Mission: Imbrewable – A Frothy Fiasco (The Coffee Loft Series: Mountain Brew Collection)

Chapter 8

Kaylee

With the bright pink Hello Kitty toiletry bag carefully hidden under my towel—just in case I run into a certain mountain man—I stride over to the shower facility. My flip-flops smack against my feet as I traverse the same gravel path Luke and I did last night. It’s a lot less scary and a lot warmer in the full light of day. While I don’t plan to make another midnight bathroom run, I was not above asking Mom to bring me my coat when she brought the coffee this morning.

When I get to the bathroom building, I hear water running. Peering inside, I see someone’s feet at one of the shower stalls, but the rest are empty. Doing a double take, I notice the other shower occupant is wearing yellow galoshes.

What? Glancing at my flip-flops, I wonder if there’s an outbreak of foot fungus I don’t know about and if I should be wearing sturdier footwear. Note to self: ask my friend about disinfecting the floor. Shrugging off that concern, I tiptoe to an empty stall .

The crude door creaks when I swing it open. The stall looks clean enough, so I place my bag on the small shelf, hang my towel on the hook on the back of the door, and then undress. Directing the showerhead so it doesn’t get my towel or clothes wet, I turn the water on. There’s a blast of warm water, so I quickly duck underneath the spray. One thing about being tall: you usually have to bend down to get under a showerhead, and this one is no exception.

The warm water cascades over my body but rapidly turns tepid. I soap up as quickly as possible and rinse off. Wetting my head, I grab my shampoo bottle and lather up my hair, then dip my head under the spray.

Gah!

The water is ice cold! I yank my head back, glaring at the showerhead as if it is at fault for the icy spray. They must have a miniscule water heater if only me and Yellow Galoshes already used up all the hot water. Camping is supposed to be “roughing it,” but this is ridiculous. I’ll speak to my friend about the hot water situation as well .

With my hair full of shampoo, I force myself to stick my head back under the spray. Clinching my teeth and quaking from the cold, I rinse my locks until I can’t stand the water temperature any longer. At least last night’s stoicism was good practice. Turning off the shower, I wrap up in my towel, shaking violently. This is the worst shower I’ve ever taken. I was so looking forward to it, and now I doubt I’ll take another one during my time here. Being warm and a little grungy sure beats being clean and frozen as a popsicle.

With my hands still shaking, I pull on clean underwear and my clothes. It’s quite the effort to get myself dressed, but I manage. Collecting my stuff, I stride outside into the sunshine. It gently warms me as I walk back to my campsite, and my shaking eventually subsides. I’ll put my fold-up lounger chair outside in the warm sun and read my book there.

Elizabeth Taylor greets me like I’ve been gone for three days. I put her in her little kennel when I left, so she didn’t tear up everything inside the tent while I was gone .

“Did you miss me?” I say as I pet her soft head while she dances around my feet. The wonderful thing about dogs is that they miss you no matter if you’re gone for five minutes or five hours.

Dragging the lounger outside, I text my friend, listing the restroom facility deficiencies.

Me: Maintenance needs to clean restroom floor in case of foot fungus. Consider adding larger capacity water heater.. Extra TP, paper towels you need one.” He rolls his eyes but complies by unfolding the napkin in front of him.

“So where did you go this morning? What kind of security does your company provide?”

“I’m doing some light surveillance, nothing interesting,” he says, the vagueness of the response indicating that he doesn’t want to elaborate.

Unable to contain my curiosity, I say in a flippant tone, “What needs surveillance around here? Is someone stealing soap from the shower house or toilet paper from the restroom?” A giggle slips out at the absurdity of my suggestion, although maybe that’s why we’re short on supplies ?

He stops eating, his sandwich midway to his mouth. Placing the hoagie on the napkin, he says, “I have a question for you.” His eyes drill into mine, his expression devoid of any amusement, and I feel like this is going to be an interrogation.

I swallow. “Okay. I’m an open book. What do you want to know?”

Shifting on the bench, he says, “Why are you here, Kaylee? You obviously aren’t an experienced camper.”

The question throws me for a loop. Embarrassment floods my cheeks. Do I admit my motivation for coming on this camping trip? “Um, well...” He stiffens and crosses his arms over his muscular chest, patiently waiting for my response. “It’s kind of embarrassing,” I say with a nervous laugh.

“Oh? Try me,” he replies in an unamused tone.

Ugh! He’s not going to let me off the hook. I’m going to have to make something up, because how does a woman admit to a guy’s face that she has a crush on him so she followed him here? He’ll think I’m a stalker .

“Remember the pan of donuts that didn’t make it?” I ask.

He nods. “I heard a crash, but I wasn’t entirely sure what happened.”

Looking down, I pick my fingernail against a wood splinter on the table and say, “I knocked the pan over and it fell on the floor, ruining the whole batch. After that happened Mom suggested that I take a few days off.” Blowing out a loud breath, I add, “She thought camping would expand my horizons.”

These words are all true. Several times Mom has gotten frustrated with me and suggested I take a vacation from the Coffee Loft, but that didn’t happen yesterday . Mom has also suggested with Rocky Mountain National Park right in our backyard, I should take advantage of the park, but I’m not sure she meant camping. The truth is, if he hadn’t let slip that he was camping here, I certainly wouldn’t be here.

