Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Brie’s brother, Noah Barrett, and I stared at each other for a solid thirty-seven seconds without blinking while Brie sopped up the spills. Eventually, she had to step away to grab more napkins, leaving the two of us alone.
Still staring.
Not blinking.
With a mind of their own, my eyes took a scenic detour over his perfectly shaped lips, framed by that stubbled jaw carved out of mountain granite. Even wrapped in flannel, I could tell his biceps were roughly the same size as my thighs.
“Is there anything else you’d like to spit on me?” Noah asked, his voice low and controlled. A muscle in his jaw twitched. The rhythm of it was so precise I wondered if it was practicing Morse code.
“I’m so sorry.”
I gave him a smile.
He gave me a frown.
“I thought that was water.” I glanced down at the empty glass clutched in my hand like a smoking gun.
“It wasn’t water. Can I at least get you a drink to make it up to you?
” I asked. “On me, of course. As opposed to the first one, which was on you. Get it? On you. As in …” I gestured to his wet clothes.
I gave him another smile.
He gave me another frown.
Brie returned with more napkins and looked at me as if I’d just kicked a hornet’s nest barefooted, then punched a moose in the balls.
“Sam just came in from Los Angeles,” said Brie extra cheerfully, trying to change the subject.
“Los Angeles?” Finally, Noah blinked. “Wait … did LuxeLife send you?” He said the word LuxeLife as if it were a rancid lemon on his tongue.
“LuxeLife! Yes!” I held my breath as his impossibly blue eyes cataloged every inch of me. “I was just grabbing a coffee while I waited for my uniformed chauffeur. You haven’t seen anyone in a black suit holding up a little sign that says ‘Samantha,’ have you?”
“You mean like this?” Noah reached into the back pocket of his faded blue jeans, then pulled out a wad of tattered paper. He unfolded it to reveal a name.
My name.
“Samantha” was handwritten in black marker
“Shit.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud.
Staring at my wrinkled name on the crumpled paper, I immediately noticed two things. The first thing was Noah’s hands. They had the texture of artisanal leather, aged in a barrel of distilled testosterone for twenty years. There were scrapes on his knuckles and a bruise on his thumb.
Probably from bar fights. Or bear wrestling.
The second thing I noticed was some sort of sticky, red goo smeared on the paper. Like blood.
Probably from bar fights. Or bear wrestling.
“What is that?” I pointed to the blood-like substance.
“Ketchup.”
“Ketchup?”
“Ketchup.”
“Why is there ketchup on my name sign?”
“You want to know why there’s ketchup on your name sign?”
“Yes, I want to know why there’s ketchup on my name sign.” The muscles in his neck clenched. They appeared to be made of petrified wood.
“The reason there is ketchup on your name sign is that the person whose name is on the name sign was late. So the person who was holding the name sign got something to eat while he waited.” Noah cleared his throat. “And then may have run out of napkins.”
“Let me guess.” I glanced over at the burger joint next to the coffee shop, Moe’s Mountain Eats. “You had an elk burger?”
“With reindeer bacon.” Noah’s eyes got even squintier. “How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess.” At least now I knew what kind of Neanderthal ate elk and reindeer. An obnoxiously gorgeous one with shoulders broad enough to land small aircraft.
“Okay, my turn,” said Noah. “The last thing you ate was some sort of California kale, spinach thing.” He said the word California the same way he said the word LuxeLife.
“How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess. Plus, you’ve got a chunk of green stuff in your teeth.”
It was true. Back in Los Angeles, I’d had a protein smoothie while my flight was delayed. After picking out an embarrassingly large wad of greenery, we stood there eye to eye again, scowl to scowl, facing off like two MMA street fighters in a bare-knuckle brawl.
“And for the record,” said Noah. “I wasn’t even the one who was supposed to be here. Your fancy LuxeLife chauffeur, whose name is Bob, by the way, and has never worn a suit in his life, had to get his kid to her chorus concert. So I told him I would cover for him and pick you up.”
“Such a gentleman.”
“Oh, I’m not a gentleman.”
“Gee, I’m shocked.”
Brie stepped back in the middle, handing each of us a glass of iced liquid. “Just water, I promise.”
“Good,” I said.
“Darn,” said Noah at the same time.
“Figured everybody could cool off.” She gave her brother a pointed look.
Looking again at the crumpled up, ketchup-stained paper with my name on it, the realization hit me like a splash of moonshine to the face. “Wait. So, does that mean I’m supposed to ride all the way over to the resort with you?”
