be somewhere more protected from the elements. Movement in the corner of her eye caught Ali’s attention, and she whipped her head around just as a small predator—a fox or perhaps a coyote—scurried across a clearing about twenty feet away. She followed the animal with her eyes as it ran toward the base of a rock face in the distance, and although it was gone as quickly as it appeared, a prominent hole in the mountainside directly ahead showed the promise of respite from the storm.

  Ali rushed toward it, just barely keeping her balance as her feet skidded on the muddy terrain. The rain kept pouring and thunder struck around her as she came upon what may have originally been a small stream or even a dry creek bed. The water still appeared quite shallow—no more than a few feet deep at most—but the torrent caused by the current deluge was already at least a yard across. Finding a relatively unhindered spot free from rocks and vegetation, Ali bounded across.

  The wet soil on the other side gave way as soon as her feet hit the ground, and Ali fell to her knees. Slamming her palms into the soaked grass, she saved herself from a full-on face plant but cried out from the pain that shot through her bound wrist. Scrambling up, she continued toward the rock face. The closer she got, the stronger the wind became, making her haste even more critical.

  After covering the length of a football field, she climbed onto a downed tree trunk to get a few feet closer to the cave’s elevated opening. To secure a better grip, Ali wiped as much mud off her hands as she could, briefly sulking at the pathetic state of her previously flawless manicure. With a scowl, she extended her arms above her head to reach the ledge. It was higher than it had looked from across the valley. She raised her right foot and was searching for a fissure or bump to use as leverage when a horse neighed nearby.

  “Ali!” a voice called out right as her foot slipped, and she scraped her bare knee against the jagged surface. Lowering herself and turning around, she saw a rider mounted on a black stallion stopped at the rapidly flowing water’s edge. The harsh rain pounded on both, cascading down the wrangler’s hat and duster and drenching the animal’s shiny coat. Ali squinted through the downpour and desperately hoped to see Winston’s bushy beard or even Jules’s blond hair under the dark Stetson. But she knew deep down who was stopped fifty yards away. When a momentary lull in the wall of water between them revealed Hank Mathis’s face frozen into a stern expression, a knot formed in her stomach.

  She could have easily handled refusing any of the nameless staff at the center, but she’d already had enough awkward encounters with this man. She didn’t need to add to the list. Ali turned her back and began to climb again, biting her lip and hoping he’d get the hint.

  “Ali!” he said again, obviously not easily deterred. “It’s not safe here. You need to come with me.”

  Finding a firm footing, she pulled herself up on the ledge before glancing over her shoulder. As she had feared, horse and rider were galloping toward her. Retreating into the shallow crevice—about six feet wide, but stretching only deep enough into the mountainside to keep her out of the rain—Ali tried to wave him off. “I’m fine. I’ll wait out the storm and walk down when it’s over.”

  Hank pulled the black beauty to a stop and dismounted. After leading the animal to a nearby cluster of trees, he tethered the reins to a thick branch and headed for the cave. He hopped on the fallen log and effortlessly climbed the ledge before standing to face her.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He removed his hat and shook off the excess water.

  She frowned at his tone. “Staying out of the rain.”

  “Oh yeah?” He looked her up and down. “How’s that working out for you?”

  She drew her arms around her chest, suddenly extremely conscious of her sopping clothes sticking to her body. “Thank you for your concern, but as I’ve already said, I’m fine.” She peeked around his lumbering frame. “Your horse isn’t safe there, though. The lightning has been getting closer, and those trees are pretty exposed.”

  He slapped the black hat back onto his dark hair. “I don’t think someone who’s had half the lodge looking for her for the past hour should be giving me lessons on the best safety practices. Especially when you’re the one who’s bleeding.”

  “What?” Ali automatically raised her arms and looked herself over. True enough, a line of crimson blood trickled from her knee and down her leg as it mingled with the water dripping from the rest of her body. “Oh. I hadn’t even noticed. It’s nothing.”

