Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
With Noah driving Duke faster and leading Biscuit by the reins, we surged down the trail like we were riding a water flume ride, twisting and turning down the mud slicked trail. The rain came down in buckets now, turning the world into a gray blur.
I could barely make out Noah’s shape ahead, trusting Biscuit to follow Duke’s lead. My hair hung in wet ropes around my face, and my clothes clung to me like I’d been thrown into the middle of the ocean.
I didn’t even see the opening, but Noah expertly guided both horses down an alternate route that appeared out of nowhere.
The descent steepened, and I had to lean back to avoid somersaulting over Biscuit’s head.
I clutched the saddle tighter, fingers numbed, as the wind picked up, whipping the pine branches into a frenzy.
“Hang on!” Noah reached out and grabbed my arm when a sudden drop almost sent me tumbling down the mountain.
“I’m hanging, I’m hanging!” I screamed over the whistle of the wind, which bent the tree branches at impossible angles. Each raindrop felt like a tiny ice dagger against my skin.
As the path flattened, I stretched forward to wrap my arms around Biscuit’s neck, using his bulk to shield my face from the rain.
“Good boy, Biscuit, good boy. I’ll owe you a whole orchard of apples if you get me home safe.
” Biscuit must have softened his opinion of me because, for once, it didn’t feel like he was plotting to launch me into space.
When a flash of lightning illuminated everything in stark black and white, I caught sight of Yeti ahead of us, leading the way down the trail.
Despite the cold, the rain, and the fact that the heavens were using us for lightning bolt target practice, Yeti never wavered in her wolf-dog duty, though she did splash into every passing mud puddle with an enthusiasm that suggested she wasn’t totally hating the adventure.
“There!” Noah pointed ahead, raindrops pelting my face. I squinted through the gloom, barely making out a wooden structure tucked against the rocky face of the mountain. Noah loosened the reins, and both Duke and Biscuit surged forward, hooves churning through the mud as the end times raged.
“Stay close and hold on!” Noah called over his shoulder. Duke moved with confident ease across the increasingly treacherous ground as our destination grew larger, one of the fishing cabins we’d spotted on our hike.
Almost there.
Just a few seconds longer.
Another bolt of lightning crackled overhead, and I swore I could feel the electricity buzz through my molars.
Biscuit churned forward, just as motivated as I was to get out of the storm.
The door burst open with a sharp crack as Noah’s shoulder connected with the ancient wood. He stumbled inside, dragging me and our saddlebags with him. Yeti raced past us, shaking water like a furry garden sprinkler.
“Stay here.” Noah squeezed my shoulder, his hand warm despite everything. “I need to get the horses settled.” He disappeared back into the storm before I could protest, leaving me dripping on the worn floorboards.
The cabin was dark except for the occasional flash of lightning through a single grimy window.
As my eyes adjusted, I made out the sparse interior.
Calling it “primitive” would’ve been a compliment.
Water pooled around my feet as I wrapped my arms around my shoulders in a futile attempt to get warm, teeth chattering like one of those windup toys.
“I’m guessing this won’t be one of those glamping experiences,” I told Yeti, wringing out my hair. She gave her fur another good shaking.
A sad, bare mattress lay directly on the floor in one corner, its springs probably older than the mountains. One wall featured a cold, empty stone fireplace, with a few moldy logs beside it. No electricity. No running water. No Egyptian cotton sheets with ethically sourced goose down pillows.
The sound of rain hammering the roof was deafening.
Another flash of lightning illuminated rough wooden walls, a few rusty hooks for gear, and absolutely nothing that could qualify as a modern comfort.
Worst of all, I didn’t have my phone to document this misery.
I could only imagine the sympathy likes I would’ve harvested.
I peeled off my soaked jacket, hanging it on one of the hooks just as Noah stumbled back inside. Rivers of water trickled down his body, joining the growing puddle on the floor.
“You know when I said I wanted authentic Colorado content, I was thinking more ‘rustic charm’ and less Blair Witch Project.”
“Blair what?”
“Witch Project. You know, the low-budget horror movie that made everybody motion sick. The one with the girl and the snot running down her nose?”
Noah shook his head.
“Well, it’s a classic, so I’m making you watch it with me if we survive this.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. “If we survive this … then sure.” He stripped off his jacket and hung it beside mine. The wet fabric of his shirt clung to his torso, outlining every ridge and plane with the textured detail of a topographical map.
