Wild Within (Wild at Heart #1)

by Christine Hartmann

  When she reached Kennedy Meadows, she took a day off, her aching thighs demanding a rest.

  Celine’s resupply box that awaited her at the store held enough for twelve days. Grace stared at the contents of the heavy box.

  I’ll have to pull down at least sixteen miles a day, or I’ll run out of food. Where’s a donkey when I need one?

  The store at Kennedy Meadows was a simple log cabin. But it boasted showers, a rarity on the trail. Grace paid the fee at the register, gathered her laundry, and headed out back. The shower stalls, rickety plywood boxes surrounding exposed water pipes, sat on a rise. Grace admired the cloudless sky as a week’s worth of dirt ran off her and turned the water brown. Tree boughs swayed in the breeze. She shaved her legs for the first time in weeks and shampooed three times.

  She called Celine while sitting under a tree near her tent, letting the warm sun dry her hair.

  “I should be at Vermillion Valley Resort in two Saturdays, give or take.”

  “Did I send enough food to get you there?”

  “You sent almost more than I can carry. I’ll make it last.”

  “Can you resupply somewhere if you’re desperate?”

  “Not easily. This section’s remote.” She shook an ant from her leg. “Don’t worry. I’m prepared. By now I think I know just about everything that could go wrong out here.”

  “Remember not to race anybody down a mountain. I don’t think that plays to your strengths.”

  They both laughed.

  That evening, Grace joined the crowd on the store patio and scanned the assortment of hikers for unlikely combinations. Tanned young women in pastel shorts with sun-bleached blonde hair cascading from under ultralight hiking caps joked with disheveled men in ripped, grime bespattered shirts and boots that smelled like rotting skunks even from two tables away. Clean-shaven youth with crew cuts discussed water filtering with men whose matted hair and scruffy beards reached mid-chest. The air held odors of sweat, french fries, and sunscreen. The atmosphere exuded bonhomie.

  On the crowded porch, only one man sat alone.

  Breeze.

  He leaned back on a plastic chair with his feet against the railing. A half-empty beer bottle lay propped against his chest. He gave Grace a long, indecipherable glance when she waved and approached his seat.

  “Hi, Breeze.”

  “Hi, Grace.” He looked from her and back to the meadow.

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  His lips twitched. “Suit yourself.”

  Grace pulled an unoccupied chair from the nearest table and joined him.

  “Rescue anyone lately?”

  He gave her an anemic smile. “Been too busy.”

  “With what?”

  “This and that.”

  “Oh.” She followed his gaze and fixed her eyes on the dry landscape.

  He took a swig from his bottle. “Hiking any faster these days?”

  “I’ve been pulling down some twenty-twos with these stubby legs. I’m pretty proud.”

  “That’s decent.”

  “Sure.” Grace gestured north. “But the real mountains are ahead of us.”

  “If you get into trouble, maybe I’ll be around to help you out.”

  Grace grinned. “I’m trying to avoid those kinds of situations.”

  Breeze laid his hand on her thigh. “Maybe I can help you out in other ways?”

  Grace pulled her leg gently from underneath his fingers. “I appreciate the thought. But the whole trail thing. All this anonymity. It’s not sexy. At least not for me.”

  Breeze leaned in closer. “I’ll tell you my name. If it makes a difference.”

  “You can try.”

  “It’s Ed.”

  “Ed what?”

  He looked around. His mouth brushed Grace’s ear. “Ed Galeano.”

  The whisper’s tickle made her shiver. She shrugged. “Sorry. Good try. But it doesn’t quite work for me. Great to know I can find you again if I wanted to though.”

  Breeze’s fingers gripped her leg. His narrowed eyes fixed on her with a coldness that contrasted sharply with the convivial chatter on the porch.

  “Keep my name to yourself, okay? Out here, I’m Breeze. Get it?”

  Grace regarded him quizzically and pushed back her chair. “Got it.” She stood, yawned, and crossed her arms. Hikers were flocking to their tents in the deepening shadows. “It’s getting cold. I’m going to call it a night.”

