Chapter 4 Rhiannon
RHIANNON
The university truck is possibly the ugliest shade of green I’ve ever seen.
I’m early. I’ve been awake since five, mentally running through equipment checklists and trying not to think about the fact that my phone has several unread texts from my mother.
I haven’t looked at them.
The back of the truck is already half-loaded—Professor Bam must have started before I got here.
I can see cases of equipment through the rear window, carefully strapped down.
Thermometers, sample containers, the portable pH meter, the good camera for documentation.
Good. I know how to use all of this stuff.
Worst case scenario: If Carter decides not to help and to sleep for the whole trip, I’ll be fine collecting everything Bam needs on my own.
Because I have to be fine. If I’m not, then what am I? The girl who cracks under pressure? The girl who needs help? No. If I can’t carry it alone, I don’t deserve to be here.
My backpack is heavy on my shoulder—eight days’ worth of clothes, toiletries, my field notebook, three fiction books I absolutely have to take, and the anxiety that’s been living in my chest since Wednesday.
“Rhi!”
I turn to see Professor Bam emerging from the building, arms full of what looks like more equipment, her curls escaping from under a knit hat with a pompon on top.
“Morning, Professor.” I hurry over to help her, taking a case of sample vials that weighs approximately one thousand pounds. Or maybe I’m just weak from anxiety and caffeine deprivation. Hard to say.
“How much more needs to be loaded?” I ask, trying to sound casual and professional, like my internal monologue isn’t currently screaming about spending days with Carter Wolfe.
Carter Wolfe, who I definitely do not have a crush on.
Carter Wolfe, who I have not been thinking about for the past forty eight hours.
Carter Wolfe, who is—according to my extremely objective and not-at-all-biased assessment—unfairly attractive for someone who skips class.
“Just these last few things. Carter should be here any minute to help.” She checks her watch. “We’ll do one final run-through of the protocol, make sure you both have the route information, and then you’re off.”
I hadn’t messaged him like I’d said I would. I couldn’t think of what to say without sounding like a nerd, or too formal. Embarrassingly, I spent over an hour thinking about it before I gave up and accepted that we would just meet here.
The way she says it—casual, cheerful—makes it sound so simple. Just fieldwork. Just you and a near-stranger in the mountains over Christmas.
No big deal.
“Are you excited?” she asks, and there’s something knowing in her eyes.
“This is an excellent experience. Really. Graduate programs love this kind of independent field research. You know most people don’t get to do something like this as an undergrad unless they apply to external research labs.
Plus, you’re really helping me out.” She winks. “I’m a good person to owe you a favor.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I say, and it’s not entirely a lie. Under the anxiety and the guilt about avoiding my family and the uncertainty about Carter, there is excitement. Real, genuine excitement about the work itself.
I love fieldwork. Love the precision of it, the way data tells a story if you know how to listen. Love being outside, even in the cold, with a clear purpose.
It’s everything else that’s complicated.
“Morning, ladies!”
The voice comes from behind me—warm, confident, with the kind of easy charm that probably works on most people.
I don’t turn around immediately. Instead, I carefully set the sample case in the truck bed, making sure it’s secure before I acknowledge him.
When I do turn, Carter Wolfe is standing there in a university hoodie and jeans, hair still wet like he just got out of the shower, grinning like this is a fun field trip instead of essential research that will determine whether he passes or fails.
He’s wearing a scarf that should look dorky but instead makes him look like he’s about to star in a romantic comedy about a charming ski instructor who teaches an uptight city girl how to love again.
I am not the uptight city girl in this scenario.
I refuse to be the uptight city girl.
He’s taller than I remember. Or maybe I’ve just been very good at not looking directly at him for the past three months.
He and Bam exchange pleasantries and she goes to collect something while Carter saunters over to help me with the truck.
“You must be my partner for this expedition,” he says, extending a hand. “I’m Carter. Carter Wolfe.”
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.
I paste on my most professional smile—the one I learned from watching my mother navigate faculty politics—and shake his hand. His grip is warm. Firm.
I let go quickly.
“Rhiannon Pierce.” I watch his face carefully for any flicker of recognition.
Nothing.
Of course not.
His eyes scan my body. I’m wearing skin tight thermals. I took off my jumper because it’s too warm here so my tight t-shirt shows off my considerable curves.
