Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Ihuffed and I puffed up the trail, my legs already burning and a cramp pinching a muscle in my back. And my legs. And my butt. The saddest part? We’d only been hiking for ten minutes.
Meanwhile, Noah moved like a mountain goat ahead of me, not even breaking a sweat. I caught myself watching the way his shoulders moved under his shirt, the effortless way he navigated the trail’s obstacles. Any second now, I figured he would start skipping up the trail and yodeling.
“Let me guess,” I called ahead of me. “You and your parents and Brie did stuff like this all the time.”
He nodded. “I grew up on these trails.”
“If my parents had made me go on a hike when I was a kid, I would have called child services.”
He started moving again.
“Can you hold on a second? I need to get some establishing shots for my posts.” Actually, it was an excuse to take a break before I keeled over from a heart attack.
I leaned my trekking poles against a tree and pulled out my phone, squinting at the screen in the darkness. “Just need to adjust my settings real quick for dark mode.”
“We’re running out of time.” Noah’s voice carried an edge of impatience I was becoming all too familiar with.
“What time is it?”
“Time to hike.”
“This’ll only take a minute.” I switched to pro mode, tweaking the ISO and shutter speed. “Can’t post grainy content. My followers expect quality.”
“Your followers can wait.”
I ignored him, checking my phone for a signal. Service had been coming and going all morning, depending on how many mountains were between me and civilization. I had a few bars at the moment, so decided to live stream.
“Hey everyone!” I spoke in my signature upbeat tone. “Coming to you live from ...” I hit pause. “Where are we exactly?”
“Big Tree Trail.” Noah crossed his arms.
“A little on the nose, don’t you think?”
“I guess the early settlers who first traversed the Rocky Mountains in covered wagons were too busy worrying about starving to death and cholera to come up with a clever name for you to hashtag.”
“Like you even know what a hashtag is.”
“I heard Diego say it once.”
The sarcasm was so thick I could have used it as trail mix. But as I looked around at the towering pines, their names suddenly seemed perfectly logical. Sometimes the obvious choice was obvious because it was right.
“Fair point,” I admitted, lowering my phone. “Though I bet they would’ve been influencer gold. #CoveredWagonLife #PioneerVibes #WestwardBoundBabe.”
Noah stared at me as if I’d started speaking in Cantonese. “Do you ever turn it off?”
“Turn what off?”
“The performance. The constant need to translate everything into content.”
I thought a moment, tapping on my chin. “Um … no.” I angled my phone to catch the starlit sky behind me, then hit record again. “It’s dawn patrol time in Colorado! We’re about to experience a gorgeous sunrise from ...” I glanced at Noah. “How high up are we going?”
He just stared at me.
“Anyway, we’re going up! Way up! And I’ve got the amazing Noah Barrett as my guide.” I turned the camera toward him.
Noah showed several thousand livestream viewers his extended middle finger.
“He’s a little camera shy.” I quickly switched back to selfie mode. “But look at this amazing gear he got me!” I struck a pose, making sure to capture my new hiking outfit. “Who says outdoor adventure can’t be both functional and stylish?”
I crouched down for a better angle of my face, looking up at the star-filled sky when Yeti photobombed my shot, her tongue streaking across my cheek. She pressed in cheek to cheek with me until her snout filled the entire viewing angle.
“At least someone knows how to work a camera.” I scratched behind her ears.
“Unlike her grumpy human.” I flashed the camera back to Noah quickly, which drew a steady stream of grumpy face emojis from my followers.
“Folks, this is my new friend Yeti, part dog, part wolf, all badass. Say hi to all your fans, Yeti.” She barked, and the heart emojis started rolling in.
“You too, Yeti?” said a grumpy voice offscreen.
Yeti barked, then licked my cheek again.
“Traitor.” Noah checked his watch for the tenth time. “Are you done yet?”
“Almost.” I snapped a few more angles, trying to capture the ethereal pre-dawn light. “Just need to check the lighting one more …”
Noah started walking up the trail, Yeti trotting back over to walk beside him.
“Hey! Wait up!” I scrambled to stuff my phone in my pocket, nearly tripping over my trekking poles. “I was thinking I could shoot you giving some trail safety rules with that mountain over there in the backdrop.”
“Rule number one,” Noah called over his shoulder without turning around. “Keep up.”
The trail narrowed as we climbed further; the path turning from packed dirt to loose rock that shifted treacherously. I was thankful I’d taken Noah’s advice and changed my boots. The ones he gave me gripped the trail like they had little suction cups on the bottom.
