by Katie Cross
In the midst of my deep thoughts, Devin stopped shuffling around. Without his thick arms or warm smile every time he looked at me, the night would be far less claustrophobic.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
The plea-like words encompassed so much more than letting me sleep in his tent. He chuckled, smooth as the roar of thunder in the background. "No problem. I'm relieved to have you here. I wouldn't have slept well with you in the other tent."
A spiral of warmth, then the unsteady feeling of falling through the air, followed his words. "You moved my tent right next to yours," I said with the hope that practicality would bring me back to earth. "You would have been sleeping on top of me."
"I did."
A forbidden question surfaced and I tried to blink it away. The temptation wouldn't be denied, so I pitched my voice low. I had to ask or I'd never sleep.
"You still don't think we're safe?"
He hesitated only a moment before he said, "I think they're hiding something. Both of them."
The sleeping bag rustled when I turned to face him, the edge of my jaw brushing a bent elbow. He lay on his back, I'd bet. Arms stacked behind his head with a ruffled expression as he thought something out. Just like he always used to. His arms had doubled in size with his shoulder span, so I'd be in danger of an elbow jab to the eye if I wasn't careful.
"Kimball," he murmured contemplatively, and I would have given money for his thoughts then.
My mind churned for a moment. "Yeah, I haven't really been comfortable with it either. Let's see how tomorrow goes. We'll call it from there, okay?"
"Okay." He let out a long breath. "Just . . . don't hold onto this as your career-maker, okay? One bad overnighter doesn't doom you to abject failure or a poor reputation. Or anything, really."
No, I thought, but it does mean something else.
What that something else was, I had no idea.
"Of course."
Another crack of thunder ripped by, this time right overhead. Lightning illuminated the tent outside. Mountain storms had always rolled through my life, but I couldn't deny a sense of comfort with Devin at my side through this one.
The words I needed to say thickened my throat. The temptation to leave them unsaid flitted through my mind, but I ignored it. We had too much experience with the unsaid nature of important things.
"I'm grateful that you're here. This wouldn't have felt safe without you."
A warm hand found my wrist and squeezed. My breath stopped. I paused all thoughts and waited. Would his hand move? Would he keep his fingers tight around my skin? My eyes fluttered closed. I breathed the feeling of his skin against mine like missing oxygen.
"I'm glad I'm here too," he said quietly.
The roar of the storm unfolded around us while we fell into silence. The silky touch of his fingertips against the delicate skin of my inner arm didn't change. He kept his hold, and my heart thrilled to it. His shoulder moved against mine as he shifted, grunting with the effort of adjusting in such a small space. Alone, this tent would have been just right for his massive body and penchant to sprawl in sleep. Together, I felt like we tried to squeeze two feet into one shoe.
Unable to help myself, I asked, "Do you still sleep like a star?"
He laughed under his breath.
"Always. I always will."
The rain picked up overhead, falling twice as fast.
"Do you still hum in your sleep?" he countered.
In the darkness, I smiled. "It's not a hum," I muttered, but couldn't keep the amusement from it. "It's . . . a reverse snore."
Devin barked a laugh. His grip didn't give away. "Call it what you will," he murmured, "but it's definitely a hum."
"Are you sad to go back to North Carolina?"
The question blurted out of me like it wanted to squeak its way out. My heart sped up in response, a dull thud against my chest in the burdened air that followed. A hint of vulnerability lay in the question, like a little girl inside of me that really wanted to ask, do you really want to be away from me?
"I wouldn't be," he said quietly, "if you came with me."
The storm shattered the silence with a percussive roll of thunder that made my bones shake. Instinctively, I shifted closer to him. He released my wrist to wrap an arm around my shoulder and pull me close. Right now, I had no answer to give him.
Except, in some ways, this one.
My eyes fell closed. My heart slowed. Devin's smell escorted me into a calm, dreamless sleep.
The thunderstorm left a wet world behind.