  Pursing his lips, Hank scoffed and—to Ali’s surprise—turned around and climbed back out of the cave. She watched as he fought the storm and retraced his steps to his mount, then returned to the cave once again with a leather saddlebag in hand. He took off his long coat and offered it to her. “Here.”

  She didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but being the damsel in distress wasn’t in her nature. With her arms still crossed, Ali rubbed the goose bumps on her cold skin. “Thanks, but you can keep it.”

  He frowned and shook the garment loose before stepping closer and draping it over her shoulders. “My clothes are dry, and I don’t need to be worrying about you catching hypothermia. Now, will you sit down?”

  With his warm breath grazing her face, Ali looked away to avoid staring at his stubble and protectively drew the lapels of the duster together. “Why?”

  Stepping back and removing his gloves, he opened the saddlebag and took out a packet emblazoned with a large red cross. Ali frowned at the first aid kit. It was complete overkill. “I don’t want—”

  “Yeah. I know. You don’t want or need my help. I get it. But if I bring you back late and bloodied, my—” He paused before clearing his throat. “Well, Liz will definitely bust my chops for it. So let’s just agree I’m here to cover my ass and graciously accept it. Can you do that?”

  Ali gritted her teeth. Well, then. If it was all about him, how could she refuse? Plus, she couldn’t let his girlfriend—the most likely word he’d self-censored with reference to Pebble Creek’s owner—be disappointed.

  With a huff, she reluctantly nodded. Sitting with her back against the wall, Ali winced as Hank cleaned her knee with iodine. The movements were brusque but deliberate as his warm hands touched her clammy skin and gently rubbed the antiseptic towelette over the shallow wound. There was one good thing about his doting, she mused, because now she had an unobstructed view of his face, and she gladly took her first opportunity to truly study it.

  He was perhaps a few years older than her but certainly no more than midthirties. Like in the bar, the light was too dim to tell the exact color of his hair; it looked similar to her own, somewhere between cocoa brown and coal black. His skin was lighter than hers though, surprising for someone who probably spent a lot of his time in the sun for his occupation. A short layer of scruff darkened his jawline, which was taut—a state she seemed to be encountering quite a lot. While the deep focus on even the mundane task of patching up her scrape was admirable, Ali hopefully searched his lips for a hint of that sly smile of his she’d briefly seen before. It had changed his whole appearance from rugged cowboy to playful gentleman, and she was intrigued by the dichotomy. When he was finished covering the superficial wound with a large adhesive bandage, Ali inwardly lamented the end to his attentions.

  “We’d better get going.” He stood and offered his hand. “I’ve already radioed in that I found you, but they’ll be wondering what’s taking so long.”

  Ali put her fingers into his grip and pulled herself to a standing position. “Shouldn’t we wait it out? It’s pretty rough out there.” She glanced past him at the relentless downpour.

  “There’s no telling if the storm will pass before sundown.” He released her hand and pulled his gloves back on before throwing the saddlebag over his shoulder. “The descent won’t be easy, but I’ve done it in worse conditions. I
t should only take twenty minutes if we’re lucky.”

  Accepting her silence as agreement, Hank jumped off the ledge and helped Ali down. His long coat somehow managed to wrap around her leg in the process, and she stumbled into his arms. “Sorry,” she mumbled, but he didn’t appear bothered as he quickly steadied her and continued toward the tethered horse.

  “Hop on.” He nodded toward the saddle as he held on to the agitated animal’s bridle. The stallion had his ears drawn back and was already nervously shifting from foot to foot, but when lightning struck directly overhead with a huge boom, he reared onto his hind legs.

  “Whoa.” Hank stepped back while keeping a firm grip on the horse.

  Ali wasn’t so calm as she struggled to pace her breathing. Even as the frequency of her gasps increased, she felt as though she wasn’t getting enough air.

  “Hurry before he freaks again,” Hank urged, but she shook her head.