A steady drip-drip-drip from above made me look up. “Um, Noah? I think your roof has a leak. Make that leaks plural. An entire leak convention, actually.”
Water trickled through multiple spots in the ceiling, creating an indoor rain shower that would have made the spa shower in my luxury suite jealous.
Then, a gust of wind yanked the door open, slamming it against the wall with a bang even louder than the thunder.
Rain and leaves whipped inside as Noah lunged for the handle and shouldered it closed.
“Here.” I slipped the Gucci belt from my waist and looped it around the handle. “We can use this to tie it shut.” At Noah’s questioning look, I shrugged. “What? I grew up in California. You learn to get creative during earthquakes.”
I wrapped the other end of my belt around a nearby hook, creating a makeshift latch.
“Not bad, city girl.”
I spotted an old cooking pot in the corner and grabbed it, positioning it under the worst leak, then strategically arranged a couple of dented metal cups under the other leaks.
“Bob the Builder would be proud.”
“Please. Bob wishes he had my skills.” I rolled up a dusty floor mat and stuffed it against the crack in the door, stopping the flow of water seeping underneath and blocking a bit of the chill from the wind. “I didn’t figure you for a big Bob the Builder fan.”
“Not me. Brie. She loved that show. Couldn’t get enough of it. Had the lunchbox and everything.”
I spotted another leak and used another cup to collect it.
It seemed the rate of dripping had accelerated.
“You sure Duke and Biscuit are going to be okay out there?” I could picture the poor horses huddled together, wet and miserable.
Despite everything Biscuit had done to make my life difficult, he’d kind of rubbed off on me.
“They’re fine. Tied them up under a thick clump of oak trees where the cliff blocks most of the wind and the rain.” His eyes traced over me, from my dripping hair to my water-logged boots. “It’s you I’m more worried about.”
Noah dug into the dry bag he’d brought from his saddle, pulling out a thick wool blanket. “You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia.”
My eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t look.” He handed me the blanket, then turned around and made a show of covering his eyes with both hands. “I’m a gentleman.”
“You said you weren’t a gentleman.”
“Just don’t tell anybody else.” Noah still hadn’t moved, back turned and eyes closed. “Seriously, you’re going to get sick if you stay in those soaked clothes.”
“Fine.” I glanced at Yeti, watching me like a prison guard. “You too, girl. No peeking.”
Yeti gave one final dramatic shake, sending water droplets everywhere. She flopped down in the corner as if to say, “Humans. So dramatic about nudity.”
My fingers trembled as I peeled off my soaked pullover, letting it fall to the floor with a wet slap.
“A lot of guys have tried to get me naked before,” I said, making sure Noah hadn’t moved. “But you win first prize for most creative.” My shirt followed, then my sports bra, both of them clinging to my frozen skin.
“A lot of guys?” Noah cocked his head, but kept his eyes shut and his back turned.
“You sound surprised.” My wet pants felt like they weighed a hundred pounds as I struggled to yank them off my legs.
Noah didn’t answer. Probably the wise choice.
“For the record, it hasn’t actually been a lot.” I kept glancing at Noah’s back, but he kept facing the wall. “Only some. And by some, I mean a few.” I removed my underwear, another red G-string from Brief Encounters. “And by a few, I mean one.”
“Pilates guy?”
“Yeah.” Completely naked now, I wrapped the blanket tightly around myself like a cocoon, acutely aware of every inch of skin against the rough fabric.
“It was serious?”
“I thought so.”
Another streak of lightning ripped across the sky, momentarily lighting up the entire inside of the cabin. I pulled the blanket tighter as the shadows took back control.
“Okay,” I said, my voice just a whisper in the storm. “I’m decent. Well, as decent as I can be while wearing nothing but a scratchy wool blanket.”
Noah turned around, his face unreadable, like an ancient scroll found in a hidden tomb, covered in hieroglyphics that no one had deciphered for centuries.
“What about you?” I asked. While Noah wasn’t visibly shivering, his clothes were still dripping, and I could tell he was cold by the bluish tinge to his lips. Like a Smurf. Grumpy Mountain Man Smurf.
“Just need to get the fire going first.” Noah strode to a small wooden table in the corner, its surface warped from years of moisture.
He grabbed one of the legs and yanked. The table splintered with a sharp crack.
He broke the pieces into smaller chunks, arranging them in the stone fireplace.
“This wood’s been inside, so it should be dry enough to catch. ”