Chapter 73 Tilda
Tilda
“He had a whole box of them.” I tell Ethan about the Dolly Parton books I found in the cabinet above the fridge. “Pretty sure that… cookbook… was also in the… pile.” I put my hands on my hips and suck in a breath.
Why is it so hard to breathe?
“It’s the elevation.” Ethan reads my mind.
I narrow my eyes at him. “But you’re fine.” Literally, he’s not breathing the tiniest bit hard.
It’s a stupid thing to point out because Ethan is fit. Like, oh my gods, look at those muscles sort of fit. Whereas I like to go on walks.
Regular walks.
Not walks through dense, deserted forests with mountain lions nearby.
And I don’t know how long it will take to go a couple miles, but I know it’s more than the ten minutes we’ve been walking.
“I’ve lived at elevation pretty much my whole life.” Ethan explains reasonably. “You’re still acclimating.”
I make a noise of understanding rather than trying to form words.
A few more minutes pass, and I try not to notice the way I can feel my boots rubbing my ankles wrong.
I’ve had this pair for a while, and even though they look like combat boots, they’re more fun than function. So I certainly wouldn’t have chosen them for a hike.
And because I was so stressed out this morning about having to see my family, I put on the wrong socks.
I’m wearing my super-shorty socks, which are great for my ballet flats because they don’t show, not the thick wool socks I usually wear with these boots.
Meaning there is no barrier between the boot and most of my skin.
If the walk is too long, I’m sure my toes will be hurting too, but I can already feel that bony part of my ankle rubbing against a seam I hadn’t realized was there.
Pursing my lips, I focus on oxygen and not my feet.
At least I remembered to put my stretchy chub-rub shorts on under my dress. If I had to deal with chaffing on top of my boot issue… I’d be crying.
After a few more minutes, I decide I can’t spend the next few miles listening to my own breathing. “Can you talk about something?” I shove the question out quickly between inhales.
“What would you like me to talk about?”
“Anything.” I don’t have the lung capacity to talk about any of the things we need to talk about. Like the fact that we got married today. So, I gesture at a bush before dropping my hand back to my side. “Plants.”
“Plants?” I can hear the humor in his tone.
“Yeah, Mr. I’m Gonna Give You a Ticket.” I try to mock his deeper tone, but it just puts me more out of breath.
Honestly, what is with elevation? This is nonsense.
“I’ll remind you that I did not give you that ticket.”
Without turning my head, I reach out and blindly pat his arm. “Appreciated.”
Then I think about how much money I’m about to inherit because he agreed to this marriage, and I accept that I could afford a few tickets now.
But again, we’ll talk more on that when I can actually breathe.
Hand still on his arm, I finally look over. Then I give his bicep a squeeze.
Good gods.
I look up and catch the hint of a smirk.
I squeeze him again, then drop my arm.
“What do you want to know about plants?”
“I don’t know. Just use your khaki power-ranger skills and fill the silence.” I suck in a noisy breath.
“Khaki. Power ranger.”
“What’s poisonous. What’s not.” I make a keep going gesture with my hand. “Ranger stuff.”
“Ranger stuff.”
I shoot him a glare. “Just talk and keep the animals away.”
Ethan shakes his head. But then he does what I ask.
He talks.
He points to different species of trees and tells me their qualities.
He tells me how to get sap from a maple tree if I’m ever stranded with no food.
He makes me drink water.
He points out a plant that will cause itching and tells me that poison ivy and poison oak don’t tend to grow this high in the mountains.
Score one for elevation.
He tells me what to do if we spot a bear. Explains why making yourself look big and keeping eye contact with mountain lions is important.
He talks, in his soothing deep voice, for hours.
My feet ache.
My ankles feel like they might be bleeding.
My bladder tells me that I’m going to have to pee soon.
My mind tells me that if I try to pee squatting next to a tree, there is a one-hundred-percent chance I’m going to get pee on my boots.
Ethan makes me drink more water. And we share a protein bar, even though I told him I wasn’t hungry.
I’m too stressed to be hungry.
But he told me to eat it anyway. For fuel.
And he’s the expert, so I listen.
I listen as he points out different animal tracks.
I try not to freak out over how many animal tracks he’s identified.
And even though we’re walking nonstop, I button up the flannel I’m wearing because the sun is setting, and it’s getting chilly.
A giant black bird lets out a loud caw as it launches from a branch overhead, and I stumble.
Ethan’s large hand grips my upper arm, keeping me upright. “Easy.”
I press my lips together, trying to keep the wince off my face.
But I’m not successful.
Ethan stops, looking down at my feet. “Did you twist something?”
I shake my head.
“Matilda.”
“No, I’m fine.” Even though we’ve been walking for forever, my breathing has finally evened out. “Let’s keep going.”
Ethan clenches his jaw. “I saw your look of pain. You’re hurt.”
I sigh. “My feet hurt, but not from… the bird. Can we just keep going? Please?”
He looks like he wants to argue, but he dips his chin and starts walking again.
The first few steps hurt extra bad. Stopping was a mistake.
But I inhale through the discomfort.
It’s nothing I haven’t been through before.