  “I thought . . . I thought we were going on foot.” She teetered on the verge of fainting and crying. She wanted to get on. It was only reasonable. Yet her body refused. “There’s only one horse—”

  “We don’t have time for this. Do you need a boost?” His expression was stern as he squinted through the rain cascading down the rim of his hat.

  Ali searched his eyes for a gleam of sympathy. “I’m sorry, but I can’t,” she said, her voice cracking through the whisper.

  “Why the hell not?” He frowned in confusion. “Just scoot up as far as you can, and I’ll lead from behind.”

  In spite of the protection of the coat, she began to tremble. Snippets of memories flashed in Ali’s brain as she suddenly relived what she’d been trying so desperately to forget for the last month. She could smell the sweet leather polish she’d used to prep Seneca’s tack with Robert by her side and taste the grit in her mouth while she took the first half of the obstacle course with ease, but the visions quickly became overwhelming as she remembered what she’d felt on that fateful afternoon.

  Exhilaration at the reckless approach of the obstacle. Helplessness at the sudden realization of not being able to stop. Terror at the impending consequences of the inevitable crash. Consequences she was now living with. Consequences she had no control over. Consequences that were still completely her fault.

  “I . . . I’m deathly afraid . . . of horses,” she stammered. “Have been my entire life.”

  Hank looked down at his boots and kicked the mud. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. Shaking his head, he appeared to be having some type of internal debate before raising his eyes again. “I guess we’re walking, then.”

  He untied the horse and began leading it out from under the trees. Relieved he hadn’t forced the issue, Ali bumbled beside him as she tried to keep up in the ankle-deep muck. Glancing at her companion’s face, she saw his lips were pulled into a hard line and his gaze focused squarely on the washed-out path ahead.

  He was undeniably angry; he had every right to be. And he only knew half the truth. It was bad enough she’d ignored warnings not to venture into the mountains before the storm, but if Hank found out she was lying about why she couldn’t get on the horse, he’d probably saddle up and leave her to fend for herself.

  But how would he understand her recent aversion to horses when she couldn’t even explain it to herself?

  Ali groaned and balled her fists, the fingers of her right hand digging uncomfortably into the fiberglass cast. Distracted, she misplaced her foot and tripped again on the oversized duster.

  “Wait. Stop.” She turned to Hank as she removed the garment. “I can’t walk in this. Take it.”

  Instead of complying with her request, he began unbuttoning his shirt. Peeling off the wet flannel, he handed it over in exchange for the jacket. “It won’t keep you dry, but at least it’s long-sleeved.” This momentarily left him in just jeans and a white T-shirt that stuck to every inch of his muscular upper body. When he saw Ali staring, he explained, “In case of flying debris.”

  Perplexed that he had the foresight to even think of such a thing, Ali silently slipped on the shirt and continued the trek back to Pebble Creek. She had no idea how long it actually took, but she was numb from the cold and rain by the time they reached the lodge’s stables. Like a lighthouse calling wayward ships back into port, the gentle glow from its windows signaled the safe end to their journey.

  Met by a pacing Liz, who looked ten years older from worry, Ali didn’t have a chance to either convey thanks or apologize to the man responsible for getting her back down the mountain. Hank immediately set to tending to his horse, and as she glanced over her shoulder while the proprietress ushered her toward the main building, Ali felt more alone than ever.

  A long, hot shower scrubbed off the grime, but it would take a lot more to clear Ali’s head of the added stress from her self-inflicted ordeal. Over the next few days she tried everything Dr. Sacher recommended—from a Swedish massage to meditation to fishing—but nothing could shake her out of this newfound funk.

  Seeing Hank’s freshly laundered and pressed shirt folded on her dresser just waiting to be returned exacerbated the problem. She didn’t want to pass it back through the reception desk or even through one of her friends. This wasn’t high school, after all. But delivering it in person promised to be awkward if she didn’t frame it right.

  Here’s your shirt back. Oh, and sorry for being an idiot you had to accommodate thanks to her own incompetence. Have a nice day.

  Yup. That definitely wasn’t going to work.

