Chapter Four
“She’s chaos. And I want her anyway.”
Leif
I wasn't sure how this had happened. Yesterday morning, I'd been alone with my forge and my thoughts, enjoying the quiet rhythm of life I'd carefully constructed. Now I was following a powder blue Kia driven by a woman who couldn't tell north from south, headed toward a camp full of pre-teens.
Somewhere, the universe was laughing at me.
Skye drove cautiously, her car limping along the forest road. The patch on her tire was holding, but it wouldn't last more than a day or two. I'd told her as much, offered to drive her all the way back to Missoula once the camp was over. The words had tumbled out before I could catch them—an uncharacteristic impulse that had surprised us both.
She'd smiled, a genuine smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, and said, "Let's get through today first, Mountain Man."
Mountain Man. She kept calling me that, half teasing, and I had to admit I didn’t mind the nickname. Hell, when she looked into my eyes and smiled big enough to reveal that dimple, she could call me whatever she damned well please.
I glanced in my rearview mirror at the telescopes and astronomy gear loaded in the back of my Jeep. She'd brought three different telescopes—a serious piece of equipment that looked like it could spot aliens on Jupiter, and two smaller ones for the kids. Plus star charts, a laptop with some kind of tracking software, and enough snack food to feed half of Montana.
The woman didn't do anything halfway, that much was clear.
We turned onto the final stretch of road that led to Fire Mountain Youth Camp. I'd been here before, years ago, helping clear trails after a storm. It was a decent setup—a main lodge of honey-colored logs with a green metal roof, several smaller cabins arranged in a semicircle, and a large fire pit area that opened onto a meadow with a clear view of the night sky. Perfect for stargazing.
The camp came into view, and Skye's car slowed. I could see her shoulders tense even from behind. She was nervous. It was oddly endearing.
She parked near the main lodge, and I pulled up beside her. The moment she stepped out of her car, a woman with a clipboard and a bright pink t-shirt came charging across the grounds, kicking up dust with each determined step.
"STAR BABE!" the woman shouted, throwing her arms around Skye. "I thought you'd been eaten by wolves! Or bears! Or wolf-bears!"
This had to be Mandy. Skye had mentioned her friend who'd roped her into this gig.
"Sorry, sorry!" Skye hugged her back. "My phone died, and I had a flat tire, and I got lost, and—"
"And you found yourself a lumberjack?" Mandy cut in, eyeing me over Skye's shoulder as I climbed out of the Jeep. Her gaze was appraising, like she was mentally calculating my market value.
"Leif," I offered, not bothering to correct her assumption about my profession. "I helped with the tire."
"I'll bet you did," Mandy muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. To Skye, she said, "The kids are in the mess hall finishing lunch. They've been asking about you for hours. I told them you were taking the scenic route."
"Technically true," Skye laughed. "Is there time for me to set up before they finish?"
"About twenty minutes." Mandy glanced at her watch, then at me. "You staying to help?"
I opened my mouth to say no, but Skye answered first.
"He is," she said, with a confidence that took me by surprise. "He's my assistant for the day. Knows the mountain, the sky, the whole deal."
Mandy's eyebrows shot up. "Does he now?"
"I owe her," I said simply.
Skye flashed me a smile that did uncomfortable things to my chest. "Let's unload before the horde descends."
The next fifteen minutes were a whirlwind of activity. Skye directed the setup with surprising efficiency, transforming a corner of the main lodge into a mini planetarium with charts, models, and interactive displays. I helped carry the heavier equipment, including the main telescope that would go out on the meadow after dark.
"You really know what you're doing," I observed as she calibrated something on the largest telescope, her fingers quick and sure on the dials.
"Shocking, right?" She didn't look up, but her lips curved in a smile. "The disaster-prone city girl actually has skills."
"I never said you didn't."
"You thought it, though." This time she did look up, hazel eyes sparkling with challenge. "Admit it. You took one look at my yoga pants and sandals and wrote me off as useless."
"Not useless. Just..." I searched for the right word. "Misplaced."
She laughed at that, a genuine sound that seemed to brighten the whole room. "Fair enough. I was definitely misplaced. Lucky for me, you were there to find me."
Before I could respond, the doors to the lodge burst open and a tidal wave of energy flooded in—twelve kids between nine and twelve years old, all talking at once, a riot of bright t-shirts, sneakers, and backpacks.
"Is that the telescope?" "Are we gonna see Saturn's rings?" "I brought my star tracker app!" "Can we make s'mores NOW?"
