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Maybe he does understand. “Is that why you went into photography?”
He looks toward me long and hard before answering, as though something is on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t find it. “Yeah, I suppose.” He stops there, and I’m a little surprised. On the phone, he’d been chattier.
Maybe he doesn’t like me. Maybe he’s planning my murder. Maybe, he’s committed some kind of awful crime and he’s going to ask me to help him hide it.
Ignoring the ridiculous ramblings in my head, I turn my attention to the cedar and pine that stretch high overhead. Birds sing in the distance and a brook is babbling to the west of us. It’s a beautiful scene, and one that brings me back to center.
“We’re right on the edge of snowfall,” I say. “I think some parts of the mountain have already seen it.”
He grins softly and looks toward me. “That’s what I heard in town. I got here last night and stayed at the Mountain View Lodge. It’s a great place with a nice hot tub overlooking the mountains. I almost gave you a call, but I was already nervous enough for our meeting today, and it was around midnight before I was settled.”
“You should’ve called.” I brush my fingers back through my hair, wondering how last night could’ve gone if he’d called me sooner. “I could’ve brought over some maps and we could’ve gone through them for today’s hike.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know what a nerd I am.
Can I take them back? No? Okay, thanks for nothing.
Thankfully, Hawk laughs off my comment. “That would’ve been nice. I collect maps, mostly vintage ones. I frame them or use the pieces for wrapping these guitars that I build. A nice clear coat over them and they’re in place forever.”
“Do you sell them?”
“Nah. I just make them here and there for friends and family. What about you? What do you like when you’re not showing strangers around the woods? You said on the phone that you worked at the country bar for a while. Do you still hang out there?”
I shake my head. “Haven’t been back since I quit. It’s not my scene. I like hiking, reading, and quiet.” I laugh. “My favorite thing is to come up here all alone and sit by the river making up stories or reading someone else’s.”
“What kinds of stories do you like making up?”
I’m not sure he realizes how invasive a question that is. I shrug. “I don’t know, just stories.”
He grins. “About…”
“About…” I sigh, and my face turns red. I’m not telling him what kinds of stories I make up! “Stuff.”
He stays silent for a moment, then laughs. “Okay, okay… I think I get the picture.”
I fold my arms in front of my chest and look toward him with downturned eyes. “Yeah? What picture is that?”
His voice drops an octave, and he looks toward me as he says, “You’re a naughty girl! You come out here, you sit by the river, and you make up…stories. Have I gotten a role in any of these fantasies?” He’s grinning, and he’s probably joking, but I’m suddenly shy and not sure what to say. Either that, or my weirdo meter is going off and I’m shutting down to conserve energy for when the inevitable kidnapping begins.
As I’m thinking over that scenario, and possibly making it way dirtier in my mind that in needs to be, I study the cries and screeches that birds make in the distance and the crunching and snapping of leaves and branches under our boots. I try to ignore the wild scent of his cologne that wafts toward me in the breeze, but it’s impossible. He’s intoxicating. I knew it the moment we started talking, but the more I see of him, the more drunk I get.
Why is a man this handsome out here all alone? There has to be more to it than the freedom. And why Rugged Mountain? There are hundreds of great mountains in Washington and Oregon that would’ve been much easier for him to get to for a little rest and relaxation.
I swallow hard, then tip up onto my toes and back down again. I should ask him why, but my stomach is turning for some reason. If I were listening to my mom’s endless advice, that would be my subconscious telling me something, but I ignore it and push past.
“So, why Rugged Mountain? You have so many beautiful places to hike out west.”
His response is quick… too quick. “I’ve seen all those mountains. I wanted something different. Besides, once we started talking online, I had to see you. You seem a little worried, though. I hope I didn’t make it awkward with that weird fantasy joke. I—”
“No. Sorry. My dad is a retired detective out of San Francisco, and my mom is this crazy sleuth who spends every free second solving random crimes.” I sigh. “So, you can imagine the types of mental illness that’s given me,” I laugh, saying the words with a light heart.
“Oh, I get it. As I said, my dad is a retired marine, and my mom is a writer. She loved hearing his stories, and he loved telling them. It was a match made in heaven… for them. For me, it was… interesting.”
“And you became a photographer? How do you mix a military father and a writer mother to get a photographer?” I realize how rude the question is after I say it, but that detective part of my brain is always on.
Thankfully, he laughs it off. I’m put at ease until we hear a snap neither of us are expecting from deep in the woods.
I glance toward him, studying the trajectory of the sound. It’s too large to be a squirrel and not big enough to be a bear, but it also stops like a human would.
A human. There’s only one human I know who lives on this side of the mountain, and he’s not a wanderer. Not only that, but hunters aren’t allowed in this area, and I didn’t see any permits for other hikers. Which means whoever is up here, is up here illegally.
