Page 79 of Cherry Picked
I tossed him my keys. “If I’m not back in an hour, it means I found him holed up somewhere to wait out the storm. I’ll stay and catch a ride with him, and you can head home.”
“Or it means you got hurt,” Webb pointed out.
I waved my phone. “Plenty of places to send a text up there. It might just take a while. If you still haven’t heard from us an hour or so after the storm ends, send someone up. Just don’t put anyone in danger.”
“He says while heading up a mountain in a rainstorm.” Webb huffed.
“That’s different,” I said with a wink before turning and making my way to the trailhead.
I hiked fast, filling my rain jacket with steam from my overly warm body until I was too hot to keep it on. I stripped it off and tied it around my waist in hopes it would continue to keep my shorts dry at the very least.
By the time I got to the spot where Rock Cut merged with the Red Trail and headed up toward the summit, my shirt stuck to me like plastic wrap, but I didn’t mind. The cooling effect was worth it.
There was no sign of Hawk anywhere, but I wasn’t sure what that meant. Was he even up here at all?
I’d come too far to turn back, though, so I kept going at least until I came to the footbridge that spanned Glassy Creek… or used to. An all-terrain vehicle lay half in the creek, tangled with the broken remains of the wooden bridge.
“What the fuck?” I quickly pulled out my phone and texted Webb, but of course I didn’t have service in this particular spot. Rather than fumbling around trying to find a patch of reception, I trusted that my phone would continue to try and send the message until it went through. In the meantime, I snapped several photos of the wreckage.
I could imagine only one entity responsible for putting motorized vehicles on a prohibited trail and, apparently, attempting to drive it over a narrow, wooden footbridge.
“FuckingEvola,” I muttered aloud.
Was this what had brought Hawk to the mountain? But where the hell was he now?
I glanced across the rapidly moving water to the trail on the other side of the creek. Had he gotten stuck further up the mountain? Had he turned and taken another, easier trail back down?
Thunder rolled slowly through the sky, vibrating the ground underneath my feet and reminding me that anyone further up the mountain would need to take cover to stay safe if they knew what they were doing…
And no one,no oneknew this mountain like my Hawk.
If he was uninjured and able, he’d take cover like he had when we…
I whipped back down the Red Trail until I reached the unmarked turnoff that led toward the caves. This was where he’d be, if he was physically able to get here. And if he wasn’t… I didn’t want to think about that.
Heavy drips of rain landed on my head from the trees above and slid down my face. I shoved my wet hair out of my eyes and squinted through the gloom and shadows, trying to remember exactly where the entrance to Kirkcaster was so I wouldn’t accidentally pass it.
But it turned out, there was no way to miss it because the interior of the cave was brightly lit, and a loud, familiar voice echoed through the opening.
“—Austen would behorrified. You don’tdeservethe name Wentworth! From now on, you’ll be known around here as Simon fuckingWickham, for all your false charm and scammy, manipulative bullshit!” Hawk’s voice softened. “Sorry for the cursing, Gracie.”
I snorted, then bent over at the waist, braced my hands on my thighs right there in the rain, and took my first deep breath since seeing the wreckage at the bridge.
Wait, Gracie?
AndSimon?
I put my celebration on hold and crept up to the mouth of the cave to peer in. A small fire crackled inside a stone ring at the edge of the cave entrance, and Em’s friend Gracie sat huddled next to it, wrapped in a foil blanket. Hawk, meanwhile, paced nearby, gesturing wildly with his hands while he appeared to belecturingSimon Wentworth.
“Of all the worthless, duplicitous… You’re meant to be a caretaker of the environment, Simon! Instead, you’ve been destroying it—”
Simon Wentworth didn’t look particularly charming at the moment. His light hair was a sodden mess that hung across his scowling face, his tidy clothing looked like he’d been rolling in mud puddles, and his toothpaste smile was nowhere to be seen. He sat against one wall of the cave with his arms wrapped around his bent knees, shivering.
But Hawk was okay.
Hawk wasbetterthan okay; he wasangry. And angry meant alive and not gravely injured. It meant flame-bright and provocative, and gorgeous and fiercely capable, and a thousand other things that made me want to grab him and kiss him and hold him tight.
Simon sighed and laid his head on his arms. “I already agreed to your terms, Hawk. Can you stop your sanctimonious monologuing? I’m cold and tired, and I wanna go back to the inn.”
