Page 7 of Wild About the Mountain Guide
He shrugs. “Practice makes perfect. I’m sure you had to fail a few times before you could write a bestselling thriller, right? It’s the same for any skill, like surviving in the wilderness and summiting mountains.”
“You’re right. I don’t know why I thought you were born wearing hiking boots,” I joke. “And be honest. Do you think I’m making this trip harder than it should be by not bringing any crystals with me?”
“Huge mistake. Forgetting crystals is only something a rookie like you would do.”
“Nowthatshould’ve been in the welcome email. Not all that boring stuff about gear and food and survival skills,” I say with a wink.
He lets out a real laugh, honest and unguarded, and my knees suddenly tremble like cooked pasta. I quickly look away, praying that no one witnessed me melt a little over something as mundane as a laugh. Luckily, Knox shifts back into mountain guide mode before anyone can focus on me.
“All right, everyone,” he announces. “Time for our first stream crossing.”
I stare at the water. It’s maybe three feet wide and probably six inches deep, but it’s moving fast enough to look like it means business. On the other side of the stream, the trail continues up a gentle slope dotted with wildflowers that would be picturesque if I weren’t so terrified of the stream in front of me.
“It’s not very deep,” Knox says, already stepping into the water. “Just take your time, watch your footing, and use your trekking poles for balance.”
Harmony goes first, treating the stream crossing like a sacred ritual. “Thank you, water spirits, for allowing us safe passage,” she mumbles, stepping from rock to rock while her crystals catch the sunlight.
Brandon follows, rattling off facts that seem to apply more to crossing an ocean than navigating six feet of ankle-deep water. Christine approaches the stream like a woman on a mission with her no-nonsense, focused attitude, while Alex and Alexandra—the granola couple—help each other with sickeningly sweet teamwork that makes me both envious and slightly nauseous.
Then it’s my turn.
I approach the stream’s edge and stare down at the water. It doesn’t look that bad. A few quick steps and I’ll be across. Easy. Except… the rocks look awfully slippery. And the current seems faster up close. What if I fall in and my backpack gets soaked and all my emergency rations turn into mush and I die of starvation in the wilderness because I couldn’t step across a glorified puddle?
“You okay, Peyton?” Knox asks from the other side, and I realize I’ve been standing here for an embarrassingly long time.
“Fine!” I squeak. “Just… strategizing the best way to tackle this.”
“It’s not that deep. If you fall, the worst that happens is you get wet,” he says.
Right. Wet. In the mountains. Where it gets cold at night. Where hypothermia is a real thing that happens to real people, not just to characters in my books.
I want to turn back, but Knox is looking at me with his dark eyes like he believes I can do this even when I’m not sure I believe it myself.
I take a deep breath and step onto the first rock. Okay. So far, so good. The rock is solid under my foot, and my fancy new hiking boots seem to have lots of grip, like the sales assistantpromised they would. I reach for my trekking poles and realize I have no idea how to use them for balance. Do I put them in the water? On the rocks? Wave them around for moral support?
“Just use them like walking sticks,” Knox calls out, apparently reading my mind. “One step at a time.”
I nod and take another step. The second rock wobbles slightly, and my heart jumps into my throat, but I don’t fall.
By the third rock, I’m starting to think I might make it across without requiring rescue. The water rushes around my boots, and I can see small fish darting between the stones. It’s kind of beautiful, in a terrifying, I-could-die-here sort of way. But when I lean forward to step onto the fourth rock, my entire pack shifts to one side like it’s trying to drag me into the stream.
“Whoa there,” Knox says, stepping back into the stream and catching me before I fall. “You’re doing great. Just one more step.”
For a moment, I stare at his hand. It’s a good one. Strong and big. The kind of hand that knows how to fix things and build things and rescue thriller writers from a meandering brook. His grip is steady and warm, and when he pulls me gently toward the final rock, I feel like I could probably walk across the entire Continental Divide without falling, as long as he’s holding my hand.
“See?” he says as my feet hit solid ground again. “Nothing to it.”
I should let go of his hand now that I’m across, but I don’t want to. Gosh. When did I become the kind of person who gets flustered by a man helping me across a stream? Not that that scenario has ever happened before. Not once has a strong, capable man shown up in my life and jumped to my rescue. It’s kind of hot.
I reluctantly drop his hand, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Thanks. I don’t know what happened there when I lost my balance.”
“Heavy pack on uneven terrain. Happens a lot. You did good, Peyton.”
When he says my name, it rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest, and I have to remind myself to keep breathing normally.
Behind us, Harmony starts clapping. “That was beautiful! The way you trusted in the universe’s magic plan and let Knox guide you. Pure magic, babe.”
I want to point out that it was more about Knox catching me and less about universal magic, but I realize she’s just being kind. Maybe she’s not as insufferable as I first thought. I’m warming up to her. It’s hard to dislike someone who’s rooting for me, even if she calls mebabe.
