Page 15 of Next in Line
“My room?” I sit up and shove the hair out of my face to look around the adorable suite I’ve been calling home for a week now.
“I told you we had a group of travelers checking in today, so we’ll need to turn over your room as soon as possible.”
“Oh, right. Yes, of course,” I reply, trying to hide the urge to weep into the receiver. “I’ll just finish packing, then I’ll be on my way.”
“You’re welcome to stay for breakfast, of course. And if you need to stay in the living area for the day, that’s okay too. We can hold your luggage,” Claire adds helpfully. She really is a sweet old lady.
Nodding, I look at the clock to see it’s ten a.m. already. “It’s okay, Claire. I have somewhere else I can go.” I inhale deeply and shake my head. “I’ve avoided my brother for far too long as it is.”
I can almost hear Claire’s awkward smile. “All right, dear. We’ll see you down here for breakfast then.”
I hang up and drag myself to the en suite bathroom for a shower, but it does nothing to dampen my anxiety over finally having to face my brother today.
After Christmas and everything in my life went to shit, I jumped into my car and drove eight hours to cry in the arms of my brother who lived in Boulder. Then, just before I reached town, I happened upon the Briar Rose Bed and Breakfast, an idyllic little place that reminded me of a Nora Roberts romance novel. She always has the swooniest happily ever afters, and that’s just what I was after. So I pulled in and have been holed up eating Claire’s baked goods and avoiding my brother ever since.
And let’s face it…also thinking about that incredible kiss with Sam the fisherman.
Kissing Sam was a mistake. A huge, monumental mistake. I was nursing a broken heart and got caught up in the moment. Simple as that. It didn’t help that his lips tasted like freedom and his unyielding grip around my body felt like delicious confinement that I never wanted to end. But it meant nothing, and it was certainly not going to distract me from my goals.
I throw on a knit sweater and jeans, leaving my dark wet hair hanging loose down my back as I head downstairs. When I noisily drag my suitcase through the living room and into the beautiful formal dining room where I’ve spent all of my mornings, I halt in place as a group of five men are seated at the table with forks frozen halfway to their mouths.
“Hi,” I state, awkwardly waving at the group of gawking men.
They all murmur their hellos and then resume shoveling the food down their throats. Claire emerges from the kitchen with wide eyes. “Oh hello, Miss Hudson, have a seat. I have your plate right here.”
She walks slowly over to me, her old age slowing her down, but her smile as bright as the day I checked in a week ago. She sets the food in front of me and affectionately rubs my shoulder just as my mom would.
“Boys, this is Maggie…Maggie, these nice boys who have just checked in are fromBackwoods Magazine. They are here working on a piece about ice climbing on grain silos. It all sounds very exciting,” she tuts while looking down at everyone’s plates. “Oh look, you need fresh coffee. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
She disappears through the double doors into the kitchen so I force a smile and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Why is there ice climbing on grain silos? Is it some kind of weather anomaly?” I spoon a big bite of cinnamon oatmeal into my mouth.
The guys all fail to conceal their amusement as the one closest to me responds. “No, it’s a sport…like ice climbing but instead of a mountain, we’re climbing a man-made iced silo. Definitely not a weather anomaly.” He chuckles around a sip of his coffee.
“Interesting,” I reply politely. “Why do you guys do it?”
“Because it’s fucking awesome,” the younger guy from across the table answers with a laugh. “It’s the hardest climb you’ll ever do because it’s eighty feet of straight vertical. No natural slopes like you’d get on a mountain. It’s a rush.”
“Sounds like it.” My eyes widen with interest. “How do they make the ice?”
“They dribble the water down the silo slowly during freezing temperatures. It takes several weeks before you get a good enough base to climb.”
“I see,” I reply and briefly wonder if this extreme sort of stuff is a Colorado thing, or if they do this back home. I was such a girlie-girl growing up that I would have never even noticed. My brother did a lot of outdoorsy things, but the only sporty thing I ever did was ski down the bunny hills for school trips. I was even too chicken to try snowboarding with my friends.
“I just went ice fishing for the first time last weekend,” I state proudly because this feels like something these guys would appreciate. “So yeahhh…” My voice trails off as I realize these guys have zero interest in ice fishing. “I thought that was pretty adventurous,” I add so they understand why I brought it up because they all continue to stare blankly back at me.
“Hardly,” replies the guy with dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail on the other side of me. “With ice fishing, you just sit there. There’s no physical exertion. No sense of danger or adrenaline. You’re missing the best parts of a rush. If you’re looking for an adventure, you should come check out the silo we’re climbing tomorrow. Experience isn’t required, and that’s where the real adventure awaits.” He digs into his pocket and fishes out a small business card. “This is the card to the farmstead where the silos are located.” He pauses and grabs a pen out of his pocket and scribbles something on the back. “And here’s my personal number if you’d like some personal coaching. My name is Ezekiel.” He looks up and winks at me, his dark eyes sparkling with obvious flirtation as he passes the card over to me.
I turn it over and finger the logo of the farmstead with a website and address. “Okay then.”
“I really hope to see you there tomorrow,” Ezekiel adds as he stuffs a bite of eggs into his mouth, then he mumbles, “I guarantee it’ll change your life.”
My eyes light up at those last words. Ice climbing on grain silos sounds like the total opposite of Basic Maggie. Ice climbing on grain silos would catapult me to Adventure Maggie for sure.
And you know what else? Adventure Maggie could probably ice fish on her own now too! I don’t need an oddly cute bearded ginger with kissable lips to be my guide. And since I can do it all on my own, it also means I get to avoid heading to my brother’s for a few more hours…double bonus. Maybe this is just the sort of risk-taking I need to turn everything around.
It’s a frigid and sunny Saturday afternoon as I make my way out to Marv’s Bait and Tackle. Normally, I’m a morning fisher. I like to get there early before all the out-of-towners make it in. But today, I held off for one very obvious, very gorgeous reason.
Maggie.
