Chapter 13
Sunday
“Alright,” Tucker whispers in a husky little voice, his eyes half-closed as he toddles on precarious legs toward his mini snow-boots. “I’m ready.”
Haven leans her shoulder against the doorjamb, watching him with pained affection as he slowly sits on his butt and then, with adorable gentleness, tries to ease on his boots.
His usually tan cheeks are burning bright red and he seems to have forgotten that he’s still wearing his pyjamas.
Haven chews her thumb for a brief moment before saying, “The only thing that you’re ready for is bed, little tush.”
Tucker finds the energy to perk up at that, dimples popping as he smiles and then whispers, “Little tush.”
Haven breathes out a laugh and then turns her attention back to me, her expression apologetic as she rests her head against the doorframe.
“I’m so sorry, Sunday,” she says quietly. “I don’t know where his temperature came from. I guess some of the kids in his class were getting sick. But, for a minute there, I thought we’d passed it.”
I clutch my scarf tighter around my neck, shuffling in my snow-boots because it’s freezing right now.
“It’s okay,” I rasp back to her, “I totally understand. I’ll just do a shorter trail and then–”
Haven’s eyes widen and she shakes her head quickly.
“What? Sunday, no – I don’t want you doing a trail on your own. There’s no way you should do that. Especially when we have snow on the ground now.”
“Alpine Trail doesn’t even breach into the mountains,” I remind her.
It’s a state-maintained forest that’s barely on an undulating hill, making it one of the only outdoor places that Phoenix Falls natives go walking through at this time of year.
“There’ll probably be loads of other people there, and I’ll only stay ’til midday so that I don’t get caught in the afternoon downpour.”
When I checked my app this morning the weather predictions had changed again, so I’m not sure if it’s going to rain, hail, or snow, but either way I’ll be safely in Casey’s truck by then.
Haven makes a worried expression, twiddling with her soft brunette bun as she flicks her gaze between Tucker’s flushed cheeks and Casey’s Ford truck.
“We both know that he can’t come today,” I laugh. “I mean, just look at him.”
We both glance over to Tucker, who’s now fast asleep at the bottom of the stairwell.
With his dark messy hair, bronze skin and long black eyelashes, Tucker is the mirror image of Casey, through and through.
Haven must be thinking the exact same thing because she gently leans down to scoop him up, letting him rest his cheek against her shoulder. His little arms wrap around her neck and he curls up slightly against the chill from outside.
She twists her lips as she watches him sleep and then presses a tiny kiss against his forehead.
She looks almost shy when she smiles up at me again.
“He’s kind of a cutie, isn’t he?” she whispers, making me laugh as I peek down at him.
He’s undeniably totally gorgeous, and he’s still pretty tiny given his age.
“Text me how he is later,” I tell her, backstepping down the snowy porch so that I can get back to the toasty interior of Casey’s truck.
“Promise me you’ll only do the base of the trail, and that you’ll leave before midday,” Haven calls out to me.
“Yes to both,” I reply, before blowing two little kisses in their direction – one for Haven and one for Tuck.
“Okay, you better!” she demands, blowing me a kiss in return as I climb up into the driver’s side, and then I’m easing onto the slushy road, driving slowly as I make my way to the outskirts of town, the pine trees already towering over the hood when I’m barely two minutes away from Haven’s house.
It takes around fifty minutes before I reach the parking lot at the head of Alpine Trail, a drive that would have been shorter if I hadn’t been crawling at five miles per hour. And I’m not the most confident driver so I didn’t want to risk upping my pace on the icy roads.
I mean, sure, I passed my test but I’ve never been one of those people who’s obsessed with driving, hence why I wanted to be here , in the evergreen outdoors, walking beneath the trees so that I can finally feel rooted to something.
I put Casey’s truck in park and just sit there for a long moment, grateful to see that there are a bunch of other pick-ups and four-wheelers in the lot because otherwise I would have actually turned around.
I’m pretty risk averse so even if the forest rangers keep this trail accessible, the idea of being here totally alone would have definitely given me a moment of pause, even with the can of bear spray that’s poking out of my unzipped rucksack.
I slide my eyes toward the bear spray and fight back a smile, my thoughts back on that moment with Jason at the bar.