“She’s a little slow, isn’t she?” Noah asked Brie.
“Noah, be nice.”
I scanned the departures board for the first flight back to Los Angeles. Unfortunately, there were none. Just a blinking “WELCOME TO ASTER PARK” message that felt more like a threat than a greeting.
“It’ll be dark in a few hours. We should go.” Noah stomped toward the exit without waiting for a response. He didn’t offer to take my Louis Vuitton luggage. He didn’t even check to see if I was keeping up. He stalked toward the door like a man on a mission to get as far away from me as possible.
“Sorry about him,” said Brie. “He’s usually not so … actually, never mind. He is always so grumpy. But if it makes you feel any better, it’s not personal. Not entirely. He hates everyone at LuxeLife.”
“Why would your brother hate everyone at LuxeLife?”
“Long story.” Brie pointed toward her rapidly retreating brother. “You’d better hurry if you want to catch up. He’s not only grumpy; he’s also impatient.”
Tripping over my suitcase in boots that were not made for scurrying, I caught up to Noah just as he pushed through the airport’s main doors, the mountain air reminding me once again what real breathing felt like.
“You weren’t going to wait for me?” I called to Noah’s muscled back.
“I already did,” he replied, without slowing or turning. “For about four hours.”
“You could at least offer to help carry my bag.”
“I could,” he admitted. He kept walking.
“Oh, my God!” I screeched to a halt, stopping dead in my tracks.
“What now?” Noah scowled as he spun around.
I pointed. “Whoo …”
“Whoo?”
I wiggled my finger, pointing behind him. “Whuuh …”
“Whuuh?”
“Whoo … whuuh … wolf,” I whispered, poking my finger over his shoulder as I hid behind his back.
Noah turned back, now face-to-face with a monstrous beast. It had thick fur in streaks of grey and white. Its crystal blue eyes were both wild and cunning. And its teeth … big teeth. Sharp teeth. Teeth dripping with slobber.
Noah looked at the wolf, then back at me. He started crying.
W.T.F.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The big tough mountain man was driven to tears when confronted with something bigger and badder than he was. Clearly, I had misjudged him.
But then I realized he wasn’t crying.
He was laughing.
And then he was crying.
Crying because he was laughing so hard.
“You’re laughing? Why are you laughing?” That’s when I realized he wasn’t just laughing, he was laughing at ME. “What the hell is so funny? We’re about to get eaten by a WOLF!” I pointed at the ferocious beast, right in front of us, just in case Noah hadn’t seen it.
Ignoring me, Noah exhaled sharply, creating a loud whistle through his teeth. At first, I thought maybe it was some sort of advanced mountain man wildlife deterrence technique. But instead of deterring the wolf, Noah’s whistle did the opposite. It prompted the beast to charge.
As I cowered behind Noah’s broad, muscle-laden body, hoping the wolf wasn’t planning a Little Red Riding Hood reenactment with my face, I remembered Brie’s bear tip, hoping it applied to wolves too.
I didn’t have to outrun the thing; I just had to outrun Noah.
I wasn’t entirely sure of Colorado etiquette in wild animal attack scenarios, but I assumed, like in Los Angeles, it was an “every woman for herself” type situation.
But before I could even move, the wolf lunged. Noah fell to his knees, and the wolf began devouring his head. Its tongue slobbered all over Noah’s face. One of its massive paws perched on one of Noah’s massive shoulders as its tongue licked his neck.
But instead of screaming in terror, Noah was … laughing?
And instead of fighting for his life, Noah was … petting it?
W.T.F.
Noah stood up and patted the head of the creature, which miraculously sat calmly at his feet without ripping his hand off. The animal, which was roughly the size of a small horse, looked at me with intelligent eyes that seemed to calculate how many calories I contained if it consumed me.
“You and the wolf are friends?”
“Yeti’s not a wolf. She’s a Siberian Husky, German Shepherd mix.”
“Her name is Yeti?”
“Yup.”
“Seems to fit,” I said.
“Want to pet her?” Noah was getting far too much joy out of my terror.
“I think I’m good.”
Yeti looked me straight in the eye and licked her lips, a move that seemed more like a threat than a moisturizing technique.
“So the airport people just let that thing hang out here?”
Noah patted the wolf’s … I mean the dog’s … head. “Well, they tried to stop her once, but she ate them.”
It took me a moment to realize he was joking.
For the first time since I spit coffee all over him, then moonshine, Noah smiled.
An actual smile. Of course, his smile was at my expense.
