Page 8 of Wild About the Mountain Guide
“All right, everyone,” Knox says. “Let’s keep going. We only have a few miles to cover before we set up camp. Don’t forget to enjoy the view along the way.”
Oh, I am. And not just the view of the mountains and trees, but also of… well, Knox. Maybe Melissa was right about me finding inspiration out here after all.
Just not the kind she was talking about.
Chapter Four
Knox
When we reach the designated camping spot at Eagle’s Rest, I do a quick headcount. Everyone’s still vertical, no one’s bleeding, no one has been eaten by wildlife, and somehow, Brandon didn’t walk off a cliff. The guy almost stepped into thin air about a mile back because he was too busy cross-referencing his GPS with my topographical map to notice the trail curved away from the ledge. I swear he doesn’t trust me to know where I’m going, even though he paid good money so I could come along as his mountain guide.
“All right, folks,” I announce, dropping my pack near a flat area surrounded by towering pines. “Time to set up camp.”
The campsite is perfect. Sheltered from wind, close to a water source, and far enough from any game trails to keep us from hosting unwanted dinner guests. I’ve been bringing groups here for three years, and it never gets old. The mountain views are spectacular, and something about sleeping under these stars either converts city folks to outdoor life or sends them running back to civilization. Tonight should tell me which category this group falls into. I turn to survey my chances and immediately wish I’d brought popcorn for the entertainment value.
Brandon has already spread out what appears to be an instruction manual the size of a small novel and is examininghis tent like it’s a piece of advanced aerospace technology. Meanwhile, Alex and Alexandra are starting to lose their patience with each other.
“Honey, I think pole A goes into grommet B,” Alexandra says.
“But the diagram shows pole B connecting to anchor point C first,” Alex replies with what sounds like his last shred of patience.
Christine is methodically laying out her gear with military precision. She’ll probably have her tent up before Brandon finishes reading the introduction to his manual.
Harmony is consulting her crystals for the best tent placement. “I need to align with the earth’s energy flow before setting up camp,” she explains to no one in particular, holding up what looks like a chunk of amethyst. “This spot has very grounding vibrations, but I want to make sure there’s not a better one.”
And then there’s Peyton. She’s standing next to her tent bag like it might contain a live snake.
“You doing okay over there?” I call out.
“I’m great!” she calls back a little too quickly. “Just… familiarizing myself with the equipment.”
I watch as she pulls out the tent and the manual, and stares at it like it’s written in ancient hieroglyphics. Then she picks up a tent pole, examines it from several angles, and sets it down again.
“Need some help?” I offer, walking over.
“I think I’ve got it. How hard can it be?”
I crouch down next to her gear. “Mind if I give you a quick tutorial?”
She glances around at the others. Alex and Alexandra are still debating pole configurations, Brandon still hasn’t looked up from his manual, and Harmony is now smudging her chosenspot with sage. I frown. How many of those sticks did she bring with her?
The smoke drifts toward Peyton. She blinks and waves a hand in front of her face, eyes watering.
“Jealous of that sage stick, are we?”
“That tent site’s been spiritually cleansed at least three times already. Any more and Harmony might start levitating,” she says with a grin. “I think a tutorial will be better for me than using sage.”
I bite back a smile. I love how Peyton sees the humor in everything. Usually, people aren’t as cheerful by the end of the first day. Most of them are tired, hungry, and irritated. But Peyton doesn’t seem fazed one bit, even though she didn’t even want to be here in the first place. It’s admirable.
I show her how to lay out the tent footprint, connect the poles, and thread them through the sleeves. I watch her follow my tent instructions, her brow furrowed in concentration as she lines everything up. When she successfully clips the last corner and stands back to admire her work, the proud smile on her face does something to my insides. It’s not just that she’s beautiful, though she definitely is. It’s the way she refuses to give up.
“There,” I say as we step back to admire her handiwork. “Not bad.”
She beams. “It’s actually standing up.”
“And it’ll probably stay that way all night.”
“Probably?”
