Wild Peak (Rugged Loners #1)

1. Brooke

One

Brooke

Y ou know, I’d spend more time in the Great Outdoors if it wasn’t trying to kill me. I’d get out more and enjoy the mountain views—hey, maybe I’d even go hiking every weekend like everyone else in town. But you know what they’re all forgetting each time they lace up those stinky leather boots?

Mother Nature is bloodthirsty as hell.

The stinging bugs; the poisonous berries; the raging winter storms and pressing summer heat. Wolves and snakes and bears. Deep ravines like giant cracks in the mountain rock, and wildfires that sweep over the peaks with barely any warning, turning everything in their wake to ash.

Seriously, am I the only person in a hundred mile radius with an ounce of self preservation? You can’t get eaten by predators when you’re curled up on the sofa with a library book, people.

Today, though, I’m breaking my own rules. Going against all my own instincts.

Today, I am going for a hike.

Loose stones and dried twigs crunch underfoot as I stride up the mountain trail, my arms swinging with determination. The water bottle in my bag sloshes audibly with every step, and my brand new walking boots rub my heels. My backpack weighs on my shoulders.

It’s a sunny spring day, but still cool in the patches of shade. Birds chirp and flutter between branches overhead, chit-chatting together as I power up the trail, and I try to enjoy it. I swear I do. The air is fresh and the birdsong is soothing, but I’m barely fifteen minutes into my hike before the doubts hit.

My steps slow, and my chin drops.

I keep walking, eyes fixed on the trail, but the way my heart is pounding in my chest has nothing to do with the exercise. This gnawing anxiety is all too familiar of a feeling.

Because who am I kidding? I am the ultimate indoor girl; the odd one out in my outdoorsy town. It’s a running joke among the locals that you’ll never catch me dead on the trail, and back in high school when my brother’s best friend Hunter first called me Bookworm, then Brookeworm, the nickname stuck.

It was never meant to be an insult, I don’t think, and no one is being mean when they call me that—but I am Brookeworm. The indoor girl. And now it’s Hunter’s low voice murmuring these doubts in my head.

Are you sure this is a good idea, Brookeworm?

What if you wander off the trail and get lost?

What if you can’t make it to the peak?

My nose wrinkles, but I keep walking. The trail is getting steeper now, winding its way between tall trees and thick shrubs, and the air smells like soil and new green shoots. When I reach out to stroke a palm over a birch tree, the bark is surprisingly smooth. It’s warm in the morning sunshine, like touching another body.

My cheeks heat and my hand drops.

That’s another thing I’ve been too cowardly to try.

But hey, I’m here, puffing up this mountain trail, catching glimpses of the vast landscape between breaks in the trees. Sweat has soaked through the back of my t-shirt, but I’m doing this. Brookeworm is hiking her first mountain peak, damn it.

And who knows? If I can do this, if I can push past my fears and get all the way to the top, then maybe I can do anything. That’s what I’m huffing and puffing toward here: a brave new me.

* * *

Okay, the Brave New Brooke is gonna need a shower the second she gets home, because two hours later I am soaked in sweat. I can feel it drying and crusting on my skin in an itchy, salty layer. Inside my stiff new boots, my heels are scraped raw, and hot pain flares with each new step I take.

But you know what?

Hiking is kinda fun.

My cheeks ache from the silly grin plastered over my face, and even though I’m hot and sticky and aching and tired, my steps feel lighter as I march up the trail. Sure, I’m still jumping at every snapping twig, my senses on high alert for a hungry bear, but I’m doing this. That’s all that counts.

And as the trail breaks through the trees, bursting out onto the bare mountain side, the view of wide open skies and my hometown nestled in the valley below takes my breath away.

It’s so small. From up here, the buildings look like dropped Lego bricks. The trucks are even smaller, winding along the paved roads like busy little ants. Even the trees down there look like tiny, bristly green specks.

These mountains are massive. And up here I feel bigger and smaller at the same time, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of my surroundings, yet too big for my flimsy human body to contain. Like I could explode free at any second, shining out of my chest like the midday sun.

Wow .

Okay. I’m starting to see what all the fuss is about. Hunter and my brother Jake were right all those times they tried to coax me out for a day hike, calling me Brookeworm and promising me a picnic at the peak. I do love this, just like they said I would. When was the last time I felt this awake? This alive?

Goosebumps prickle over my bare arms, and I’m still dazed by the time I stumble all the way up to the mountain peak.

My feet throb as I step on the flat rock, looking down at the valley below. Arms out, cool wind whipping at my clothes, I turn slowly and get a panoramic view. The landscape rises and falls all around me, green trees and bare rock and distant sparkling lakes.

White clouds skid past overhead, and crisp pine-scented air fills my lungs. My heart is still thumping hard, but not from fear anymore. From excitement.

I did it.

“Whoo!”

My happy yell is snatched away by the wind and tossed over the valley. Arms still spread, I wait for a few long, triumphant minutes, buffeted by the breeze.

Old Brooke would never have stayed exposed like this. She would never stand at the highest point on a mountain, dizzied by the views all around. She’d be curled up on the sofa back in her apartment, safe and secure and bored out of her mind.

One, two, three deep breaths before turning back toward the trail. I’ll head a little ways down and find somewhere sheltered from the wind, then I’m gonna go to town on the bran muffin in my bag. My stomach clenches and my mouth waters just thinking about it. Man, I could eat a whole bakery display right now.

I’m a few steps down from the peak when I hear it: a low, confused voice. It’s scratchier than I remember, like it hasn’t been used for a while, but I still recognize it instantly.

Hunter .

“Brookeworm? What are you doing up here?”

My head whips around in the direction of the voice, searching for my older brother’s best friend. It’s been years since I last saw him up close, and when I spot the man standing on the trail staring up at me, I nearly don’t recognize him. Instead of clean shaven, he’s bearded. His dark hair has grown out, curling around his ears, and a deep tan makes his blue eyes extra piercing. Thick muscle presses against his flannel shirt, more substantial than it used to be.

He looks older. Tired.

And alarmed, reaching out one hand in my direction.

“Careful—!”

A loose rock shifts beneath my boot, sliding out from under me and knocking me off balance. The whole way up here, I stared at the trail and chose every step so carefully, but Hunter’s appearance has thrown me off. I’m not watching my feet—I’m too busy gazing at him, dumbstruck.

Then the rock slips and the world tilts and my hands snatch at nothing. As my shoulder slams into the stony ground, the breath is knocked from my body.

Ow.

No time to gasp. My arm sings with pain, but the world keeps turning over and over as I tumble down the mountainside. Everything is a rocky blur.

Distantly, between my own grunts as I hit the ground over and over, I hear Hunter’s panicked yell.

You know, I always figured I’d fall head over heels for this guy if I wasn’t careful.

Never guessed it would be so literal.