Chapter 10
ten
PETER
There’s not much time to enjoy the cabin or the donkeys, for that matter. I made dinner for us, and we turned in early. Everything is packed back into the Rover early the next morning. Geneva loves horses, so I booked us an overnight ride through most of Zion. We have to meet our outfitter at the trailhead at sunup.
Geneva grew up riding horses. It’s what all of the private school girls did, apparently. I can ride well enough to fake it through the test. I thought it made sense to insist we lead ourselves through the park. Now, I’m rethinking that decision.
“Do you have everything?” our wrangler asks. He’s meeting us at the other end. I paid extra to have our campsite set up. After a day of riding, I didn’t want to have to pitch a tent, cook dinner, and help with the horses.
“Looks like you’ve thought of everything,” I say. “Wait, Geneva. Let me help you.” She’s still nursing her sore ankle. I cup my hands and lift her onto her horse.
Her horse is named Eros, after the Greek god of love and desire. It’s a beautiful red sorrel with a flowing mane. As if it knows it’s beautiful, it prances around ready to hit the trail.
“We’ll see you on the other side.” The wrangler waves and returns to his truck.
I swing up into the saddle. My horse is named Cupcake, I guess after the delicious tiny dessert. He’s large and stout, much like me. He doesn’t prance. As a matter of fact, he barely moves.
“Looks like we head this direction,” Geneva says, checking the map. Also, there’s a sign that points us in the correct direction, but I won’t point that out. I let her lead the way. The smile on her face is worth the beating my legs and ass are about to take. It doesn’t take long to realize riding is better than hiking though.
The views are stunning. The park is rough and rugged, unlike anything I’m used to. We see very few other people passing this way. It helps that fall has set in. The temperature is cold enough to require several layers.
“This is amazing,” Geneva says over her shoulder. “I’m so glad we’re doing this. To think you wanted to just fly to Austin.” She smiles before turning back around.
“Yeah, what was I thinking?” I laugh.
It seems like we’ve been riding for hours when she pulls her horse to a stop.
“Ready for lunch?” she asks. I stop her before she can swing off of her horse. “I can get it, you know.”
“I know,” I say, sliding to the ground. “But let’s not take a chance on tearing up that ankle again.” I help ease her to the ground.
We tie our horses to some sturdy-looking scrub plants. She pulls sandwiches from her saddlebags while I unhook our canteens. We sit on the side of the trail with our legs out to take in the view as we eat.
“Is it weird that a sack lunch always tastes better outdoors?” she asks.
“We used to eat lunch in the tree house Dad built all summer when we were growing up,” I say. “We built a hoist with a basket to haul it up. Mom would load it every day at noon with enough to feed an army.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It was.” We eat for a few minutes in silence. “It’s still there. The tree house.”
“I remember it. It looked amazing. I guess we were too old to still climb trees when I came to your house.”
“We should build Keats one. Rand can send sandwiches up in the summers.”
She smiles and rises to her feet. Taking my trash, she stuffs it back in her saddlebag. I help her back on her horse. She turns her horse toward the trail, and I have to scramble to catch up.
She’s upset about something. Is it the tree house? I know she never had one. Her father would never have spent time helping her build something so frivolous.
“I’ll build you a tree house too,” I say. “I can send you lunch up in a lift all summer. It’ll be your remote office.”
I hear her chuckle. I like that sound. She reins in her horse and turns to face me.
“I don’t need a tree house,” she says.
“What do you need?”
“I don’t know yet,” she says. For a minute, she stares at the scenery. “You’ll be the first to find out though when I figure it out.” She gives me a salute and continues down the trail.
I now have the rest of the day to guess what she needs. I shouldn’t be the man who gives it to her, but I’m desperate to anyway.
I’m contemplating that question when I see her horse go down in front of me. My heart leaps into my throat. Geneva goes over its shoulder and lands on the ground.
I’m off my horse faster than I thought possible. Eros hops back up to his feet. Peels of laughter ring from Geneva. When I reach her, she’s sitting on the ground, still holding the reins.
“What happened?” I ask, sliding to my knees in front of her.
“I’m not sure. One moment I’m taking in the scenery from the back of Eros; the next minute I’m sitting here.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” I search her legs, check on her ankle, and help her to her feet. “Something is wrong with Eros though.” Her hand runs down the horse’s leg. It picks its hoof up when she reaches the fetlock. “The shoe isn’t loose.” Her fingers probe the hoof until she finds a sore spot on the frog. “I think he has a stone bruise.”
“We’re going to have to lead him the rest of the way,” I state. “You can ride with me.” She looks at me, then around me to Cupcake. I’m not sure if she’s questioning the horse being able to hold both of our weights. I should probably be insulted. “Or you can take Cupcake and I’ll lead Eros out,” I grumble. A smile lights up her face.
“Do you want to drive or ride shotgun?” she asks.
“Your choice.”
“I’ll drive. At least for a while.” She ties one of Eros’s reins to his saddle and takes the other in her hand. We transfer the gear from my horse to hers. I help her on Cupcake, then swing up behind her.
There’s no way we both fit on the saddle. I’m relegated to the space on his rump behind it. It’s going to be a long ride with no padding or stirrups. “Ready?”
