by Michelle Fox
“There was a dog...” I was still pointing to where the animal had been. “Or a wolf...”
The ranger walked past me, then crouched down at the spot where the canine had been. “There's tracks here, ma'am, but I can't really say what made them. Hard to tell when it comes to this stuff.” He brushed his hand over the spot, scooping up a handful of pine needles. I watched as he lifted them to his nose and inhaled. His face took on a strained expression, a look briefly crossing his face, blotting out the friendly neighborhood ranger concern. I'd have to say it was a look of recognition, followed by one of pure hatred.
But when he tossed away the needles and stood, all that was gone. I blinked, not sure what I'd seen, replaced by a bland expression, a noncommittal smile. Maybe I was still spooked by the phantom wolf, or the light and shadows were playing tricks. He smiled down at me.
“It was probably just a coyote, chasing a rabbit. The altitude, the light, the isolation...if you're not used to being out in the woods, it can play tricks on you.”
I frowned. “It was a wolf...or a big dog. I'm not a novice. I've been up here before...”
He cut me off. “We haven't had a wolf sighting in the park in decades.”
There was something programmed about his response, dismissive in a way I didn't like. It felt as though the guy was hiding something.
“Okay. Then it was a coyote.” I shifted my pack, settling it on my shoulders. “I should get going then. I've got a way to go before I set up camp.”
“You're headed to the springs then.” He stepped to the side of the path. “Then I'll let you get on your way. Don't wander off the path. Wouldn't want you getting lost.” He touched the brim of his hat, and I stepped past him.
“Thanks.” I walked down the path, looking down at the spot where wolf had been. If there had been any sign of paw prints they were obliterated now. Somehow the disturbed pine needles looked like a broken window in a church. I wanted to put it all back in order. But I walked on.
I'd only gone a couple yards when I had the urge to turn around, to see if the ranger was walking away. But I knew he wasn't, and I knew when I turned—which I did—I'd find him watching me. And he was. He waved again, still smiling. When he finally turned away, and headed back down the path, I let out the breath I'd been holding.
Some of my excitement had dimmed after the encounter with the wolf. And the ranger—something tugged at my mind about the whole thing, something was off that I should have noticed. It wasn't until I was almost to the springs that it dawned on me. He hadn't been wearing a name badge. And he hadn't told me his name.
Chapter Three
I arrived at the springs in the late afternoon. The trail dipped down close to the river and the springs, before climbing back up to high ground. Things looked familiar, although it had been years since I'd been here. Trees had grown, some had fallen down, but the whole placed felt like a place I'd been before. The springs, as usual, were totally different. But that was normal. Nature was capricious and nowhere was that more evident than down by the river. I dropped my pack and took it all in.
In early spring, when the snow melted off the mountains, the river that ran through the area rose, tumbling down the mountain, moving rocks and sometimes boulders. And each spring the first hikers in, and sometimes locals, worked to rebuild the rock walls around the places where the hot springs bubbled up, creating ledges for sitting, and filling in the bottoms of the pools with sand. Most years there would be many small pools, each big enough for just one, or two people.
This year there were several smaller pools, and one big party-sized area in the middle of everything. It could easily hold a dozen people, and as I set my pack down, I marveled at how many rocks it had taken to construct this beautiful creation. I walked around, noticing seating ledges, a sandy bottom, and an actual set of steps built out of flat rocks. It made me think a group of engineers had shown up to create this masterpiece. It was an even more impressive feat when I thought that it would be gone next spring.
I grabbed my pack, and went to find a place to set up camp. The park maintained a few wilderness areas on this side of the mountain. There was a clearing that I was particularly fond of, and I hoped nobody would be there. Since I hadn't seen any cars, and since it was still early in the season, I was pretty confident it would be free.
And it was. I breathed out a sigh, and set my pack down for the last time today. There was something very special about this place, the way the trees formed a lacy ceiling overhead. There were hardwoods, oaks and maples mostly, and right now the leaves were still that bright green that made the clear light seem magical. It was perfect.
