Page 10 of Willow Embers
Then there’s Beauden and the slow sinking realization of the situation I’m walking into. It’s one thing to be alone on the trail with him when my heart and mind are in upheaval over losing Tiberius. Being stuck with him inside a quiet cabin? That’s a whole different level of hell.
But I’ll do it. For Tiberius, I’ll do whatever it takes.
So, I focus on my feet, putting one in front of the other, until Beauden veers off the main hiking path onto what looks like another game trail. The urge to ask if he knows where he’s going almost wins, but I bite my tongue.
As we hike, the trail grows rougher. Honestly, I can’t even tell if thereisa trail anymore. I’m just following Beauden, silently praying he knows what the hell he’s doing. Because what other choice do I have?
Could I muster up the strength to carry my sixty-pound dog however many miles it is back to my car? Probably. But it would be excruciatingly slow. I’m not built like Beauden. I’m not adapted to this god-awful elevation. And there’s barely a sliver of moon in the sky, which means I would be stumbling down the trail in the dark.
Even if Beauden let me take his headlamp— which, why would he after I lost his flashlight in the creek? But even if he did, I would still be doing a juggling act trying to hold onto Tiberius and walk in the dark without spilling us both into the dirt.
My thoughts spiral like that, playing out scenarios that will never happen, until the invisible path we’re on takes a sharp upward turn. After that, all I can focus on is getting enough air to keep moving.
Beauden stops, turning to face me. “Let’s take a quick break.”
I can’t tell whether he’s annoyed, impatient, or worried, but when I look up, the jerk is barely breathing hard. If there was an inch of my ego that wasn’t already bruised, that suggestion would have finished the job.
“No,” I say on a rough exhale. I refuse to be the weak link. “Keep going. I’m fine.”
Instead of fighting with me or telling me I’m lying, he does nothing, his face unreadable behind the light of his headlamp, holding my whole heart in his arms, like he knows I have no other goddamn choice.
After a few ragged breaths, the air comes a little easier. And when I finally pull in a big deep breath, with my eyes locked on Tiberius, Beauden gives me a little nod.
“Good. The cabin isn’t far, but this last part is a climb.”
A vision of Beauden trying to scale a rock wall with Tiberius draped over his shoulder sends a fresh flutter of panic through me.
“Climb? In the literal sense?” I ask, holding my hands out to look at them. I’m a fixer, but I fix reputations, behind a desk, with a keyboard, a phone, and right on my side.
I’m not built for climbing.
“No,” Beauden says, cutting through my worry. “But the hike is steep. Stay close, Nixie. And watch your step.” His words are practical, filled with a kind of authority that’s earned, and while something deep inside me bristles at being ordered around by him of all people, all I can do is nod.
He watches me for another second. At least, I think he does. It’s tough to say with the headlamp. For all I know, he might bechecking out the trail behind me. But when he turns and starts walking again, I definitely get the sense he was watching me. Taking my measure.
Minutes pass, and I feel every single step. I’m exhausted, worried to death, and now I’m cursing myself for not spending more time at the gym, on the stair machine specifically.
The cold night air burns my throat even as it slices through my wet clothes. I’m not quite as cold right now. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m sweating, which is a far sight better than trembling and chattering helplessly.
Beauden stops again. “Nixie?” My name sounds more like a warning than a question.
“Yeah,” I snap. “I’m right here.” And I swear, if he stops again, I’m going to lose it.
I’m tempted to tell him just that. But when I finally look up, he’s yards ahead of me, and behind him, barely visible in the darkness, is the outline of a small cabin.
SIX
BEAUDEN
Damn,was Nixie always this reactive?
Or is it the stress of the situation putting her on edge or, more likely, am I the problem?
I could comb through every memory I have of her searching for answers to those questions, but I know better. Those moments have been bottled up and put away for so long, it would be like resurrecting a ghost. And this woman has haunted me enough.
Besides, her mood should be the least of my worries.
Whatever snarky retort is on the tip of her tongue disappears the moment she sees the cabin. “Oh, thank God,” she breathes out.