I took an instinctive step back, but Skye moved forward, her entire demeanor shifting into teacher mode.
"Whoa, whoa, one at a time!" She clapped her hands, and miraculously, the chaos subsided. "I'm Skye, your astronomy guide for tonight. And yes, we're going to see Saturn's rings, and Mars, and the Perseid meteor shower if we're lucky."
A girl with dark pigtails and enormous, purple-framed glasses stepped forward. "Are you a real astronomer?"
"I'm a science teacher," Skye replied. "And a lifelong stargazer. My dad and I used to track every meteor shower, eclipse, and planetary conjunction. I've been looking up my whole life."
"Cool," the girl nodded, apparently satisfied. "I'm Lily. I know all the constellations already."
"Perfect! You can help me tonight." Skye turned to include the whole group. "Now, who can tell me why we can see stars at night but not during the day?"
Several hands shot up, and just like that, she had them. Every single one. They gathered around her like planets orbiting a sun, eager and attentive. I hung back, watching as she led them through an introduction to the night sky, her enthusiasm infectious.
"And who's that?" A boy with a mop of dark hair and a camo-print t-shirt jerked his thumb at me.
Skye glanced over. "That's Leif. He lives on the mountain and knows more about surviving in the wilderness than anyone I've ever met. He rescued me when I got lost yesterday."
Twelve pairs of eyes swiveled in my direction, assessing me with unnerving directness.
"Did you fight a bear?" the dark-haired boy asked.
"No."
"Have you ever fought a bear?"
"No."
"Could you fight a bear?"
"Wouldn't recommend it."
"Do you have a gun?"
"Tyler!" Mandy cut in. "Let's focus on astronomy, not bear fighting."
"But bears are important survival information," Tyler insisted. "My dad says you should always be bear aware."
"Your dad is right," I said. "But the most important thing about bears is avoiding them, not fighting them."
Tyler considered this, then nodded solemnly. "Makes sense. That's why I brought bear spray. And a whistle. And a knife."
"You did not bring a knife," Skye said firmly.
"Just a pocket one," Tyler protested. "For whittling. And emergency bear defense."
I caught Skye's eye over the kids' heads and had to fight back a smile at her exasperated expression.
The afternoon passed in a blur of activity. Skye had planned a series of hands-on astronomy lessons—building scale models of the solar system, learning to use star charts, exploring the different types of telescopes. She moved between groups, patient and encouraging, her passion for the subject obvious in every explanation.
A small hand tugged at my sleeve. I looked down to find Lily, the girl with the glasses, staring up at me.
"Are you Skye's boyfriend?" she asked bluntly.
I blinked. "No."
"Do you want to be?"
Jesus Christ. "Isn't there a solar system you should be building?"
"I finished mine already. It's anatomically correct. That means I got the sizes right." She pushed her glasses up her nose. "You didn't answer my question."
"That's because it's not an appropriate question."
"My mom says that when grown-ups say something's not appropriate, it means the answer is yes but they don't want to admit it."
I stared at her, at a complete loss for words. She stared back, unblinking behind her enormous glasses, her expression eerily knowing for someone who probably still watched cartoons.
"Hey, Lily!" Skye called from across the room. "Come help me explain lunar phases!"
Saved by the science teacher. Lily gave me one last knowing look before skipping off to join Skye.
Throughout the afternoon, I noticed Mandy watching me with the same analytical gaze as Lily, though mercifully with fewer direct questions. She cornered Skye at one point, and though I couldn't hear their conversation, the wild gesticulating and Skye's flushed cheeks told me enough.
By the time dinner rolled around, I'd been drafted into helping serve food, fixing a wobbly table leg, and explaining to Tyler why, despite what his uncle had told him, you couldn't actually survive drinking your own urine in the wilderness for more than a very short time.
"But Bear Grylls—" he began.
"Is on TV," I finished for him. "Find clean water. Filter it. Or boil it. That's the rule."
"Have you ever had to drink your pee?" he asked, eyes wide.
"No. And neither will you if you're prepared."
He nodded, clearly filing this away for future reference. "Cool. Can you show me how to make a snare? For rabbits?"
"Tyler!" Skye called. "Leave Leif alone and come get your dinner!"
Tyler scampered off, but not before giving me a conspiratorial wink. "We'll talk snares later," he whispered.
