Chapter 3
THREE
WARRICK
The parking lot is packed by the time I pull my Jeep into a space that a volunteer in a baseball cap directs me to.
Killing the engine, I grab the small backpack I filled with a couple of bottles of water, some sunscreen, a couple of protein bars, and my earbuds, and open my Jeep’s door, slipping out of my seat and into the early morning sunshine.
Pulling my bag over my shoulder, I sigh, taking in the groups of hikers, all laden down with stuff, like they’re preparing to survive a year in the wild, not taking a walk along a pre-marked trail.
Not that I plan to do anything different. I have a fairly good sense of direction, and I’m used to navigating remote woods. Although, usually they’re on fire. But really all I intend to do this morning is waste a little time and see what the area has to offer.
Locking my Jeep, I pull my ball cap down low over my eyes and take a step forward, almost running straight into the person who directed me to park here. I hadn’t really paid attention while I was parking, but now that I see her, it’s impossible to not notice her.
The woman—or girl, because she’s clearly young, although I’m not sure how young—is dressed in a baggy T-shirt and cargo shorts that are too big, secured with a belt cinched tightly at her tiny waist. The ball cap she’s wearing is a sun-worn navy blue and boasts the Rockhead Peak Ranger Service logo in muted yellow across the front.
Her hair is braided into a long rope that hangs almost to her butt and is a rich chestnut color, not quite red, but not brown either. I can’t see much of her face, but from what I can see, her skin is sun-warmed, with a smattering of freckles leading down to full, pouty lips.
“Sir,” she says, her voice too soft. “Sir,” she says again, pulling my attention from her face to the flyer she’s clearly trying to give to me.
“Oh,” I grunt, lifting my hand and taking the flyer from her.
“That’s a map for the trails that start from this lot.
It also shows you the ranger stations and the emergency checkpoints along the route, just in case you need help.
Cell phone signal can be hit and miss out there, but the checkpoints all have phones that connect straight to the ranger station that’s manned twenty-four seven.
Stay on the trails, the woods can be dangerous, and even though you shouldn’t see many at this time of year, there are bears out there.
So stay aware of your surroundings and have a great day,” she says, like she’s memorized the words and is simply reciting them.
“Thanks,” I tell her. “Hey, what’s your name?” I call as she turns to walk away.
“It’s Verity,” she says, glancing quickly over her shoulder before she turns and moves to direct the next car that arrives into a space.
Unable to move, I stand and watch as she silently points to the empty spot beside my Jeep, offering the hikers a map and the same explanation she gave me. When I’m still standing in the same spot after they’ve all disappeared down the trail, she glances cautiously back at me.
“Is everything okay? Are you waiting for someone?” she asks.
“No.”
“No?” she repeats. “You’re not okay? Do you need me to call for help?”
“No,” I say again, sounding like an idiot.
Crossing her arms over her chest in what feels like a protective gesture, she takes a small step back. “I don’t really understand,” she says quietly.
“Sorry. Fuck,” I mutter. “No, I’m fine. I’m just taking a moment,” I say, feeling like a fucking idiot.
“Oh,” she says, nodding like that makes sense. “Okay.”
Cursing myself for acting like a weirdo, I exhale, then force my feet to move, heading for the trail entrance and away from the girl that my body is begging me not to leave. The trail is busy and beautiful, but I barely pay attention because all I can think about is the girl.
I didn’t even see all of her face, but something inside of me is pulling me back to the parking lot. To her. The nagging sensation in my stomach doesn’t stop, only lessening when I turn around and start heading back in the direction of my Jeep.
By the time I reach the parking lot, I feel almost frantic. Scanning the lot, I search for her, but I can’t find the intriguing girl. Cars have filled the entire lot, and she’s gone.
Unsure what to do, I open my back door and sit on the fender, drinking my water and eating a protein bar as I wait for her to return.
But thirty minutes later there’s still no sign of her.
Edgy, I wonder if she moved to direct traffic at another parking lot, but as I’m contemplating driving to the next closest trail, a truck pulls into the lot with the ranger service logo on the side.
“Warrick,” Clayton, one of the rangers we’ve worked with in the past, calls out to me as he climbs out from behind the wheel.
“Hey man,” I greet him, standing and making my way across the lot to speak to him.