I sat for a minute in my cathedral of trees, just breathing in the cool air, enjoying the silence, and not having my pack on my shoulders. A weekend spent here would do me a world of good. I realized I was still smiling, and that it felt wonderful.
First things first. I needed to set up the tent, which was probably my least favorite chore. But if I didn't have a tent, and it rained, which it usually did, I'd be miserable. Best just to get it done.
So I fought with the slippery nylon and the flexible rods that held it all together. It was fiddly, and I muttered under my breath. Harrison had never enjoyed camping, and gradually I'd stopped going on solo hikes. So over time I'd given away most of my good gear to friends. No one had wanted this old tent, and I'd never gotten around to getting a new one. Not that I'd have ever used it while we were together...
Enough, Risha. You came here to forget about him, not look for things to remember.
I sighed, sitting down on a log someone had moved into the clearing as a seat, the tent in a forlorn pile at my feet. I wanted to forget, but there were so many things that reminded me of a conversation with Harrison, or more likely an argument. The tent, a piece of art he'd left behind. The one I’d bought for his birthday. The couch. The apartment we'd shared. I'd thought about moving, but I realized there was only so far I could go in getting Harrison out of my life, and my mind.
The sounds of the river caught my attention. The sun was getting lower, and I made a sudden decision. I would go down, take a soak in one of the hot springs, leave the tent until later. The slices of sky that showed between the trees were clear, and I could set the tent up when I got back.
Rummaging through my pack, I dug out an old pair of shorts, tattered and full of holes, and indecent for any place public. But they were perfect for the hot springs. I'd learned a long time ago that no matter how carefully they tried to make the ledges and seats comfortable, the rocks could still rough on my tender backside, and would inevitably ruin any good pair of shorts I wore, so I had decided to pack along my old, worn out ones.
I cast a slightly nervous glance around the clearing. There was no one around, and I knew that. But since I'd left the ranger, I'd had the disconcerting feeling of not being alone. Not exactly of being watched, but that there was someone close by. I'd done a lot of long distance hiking in college, and I'd discovered this weird kind of sixth sense that happens when there's someone ahead of you, or behind you on the trail. There's no sign of them, but you know before you hear or see them that they're there.
But there was no one here now, except for a blue jay that was really unhappy that I'd invaded its territory. It cawed and carried on, scolding me loudly. I shook off the eerie feeling of being watched, tugged off my jeans and underwear, and pulled on my shorts. Reaching beneath my t-shirt, I undid the clasp on my bra and wiggled out of it, sliding my arms in and out of the sleeves of my shirt. I dropped the bra on top of my jeans. I tucked a thermos filled with white wine in a towel under my arm. The jay scolded again from the pines, and I jumped.
It's just city girl nerves. You're out of practice, that's all.
The walk to the springs had one of the most spectacular views in the area. From beneath the dark branches of the pines, the path suddenly turned, and I stepped into the bright sunlight at the edge of a drop off. Below was the river, an emerald strand tumbling over bou
lders the size of my car. The water was full of shifts in color and translucency from its mad rush over the rocks, churned white in some places, almost clear in slower moving areas. It was stunningly beautiful. Everything I'd been worrying about fell away, as I stood and took in the view.
There were several pools along the riverbank this year, some small ones, one or two larger ones. The water in them was a kind of cloudy blue gray from the minerals in the water. I'd never quite understood where the hot springs came from. Every time I saw them I vowed to find out, and then I fell in love with them all over again with the magical feeling of sitting on a rock in hot water while watching nature, and then I forgot that I cared where they came from. All I cared about was that they were there, and someone took the time to make it easy to access them.
I scrambled down the path to the river and the pools, trying to decide which one to sample first. The temperatures could differ radically between pools, with some being just above the chill temperature of the river, and others so hot I could only stay in a few minutes before feeling like a boiled lobster. I wanted something warm and comforting, a pool I could melt into, and stay in for hours.