I shook my head, wondering how I'd ended up here, discussing wilderness survival with a kid who probably knew more about Fortnite than foraging. All because a woman in inappropriate footwear had gotten lost on my mountain.
My mountain. When had I started thinking of it that way?
After dinner, as the sun began to set, we moved the operation outside. Skye directed the setup of the telescopes in the meadow, positioning them for optimal viewing as the sky darkened. The kids spread out blankets and sleeping bags, chattering excitedly as the first stars began to appear.
A small group of parents who were serving as chaperones hung back, watching with amusement as their children transformed from screen-obsessed zombies to enthusiastic astronomers.
"You've got a gift with them," one mother said to Skye. "My son hasn't put his phone down for months, but he hasn't even looked at it since you started talking about meteor showers."
Skye smiled, clearly pleased. "It's the universe. Once you start to grasp how vast and amazing it is, everything else seems small in comparison."
As darkness fell completely, Skye gathered everyone around. The night was perfect—clear, with a new moon that wouldn't interfere with the starlight. The Milky Way stretched across the sky like a river of light, more visible here, away from city lights, than most of these kids had ever seen it.
"Okay, everyone, lie back and look up," Skye instructed, her voice soft in the darkness. "What you're seeing is our home galaxy—the Milky Way. It contains over 100 billion stars, and our sun is just one of them."
A chorus of awed murmurs rippled through the group.
"Now, who can find the North Star?"
Several hands shot up, and Skye called on a girl with braids.
"There!" She pointed confidently.
"Perfect! And why is the North Star important?"
"Because it always shows north," Tyler chimed in. "So you can navigate if you're lost. My dad taught me that."
"Exactly right," Skye confirmed. "Sailors and explorers have used it for thousands of years to find their way."
She moved between the blankets, pointing out constellations and explaining the stories behind them. The kids were rapt, asking questions and exclaiming in delight when they spotted something new. Even the parents were engaged, lying back with their children and looking up with wonder.
I found myself hanging back at the edge of the meadow, watching. Not the stars—I'd seen them countless times—but Skye. The way she moved through the darkness with confidence, her voice animated as she shared her knowledge. The way she knelt beside a shy little girl to help her spot Cassiopeia. The genuine joy on her face when a kid made a connection or asked a thoughtful question.
She caught me watching at one point and smiled, a private smile meant just for me. Something shifted in my chest, a loosening of knots I hadn't realized were there.
Later, as the kids took turns at the telescopes, Skye made her way over to where I stood.
"What do you think?" she asked, her voice low. "Am I redeeming myself for the whole 'lost in the woods' fiasco?"
"You never needed to," I said honestly. "But yes. You're good at this."
"Thanks." She bumped her shoulder against mine, the brief contact sending warmth through my arm. "Will you stay for s'mores? The kids are dying to show off their marshmallow roasting skills."
I should have said no. Should have gotten in my Jeep and driven back to my cabin, back to my solitude, back to the life that made sense.
Instead, I heard myself say, "Sure."
The campfire portion of the evening was marginally more chaotic. The kids, hopped up on astronomy and the promise of sugar, darted around gathering sticks and arguing over the optimal marshmallow roasting technique. The fire crackled and popped, sending orange sparks spiraling up into the inky sky.
"It's all about patience," Tyler instructed, demonstrating his slow-rotation method. "You want to get it golden brown all the way around."
"Nuh-uh," countered a girl with freckles splashed across her nose. "You stick it right in the flame, let it catch fire, then blow it out. Crispy outside, gooey inside."
"That's barbaric," Tyler declared.
"Your face is barbaric," the girl shot back.
"Okay, diplomatic marshmallow relations, please," Skye intervened, handing out graham crackers and chocolate. "Everyone has their own perfect s'more style."
I found myself drafted into skewer-whittling duty, carefully sharpening sticks for the kids who hadn't brought their own. The wood was soft pine, easy to shape with my pocket knife, filling the air with its fresh resinous scent. Lily sidled up beside me, watching my technique with analytical eyes.
"You're really good at that," she observed. "Did you learn in the Boy Scouts?"
"No. My grandfather taught me."
"Is he still alive?"
"No."
"Mine neither. He had a heart attack. Mom says his cholesterol was too high. Do you eat a lot of bacon?"
I blinked at the non-sequitur. "Moderate amounts."
She nodded sagely. "That's probably smart. You're really muscular. Do you work out, or is it just from chopping wood and stuff?"
"Both."