Even though I was freaking livid when I first realised that he knew about Casey’s bar, the more time that I’ve mulled it over the more I realise that it isn’t any of my business. Just because I’ve lowkey been Casey’s accountant since he enlisted, it doesn’t mean that he has to tell me every little thing that he does. Especially when my life hasn’t been in our hometown for over a decade.
And I’d be lying if I said that no-one in Nashville has been trying to reach me while I’m here. Firstly to remind me about the gigantic offer that I’ve been propositioned, suggesting that maybe I come see the bar for myself next month. And secondly Riley, one of my closest Nashville buddies, who clearly feels somewhat responsible for my being slandered as country-boy arm-candy.
He offered to come meet me if I tell him where I’m staying, although I quickly emailed back to say that totally won’t be necessary. I want his album to do well and I don’t want anyone catching wind of our ‘secret relationship’ rekindling, even though that’s still so insane to me when I’ve only ever thought of him as a friend.
And in a place like Nashville, where everyone is putting blood, sweat and tears into securing their dreams? A totally genuine friend can be really hard to find.
I pick up my phone to text Haven that I’ve arrived at Alpine Trail, and my heart stumbles in my chest when I see that I have two unread messages.
I snuggle down into my scarf and open up the texts from Jason, letting me know that he’s at Casey’s cabin and that he wishes he could be with us today.
I bite nervously into my lower lip and then decide to tap out a quick text before I can stop myself – telling him where I am, how long I plan to be here, and that I wish he was here too. Although I miss out the fact that Haven and Tuck aren’t here with me because I don’t want him distracted from the heavy-duty construction work that he’s doing this morning.
I send a similar text to Haven even though my phone has no service, because I’m sure that I’ll pick up a random signal somewhere along the trail, and then the messages will get delivered while I’m not even aware of it.
I slip on my backpack, my thermal mittens, and then, after giving my ear-muffs a quick readjustment in Casey’s mirror, I hop out of the truck, hitting a soft pile of snow with a muted thump.
I lock up and start walking, my boots gripping securely in the snow, not worried for a single second about anyone recognising me here.
Because even if anyone in Phoenix Falls did recognise me from the country music articles, I’m fairly certain that they would be totally fine about it all.
In a small town like this people can smell bullshit from a mile away. Stories like the one in the Observer probably get no more than an eyeroll from the people here.
I take a snowy photo of the trailhead so that I can show it to Tucker when he’s recovered from his cold and then, after checking to see if my cell signal is still out, I pocket my phone and begin walking the snowy path.
It’s peaceful and beautiful, the snow sparkling as I tip my head back to look at the trees, and I keep close to a group of two families as they trudge gently up the terrain.
And even when a teenage girl at the back of their pack peeks over at me a few more times than would be considered usual, she still offers me a small smile even though I know that she recognises me.
I’m kind of relieved to have ripped the Band-Aid on my fear of being noticed and I give her a small smile in return, which makes her eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning.
Which, I can’t deny, is really adorable, and it helps calm my nerves about the Nashville situation.
I mean, maybe a different kind of woman would be able to run with the press’s attention, but all I’ve ever wanted is a quiet life, like what my mom had with Cash.
The kind of life that I could have if I stayed in a place like Phoenix Falls.
I drop my eyes back to my snow-boots, blonde curls spilling out from under my scarf, enjoying the crunch of the ground beneath me as occasional snowflakes drift softly by.
It’s so calm and peaceful that I walk all the way to the top of the lowest incline, and I stare down at the sparkling pines from the frost-coated pass.
By around half eleven I decide to make my way back to the parking lot so that I can keep my promise to Haven about returning before the change of weather.
Although, not wanting to get caught in a storm isn’t the only reason why I’m sticking to the schedule.
And maybe it has something to do with the former soldier currently waiting for me at the cabin.
I swallow down my excited nerves, locking the doors as soon as I jump up into Casey’s truck.
It starts steaming the second that I’m inside, the weather beneath the frosted trees clearly way colder than my distracted mind was comprehending.
I kick off my snow-boots and swap them for drier footwear, pulling on a clean pair of thermal socks and my trusty brown cowgirl boots. I toss the shoes, ear muffs, and mittens in the back, before unscrewing the lid on my flask and slowly drinking my warm cocoa.
