Page 21 of Cherry Picked
We walked further along the trail, passing old-growth hardwoods, familiar jagged outcrops, and the places where the other trails leading down all sides of the mountain—the Rock Cut, the Hunter, the Fox, the Shepherd, and bunches more too small to have names—converged into the Red Trail for the final push up to the Peak.
When we got to the Friendly Footbridge—the wooden structure that a century’s worth of Hollowans had crossed in order to reach the highest areas of the mountain without braving the rushing current of Glassy Creek—by unspoken agreement, we stopped for a moment to lean against the railing in silence. The Creek, which could run dangerously high during the spring, was running low now, thanks to a stretch of warm, dry weather, but was still beautiful. The crystal-clear water meandering over rocks and boulders on its way downhill was hypnotic and comforting. I was already working up a sweat from the incline, but thankfully, the air was comfortably cool under the tree canopy… at least until the clear-cutting began.
“They’re building this resort to lure tourists up to our unspoiled wilderness,” I murmured, “and don’t get the irony of how much they’re spoiling it. The glory of this land is that it’s self-sustaining, Jack. Every single thing impacts something else. You clear-cut the trees, there’s less shade, and the water in the lake gets hotter. You dig a huge foundation, and you’re disturbing the runoff patterns. The very shape of the lake changes. The fish die. Other plants take over. Now it’s not an upscale resort set in unspoiled wilderness anymore; it’s an overpriced motel on a piece of land that looks like a thousand other places on Earth. And by then, it’s too late. It’sruined.”
“Hawk, it’s not in anyone’s best interest to let it be ruined. That’s why Evola has people on their team who’ll be supervising—”
“Do you honestly think Evola’s idea ofruinedis the same as ours? As long as they’re profiting, are they going to care that there are five—five—different types of bats that have been found in the Glassy cave system that are on the endangered list? Not to mention the Canadian lynx, the eastern mountain lion, and the American marten, all of which have been spotted on or around Fogg Peak in the last twenty years. All of them are endangered.All of them—” I cut myself off and blew out a breath. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m taking out my anger on you, and I don’t mean to.”
“It’s okay,” Jack soothed. “I meant what I said last week: you can talk to me about anything, whether I agree with you or not. If it makes you feel better to vent about bats, I’m all ears.”
An image of Jack as a bat, squeaking out theErk! Erk!noises he made when I flustered him, dropped into my brain unbidden.
“What’s funny?” he demanded as I snickered.
“Nothing. Just, the northern long-eared bat is one of the endangered bat species, and I was just kind of picturing you with…” I gestured to my own ears.
“Hawk Sunday,” Jack said, mock outraged. “First, you mock me because I’m talking like Mr. Darcy. Now I’ve been downgraded all the way tobat? Remind me never to really piss you off, or you’ll be comparing me to fungi.”
This was so accurate I laughed out loud. “If it makes you feel better, northern long-eared bats are adorable and extremely useful. They eat insects that could decimate agricultural and timber industries. And while they mate in the fall, the females store the sperm and don’t actually get pregnant until the spring. They’re all aboutdelayed gratification.”
He rolled his eyes, but his blue gaze met mine, and when he saw me grin, his lips twitched into that familiar smile I loved. The knots in my shoulders loosened a fraction.
Thisis why you love Jack Wyatt, Hawkins.
Jack got my humor. He smiled when I smiled. I knew the rhythm of his strong, confident stride on the trail, the sound of his regular breathing interspersed with his periodic inhales to “enjoy the smell of the fir trees,” the view of his chiseled calf muscles covered in wiry blond hair, and the clean scent of his sweat when we finally came out of the trees and into the summer sun. When things between us were calm, I was calmer, too… which was part of what had made this past week so hard.
Maybe it could be just as simple as that.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I whispered after a long moment. “Thanks for being with me today.”
Jack nodded without looking over at me again. Instead, he looked ahead where the view was starting to open up across the lower part of Glassy Valley. “He would have been proud of you, you know.”
Of course Jack remembered what today was and what it meant to me. That part wasn’t a shock. But something about those sweet words cut straight into my gut like a jagged shard of sheet metal.
I made a sound in my throat that finally made Jack’s head turn sharply to me. I didn’t know what he saw in my face, but it must have been terrible. His expression morphed from curiosity to horror as a sob broke its way out of me.
“Bird.”
I stumbled over the footbridge and dropped onto the nearest boulder at the edge of the trail before bending at the waist and covering my face with my hands. Hot tears slid fast and wet down my cheeks as my breath tried triple-timing it in and out of my lungs through horrid, racking sounds.
“Sorry!” I sobbed. “Sorry.”
Part of me wanted to laugh at what a mess I was. What a ridiculous overreaction to a well-meaning comment! But part of me wanted to sob even harder because suddenly, a tidal wave of loss for my father that must have been hiding somewhere inside of me, packed tight like an emergency parachute just waiting for the moment it needed to break free and save a life, washed over me.
Jack was on his knees in front of me almost as quickly as I’d dropped to the rock. He reached out to grab me, and I fell into his arms, hiding my face in his damp neck and flooding it with my tears and snot.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured. His hands were warm and strong on my back, rubbing firm circles as he held me tightly. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s okay. You know it’s okay. I’m sorry I said anything. So stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything.Fuck.”
I shook my head, unable to explain that it wasn’t his fault. Clearly, this had been waiting for any moment to break free. I let the tears come. If ever there was a safe place to let go and feel my damned feelings, it was here in this hallowed forest that had meant so much to my father. And it was here in the arms of a man I knew would be there for me no matter what I said or did.
“Okay,” he said softly into my hair. “We’re doing this. Yes. It’s okay. Feelings are for feeling, right? Right. This is healthy. Let it out. That’s it. This is good. Gonna break my heart, but that’s fine. It’s natural. Doesn’t feel so natural. Feels like I want to take a swing at someone. Or hide in your Glassy bat caves. But yeah, this is good. Super great.”
I finally calmed down enough to huff a laugh into his soggy shirt front. “You’re doing that nervous babbling thing you always accuse me of. You’ve never been able to handle criers.”
Jack pulled back and cupped my face, swiping across my wet cheeks with his thumbs. Concern marred his forehead. “No, I can’t handleyoucrying. Pretty sure Webb could cry all day and I wouldn’t feel like I want to vomit.”
I tried not to interpret his words or his whispered “baby” to mean anything other than he had protective feelings for me.Brotherlyfeelings.