Hislaughterrumbles up from his impressive chest, deep and reverberating, causing all sorts of goose bumps to rise on my skin. “No kidding? That’s why you’re here? A forced vacation?”

Glaring at his amusement, I huff, “What did you think? I’m the soap thief?”

“Well, not exactly.” He taps his finger on the tabletop for several beats as if contemplating what to say next. “When was the last time you’ve been to the park?”

Another unexpected question. “Let me think... I came a few years ago during peak leaf peeping to see the aspens. My friend and I drove to the top of Trail Ridge Road, but that’s it. No camping, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I guessed that,” he says with a smirk. “Did you do any hiking?”

“No, I’m not exactly a mountain goat. Considering I trip over my own two feet, I usually avoid anything that requires balance and coordination.” He shakes his head in agreement. Guess my klutziness hasn’t gone unnoticed. “Why the twenty questions, Luke?” I shoot him a glare that would melt snow .

He narrows his eyes at me and we stare at each other for a moment. I look away, and he sighs. “Have you ever heard of alpine-parsley?”

Resting my chin in my hand, I squint my eyes at the unfamiliar term. “No, not that I know of. What is it?”

His eyes pin me to my seat, his gaze intent. “You’ve never heard of that rare plant?”

Is this some type of trick question? My eyes narrow. “Honestly Luke, this is a weird line of questioning. I’ve never heard of ‘that rare plant.’ Do you cook with it?”

A stone-serious expression breaks across his face, and he says, “What I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential.”

My eyes go wide. Who is this guy?

“Alpine-parsley is the reason I’m here. Undercover.” He picks up his sandwich, and takes a big bite, leaving me in suspense.

“Undercover?! I need more of an explanation than that,” I squeak. Seeing that he’s too busy chewing to answer, I grab my sandwich, take a bite, and chew furiously, my curiosity increasing my appetite.

After swallowing his bite, he says, “Okay. I couldn’t tell you until I was sure you’re not part of the alpine-parsley gang.”

I snort and cross my fingers over my chest. “Girl Scouts honor, believe me, I’m not part of any gang.” This conversation is surreal.

The guy I have a crush on is a secret agent?

“Were you really ever a Girl Scout?” he says in a challenging tone.

Geez! He’s one serious interrogator .

“Um, well, that’s another embarrassing story.”

He looks like he might be hiding a grin. “Now you’ve got to tell me. Spill,” he says, waggling his fingers at me.

By the time this camping trip is over, he’s going to know every humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me.

“I only made it through Brownies,” I say, squirming on the hard bench, as the truth tumbles out. “There was an unfortunate incident involving fire that resulted in my ejection,” I huff.

A belly laugh booms out as he shakes his head, and the corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement. He gazes at me for several long beats. “Kaylee Loretta Zimmer, you’re the most interesting woman I’ve ever met,” he says while trying to suppress more laughter.

“Let’s move on. The Brownie incident happened when I was eight.” I point my index finger at him. “Your turn to spill about the parsley.”

He folds his hands on the tabletop, suddenly all serious again. “Alpine-parsley is a rare plant that grows at higher altitudes around here. It’s used in a cancer drug, and the pharmaceutical company pays big bucks for it. Someone has been harvesting it from within the park, and the National Park Service wants to know who, so they can stop them.”

I lean forward and whisper, “And you’re tracking the bad guys? ”

“I’m supposed to track them, but I’m not getting anywhere so far,” he says with a frown. “The terrain where the plant grows is so rugged, I can’t hide out and watch for them. That’s what I was doing this morning—scoping out the area.”

Rubbing my hands together excitedly, I say, “Ooh! This sounds like a Rocky Mountain episode of Mission: Impossible! When do we start the mission?”

“Don’t get so excited, Benji,” he says dryly. “How am I going to catch them when there’s no place to hide?”

“We. How are we going to catch them,” I correct.

He raises an eyebrow. “You want to help?”

“Yes! If you don’t mind taking along a novice hiker, I’d like to go to the parsley patch and we’ll brainstorm ideas!”

He shakes his head in amusement and laughs.

“Do you think they could be camping here?” I ask, my eyes scanning the campground for suspects. “Maybe all we need to do is observe the campers. Keep our eyes open and our ears to the ground, hope we see or overhear something. ”

“You’re really excited to help, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Excitement leaks from my voice. “Maybe you can teach me some of your surveillance techniques.”

“Gladly! My background in surveillance and tracking techniques is why I’m here,” he adds, his chest swelling with pride.

I grunt. “Don’t get too big headed, Mr. Hunt.”

We grin at each other then pick up our sandwiches. “To a successful mission,” I say, tapping my hoagie to his.

“I didn’t know I was acquiring a sidekick,” he says with a flirty wink. “Just don’t burn the campground down,” he adds.

My head spins with excitement as my life takes an unexpected turn. A mission to catch some bad guys with a hunky mountain man by my side. Internal fist pump! This is much better than spilling coffee and breaking mugs for a living.