Page 4 of Wild for the Mountain Man
“Get some sleep.” I reach for my jacket, tell my feet to keep moving, and step into the cooling dark.
On the porch, I pause. The night smells like wet bark and a cold front shouldering over the ridge. I’ve been good at drawing lines my whole life. Lilah – I hate to leave her company, but I really shouldn’t stay longer. Caleb’s hungry and coming home. Besides, I’ve learned that there are things you think about as a man that you don’t act on … and this grown up version of Lilah is one of them.
Tomorrow, I’ll take her to the overlook. I’ll point out the false trail where tourists wander off-course. I’ll talk about wind, light and elk patterns. I’ll reign in these thoughts and certainly keep my hands to myself.
At least … I tell myself I will.
I’m not twenty-five. I’m not an idiot.
But I am a man, and the mountain isn’t the only thing that knows how to overtake you in a sudden landslide.
Chapter 3
Lilah
The morning feels frosty and smells like pine. I park at the trailhead before sunrise and keep the heat cranked up. The world is still half-asleep. My camera bag rides shotgun, seatbelted like a partner in crime. I check my lens caps twice even though I already did.
Then headlights appear in the rearview, cutting through the dark. It’s him … incredible Wade.
He steps out of his truck in a wool beanie and worn jacket. I swear the man moves like the air makes room for him with his muscular build and long legs.
“Didn’t think you’d beat me here.”
“I didn’t sleep much.” I smile. “Too excited or nervous. Maybe both.”
He nods, passes me the gloves. “Layer up. Ridge wind bites harder than it looks.”
“I’m wearing gloves … see?” I show him my hands.
Wade gives me a look like don’t argue with me this early. “You need to layer up, Lilah.”
It is too early to argue. I pull them on. They’re leather and large. Probably his. “You always this prepared?”
“Guides can’t afford surprises.” His eyes flick toward the east, where the light is breaking through the trees. “Come on. Sunrise won’t hold off for us.”
The trail rises quick and steep, the kind that wakes every muscle in your legs and your lungs too. Wade leads without speaking much, checking back now and then to make sure I’m keeping pace. He’s in prime physical shape still. He’s also a little wild around the edges. But what could you expect from someone who used to parachute into wildfires for a living to save the forest?
Halfway up, I stop to catch a few shots of the valley below. Fog threads magically through spruce. My shutter clicks in a rhythm that makes me excited … like I’m actually getting some work done.
“You frame it before you even look through that thing,” Wade says behind me.
“I see it, then I take it,” I admit. “It’s not just luck.”
“I know. That’s what makes it worth looking at.”
He says it in a tone that lands somewhere deep, like a stone dropped into still water. I can’t tell if he’s talking about the photo or me, and I don’t ask.
When we crest the ridge, the whole world opens with peaks spilling toward the horizon. The morning sky spills gold over snowcaps. I notice the first elk herd moving across the flats below.
I raise my camera. “This is so perfect.”
“Got lucky,” he says softly.
“Your mountain,” I tease, “my lens.”
He chuckles, and it’s the first time I’ve heard it this morning. Warm, rough, real.
While I shoot, he lingers a few feet away, scanning the sky, gauging the weather with a guide’s intuition. I should be focused on exposure and composition, but the way he stands there with his hands in his pockets makes me wonder. Wade’s head is tilted slightly like he’s listening to something only he can hear. I turn and have a sudden desire to capture his image … because it feels like another view worth keeping.