Sparkling sunlight slanted down from the clouds when I emerged from the tent in the morning. Drops of water slid down the rain fly, jostled loose from the opening teeth of the zipper. The air felt crisp in my lungs. Birds twittered nearby in a strange dichotomy of sound after the crash of thunder in the night. The bowl of the mountains echoed each blast of thunder for hours.
My arms spread in a long, silent stretch as I studied the meadow, the smell of dew and wet grass thick in the air. Steve's tent remained shut, but Kimball's flap lay open. Steps through the calf-high grass led all the way into the trees across from us, and I thought I saw a flicker of movement not far from the stream. When I shoved on my boots and hastily tied them, my eyes caught onto the fire ring Devin had made last night. The charred logs lay saturated, not a hint of smoke left behind after torrents of rain.
The muscles in my legs were cramped from being so tightly bundled against Devin all night. The sensation was familiar, one from my childhood. Having it again came with a reassurance I hadn't expected.
Perhaps we couldn't avoid the return crash.
Like pieces of a puzzle that just fit. Could time change our edges so drastically that we couldn't return? Maybe time hadn't changed my edges. Maybe I was still the same person, interlocking with the same Devin. Or maybe we changed in the same ways because we'd always fit.
Kimball appeared out of the forest with a wave. "Morning!" His greeting rolled across the open meadow. I waved and made my way to the creek as he shoved something into his back pocket. A radio? No.
Or was it?
Something like an antenna stuck out of his pocket before he pulled his shirt and jacket over it, hiding it completely.
"Sleep okay?" he called with a bright smile that belied my suspicion. In the light of a gorgeous day, I felt sheepish for the thought.
So what if he did have a radio?
"Good sleep," I said. "You?"
His grin widened. "Like a baby."
I gave a smile and kept going, but my thoughts remained uneasy. Normally, I wouldn't have thought twice about my hikers having a radio with them. Backups to mine were always welcome. Technology could fail right when we needed it most. Besides, there was no inherent issue with them having access to our route or the outside world.
Yet, something about Kimball having a radio—and not saying anything about it—set my teeth on edge.
By the time I returned, Devin had shuffled out of the tent, still half-awake and tousled. His hair stuck up just a little on one side of his head, and sleep lingered in his expression. He gave me a lopsided smile that made my stomach flip. I wanted to walk right into his arms. Instead, I mentally shoved the urge away and gestured to the fire ring.
"Want to attempt it?"
He shook his head. "Better to have a quick breakfast and get going." He yawned. "The grasses and wood will dry through the day again as we hike. We can make a fire at lunch if we need to."
Minutes later, we had hot water boiling on an instaboiler I'd packed and dry oatmeal packets ready in bowls. Steve groaned from within the tent when he woke up. Kimball eyed the tent and chuckled to himself over a mug of instant coffee.
Meanwhile, I tried not to think about last night. Or the way I woke up with Devin's gentle breath near my ear. I crouched next to my bowl and dumped steaming water onto my dry oatmeal. My mind still drifted to the warmth of Dev at my side. Or the way both of us had been curled up on our sides, him at my back. Such
a cozy night conjured up daydreams I should leave dead.
But maybe I was tired of that, too.
The cry of another voice rippled through the camp from the corner of the meadow. "Hello the camp!"
My head jerked up. Devin turned to look over his shoulder in the direction of the sound. Kimball stopped mid-sip and stared. A male figure trudged through the grasses toward us, clad in familiar, dark green pants and a gray shirt that indicated a forest ranger. Pale hair shone in the budding morning light, shielding light eyes. He wore a heavy pack on his back. The moment I recognized him, I smiled and straightened up.
"Neils?"
Neils paused, then his white teeth flashed in a grin. One hand raised.
"Ellie?"
I set aside the oatmeal. "Good to see you again! Come on and join us. We're just scrounging breakfast together after that downpour."
"Who is this guy?" Devin asked quietly, suddenly at my left side.