  Breeze nodded and turned back to the meadow.

  ***

  In the fading afternoon light of the following day, Grace spread her pack’s contents on the sandy ground by her tent and emptied Celine’s box next to it. A mesh of triangular snow spikes glittered atop a pile of power bars. The prongs poked her legs as she fitted the metal cleats onto the bottom of her shoes.

  People say it’s a low snow year. I’d prefer a no snow year.

  She stood up and walked a few steps, leaving futuristic footprints in the sand.

  I guess they’ll give me traction as long as it’s not too deep.

  The metal clinked and rattled when she shoved the set to the bottom of her pack.

  With all that noise, at least the bears will know I’m coming.

  She filled two stuff sacks with food.

  Twelve days to Vermillion Valley Resort at Lake Edison. I hope I don’t end up hating power bars.

  The remaining items filled her pack to the gills. She cinched it shut, lifted it off the ground with a groan, and carried it to a nearby boulder. Her arms slipped through the straps and she bent forward.

  Here goes nothing.

  The pack balanced precariously on her back.

  Ugh. This thing weighs more than Hope’s twins after a Chuck E. Cheese party.

  She straightened and fastened the waist belt.

  Nothing to do but get used to this. Preferably out of sight.

  She scanned the area.

  Nobody.

  Her feet traced a narrow oval around her tent while her mind willed strength to her shoulders. Cool gusts of air rushed intermittently through the pine boughs above her head. The scent of crushed needles filled her lungs.

  She’d begun to hum the “The Happy Wanderer” when a familiar voice interrupted her meditation.

  “Now there’s a woman with some snap in her garters.” The deep Texan drawl made her jump.

  Her voice, when it recovered, quivered with equal parts disbelief and hope. “Lone Star?”

  “None other.”

  Large hands gently turned her around, sparking a flood of longing that rushed from her toes to her scalp.

  Strong arms enfolded her and Grace melted into the embrace, forgetting to breathe. Fingers stroked her face. Soft lips pressed against hers. She leaned her cheek into each caress, choking back a moan as Lone Star murmured apologies into her ear. Her fists clenched his shirt like she would never let go.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Never mind that now.”

  Lone Star kissed her with a passion fueled by weeks of yearning. His eyes darkened and then closed against the rapidly growing twilight. Grace stood on tiptoe as he leaned over her and angled his head to probe deeper. Her mouth opened wider, welcoming the exploration. His touch felt both exhilarating and supremely comfortable. Her eyes roamed over his long lashes and square forehead. She ran her hands again and again through his thick red hair.

  I never want this to end.

  Too soon, he released his grip and pushed her from him. She disengaged with the reluctance of a suction cup and balanced, breathing heavily, on unsteady legs.

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  “I can hardly get my arms around you properly, Just Grace, with that pack on your back.”

  He stepped behind, lifted it from her shoulders, and leaned it against a tree.

  “Funny. I forgot I was wearing it.”

  “Funny what love will do.”

  Her stomach jumped.

  Love?

  Before
her thoughts continued, Lone Star’s hands clasped her rear and pulled her body against the firm plane of his chest. Grace wiggled closer, trying to eliminate areas where their torsos didn’t make contact. She reached for his hips, drawing them toward her. At the same time, surprisingly soft hands slid under her shirt and up her firm stomach until they each cupped a warm breast in a protective embrace.

  His rough chin nuzzled into the recess below her collar bone. His lips covered her neck and jaw with kisses. A soft murmur escaped her as she turned her head to give him better access.

  When his lips tugged her breast, her skin, electrified, jumped from a slow simmer to a sudden boil.

  “I’m too hot.” She gasped, stepped away, and pulled her shirt over her head.

  Lone Star chuckled. “You are hot, Just Grace. But easy does it. We’ve got lots of time.”

  “No, seriously.” She pulled away from him. “I’m burning up.” She threw her shirt heedlessly over her shoulder and stepped out of her shorts.

  “Grace. You’re more beautiful than I imagined. And I imagined a lot.”