“I didn’t think you were much of a hiker,” he says, his tone mocking. He knows that I like to lift and that beyond a cursory amount of cardio to maintain my stamina, I focus mainly on strength training.
“I’m not. But I’ve been living here for a while now, and I realized I’ve only seen the vistas when they’ve been on fire,” I tell him, leaving out the antsy boredom I’ve been feeling now that all of my buddies are wifed up.
“This is a pretty good place to start. The view from the top of the trail is spectacular,” he says genuinely.
“Yeah, I saw it,” I say quickly. “Hey, do you know Verity?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Verity?” Clayton says her name, and my skin starts to prickle with annoyance.
“She was here this morning, directing traffic and handing out maps.”
“Here?” he questions.
“Yeah, here.”
“Oh, we did have a new volunteer start a while back. I’ve never spoken to her, though. She showed up one day and just kept coming. That could be her, although I didn’t know that was her name.”
“Small, long hair, softly spoken,” I push, listing the basics of what I noticed about her, not mentioning her full lips or the way I didn’t want to walk away from her even though I could barely see her face.
“Yeah, that sounds about right. She shows up most days and eats with the volunteers. I don’t really have much to do with them. I leave that to Erin. She pairs them up and assigns them tasks.”
“But if she’s a volunteer, she must be a local?” I question.
Clayton shrugs. “Maybe. Although we do have a few students that spend the spring and summer here, so she could be one of them.”
“She was on her own this morning,” I tell him.
Shrugging again, he lifts his hands into the air. “Like I said, the volunteers are Erin’s domain.”
Reluctantly I nod. “Okay, no worries. It was good to see you. I should head back.”
“Good to see you too. You free for beers one night this week?”
“Today is my first day off.”
“I could do a few beers tonight,” Clayton says. “I get off at six.”
“See you there,” I tell him, slapping him on the shoulder as I head back to my Jeep.
Turning the key in the ignition, my Jeep rumbles to life, and I reverse out of the spot and pull onto the road, scanning my surroundings for any sign of her.
By the time I hit town, I’m frustrated and itching with the desire to turn around and head back to the trailhead, just in case she’s there.
Instead, I slow to a stop outside the ranger office in the middle of town, a prime position for all the tourists who visit each year.
Erin is sitting behind an information desk, her gray hair short and neat, barely long enough to tuck behind her ears. She’s chatting with a large family with a map spread out on the desk as she talks them through a hike that will lead them to one of the mountain lakes.
Waiting as patiently as I can, I cross and uncross my arms, fighting the urge to shove the dude wearing brand-new hiking boots and those pants that unzip at the knee to become shorts out of the way so I can ask Erin for everything she knows about the woman that I cannot stop thinking about.
After what feels like an hour, but it’s probably closer to five minutes, the family turns away from Erin and files out of the store, chattering excitedly about the things they’re going to see on their hike this afternoon.
“Hey, Erin,” I say, striding to the desk the moment I can weave my way around the straggling kids.
“Warrick Meyer, what can I do for you today?” Erin asks shrewdly.
I don’t know the woman well, but on the rare occasion that I’ve had to act as liaison between my team and the ranger service, I’ve found her to be efficient, no-nonsense, and calm in a crisis.
Apparently, she was an active ranger until about five years ago, when she hit retirement age.
Unwilling to give up working, she stepped away from the more physical duties and took over manning the public facing side of the ranger service—helping tourists, giving talks at the local schools, and, when required, helping guide the fire and rescue services in an emergency.
“Erin, I met one of your volunteers today.”
“Did you?” she asks, not taking the bait and asking which one.
“I did. Her name was Verity. She was directing cars and giving out maps at the start of the trailhead.”
“Okay,” she says impassively.
“I was wondering if you knew much about her,” I finally blurt.
“Not really. She’s quiet, keeps to herself,” Erin says, not giving me any real information.
“Is she local? I’ve never seen her before, but living up on the mountain, I don’t get to town much.”
“I don’t know,” Erin says.
“Do you happen to know her last name?”
Erin shakes her head, her lips pressed together, clearly suppressing a grin.
“Will she be volunteering at the parking lot all day?”
“No, it’s busiest in the mornings with hikers wanting to get an early start.”
“Okay, so where is she in the afternoons?” I ask, struggling not to bark at her to just fucking tell me.
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“Why, the fuck not?” I snap.
Arching her eyebrows, she silently reprimands me.