Page 3 of Rescued In The Storm

"I know how mountains work, Kathryn. I've lived here my entire life."

"Knowing and experiencing are two different things." She gathers her things, heading for the door. "Text me if you decide to go. Let someone know where you'll be."

After she leaves, I find myself staring out the window at the mountains that frame our little town. They're always there, steady and unchanging, while life happens in their shadow. How many times have I watched Connor disappear into those trees, leading groups of strangers on adventures I've only heard about?

Too many times to count.

By closing time, my mind is made up. Tomorrow morning, I'll leave Maya in charge of the bakery, and I'll hike to Eagle Point. I'll see those three mountain ranges for myself. I'll do something unexpected, something outside my carefully constructed routine of baking and waiting and watching other people live their lives.

At home that night, I pull out the hiking boots I bought three years ago on a similar burst of inspiration. One that faded before I ever put them to use. They still have the price tag attached. I grab my phone and search for information on the Eagle Point trail, making notes about what to bring.

Water. Snacks. A small first aid kit. My camera.

It's not like I'm attempting Everest. It's a beginner trail, one that tourists tackle every day. How hard could it possibly be?

As I set my alarm for earlier than usual, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers that I'm being impulsive, that I should wait and plan better. But a louder voice—the one tired of playing it safe—drowns it out.

Tomorrow, Sarah Miller is going hiking.

ChapterTwo

Connor

"And if you look to your left, you'll see a pair of golden eagles circling near the ridge." I point toward the distant outcropping where two large birds of prey ride the thermal currents. "They've nested in that same spot for about three years now. Golden eagles mate for life and return to the same nesting site year after year."

A chorus of appreciative murmurs rises from the group of hikers I'm leading along Wildflower Ridge. Six tourists, all decked out in brand new hiking gear that hasn't seen enough dirt yet to look authentic. They're nice enough, though and genuinely interested in the landscape and wildlife. Not just here for Instagram photos like some groups.

"How much farther to the waterfall?" asks a woman in a purple jacket. Linda, if I remember correctly. She and her husband are celebrating their anniversary.

"About another mile," I tell her, checking my watch. "We should be there in?—"

Something stops me mid-sentence. A feeling. Nothing I can point to or name, just a sudden unease prickling at the back of my neck.

I turn slowly, scanning the trail behind us, then looking up at the sky. The morning had started clear and bright, but now I notice darker clouds gathering over the eastern peaks. They weren't in the forecast when I checked at dawn.

"Everything okay?" asks Richard, the most experienced hiker of the group.

"Yeah," I say, but I'm already calculating distances and times in my head. "Just keeping an eye on those clouds."

As if on cue, a low rumble reaches us, distant but unmistakable.

"Is that thunder?" Linda's husband asks, looking concerned.

I nod, decisions already made. "Change of plans, folks. We're going to head back to the lodge."

"But the waterfall—" begins the youngest member of the group, a college student named Tyler.

"Will still be there tomorrow," I finish for him. "Mountain weather can change fast, and I don't like the look of those clouds. Trust me, you don't want to be caught on an exposed ridge during a thunderstorm."

Years of guiding have taught me that maintaining a calm demeanor is half the battle. I keep my voice steady, my expression relaxed, even as I pick up the pace slightly on our return journey.

Another rumble of thunder, louder this time. The clouds are moving faster than I expected, rolling in from the east. My gut instinct is rarely wrong about these things.

"Will we make it back before the rain?" Linda asks, slightly breathless as she navigates a rocky section of trail.

"That's the plan," I say with a reassuring smile that doesn't quite match the concern building in my chest.

We're making good time, about a mile from the trailhead where our lodge shuttle waits, when the wind picks up, sharp and cool against my face. The first hint of rain scents the air. I glance at the clouds again. They're darker now, heavy with the promise of a serious downpour.

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