“Drive on,” I say. She hands me Eros’s remaining rein to hold. I snake a hand around her waist. I sure don’t want to fall off from back here. It takes a moment to convince the horse to follow us. I quickly become an expert in pulling along a pack animal behind us.
We continue down the Wildcat Canyon trail to the connector and into the Hop Valley. Eros limps behind us the entire way. I’m positive that I have no feeling in my ass. This time, if she wants to rub all over it with her balm, I might just let her.
The Hop Valley turns out to be the best part of the ride. It switches back through one of the creeks several times.
The first creek crossing, I thought I was going in when Eros hesitated on the bank. With a little coaxing, he finally followed. Poor guy has to be exhausted. There’s no way, though, we could leave him behind. The wranglers will be waiting for us at camp. He’ll be well attended to then.
“Would you like to trade?” Geneva asks, pulling Cupcake to a stop.
“I’m fine. I don’t think if I get off, I’ll ever make it back on.”
“You must be dying.”
“I can think of worse ways to spend the day,” I answer. “Getting to spoon you the whole way is a definite bonus.” I squeeze my arm to pull her closer.
“One of these days we should reverse so I get to be the big spoon.” She encourages Cupcake to continue down the trail.
“Do we, though?”
“It seems reasonable. You shouldn’t be the only one who gets to hoard all the big spoon power.”
“Geneva,” I scold. “You always have all the power, whether you’re the big spoon or not.” She leans back against my chest and kisses my cheek. “What was that for?” I’m not complaining. I need more information so I can make it happen again.
“For being you, Peter Winsloe. You don’t need a superpower, you are a superpower.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” I blush, but, fortunately, no one can see it except Eros. I don’t think he’ll rat me out.
“Then that’s my fault. You deserve to hear nice things.” I don’t know what’s happened to her. Maybe all the bouncing on Cupcake has done something to her brain. We’ve never said nice things to each other. Snark is our thing.
“Don’t go all soft on me, ice princess.”
“Fuck you, Winsloe,” she snarls.
“That’s better.” I kiss her on the temple. We ride the rest of the way in silence, but she’s not pissed at me, though. The smile on her face every time we splash into the creek tells me everything.
* * *
GENEVA
I don’t think I’ve ever heard a moan so heartfelt as the one that just came out of Peter at the sight of camp ahead of us. In my defense, I did offer to trade with him.
The wranglers are waiting for us at a large tent. There’s a fire made in a fire pit and chairs set up for us. Peter has thought of everything. I can’t wait to spend a night under the stars. Or in a tent under the stars.
“What happened?” Rusty, our red-haired wrangler, asks. He meets us a short distance from the camp.
“I think it’s a stone bruise.” I swing my leg over to hop down when a strong arm tightens around me. Slowly, Peter lowers me to the ground. “He fell on the West Rim trail. He’s got a skinned knee too.”
“Hey buddy.” Rusty examines the hoof, coming to the same conclusion. “I’m sorry about this.”
“I’m just sorry he got hurt.”
“We’ll take them back and bring fresh horses tomorrow morning,” he assures me. “Do you need help getting down?” he calls to Peter. Peter is laid over on the saddle with his forehead resting on the horn.
“Come on, big man,” I say. “Let’s give those balls a rest.”
He slings his leg over Cupcake’s rump and slides down. I keep my hand on his back the whole way. The look on his face when his feet meet the ground speaks volumes. I’m not sure his ass will ever be the same. He hands Cupcake’s reins to Rusty.
“We’ll see you first thing in the morning,” Rusty says.
Peter just grunts. He walks to the fire to check on the pot hanging over it.
“That’s chili. The fixings are in the cooler when you’re ready to eat.” The wrangler loads the horses in a stock trailer and pulls out of camp. We’re alone once again.
“Are you going to survive?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Peter answers. He’s not good, he just doesn’t want to spoil the adventure for me. “Hungry?”
“I could eat.” We set about pulling everything we need out of the coolers. “I’ve never had Frito pie,” I announce, pulling a bag of corn chips out.
“I thought you should before we get to Austin. It’s a staple in the south.” He stirs the chili to make sure it’s not scorching on the bottom.
“What do I do?” I’ve pulled out an enamel bowl that looks like something from the pictures of cattle drives.
“Start with chips.” I pile chips in my bowl. He takes it and spoons a helping of chili over the chips. “Now add whatever else you want. Looks like we have onions, cheese, and jalapenos.”
“I’ll do it all.” He watches me pile peppers on top before picking up his bowl. I take a seat by the fire. He joins me shortly with a small towel. “These bowls do heat up.” I set the bowl on the towel.
Tentatively, I take my first bite. Flavors explode in my mouth. It’s hot, both from the heat and spicy. There’s salty from the chips, creamy from the cheese, and just the perfect blend of spices in the chili.
“If this is what they eat in Austin all the time, I’m on board,” I say around a mouthful.
“I don’t think they eat this all the time,” he says. “Remember all the barbecue and Tex-Mex we ate when hunting for office space?”
“You won’t miss Nor-Cal food?”
“I’m sure they have plenty of sushi places too. You can still eat your raw fish.”
I laugh. Tonight is perfect. Even if Peter still looks like he sat on a thorn bush, he’s here beside me. The sky is full of stars as far as I can see. The food is good, and the banter is even better. Did I mention there’s only one tent?