"Cool." She accepted the stick I handed her. "Thanks. I'm going to roast this marshmallow perfectly to impress you."
Before I could respond to that, she was gone, marching determinedly toward the fire. I glanced over to find Skye watching us, amusement dancing in her eyes.
"Making friends?" she asked, approaching with two mugs.
"More like being interrogated."
She laughed, handing me one of the mugs. "Hot chocolate. With a little something extra for the adults." She winked, and I caught the faint scent of whiskey mixed with the chocolate.
"Resourceful."
"I have my moments." She settled beside me on a log, close enough that our shoulders almost touched. "Thank you for today. Seriously. I couldn't have done this without you."
"Yes, you could have."
"Okay, maybe, but it would have been a disaster. A flat tire and no backup plan? I would have let all these kids down." She gestured to where the children were now engaged in serious s'more construction, faces sticky with marshmallow and chocolate. "Look how happy they are."
I followed her gaze, taking in the scene. The kids were laughing, comparing their creations, exaggerating the deliciousness with dramatic gestures. The parents sat nearby, some helping the younger ones, others talking quietly among themselves. The fire cast a warm glow over everything, creating a bubble of light and warmth in the vast darkness.
It was... nice. A word I hadn't associated with groups of people in a very long time.
"You did this," I said. "Not me."
Skye shook her head. "You made it possible. My hero with a tire patch and a Jeep."
"Don't call me that."
"What, a hero? Too cheesy?" She grinned, nudging me with her elbow. "How about 'my knight in shining flannel'?"
Despite myself, I laughed. An actual laugh, rusty from disuse. "That's worse."
"My wilderness rescuer?"
"Getting warmer."
"My mountain man?"
I looked at her then, really looked at her. The firelight played across her features, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the spark in her eyes, the small smile that seemed to hold secrets I suddenly wanted to know.
"Better," I said, my voice lower than I'd intended.
Something changed in her expression, a softening, a question. Before she could speak, Tyler's voice cut through the moment.
"MISS SKYE! Genevieve is trying to roast her WHOLE chocolate bar and it's making a mess!"
Skye laughed, breaking the tension. "Duty calls. Hold that thought."
I watched her hurry over to avert the chocolate disaster, easily redirecting the kids' energy into a ghost story competition. She was chaos in human form—bright, unpredictable, drawing everyone into her orbit. The complete opposite of the ordered solitude I'd built for myself.
And yet, I couldn't look away.
The evening wound down gradually. Parents began collecting their sleepy children, thanking Skye profusely for the experience. The kids who were staying overnight retreated to their cabins under Mandy's supervision, still chattering about stars and planets and how many s'mores they'd managed to consume.
Finally, it was just Skye and me by the dying fire. The camp had grown quiet, the only sounds the crackling of embers and the chorus of night insects in the surrounding forest. The air had cooled, but the heat from the coals still warmed my face, glowing red-orange in the darkness.
"I should head back," I said, not moving.
"Or you could stay a little longer." Skye added another small log to the fire, sending a shower of sparks upward. "The night's still young."
I knew I should leave. Drive back to my cabin. Return to my solitude. It was the sensible choice, the safe choice.
Instead, I sat back down.
Skye smiled, a soft, private smile that did uncomfortable things to my chest. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Not just for today, but for yesterday too. For finding me. For helping me. For..." She gestured vaguely. "All of it."
"You'd have figured it out."
"Maybe. Or maybe I'd still be wandering in circles, covered in mud and talking to squirrels." She laughed softly. "I'm serious, Leif. Thank you."
Her hand found mine in the firelight, warm and small against my palm. The touch was innocent enough, but it sent a current through my arm, straight to my chest.
"You're welcome," I managed, my voice rougher than intended.
She looked up at me, firelight reflecting in her eyes, and something shifted in the air between us. Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes, a question in her expression.
I knew I should pull away. Say goodnight. Leave before this went somewhere it shouldn't.
I didn't move.
Skye leaned in slowly, giving me every chance to stop her. I didn't. Her lips met mine, soft and tentative at first, a question rather than a demand.
For one heartbeat, I remained still. Then something broke loose inside me, and I was kissing her back, one hand sliding into her hair, the other at her waist, pulling her closer.
The kiss deepened, slow and hungry and inevitable, like the culmination of a path we'd been walking since I found her in the rain. She tasted like chocolate and whiskey and something uniquely her, and I knew with sudden clarity that this was going to complicate everything.
And for the first time in years, I didn't care.