We keep going, but Ethan turns his head in my direction every few steps.
That loud bird made me think of Quackers, and since I think we both need a distraction, I think of a new topic for Ethan. “Will you tell me about the cabin?”
“Fine. But when we get there, you’re taking those boots off.”
I lift two fingers to my brow in a salute.
As if pulling these godsforsaken boots off wasn’t going to be my very first action.
“My dad and some of his high school buddies used to come out here every summer. It’s government land, so they weren’t supposed to, but no one ever noticed, and eventually it became an annual camping trip where they’d come out and just tool around in the woods.
” Ethan hooks his thumbs in his backpack straps.
“One of the guys was an architect, and, as my dad told it, they all got drunk one night and convinced him to draw up a design for a cabin that they could build themselves. He did. And the next summer, they used four-wheelers to haul the material in and spent two weeks building the cabin.”
“Wow. That’s… ballsy.”
Ethan chuckles. “And illegal. But they got away with it. And the next summer, they figured out a way to dig their own well. They could’ve just built next to the river and saved the hassle. But people occasionally come out this way to fish, so building farther in the woods was the smarter option.”
I have no idea what any of that would require, but I’m still thoroughly impressed. “And now it’s just yours?”
“Since it was illegally built on government land, there’s no paperwork.
No deed. No real owner. But all the other guys moved out of state.
And I don’t think any of their kids know how to find it.
They might not even know about it at all.
So yeah, I think I’m the only person who’s been here in the last ten years, which essentially makes it mine. ”
“Look at you, breaking rules.”
Ethan grunts.
I try to picture this built-by-hand cabin. But I struggle with the visual, my mind flipping between some Hansel-and-Gretel cottage and some wonky-looking shack.
“Any chance they built a bathroom?”
“They did.”
I almost stumble again. “Seriously?”
“Well, it’s an outhouse. No running water. Or electricity. But there’s a toilet seat.”
“Luxury,” I say with adoration. Because honestly, not having to pee on the ground is apparently my love language.
Love.
Ugh.
I don’t know if it’s safe to fall for this man. But I can already feel it happening.
Ethan just spent hours talking to me about nothing because I asked him to.
He married me because I asked him to.
He scared off a mountain lion…
I look at his chiseled profile. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Ethan slowly turns his head to face me. “No. I have a wife.”
Oh.
Wow.
Heat that has nothing to do with muscle strain rolls through my body.
I look forward.
We walk in silence for a few more minutes. And then I see it.
The woods don’t thin out.
There isn’t a clearing.
And I suppose since they were trying to keep their secret cabin a secret, it makes sense.
Because there, just ahead, surrounded by towering pine trees, is a cabin.
A perfectly normal-looking cabin with glass windows and wood siding and a little outhouse a dozen yards away.
My steps slow.
There isn’t a porch, and the front door looks to be about a foot off the ground, but it all looks solid. Well cared for.
A couple yards in front of the house is a water spigot with a red-handled pump sticking out of the ground. And next to that is a circle of rocks designating a firepit. Four wide stumps, which have maybe seen better days but still look sturdy, are arranged around the firepit.
Ethan strides ahead of me. “Everything looks fine, but stay here while I check.”
I stop.
Check for what?
He reaches the front door and turns the handle.
There isn’t a lock. He just opens the door and steps inside.
Not liking my back to the woods as I stand by myself, I turn around so my back is to the cabin.
My eyes have adjusted to the dimming light, but I still squint, trying to look for any movement.
Then I lift my gaze to the trees, remembering how Ethan told me that mountain lions like to sit in trees. A fact that will surely give me nightmares for the rest of my life.
Footsteps crunch behind me, and I look over my shoulder. Ethan exits the cabin, then crosses over to the outhouse.
He pulls a flashlight out of his pocket and turns it on as he opens the door.
There are no windows in the little structure, so it’s completely dark inside. Which is creepy. But still… toilet seat.
Ethan steps out. “All good.”
“What were you checking for?”
He opens his mouth, then purses his lips. “Do you really want to know?”
I take half a second to think about it. “No. No, I don’t.”
I’m assuming it’s snakes and spiders. And if he says it’s all good, then I’m going to take his word for it.
Ethan holds the flashlight out to me. “You can use this or leave the door open.”
I stare at him. “I’m not leaving the door open.”
He lifts a shoulder. “I usually hold the flashlight in my mouth if I need my hands, but you can just lay it on the floor if you want.”
Giving him side-eye, I take the flashlight into the outhouse with me and lay it on the floor.
A small shelf is built into one wall, on which a large coffee can and a bottle of hand sanitizer sit.
The can is helpfully labeled TP, so I open it. Finding a roll of toilet paper inside a ziplock bag, I use a few squares to wipe down the seat.
I haven’t done much as far as wilderness goes in my life, but I’ve stopped at a few rest areas along long stretches of highway, so I’ve encountered the no-flush setup before.
Those are usually gross, but this one is surprisingly clean and stink-free.
Probably because it gets used once a year.
Finished, I use the hand sanitizer. Twice. Then I come out to find Ethan standing next to the water spigot.
“Boots off.”