"One of the backcountry rangers for the area," I said. "His name is Neils. We've seen each other a lot the past couple of years. He's . . . sort of a friend, I guess. Very kind whenever I do see him. Which is more often than you'd think, actually."
"You run into him a lot?" Devin murmured. "Seems odd. Most people never see them when they're back here."
I shrugged. "He's really nice."
"Or he has the hots for you," Devin muttered. I laughed.
"Yes, Dev. He stalks me and comes out on hikes just to run into me. You're right."
Stated that way, Devin gave a good-natured eye roll. Kimball's tension increased as Neils approached with a bright smile on his face. His eyes darted around, encompassing the whole camp quickly, before he came to my side. Neils shook my hand, and I felt a rush of relief. I'd never been a hugger.
"Good to see you again," I said. "It's been a while."
"You have been avoiding the mountains?" he asked. He had a distinct, Nordic accent that tilted his words in a charming way. I laughed, gratified to see him again. We'd eaten several breakfasts or dinners together when we ran into each other.
"Never."
Neils winked at me, then glanced over my shoulder. He adjusted his pack with a nod to Devin, then to Kimball, who studied the bottom of his coffee mug.
"Oatmeal?" I asked, then lifted the mug. "We have extras, if you'd like something warm."
He graciously shook his head. "No, thank you."
"You're up early?" I ventured.
"We've had reports of grizzly trouble on the back trails," Neils said with a head jerk away from the mountains. "I started up here late yesterday and camped just about a mile down the trail. Thought I'd get an early start after the rain and heard voices. Thought I'd check in."
Neils had eyes that crinkled around the edges, but his expression appeared more haggard than usual. We'd run into each other on the trails now and then. He spent most of his summer—and some winters—in the backcountry mountains. I suspected he had a place he hid away and hadn't told anyone, but I could never get him to admit it.
Devin stuck out a hand. "Devin Blaine. Good to meet you."
"Neils. Same. You're a lucky man if Ellie is your guide." He smiled at me. "She is the best in these mountains."
"You know them far better than me, Neils," I said.
He waved that off. "No. You are a true natural here."
Neils had become one of the few friends I'd found once Devin left, and I wanted Neils to like Devin. Devin would, of course, like Neils. At least, the old Devin would have. This Devin seemed oddly similar, but still different. This Devin was far more wary around people than before.
The merging of my old life into my new one felt like bumps on a lake.
"Where's the bear?" Kimball asked as he tossed the dregs of his coffee into the weeds. Neils studied him for a beat, then nodded to the west.
"Reported around a canyon out that way, somewhere near the Alpine Crest trail."
I froze.
"Oh?"
Neils eyes jerked to mine. Confusion registered on his expression. "You're going there?"
"We're heading that way." When his confusion deepened, I rushed to explain. "We were originally heading to Nightingale Peak, but they requested a course change for a bit more adventure. Have you heard of a cabi—"
"Is the grizzly dangerous?" Kimball asked. Anxiety lined his usually happy features now. The empty coffee cup that he clutched with white knuckles lay at his side, dripping coffee onto his shoe.
"They all are," Neils said.
Devin made a noise in his throat. "The Alpine Crest trail isn’t far east of where we want to go," he said. "We should be safe if the bear doesn't travel lower, which seems unlikely in this heat. Is it a mama grizz?"
Neils shrugged. "Not sure. We think it may be guarding a carcass. I'm spreading word on the trail for people to avoid it before I do some investigating."
"From over here?" Devin asked.
"Yes. It's where I started when I heard the news."
Devin's confusion wasn't misplaced. If Neils wanted to spread the word, starting this far south did strike me as strange. There was no direct route from here. Like us, he’d have to haul across open country, but he hiked so fast I had no doubt he'd get there in no time at all.
"Any attacks?" Kimball asked.
"No attacks yet, but it charged a hiker three days ago. Another report came in yesterday afternoon of a charge. I headed out shortly after to investigate."