The higher we went, the prettier the view. But I’d given up trying to film anything. Both hands were needed just to keep my balance and my dignity intact. I was grateful Noah had insisted on bringing the hiking poles. Without them, my knees would have disintegrated into bone powder.
“Watch your step here.” Noah pointed to a section where the path dropped off sharply on one side, exposing a view of treetops far below. “The rain washed out part of the trail last week.”
I eyed the steep slope beside us, my stomach lurching at the drop. “You’re joking, right?”
“Just stay close to the inside wall.” As if to show how simple it was to defy death, Yeti trotted past the drop-off like she was strolling through a dog park.
I took a tentative step forward, and a chunk of dirt crumbled under my foot, disappearing over the edge. “Aaagh!” I froze, heart hammering against my ribs.
“Here.” Noah reached back, hand extended. “Take my hand.”
I hesitated for a split second before grabbing it. His palm was warm and calloused, fingers wrapping securely around mine. The simple touch sent tingles racing up my arm.
“I’ve got you,” he said. “Just follow my lead.”
We inched forward, my other hand trailing along the rock face for additional security. Noah’s grip remained steady, grounding me as we picked our way across the narrow section. Despite the chill mountain air, heat bloomed where our skin touched.
“Almost there,” Noah murmured. His thumb brushed across my knuckles, sending another wave of goosebumps dancing up my arms.
I was grateful he was focused on the trail ahead and couldn’t see my reaction. This was ridiculous. I was a grown woman; an accidental touch shouldn’t have affected me like that. But something about the quiet confidence in his movements, the gentle strength in his grip ...
“A few more steps.”
Noah pulled me to wider ground, but he didn’t immediately let go. For one suspended moment, we stood connected, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, my voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.
Noah’s eyes were wolf-like. Not wolf-dog like, I mean full-on wolf. Like a predator, intense and penetrating.
“I’m not looking at you. I’m looking above you.” His piercing blue eyes angled over my head. “Turn around.” He pointed toward a tree branch.
“See it?” asked Noah, reverent like we were in church. “It’s a Northern Goshawk. They’re incredibly rare in this area.”
I squinted up at the branch, making out what looked like ... well, a bird. Brown. Feathery. Basically identical to every other bird I’d ever seen. By that point, my feet ached, my hair was plastered to my neck with sweat, and I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm for any nature appreciation.
“Cute.” I pulled out my phone and snapped a few pictures, zooming in as close as I could. “I think I’ll call it Kevin.”
Noah’s expression shifted from delight to disbelief as I began typing into my phone. “You’re naming it?”
“Of course.”
Then, from disbelief to disgust.
“To be a social media sensation, it has to have a name. Have you ever seen all those Grumpy Cat videos?” Noah made a face. “That’s the one.” I typed into my phone some more. “Nobody cares about a random bird. Everybody loves Kevin.”
“It’s a protected species,” said Noah, jaw clenched. “But sure, let’s call it Kevin.”
“What, so you’re the only one who gets to name animals around here?” I asked, still typing.
“No. Yes. What are you even talking about?”
I pointed at the wolf-dog. “You named that particular animal Yeti.”
“She’s a dog.”
“So?”
“So?”
“So wolf dogs get names but birds don’t?”
“She’s not a wolf dog, she’s a dog dog.”
“You’re trying to change the subject.”
“I don’t even know what the subject is!”
“The subject is our friend Kevin, the Northern Goshawk.” I held up my phone, turning the screen around so Noah could see it.
“Kevin now has his own TikTok account, Instagram page, YouTube channel, and …” I turned my phone back around so I could read the numbers.
“Two hundred and seventy-two dollars in donations to the Northern Goshawk Conservation Fund, thanks to his GoFundMe.”
Noah opened his lips to say something, then snapped his mouth shut. He spun on his heels and stomped down the trail.
Waving toward the distant tree, I yelled, “Bye, Kevin!” I made sure to yell it loudly enough for Noah to hear me.
More hiking.
Then, more after that.
And finally … more hiking.
When we took a quick break to sip some water, Yeti took off into the woods to chase a squirrel or something.
“Is she going to be okay?” I asked. “Taking off on her own?”
Noah watched as she disappeared into the trees. “She knows these mountains better than I do. But she always comes back when I need her.”
We’d stopped on a part of the trail where there was a break in the trees. A long-range mountain view stretched out in front of me. “Since we’re stopped, I might as well grab some more authentic Colorado content.”