So I dipped my toe in several of the pools, testing the waters. Some were hot, some were cool, some were steaming. I laughed at the image, me walking from pool to pool, feeling a little like Goldilocks, wandering around until I found one that was just right. Easing down the bank, I stepped into the pool. The water was perfect, almost too hot to stand, but I knew I'd get used to it quickly. Uncapping the thermos, I poured the cup full of wine, taking a long healthy swallow.
I sat down on a rock, the water swirling around my legs, curling my toes at the heat. Across the river was the edge of the land that didn't belong to the park, and I tried to see into the darkness of the pines. Even though it was only twenty yards or so away, it seemed like another country, vaguely foreign, slightly spooky. I thought of wolves, and woodsmen, and witches with poisoned apples, living in gingerbread cottages. I was mixing up my fairy tales. And it's only my first glass of wine.
Scattered all over the bank were small stones, polished smooth by years in the river. Picking up a handful, I choose a dozen or so that felt good in my hand, or looked interesting, or were just plain pretty. I'd learned a little ritual ages ago, something to help clear the mind. I held up one stone, wishing I'd remembered to bring something to write with. I'd have to improvise.
“This is the painting Harrison didn't like. Take the memory and wash it away.” I threw the stone into the river. It barely made a sound as it hit the water. I tried to visualize all the hurt attached to that image washed away in the river. I picked another stone.
“For the time he missed my birthday party.” I flung the rock. It skipped once on the water and disappeared. I took another sip of wine. I wasn't sure if it was the ritual, or the Chardonnay, but I suddenly felt better.
I went through the rocks one by one, letting go of a little pain with each one, throwing the rock into the river. Finally I was down to the last. It was different, bigger and black, polished to a high sheen. I wondered what kind of rock it was. But again my knowledge of geology failed me.
“For my father. I miss you, Dad. More than you can imagine.” I held the rock, thinking about my father, about him and me—just him and me—for as long as I could remember. Maybe this rock should be for my mother, who left us when I was seven. But I'd given up being angry at her a long time ago. She'd made a choice in her life that didn't include her husband or her daughter. I didn't—couldn't understand why. But being angry with her had torn a hole in my heart. I'd given up the anger, and tried to patch up that hole.
But my dad...missing him was a palpable thing, an ache somewhere deep inside. I didn't want to forget him, but the pain of missing him was just as sharp as if he'd died yesterday, instead of two years ago. I wanted the memories, just not the pain.
I held the rock, weighing it in my hand. Closing my fingers around it I raised my arm, ready to toss it into the river. But I couldn't unclench my fist. I brought my arm down, opened my hand, and looked at the rock through a curtain of tears. Maybe this was the wrong time, wrong place for this. I found myself crying, tears plopping onto the rock, making the black surface glisten. Not today. Finally I slipped the rock into my pocket.
After a minute or two I scooted to a lower rock, pouring another cup of wine. The water rose up around my waist, heat sinking into my core. I slouched down, stretched my arms along the rocks at the edge of the pool, and let the water rise up almost to my chin. I was in heaven.
I lost all track of time as the water moved and danced around my body. My muscles relaxed bit by bit, and then all at once it was perfect. The water was the perfect temperature and I couldn't really tell where I ended and the water started. My body floated, and my mind went blank. Maybe the rock tossing ritual had actually helped.
There was a bird singing somewhere in the middle distance, a low whistle that repeated twice, then paused, then picked up again. I counted the repeats, waiting through the pauses, then started whistling back, trying to see if the bird would answer. It did, giving me a long series of whistles in response to my amateur attempts. I giggled, and took another sip of wine. I was nicely buzzed from the heat and the wine, and by now, more than a little giggly.
“That's pretty good. You must spend a lot of time up here.”
I sat up too quickly, slipped in the water, then splashed around for an awkward minute, while trying to see who was talking to me. The sun was in my eyes, and all I could make out was a dark form towering over me.
“Sorry. I startled you.” The form moved around to the other side of the pool. I pivoted, watching him turn from a dark faceless shape into a man with longish dark hair and piercing blue eyes.