Wildlife was certainly something we always planned for, but I dreaded grappling with now. Kimball and Steve would be wildcards in those situations. Devin and I had hiked the Alpine Crest trail years ago. It ended on a lacy, snow-run-off waterfall that faded near the close of summer. Worth the hike, if you appreciated wild beauty. I had my doubts Kimball would care about it.
"We'll keep an eye out," I said to Neils, but sent a meaningful glance to Kimball. Kimball nodded with only a hint of reluctance. Unlikely he'd fight me on this point. Steve stirred again in the tent, and Neils glanced over as he stumbled out. His tousled hair and stubbled face lent an oddly dark appearance. He ignored all of us and headed toward the creek with a bumbling stride.
Neils turned back to me, a warning in his gaze. "Careful, Ellie. The predators are unusually agitated this spring. I don't want to answer a search and rescue call with your name on it."
I nodded. "Thanks Neils."
He gave a chin lift to Devin, sent one last, searching look to Kimball, who gazed away with a troubled expression on his face. With a wave of farewell, Neils turned and headed back toward the main trail again.
12
Devin
Kimball whistled while he hiked.
The high-pitched, incessant sound droned in my ear like a mosquito. Within an hour, I wanted to push him off the ridge we skirted. Then he began to walk next to Ellie as she broke our path across difficult terrain. Every now and then, he'd reach over and touch her. His grating charm and loud voice irritated my already sensitive nerves. At that point, I really wanted to get my hands on him.
When he didn't whistle, he chattered.
"Money is power," he said as he finished a particularly nauseating story about a successful business transaction, or something stupid like that. "The old saying is true. More is better."
Ellie nodded, but hadn't spoken a word in over thirteen minutes. She kept her gaze ahead, her eyes roving. The Alpine Crest trail area lay firmly northwest of where we stood, but only by a few miles. Her eyes lingered in that direction enough for me to know that she had a new stressor. Steve puffed along behind me. This far into the forest, Kimball seemed to lose his weird attention on his "friend."
For hours, we'd cut across terrain I would have rather not dealt with. Long grasses gave way to scraggly, knee-high brush up rolling mountain slopes. Mixtures of rocky ground and thick vegetation in the low parts slowed us down to a dusty crawl, just as Ellie predicted. The adventure of it would have been fun if it were just me and Ellie and Thor, or if Kimball had an off button. But the novelt
y of the new hike had worn off when I saw the flowing, rocky ridges that awaited us.
Scraggly brush, impossible ups and downs, and an endless supply of intense alpine sunshine that never let up.
Meanwhile, Kimball had never seemed happier.
Neils’ warning ran through my head while I hiked, bringing up the rear, near Steve. The only benefit of Kimball’s running mouth was my chance to get to the bottom of this strange situation. While Kimball and Ellie scrambled ahead of us, I purposefully hung back with Steve. We faced a hand-over-fist climb up a steep slope. Despite his long legs, he struggled with the increasing altitude and had slowed.
"You good?" I asked Steve.
He hiked half-bent over as we scrambled up a hillside, attempting to gain another ridge. The afternoon sun lay heavy on my back, clearing the morning humidity haze. Now, everything felt hot and dry. Rocks baked in the sun as we scrambled past them. Their heat expanded into my shoes, my pants, my skin. Most of the last hour had been two steps up, one slide down. Steve often looked as if he didn't move a step, even though he tried.
Steve nodded.
"This kind of hiking can really suck sometimes," I said.
No response.
Right. Might need a new tack.
"You're a quiet guy. Is that why Kimball talks so much?"
He glanced ahead of us, but didn't say anything. There probably wouldn't be another chance when Kimball wasn’t watching Steve like a hawk, so I leaned into the quiet. Time to press my luck.
"You and Kimball good friends?"
Steve looked at me from the corner of his eye. He wiped a meaty arm across his brow and stopped.
"No."
Finally, the truth.
"Did you really want to come here? I mean, it's no secret there's weird tension between the two of you. And he's a lot more excited about this than you."