He swallows hard and flicks his eyes back to my face. I glare at him as my female hormones betray me and my heart beats faster.
“Hey, I’m not a city girl.” I blurt out.
“Alright then.” He squints at me.
I don’t know what else to do with myself so I nod.
“Great to meet you, Rhiannon.” He says my name like he’s testing it out. “I have to say, when Bam told me I’d be partnered with someone, I was expecting a senior or you know, a grad student, someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”
“That’s because I do know what I’m doing.” I turn back to the truck. “Unlike some people who’ve missed six weeks of lectures.”
There’s a beat of surprised silence.
“Ouch.” But he’s still smiling when I glance back. “Okay, so you’ve heard about me. That’s fair. But I promise I’m a changed man. Very committed to this project. Completely focused.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I start reorganizing the equipment in the truck bed. He’s put the spectrometer on its side. Of course, he has. “You loaded this wrong.”
“I loaded it exactly how Bam told me to load it.”
“You loaded it on its side. It’s a precision instrument.”
“It’s in a protective case.”
“That doesn’t mean you can just toss it in like a gym bag.” I’m already repositioning it, handling it with the care it deserves. “$15,000 piece of equipment. Maybe treat it like it matters?”
I feel him move closer—close enough that I can smell his soap. Something woodsy. It smells distinctly manly.
“You know the exact dollar amount of the spectrometer off the top of your head?”
“I read the equipment manual.”
“The whole manual?”
“All the manuals, actually.” I don’t look at him. “Some of us care about data integrity.”
“Hey, I care about data integrity. I also care about not having a stress-induced heart attack at twenty-one, but different priorities, I guess.”
I do look at him then. He’s grinning at me—not meanly, but like he thinks this is funny. Like I’m funny.
Something hot and uncomfortable twists in my chest.
Professor Bam returns and I sigh with relief.
“Before you go,” Professor Bam saves me from overexplaining my strange outburst, “I need to be clear about expectations. This isn’t a camping trip.
This is a professional research project.
The equipment you’re using is worth $30,000.
The truck is university property. And the data you’re collecting will be reviewed by my entire department.
” She fixes us both with a serious look.
“If either of you screws this up, meaning genuinely fails to follow protocol, damages equipment, or comes back with unusable data—it reflects on me. On my lab. On my reputation. I’m trusting you both with something I care deeply about. ”
No pressure then.
We work in silence for a few minutes, passing equipment back and forth. At one point, we both reach for the same case of thermometers, and our hands collide.
His fingers are warm. Calloused. I pull back like I’ve been shocked.
“Sorry,” we both say.
He pulls his hand back with a half-smile. “You take it.”
“No, you can—”
“Rhi.” He’s trying not to laugh. “It’s a box. Not a limited resource. I promise there’s enough equipment for both of us.”
“I know that.” I purse my lips.
“Do you? Because you’re looking at these thermometers like they’re the last ones on Earth and you need to protect them with your life.”
I clutch the box to my chest defensively. “They’re delicate instruments.”
“And I’m sure they appreciate your devotion.” He’s definitely laughing now. “But maybe we could load them into the truck before you formally adopt them?”
I want to smile. I glare. “You’re very annoying.”
“I’ve been told.” He reaches for a different case. “But I’ll grow on you. I always do...”
“I doubt it.”
“Lies. You smiled. I saw it. That’s basically a declaration of friendship.”
“That was a grimace of tolerance.”
“Tomato, tomahto.” He hefts the case into the truck with an ease that I definitely don’t notice. “By day three, you’ll be laughing at all my jokes.”
“Do you make jokes?” I tilt my head, “Or just say ridiculous things and hope people laugh?” I deadpan.
He puts a hand over his heart. “Wounded. Genuinely wounded. I’ll have you know I’m hilarious.”
“I’ll keep you posted on that assessment.”
“Please do. I need the feedback for my personal growth.”
And okay, fine. Maybe he is a little bit charming. Maybe the way he grins when he’s trying not to laugh does something unfortunate to my cardiovascular system.
But I’m not admitting that out loud.
The next twenty minutes are a blur of equipment checks and last-minute instructions. Carter’s surprisingly efficient—he doesn’t need to be told twice where things go, and he’s careful with the delicate instruments.
Maybe he is taking this seriously.
Professor Bam spreads a map across the truck’s hood, weighed down at the corners with sample cases.
