Chapter 8
Eight
One nod from Eden, and Teague would follow her off a cliff.
Metaphorically speaking.
Although, given what he did for a living, maybe literally too.
He couldn’t stop thinking about last night.
That barely there tilt of her chin from her table three rows back.
Anyone else would’ve missed it. But he’d been watching for it.
Hoping for it. And when it came—when she’d looked at him with those pale-blue eyes and acknowledged what he was saying without running—
Everything had changed.
Now he lengthened his stride down the trail, gravel crunching under each step. They’d left at first light and had barely stopped for more than water. The goal was one climb today, but at this pace? Maybe two.
Each team had five planned climbs over the next three days, then a hike back out on the fourth—unless they found the Roosevelt cache before that. Teague was determined to do it in three.
Not to beat Kyle.
Okay, partly to beat Kyle.
But mostly because there was something he needed to say to Eden. Something that required more than a nod across the room. Something he didn’t want Xander and Marcus present for.
“Can we stop for a break?” Marcus’s labored breathing came from a few feet back.
Teague paused at a large flat boulder. “Grab water but don’t sit. You’ll cramp.”
Marcus dropped his pack, revealing a large sweat stain across his back. His normally neat brown hair stuck out in every direction.
Okay. Maybe pushing a little hard.
Teague glanced at Xander, then Eden. Both had water bottles tipped back, but neither looked winded—Xander’s tall frame unbothered by the pace, Eden’s blonde braid still neat despite the heat. The morning sun caught wisps of pale blonde framing her face.
“See something interesting, Hamilton?” Eden’s voice carried that edge of amusement he was growing dangerously addicted to.
“Just checking on my team. Enjoying the canyon’s beauty.”
“You’re not looking at the canyon.”
“I have excellent peripheral vision.”
“Uh-huh.” She took another sip of water.
Xander glanced between them. “Should I…give you two a minute?”
“No,” they said in unison.
Xander’s eyebrows rose. “Right.”
Focus, Hamilton.
Teague pulled out his topo map and spread it across the boulder. A creek babbled somewhere to the left. Juniper and sage scented the air—that distinctive canyon smell that had become as familiar as breathing.
“We’re about a quarter mile from our first climb.
” He traced the route with one finger, then pointed to the wall rising in the distance.
“See that dark spot about two hundred feet up? That’s the cave.
This path leads us about a fourth of the way up the side.
Then we’ll break it into three fifty-foot pitches. ”
Marcus studied the wall like it might bite him. Eden pulled trail mix from her pack and started passing it around.
Their fingers brushed when she handed him the bag.
Brief. Accidental. Completely unremarkable.
His pulse kicked up anyway.
“You okay there?” Eden’s voice was innocent. Her eyes were not. “You look a little flushed.”
“It’s hot.”
“It’s seventy-two degrees.”
“I run warm.”
“Clearly.” She popped an almond into her mouth, the picture of innocence. “So. The plan?”
Get it together.
“Eden and I lead up.” He steadied his voice. “We set anchors as we go, establish a safe route to the cave entrance. Marcus and Xander, you belay from the base, then we bring you up once we’ve got it dialed in.”
Marcus stepped forward. His new hiking boots—still too shiny, too unscuffed—crunched on loose scree. “I’d like to be one of the first climbers.”
Teague glanced at Eden.
She watched him with carefully neutral eyes, but he could read the question in her expression. What are you going to do with this?
This was his chance. To prove he’d changed. To lead without bulldozing. To trust his team instead of assuming he knew best.
“You take second then.” The words came easier than expected. “I lead, you follow, Eden climbs third, Xander brings up the rear. We move as a team of four.”
Surprise flickered across Eden’s face. Something softened around her eyes. Approval, maybe. Or at least the absence of disappointment.
He’d take it.
“Look at you.” Eden’s voice dropped low enough that only he could hear. “Delegating. Listening. Who are you and what have you done with Teague Hamilton?”
“I’m growing.”
“Slowly.”
“Trees grow slowly, weeds don’t. Which would you rather me be?”
“Flowers grow quickly too.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “I’m no flower.”
“You’d make a great flower.” She sent him a teasing smile, then shoved her water bottle back in her pack. “Let’s get going before that rock gets too warm to climb.”
Fifteen minutes later, Teague stood at the base of the cliff and breathed in the warm, dusty air. Mineral tang coated his tongue—the taste of stone baked by centuries of Arizona sun. He pushed his auburn curls back from his forehead, already slick with sweat.