I settle back in my seat, flicking on the heating to clear up the windshield, and I watch in intrigued silence as the two families return to their vehicles.
I finish drinking my cocoa and check my cell which is still unconnected, making me doubt if my texts from earlier made it to their recipients. But I decide that it doesn’t matter, seeing as I’m about to head back now anyway.
I gently ease the truck to life and make my way slowly out of the trail’s parking lot, keeping my boot off the gas so that the tires don’t slip on the frosty blacktop.
And I’m about ten minutes into the drive when a loud crack booms through the air, so at odds with the beautiful sky and the twinkling forest arching over the truck.
I hold my breath and pause. What the heck was that?
I know that the weather app suggested a storm this afternoon, but right now doesn’t look like blizzard conditions.
I blink toward the treetops and my eyes widen, because whatever that was… it didn’t sound like thunder. And despite the conflicting weather warnings, this wintery morning has been quiet and still.
I go even slower on the accelerator, ignoring the four-by-four that races past me, and I keep my hands tight around the wheel, totally focused on the road ahead.
I mean, thunder aside – if that was even thunder – the landscape is beautiful, with sparkling snow piles on either side of the road. I’m actually enjoying myself until I hear the second crack .
I grip the wheel nervously as I try to work out where the sound is coming from.
And that’s when I realise another thing: the fact that the sound is still coming.
As in, the cracking hasn’t stopped .
I flick my eyes to the right and swallow my gasp, blinking quickly as one of the younger evergreens sways, a huge split in its middle indicating where the sound is coming from.
It may have been a long time since I was living in a small town in the lower mountains, but I’m instantly a teenager again and Cash is telling Casey and me about the perils of the stunning landscape.
And I’m instantly mapping out what’s happening and what I need to do.
I’m not sure if the tree was hit by something or if the weight of the snow on its upper branches has caused it to bend. But what I do know is that if I don’t hit the pedal, I’m either going to get trapped behind it – and God knows how long it’ll take the mountain rangers to help me pass it – or I’ll be hitting the same patch of road as its truck-crushing trunk. Meaning that I’ll be right beneath it when the evergreen snaps.
It's a no brainer.
I hit the freaking pedal.
The truck flies down the blacktop and my eyes flash toward the tree, my cowgirl boot murdering the gas as the pine falls in slow motion. It looks way taller up close than it did at a distance so I flick my eyes back to the road, swallowing down my shaky inhalations.
And I shove down the accelerator as hard as I can.
I wince in fear as the tree snaps, streaking past it before it hits the blacktop, and then the second that I hear its deafening thud my heart races into overdrive.
“Oh my God,” I rasp, overcome with relief. Because not only did I not get stranded behind the giant evergreen, but I also didn’t get flattened by it because it’s absolutely enormous .
I’m so overwhelmed with shock that I can’t resist peeking back at it in my wingmirror, my fingers shaking as I dry my cheeks with the back of my hand.
Wow, I can’t help but think to myself. Casey can literally never find out about this.
Had I stopped the truck instead of racing past the pine, then I would have definitely been stranded up here for who knows how many hours. I’m half tempted to check my phone, just to prove to myself that there really would have been no service, but given the fact that it hasn’t vibrated with an incoming text for the whole morning, I already know that that’s the case.
I breathe out a nervous laugh, my heartbeat going crazy as I give the evergreen one last look.
“Well,” I whisper raspily, just before I turn my attention back to the road. “It could’ve gone worse–”
But I don’t finish my sentence as my body tenses and I gasp.
An elk and her young step straight in front of the bumper, and I instantly spin the truck to the left, speeding off the blacktop. Right into the snow-covered forest, the tires spinning so that I don’t hit the wildlife.
The wheels bump and jolt over the frozen terrain, my senses more alert than ever before as I bite back my fear and force the truck to a hasty stop.
The vehicle undulates and then drops, a medium-sized snow-pile built up on the bumper, and after a moment of sheer silence I drop my shaking hands into my lap.
I blink out of the windshield in total silence, my cheeks flushed as adrenaline courses through me, and my lips part in shock as I take in the magnitude of what has just happened.
No cell service, no satellite phone, and I’m now stuck in a snow-jammed truck.
Yeah , I think to myself, it just got worse .