  “Like how the pulsing joy you shared with me lifts you to the sky?”

  “Like how I want you to fold thyself, my dearest, and slip into my bosom and be lost in me.”

  “Oh, Lone Star. That’s the kind of Texas romance I missed all these weeks.”

  Lone Star lifted her into his arms and carried her to the tent.

  ***

  Late that evening they lay together, his body wrapped tightly around hers. The reassurance of the past few hours, the parallels of their yearning, speed, and tenderness, made Grace’s limbs heavier with satisfaction than they had been in years.

  “Hey.” She nudged him drowsily.

  “What?” He traced the outline of her forehead with his fingers.

  “I never even asked you what happened. Why you stopped leaving me notes.”

  Lone Star stroked her hair and burrowed his head into her neck. Grace missed his reply as she drifted to sleep.

  Chapter 17

  Voices woke her the following morning.

  Her head rode the tide of Lone Star’s deep breathing as she lay on his chest and blinked the sleep from her eyes. She matched their inhalations and twined her legs more tightly around his.

  Last night was like a volcanic eruption. My shirt and shorts were so in the way.

  Her eyes popped open.

  My clothes.

  She searched her memory.

  They’re hanging on a bush. And Lone Star’s are…over a tree branch. Great. Your basic lingerie display. Perfect for thrus on their way to breakfast.

  She disentangled herself gently. Her camp shoes were in the sleeping bag stuff sack at the other end of the tent. She extracted them carefully.

  Her eyes peeped through a small opening in the tent zipper.

  Coast is clear. Now or never.

  She flung her yellow camp shoes out the flap and darted naked into the open. Goose pimples sprouted on her arms and legs in the frigid morning air. She scanned the surroundings.

  There they are.

  Her shirt clung to the branches of a blueberry bush. She ripped it free. Her shorts laid in a limp lump on the ground. She rushed toward them. An appreciative whistle issued from the trail. She scooped her shorts and pulled her shirt over her head.

  “Nice show.”

  Grace whipped around but saw no one.

  “Hey.” Lone Star poked his head out of the tent. “Quiet out there. Some of us are trying to get our beauty rest.”

  “It’s not me making all the noise.” She returned to the tent, squatted, and kissed Lone Star’s red head. “I had an audience.”

  He laughed and pulled her ankle. Grace fell backward, giggling. He tugged her legs hand over hand while her bare bottom scraped a sandy track along the ground.

  In the tent, he kissed her, then lifted the shirt over her head.

  “I just put that on.”

  “Shush.” He kissed her again, rubbing the bare skin of his chest against hers. “I’m preventing the inevitable. When I kiss you, you beg me to take off your clothes.”

  She licked his ear and tugged at his earlobe. “What did you say about heat in the desert? Hot as the hinges of hell?”

  “You betcha.”

  “Well, that’s how you make me feel, Lone Star. Hot as the hinges of hell. Nobody’s managed that before.”

  “Maybe they weren’t trying hard enough.”

  The raw hunger of his embrace startled her. She rocked forward, deeper into his arms, and straddled his thighs as he crouched on the tent floor. Soft caresses floated over her neck and ear. Her fingers massaged his temples, his arms. They moved across his chest. Down his tight belly.

  He groaned and leaned forward, easing her onto the sleeping bag. His body hovered over hers. The heat between them felt palpable. Lone Star gazed deep into Grace’s eyes until she pulled him down, breathless. The moment stretched, and the outside world became lost in the perfectly synchronized rhythm of their desire.

  Grace emerged an hour later and handed Lone Star his clothing through the flap. The sun stood well over the horizon. A constant stream of thrus passed the tent.

  “I’m starving.” She watched him pull on his shoes. “But I want to take another shower before I do anything else.” Her small towel snapped as she flung it around her neck. “You go to the store. I’ll meet you on the porch.”

  “I’ll grab us breakfast.” Lone Star planted a firm kiss on her lips. “Any requests?”

  “Anything huge and fattening. And I could sure use a cup of coffee. Lots of cream. A ton of sugar.”