“Alright. Site one is here”—she taps the map—“about an hour north. Easy access, you’ll be done by early afternoon today.
Site two is another hour east. Both can be done today.
You’ll overnight at the Valley View Motel—I’ve already made a reservation, two rooms. There you can start to process the initial data and enjoy a good night’s rest.”
Carter and I both lean over the map. Our arms are almost touching. I shift slightly to the left.
I’ve visited most of these sites before so I feel good about this.
“After that, you’re here,” Professor Bam continues. “That’s a longer drive, about three hours. Then Saturday morning, you head to the cabin at Monarch Ridge. That’s your base for hitting the other sites over the next trip.”
“The cabin’s here?” Carter asks, pointing to a spot on the map that looks extremely remote.
“Yes. It’s about forty minutes from the motel on forest service roads, so take your time and take plenty of supplies.
And get all the receipts; my lab will reimburse all your spending, of course.
..” She looks between us. “You’ll be at the cabin for the other nights.
Is that still alright with both of you? There’s a landline for emergencies, but cell service is limited from about ten miles before you get there.
You might catch it or might not, so don’t count on it. ”
“Yes,” we say in unison, then glance at each other.
Professor Bam smiles. “Good. The cabin’s stocked with basic food and lots of firewood.
It’s rustic but comfortable. You’ll collect data from the sites, which are both accessible on foot from the cabin—about an hour’s hike to each.
Then you pack up, come back, and Rhiannon and I will send data back and forth for the analysis and our paper. ”
She pulls out two folders, hands one to each of us. “Your copies of the protocol, site information, emergency contacts. The truck has a full tank and winter emergency supplies. Any questions?”
I flip through my folder. Everything is meticulously organized, tabs marking different sections. It’s beautiful.
“I think we’re good,” Carter says.
“One more thing,” Prof Bam says, pulling out a weather report.
“The sites you’re monitoring? They’re critical baseline data for a climate study that’s going to Congress in February.
We need continuous readings through the holiday season because that’s when we expect to see the most significant temperature anomalies.
If we miss this window, we don’t get another chance.
The grant ends, the study is incomplete, and three years of work means nothing. ”
She looks at us one by one. “So when I say this data matters, I mean it matters. Not just for your grades. For actual policy decisions about geothermal resources in protected wilderness areas.”
“Noted,” Carter replies.
“Excellent.” Professor Bam’s face goes soft. “Thank you both for doing this. I know Christmas isn’t ideal timing, but this data set is really important. You’re doing great work.”
“Thank you for the opportunity.” Carter sounds sincere.
“Absolutely. Now”—she pulls keys from her pocket and holds them up—“who’s driving first?”
Carter and I look at each other.
There’s this moment—probably half a second in real time, but it feels longer—where we’re both clearly trying to gauge who wants to drive more. He raises an eyebrow. I raise mine back. It’s possibly the most mature interaction I’ve ever had.
“I can drive,” I say, at the exact same moment he says, “I’m happy to—”
We stop. Try again.
“You should—” I start.
“No, you can—” he says.
Professor Bam watches this painful display with barely concealed amusement.
“Rock paper scissors?” Carter suggests.
“We’re adults.”
“Adults play rock paper scissors all the time. It’s a legitimate conflict resolution strategy.”
“I’ll drive,” I say firmly, because if I let this continue, we’ll be here until spring semester. “I like driving. I’m good at it. You can navigate.”
Carter grins. “Bossy. I like it.”
Heat crawls up my neck. It spreads fast, that tell tale flush that screams “I’M EMBARRASSED” to anyone with functioning eyes. “I’m not bossy. I’m…decisive.”
Two words I’m not sure anybody else would ever use to describe me, but Cater Wolfe seems to bring out this side in me.
“Right. Decisive.” He’s still grinning. “My mistake.”
Professor Bam drops the keys into my palm—warm from her pocket, which is a detail my brain decides to fixate on for some reason. “Drive safe. Check in when you can. Get the work done, don’t let me down.” She pointedly looks at Carter, “and have a little fun too. Field trips are supposed to be fun.”
Fun. Right. I can do fun.
I’m great at fun.
I’m definitely not about to spend the entire trip overthinking every interaction with Carter Wolfe while simultaneously pretending I’m not attracted to him.
This is going to be fine.