Page 1 of Wild About the Mountain Guide
Chapter One
Peyton
I’ve been cursing my editor’s wholeget out of your comfort zoneidea since getting on this bus, but the driver’s expression as I step off onto the gravel in Maplewood Springs seals the deal. His look clearly sayscity girl’s about to die. I hope he’s wrong, though. Just because I write thrillers for a living doesn’t mean I want to end up dead.
I squint in the morning light and take in the quaint mountain town’s Main Street, lined with log cabin storefronts and hanging flower baskets. In the distance, the mountains rise like a wall of green and granite. Pine trees tower overhead and carry the scent of… well, the outdoors. Lots of people pay good money to travel to a place like this. They probably hit the trails the minute they step off the bus, bouncing along with pockets full of trail mix and electrolyte packets. Not me. I’m not exactly the outdoorsy type.
I glance at the glossy brochure in my hands, even though I’ve read the thing front to back over ten times already. The wordsSpirit of the Wild:Wilderness Retreatare written across a picture of towering pines and misty peaks. My publisher’s voice still echoes in my head from that dreadful phone call three weeks ago.
“Peyton, darling,” Melissa said, her tone dripping with that particular brand of sweetness that always preceded bad news.“I’ve been thinking about your creative block, and I have the most brilliant solution.”
I should’ve hung up then and there, but the six-figure advance sitting in my bank account stopped me from doing that, and Melissa knew it well enough.
“You desperately need inspiration for your next thriller, don’t you? And given the rather substantial advance we provided…” She let that hang in the air like a threat. “Well, I think some fresh mountain air is exactly what you need to get those creative juices flowing again.”
I almost choked on my coffee. “Mountain air? Melissa, I don’t think—”
“Oh, but Idothink, sweetie. In fact, Iknow. You need to get completely off-grid. No distractions, no excuses, no electronics. Just you, nature, and that brilliant mind of yours.” Her laugh sounded like she was auditioning for the role of the evil stepmother in Snow White. “Instead of staring at blank chapter headings, you can focus on trail markers. And those dark mountain nights? Perfect for getting into that deliciously creepy headspace your thriller requires.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order, disguised as a self-care retreat. Just thinking about going off the grid made my palms sweat.
“The retreat starts Monday,” she continued breezily. “I’ve already handled the registration and flights. It’s held in a small mountain town called Maplewood Springs. Absolutely adorable and perfect for beating your writer’s block. Our treat! Consider it an investment in your artistic development.”
An investment. Right. More like literary exile with a scenic view.
The worst part? Melissa was probably right. I desperately need inspiration, but I didn’t think hiking boots and bug spray would do the trick. Why couldn’t she have sent me on a luxuriouswellness retreat instead? Somewhere tropical with over-water bungalows and room service that didn’t involve foraging for berries.
Hot saunas, infinity pools, and massages would’ve been a better choice to get me writing again. But no, I landed in a town that probably has more bears than coffee shops, and I’m about to spend a week pretending I’m the kind of person who enjoys sleeping in a tent and eating food cooked over an open fire. And I’ll have to summit a mountain. Gosh, I need my caffeine fix before I can even think about the outdoorsy things waiting for me.
I glance down Main Street and spot a cute-looking bakery called Summit Sweets, complete with window boxes overflowing with wildflowers. The bell above the door chimes as I enter, and I’m immediately hit with the smell of fresh-baked cookies and cinnamon.
“Welcome to Summit Sweets!” a woman behind the counter greets me. “You must be here for the retreat.”
I self-consciously run a hand through my hair.
“Is it that obvious?” I ask as I approach the counter.
“Well, you’re carrying theSpirit of the Wildbrochure like it’s a lifeline, and you’ve got that deer-in-headlights look. Sorry.” She gives me a smile. “I’m Amelia. What can I get you?”
“The largest coffee you have and something with enough sugar to help me survive the next week.”
“Coming right up. You know, I’ve had a few people stop by today carrying those same brochures. The woman over there has been raving about the retreat for the past ten minutes. You could join her if you wanted to.”
I follow Amelia’s gaze to a corner table where a woman in flowing hemp pants and approximately seventeen crystal necklaces is practically vibrating with excitement. She hasa serene smile that suggests she finds deep meaning in homegrown tomatoes and cuddles trees for fun.
“—andSpirit of the Wildjust speaks to my soul, you know?” she says to her phone screen. “It’s like the universe is calling us to reconnect with our primal selves. To strip away the artifice of modern life and commune with the raw, untamed essence of nature.”
Okay, she sounds a bit out there, but kudos to her for knowing the word artifice.
“Her name’s Harmony,” Amelia whispers conspiratorially as she hands me my coffee and a delicious-looking cinnamon roll. “She’s been here since sunrise, meditating with her crystals and talking about chakras. Sweet as pie, but she’s got enough spiritual energy to power a small generator.”
Unfortunately, Harmony notices me staring at her and waves enthusiastically. “Babe! Are you here for the transformative journey too?”
Babe?
I raise my coffee in what I hope passes for a friendly gesture. “That’s me. Ready to transform.”
She claps her hands. “Oh, the synchronicity! I just know this retreat is going to awaken something profound in all of us. The moment I saw the brochure, I knew it would be life-changing. Don’t you love how the name captures the mystical essence of our connection to Mother Earth?”