“Colorado is very pet friendly,” he said, as if that explained why no one stopped him from bringing a barely domesticated wolf-beast onto public property.
Yeti was still staring at me like I was a pile of chopped liver. She licked her lips again. Then smiled. It felt like an intimidation tactic.
“I don’t think she likes me.”
“Hmm.” Noah rubbed his stubbled, chiseled chin. “And she’s usually such a good judge of character.” He gave Yeti another pat. “You know, the key with animals is not to show fear.”
“I literally just cowered in fear. Actual cowering.”
Noah smirked. “I’m over there.”
I followed Noah toward the parking lot, keeping one eye on the wolf dog. He fished his keys out of his pocket as he approached … oh crap … the piece-of-shit Jeep I saw when my plane landed. The one that looked like it got kicked down the side of a mountain.
“Oh, no. Absolutely not.” I planted my boots on the pavement.
Noah didn’t hear me, or he didn’t care. He held his hand out for my bag. “Need to strap it to the roof or she’ll slobber all over it.”
Yeti batted her eyes innocently.
Now that I was closer, I could see the Jeep lacked a separate trunk area for proper luggage storage. It also didn’t have proper doors. Or any doors, period. There were only two seats, and judging by the amount of dog hair, one of them belonged to Yeti.
“I’m not getting into that deathtrap. I’d rather walk.”
Noah’s expression suggested I’d just proposed something either incredibly amusing or incredibly idiotic. Probably both. He pointed at one of the snow-capped mountains in the distance. “The resort is twenty-five miles that way. Better hurry, though. You don’t want to get caught out here after dark.”
I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “Let me guess, that’s when all the polar bears come out.”
“I was talking about the mountain lions,” said Noah. “Only bear out here is black bear. Not that I’d want to tangle with one of them either.”
“I guess we have a problem, then.” Sticking out my bottom lip, I called his bluff with the confidence of someone who had no clue how poker worked.
“We don’t have a problem. You have a problem.”
But I caught something in his peripheral vision — a quick glance toward my abandoned suitcase, then back to me. It lasted maybe half a second, but there was something almost protective in that glance. Like he was cataloging my vulnerability and filing it away for later consideration.
Noah pointed to the passenger seat. “Yeti, come.” The wolf-dog didn’t move at first, alternating glances between the two humans.
Noah got in on the driver’s side and put the key in the ignition. The jeep rumbled to life with a sound like logs fed to a wood chipper. “Now, Yeti. Let’s go.” The wolf-dog leapt inside the Jeep, tail wagging anxiously and head cocked like she was trying to assess what was wrong.
“I’ll tell Victoria Sterling!” I played what I thought was my trump card, wielding the LuxeLife executive’s name like a corporate get-out-of-jail-free card.
“While you’re at it, I’ve got a few other things you can tell Victoria.
” Noah stomped his foot on the clutch and yanked the transmission into reverse.
“And if she’s got a problem with any of them, instead of sending one of her LuxeLife lackeys, tell her to come up here herself so I can tell them to her face. ”
“LuxeLife lackey? I’m not a LuxeLife lackey.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. “You said you worked for them, right?”.
“Well, yes, technically. But …”
He pressed his foot to the accelerator, the Jeep lurching backward, and the mud splattered tires kicking up dust.
“Wait, what are you doing?” It didn’t seem like the way bluffs were supposed to work.
Noah jammed the gearshift into drive, the Jeep emitting a sound like a bowling ball falling down a full flight of stairs.
“You can’t just leave me here.” I said, raising my voice over the clunking of the engine.
For a split second, Noah’s hands stilled on the steering wheel, and something flickered across his face.
His jaw muscle ticked, and I caught the way his knuckles went white against the worn steering wheel, like he was gripping it to steady his resolve.
But then his shoulders straightened, and Mr. Mountain Mc’Grumpypants returned. “Oh yeah? Watch me.”
I did.
And he did. Leave me, that is. His foot punched down on the accelerator, and the Jeep took off down the road.
Open-mouthed, I stared after him as the Jeep disappeared around a bend, leaving me stranded with nothing but my coffee-scorched tongue.
But even after one minute … two minutes …
five minutes … I held out hope. Because as Noah was driving away, I caught him checking the rearview mirror.
Not once, but three times in the first hundred yards, like he was fighting the urge to turn around.
Yeti’s head was turned backward too, looking toward me out the back with what I could have sworn was canine confusion.
“He’ll come back,” I said to no one in particular, my voice swallowed up by the empty parking lot.
He didn’t.