  “One deluxe hiker feast coming right up.” He jogged toward the store, Grace watching the fabric of his shorts stretch over his lean frame as he ran.

  His name.

  “Wait. Lone Star.” She dashed after him and, panting, grabbed both his hands. “I can’t let you go anywhere without knowing.”

  “Knowing what, darlin’? I’ll tell you anything.”

  “Your name.”

  “I never told you my name?”

  “No. And the whole time on the trail I was terrified I’d never find you again.”

  “Aw, honey. There was no need to be scared. I’d have found you no matter where you were, faster than a sneeze through a screen door. But for the record, I’m Angus Hogan. Gus for short. Pleased to know you.”

  He pumped her hand. In the warm morning sunshine his red hair shone like a glowing ember. She clasped him to her and laughed.

  Twenty minutes later, clean and smelling of peppermint, Grace sauntered up to Lone Star, who sat on a porch bench.

  “Hey, Gus.” She sat down beside him. “That doesn’t sound right. I’ve been calling you Lone Star for weeks.” Her fingers stroked his as she took the cup of coffee.

  Lone Star plopped a bag in her lap. “Two chocolate muffins and a cream cheese strudel for my hungry lady. As far as I’m concerned, you can call me Gilligan’s Island. If it comes out of your mouth, I’ll answer to it.”

  Grace beamed and bit into a muffin. She pointed at it and gave a thumbs-up. “Delicious.” Crumbs spewed onto Lone Star’s lap. “Want some?”

  “I already ate half a horse while waiting for you to get tidied up.”

  “I feel like I haven’t eaten in a week.” Grace wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

  “So you eat. I’ll talk.”

  “Okay. Tell me again what happened. Why didn’t I hear from you after the hiker register in Big Bear City? I fell asleep last night before you got to the punch line.” Grace began her second muffin.

  “It’s not the kind of story to impress a lady. But here goes. Right before Big Bear City, there’s a section where you have to walk along a ridge. Kind of precarious. Nothing most people can’t handle. A lot of loose rock, with a steep drop to one side.”

  Grace nodded.

  “Well, I lost my footing. I’d like to say I was daydreaming about you. But the reality is that I was dreaming of
a Snickers bar. Good old Vitamin S. I’d eaten my last one a couple days before and was feeling mighty hungry right about then. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I took one misstep and went head over heels down the ridge.”

  Grace almost choked on a bloated raisin. “The helicopter.” She coughed out the offending morsel. “I remember hearing stories about someone being helicoptered out. Was that you?”

  “I had the feeling you might hear about it. I was worried you might think it was me.”

  “Why would I think that?”

  He took her hand and held it against his heart. “Because I was thinking of you the whole time. Every story I heard about a woman coming from behind, there was a second when I thought it might be about you.”

  “I did the same. But not for that story. I thought it was an inexperienced newbie making a stupid mistake. Someone like me, not you. What happened?” She looked him up and down. “From what I saw last night and this morning, you’ve got all your working parts.”

  “That I do.” His grin spanned from ear to ear. “I don’t think I was ever as bad as I looked. But I looked pretty bad they said. All tore up. And unconscious. Happens that an Italian vet saw me take the header.”

  “A vet?”

  “Veterinarian. She had an emergency beacon her husband made her take. Later, she came to the hospital to check on me. Said my fall made her reconsider hiking by herself. I think she said her husband was flying in and they were going back out together.”

  Grace was pale. “Oh my god, Lone Star.” The half-finished danish lay untouched in her lap.

  “Eat up, darling. You need to shovel as many calories as you can into that pretty mouth of yours.”

  “But you could have been killed.”

  He stood behind her and massaged her shoulders. “Tried to hang myself but the rope broke.”

  “Nobody’s happier about that than me.”

  “You and my momma.”

  “Oh, of course.” She craned her neck to look at him. “Did you go back to El Paso?”

  “My folks flew up to stay while I was in the hospital. They rented a minivan to get me back home. It showed me how scared they were, spending money like that. My dad’s usually tighter than a wet boot.”