The wall rose in front of them in layers of rust and cream, Coconino Sandstone giving way to darker Hermit Shale near the top. Plenty of handholds and edges broke up the vertical expanse. But it would still be a tough climb.
They geared up in comfortable silence. Metal clinked against metal as Teague racked cams and quickdraws. Eden sorted the longer slings for anchor building, her movements efficient and practiced.
She really is good.
Better than good.
She finally looked up. Those blue eyes—ringed in that darker shade that was so addictive—held his gaze. “You’re staring again, Hamilton.”
“Admiring.”
“Same thing.”
“Admiring implies appreciation. Staring implies creepiness. I prefer to think I’m on the appreciation end of the spectrum.”
She tossed a sling at him. “Climb now. Flirt later.”
“Is that a promise?”
“It’s a command.” But her cheeks had gone slightly pink. “Move it, Hamilton.”
He tied into the sharp end and started up.
The limestone was cool under his fingertips, textured just enough for good friction. He found the crack system he’d spotted from below and worked his way up. The familiar rhythm settled into his bones—reach, test, commit. Weight through his feet. Trust the rubber.
Every eight to ten feet, he placed gear. Solid placements that seated with satisfying clicks.
About forty feet up, he built an anchor on a natural ledge and clipped in. The sun warmed the stone against his back. Below, three upturned faces watched his progress.
“Safe! Send Marcus up.”
Marcus checked his harness twice, nodded to himself, then started climbing. Careful, deliberate movements. Testing each hold before committing his weight.
Good technique. Textbook, actually.
But tension locked his shoulders rigid, and his wiry frame worked too hard against the vertical stone. His breathing grew heavier as he climbed higher.
C’mon, man. Relax.
Marcus reached for a hold, pulled up—and his foot skated off the rock. He caught himself, but fear flashed across his face.
“Weight your feet more!” Xander called from belay. “Let your legs do the work!”
Marcus reset and pushed up another few moves. But now he was climbing scared. Overgripping. Burning through his forearm strength.
He reached the anchor breathing hard, arms shaking. “Man. That’s harder than it looks.”
“You did good.” Teague clipped him in. “Catch your breath.”
Eden arrived smooth and controlled, barely winded. She flashed Teague a quick grin that did something inconvenient to his chest.
Focus.
Xander followed, and they clustered on the ledge—four bodies in a space meant for two. A raven called from somewhere in the distance.
Teague studied the wall above. The second pitch looked more moderate—wider crack, better holds, a diagonal traverse toward a natural ledge system.
“We’ll follow this crack for about thirty feet, then traverse right to that ledge. Marcus, this section’s easier. More positive holds, better feet.”
Xander leaned out to examine the route. “What about going left instead? There’s a chimney over there—slower but way easier for someone still getting comfortable with exposure.”
Teague looked where Xander pointed. The chimney would be more secure. It would add maybe ten minutes to the pitch.
But it would be safer.
“Good call. We’ll take the chimney.”
He glanced at Eden. She offered a slight nod.
There it was again. That small acknowledgment that did more for him than a standing ovation.
“Two nods in two days,” he murmured. “I’m on a roll.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The second pitch went exactly as planned. Teague led up the chimney, wedging himself between the parallel walls. When Marcus followed, Teague coached him through.
“Back against one wall, feet against the other. Inch your way up. Don’t rush it.”
By the time all four of them clustered on the next ledge, something warm spread through Teague’s chest.
This is working.
The cave entrance was visible now—a dark opening in the rust-colored limestone maybe fifty feet above them.
So close.
Teague examined the final section. The crack system continued straight up—clean, parallel-sided, perfect hand jams transitioning to fist jams near the top. Classic limestone crack climbing.
“Final push. I’ll lead straight up this crack. Most technical pitch yet, but the gear is solid and the jams are good.”
Eden stepped closer. Her shadow fell across the rock, and he caught a hint of sunscreen and something floral.
Focus, Hamilton. Rock. Climbing. Life-and-death stakes. Remember?
She traced a line to the left of the crack system. “What about going over there instead? That slab section with the horizontal breaks?”
Teague followed her gaze. The slab was smoother. Less featured. The horizontal breaks looked thin—shallow seams that might or might not take small cams.
“The crack’s got better protection. More positive holds.”
“I know, but look at the rock in that crack.” Eden pointed again. “See how the color changes about halfway up? That’s water seepage. The rock could be softer there.”