  While sullenly making her way to the dining room, Ali’s necessary and welcome distraction came in the guise of the person she was sure had to be the most carefree young man in Colorado. Dressed in head-to-toe black—including lace-up gladiator sandals and a cropped leather jacket—with a large yellow handbag draped over one arm, Pete strolled across the reception area. Chatting away on his cell phone, he didn’t even see her until she tapped him on the shoulder.

  She smiled after he ended the call. “Going out?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Would you like to come with?” He winked invitingly.

  Having spent nearly a week solely within the bounds of Pebble Creek, Ali jumped at the chance. “Absolutely. Give me five minutes to make myself presentable.”

  “Oh, sweet pea. You’re going to need more than five.” He laughed and picked up the sign-out clipboard as Ali hurried back to her room to change out of her comfy but inelegant T-shirt and sweatpants. When she was dressed more appropriately in a low-cut, moss-green jumpsuit and heels, they hopped into Pete’s red convertible and headed for Denver.

  “So what’s your game plan?” Ali asked, trying to keep her wind-whipped hair out of her face.

  “A little shopping, maybe dinner. Oh, and I desperately need to get my nails done.” He scrutinized his outstretched fingers from behind his mirrored sunglasses. “You up for it?”

  “That sounds like heaven.” She sighed. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Freedom, baby.” Pete laughed. When Ali responded with a raised brow, he explained, “I’m done. Outta here. Heading home on Friday.”

  “Really? Congratulations. I know we just met, but I’m going to miss you.”

  He laughed again, throwing his head back in the process. “I’m gonna miss you, too. But not as much as I’m going to miss the view.”

  Ali looked at the passing landscape. Evergreens lined the highway on both sides and snow-topped mountains peeked through in the distance. “Yeah. This place is gorgeous.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t talking about that. We have plenty of this nature stuff back home in California.” He waved a hand at the scenery.

  Ali suddenly remembered his remark about Hank the first time she saw the handsome cowboy. “Oh.” She felt her face flush.

  “Yeah. You know who I’m talking about!” Pete exclaimed, poking her in the shoulder.

  T
he rest of the afternoon passed by just as lightheartedly. The duo left the city’s historic Larimer Square laden with bags full of the summer’s most chic designs from local favorites like Blue Ruby and Frinje, and Ali was even able to get her friend into the Denver Art Museum’s gift shop. She couldn’t pass up a fabulous ginkgo-shaped silver bracelet in their window, but it was as far as Pete was willing to go within the building.

  “Food. I need food,” Pete moaned once they were back in his sporty Mercedes.

  “All right, all right. But Denver supposedly has some of the finest dining in the country, and I’m not about to waste this chance by eating someplace I can find back home,” Ali chided.

  After making him drive around the city for twenty minutes, she finally saw a place worthy of their attention. “That one.” She pointed to a two-story, redbrick building with painted cornices and a glass front emblazoned with the words FOOL’S GOLD RESTAURANT & SALOON. “This will do.”

  “Were you hoping for country chic? Because I don’t think you could have gotten any more Wild West than this, girlfriend,” Pete observed as they stepped inside the establishment.

  Ali chuckled and pushed him along, following the hostess to a rustic table lit by a wagon-wheel fixture hanging overhead. “When in Rome, darling,” she replied.

  “Tonight’s special is our bison steak with garlic mash and steamed kale,” the young woman offered, handing them the menus. “Your waiter will be with you in a sec, and he’ll get y’all started with drinks. Feel free to pop next door any time during your meal.” She placed two plastic coins stamped with the number ten on the table.

  “What’s this?” Ali picked up one of tokens.

  “Oh, is this y’all’s first time at Fool’s Gold?” The hostess smiled and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. “Our saloon is in the other room right through there.” She indicated the swinging half doors separating the dining area from an equally dark but more raucous-looking section. “We have an awesome casino setup with poker and blackjack, as well as a few slots. These tokens come with your meal to get y’all going.”