“You did.” I'd stopped splashing now, and I sat on the edge of the rock, watching as he walked so the sun was shining on his face. My heart was still thumping away in my chest. There was always the possibility of other hikers showing up at the springs, but still, he’d scared the daylights out of me. And no matter how nice hikers could be, I was always uneasy when I was out here alone, and a lone guy showed up. I like to trust people, and give them the benefit of the doubt, but I’d heard enough stories over the years to be wary. He seemed okay, so far. But I sort of regretted being buzzed on wine, and out here all alone.
“Sorry again. I thought you heard me walk up. I crashed through the underbrush like a moose. Anyway, can I join you?” He dropped his pack and smiled at me. For a minute I lost the thread of our brief conversation. The smile was dazzling, all white teeth set against tan skin. I managed to look at the rest of his face, bright blue eyes framed by long dark hair curling around his shoulders. The moment stretched on, and then I remembered he'd asked me a question.
“Oh, yeah. Sure. There's lots of room.” Actually, there wasn't. It was one of the smaller pools. But it would hold two. I pulled myself upright, the air chilling the skin on my arms, and my upper chest. It cleared a bit of the logy feeling in my head.
Why did he have to choose my pool of all the ones around? I suddenly felt so awkward, and uncomfortable.
“Great.” If possible, the smile got bigger. He pulled off his black t-shirt, and started undoing the buttons on his jeans. I realized I was staring, then quickly dropped my eyes. Some people liked to skinny dip, and while I didn't have anything against skinny-dipping, I wasn't sure I wanted to be in a pool with a naked stranger. A stranger...this stranger, maybe; but not necessarily a naked one.
“It's okay. I'm wearing trunks.”
My face flushed, but I looked up at him, managing a smile and an apologetic shrug. “You never know at the springs. A girl can’t be too careful.”
He was right; he was wearing trunks. But if he'd been naked he couldn't have looked any sexier. It had been a long time since I'd looked at any guy with the least bit of interest, but I couldn't look away from him. He was all long legs, tan skin, broad chest with just enough dark hair to keep him from looking too man-sca
ped. I swallowed hard, managing to keep the smile on my face from getting any wider.
“So you've been here before then?” He slipped into the pool, the water distorting his shape as he sank below the surface. There was an eddy in the pool, and I swore it carried an extra wash of something, besides heat, against my body. My arms flushed with goose-bumps, and I was suddenly conscious of my wet t-shirt, how it clung to my breasts. How little was left to the imagination, his imagination. I sank slowly into the water, the heat of it against my cool skin sending a shiver through me.
Don’t get all excited here. He’s still a stranger. Just stay cool, okay? Don’t embarrass yourself.
“I've been coming here since college...I used to come with friends on breaks, and then started coming alone after that.”
“Oh, hey. I'm so rude. My name is Colt.” I thought I heard an accent, not Canadian, certainly not American. He leaned across the space between us, hand extended. I hesitated, then reached out, fingers just brushing his. I scooted forward a little more, and that's when I lost my balance.
I slipped off the rock, going face first under water. For a minute the world was very hot, and very murky. Water went in my mouth, and up my nose, the odd taste of minerals heavy on my tongue. I flailed for a moment, unable to get a grip on anything solid, unable to get my footing in the small pool. Then a hand grabbed my upper arm, pulling me out of the water.
Sputtering, I finally drew a breath that wasn't full of water. I blinked, and spit out a mouthful of warm water. It tasted bitter, metallic. The guy pulled me up onto his lap with a strength I found quite surprising, more than a little alarming, but strangely appealing. I wiped the last of the water out of my eyes, coughing. I was sitting on this stranger's lap. There could be worse places to end up after falling into the pool though. He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me against his chest. I was at a loss as to what to do with my hands, just barely resisting the urge to run my fingers through all that chest hair. I finally ended up with my hands folded primly in my lap. If my heart had been beating hard before, now it practically shook my body with every beat.