Page 37 of Hard Knock Hero

“Nope. I snowboarded once. Do you ski?”

“My mom didn’t have the money for lift tickets or ski school when I was a kid. I haven’t as an adult, either. Hartley doesn’t have anything fancy, but people go back-country skiing around here. And cross country. Scarlett loves all that stuff. I’ve been wanting to try it. Just haven’t had the chance.”

“Same here.”

“I know this isn’t the winter vacation you had in mind. You wanted to be alone meditating in a cabin.”

“That’s okay. I’m starting to think this might be better.” I loaded up the trunk with our snowshoes. She was smiling as she got behind the wheel, her cheeks a pretty pink.

We drove away from Main Street, taking a small side road lined with homes. The road got narrower and the houses sparser until we were climbing in elevation. The mountain was all glittering snow and evergreens and blue sky above. Jessi pulled her car off the road, parking just at the border of where the snowplow had stopped.

“This is Refuge Mountain,” she said. “There’s a trail here that leads up to the summit. Hard to see right now since it’s buried, but that’s what the snowshoes are for.”

“An adventure. I like it.”

“I figured you would. You seem like a guy who enjoys an adrenaline rush.”

“Maybe. On occasion.”

We weredefinitelyflirting.

We strapped on our snowshoes. Jessi had to help me. Then I nearly tripped over myself, which she thought was hilarious. She cackled when a tree branch dumped a load of snow right onto my beanie. But soon enough, we had our poles in our gloved hands and we were trekking along, following the trail that Jessi claimed she had memorized.

If we got lost and never made it back, at least I’d go out in good company.

The landscape was epically stunning. Somehow it grew more beautiful at every turn. Spindly pieces of ice formed sculptures on the branches, and sun transformed the snow crystals into cut diamonds. Our snowshoes sunk through the powder, resting on the layer of thicker, compacted snow beneath. Nobody else had been through here except for some animals whose dainty tracks were left behind as evidence.

This was exactly what I’d been hoping for when I’d rented that cabin in the woods. I did enjoy the occasional adrenaline rush, but I wasn’t the thrill junky my brother seemed to be, with his heroics as a federal agent. I liked my peace and quiet. I liked balance—between silence and motion, salt and acid, spice and caramelized notes. Too often, other people rocked my boat, and not in a good way.

Yet being here with Jessi wasn’t just fun. It waseasy. There was an effortlessness to being around her. Jessi did rock my boat some, but this was a motion I liked. If we really got going, I had a feeling I’d enjoy that rhythm a hell of a lot.

If she wanted that, I was game.

“Where exactly are we going?” I asked.

She glanced back at me. “There’s a reason this is called Refuge Mountain. During World War I, Hartley was just a tiny enclave. A handful of families. Some of the men left to fight in the war, and then after a rough winter, more of them went to other towns hoping to find work. The people left were isolated.”

“Cue the bad guys?”

“You guessed it. They saw a bunch of women and children, grandparents. Easy pickings. They planned an attack, and the people of Hartley realized what was about to happen. They ran to a cabin here on the mountain. Gathered to protect one another. Make their stand.”

“Did they succeed?”

“Be patient,” she teased. “Wait until we get there.”

Jessi led me through the steep curves of the invisible trail along the mountainside. Finally, we reached a clearing. Pine trees made a semi-circle, standing straight and tall like sentinels. In the center of the clearing was a lopsided old wooden cabin, one end half buried by snow. Behind us, a clear view of the valley expanded downhill into the distance toward faraway mountain peaks. Wood smoke curled from chimneys in the town below. I saw the neat lines of Main Street, Jessi’s Diner at the far end.

I needed a moment to take it all in.Wow. I took out my phone to snap a picture, noticing as I did that I had no service. Typical.

But Jessi wasn’t ready to stop. “Come on,” she said, wading into the deeper snow.

We went closer to the old cabin. I spotted a rusty corrugated roof beneath the thick layer of winter white, and I was amazed the place was still here.

“Is this it?” I asked. “Hartley’s last stand?”

“If you look close, you can see bullet marks in the wood. The townspeople fought back against the bandits, but they were penned in here. It was a standoff. One night, a couple of brave townspeople sneaked into the enemy camp and attacked. Drove the bad guys away. Just two of them against a dozen men.”

I whistled. “Do you think it’s true?”

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