Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
The weather at Eldorado Canyon was perfect for a hike.
The Colorado sky arched overhead in a flawless blue dome.
The sky was streaked with fair-weather cumulus—white and soft as fleece, drifting lazy and harmless.
Those were fair-weather clouds, but Shane knew how fast they could build into something dangerous.
Give them time and heat, and they'd muscle up into thunderheads before the day was done.
He sniffed the air out of habit. The breeze carried the clean scent of snowmelt and pine sap, the promise of the coming summer sharpening everything it touched.
“Whatcha looking at, Shane?” Kevin asked, eternally curious.
“I’m checking the weather using the clouds. See those puffy ones with flat bottoms?” Shane said, pointing skyward. “Cumulus. Fair weather—for now. If they start piling high like towers, that’s when you keep your rain gear close.”
“Do you think that’s going to happen soon?” April asked. She crossed her arms and gripped her elbows.
Shane shaded his eyes, studying the horizon the way some men read faces. The breeze moved steady from the west, dry and cool against his skin, carrying no hint of moisture.
“No haze, no humidity,” he said. “We’re good. Those clouds will stay well-behaved until tonight and we’ll be gone well before then.”
April’s shoulders eased. “So we won’t get caught in a storm?”
“Not if we’re back out by four. It’s still making its way over the mountains. We may hear some thunder though.” He glanced back at her, mouth curving. “But I always pack for a storm anyway. Weather in these mountains can turn faster than gossip about my mother.” He winked at April.
That earned him a small laugh—the kind he’d missed for years. The sound warmed his chest like sunlight.
Kevin ran ahead with Pete on the retractable leash, giving Shane a chance to just be with April. The look on her face made his chest tighten—something between curiosity and trust, like she was remembering who he used to be and measuring it against who he'd become.
"What?" he asked, mouth quirking.
"Nothing." But she didn't look away. "I just never realized you knew so much. About everything."
"Not everything." He stepped closer, lowering his voice so Kevin wouldn't hear. "Still figuring out some things."
Her cheeks flushed pink, and Shane knew she was thinking about last night. About that kiss on the porch, about waking up to find his note, about the question he'd promised to ask again.
"Like what?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
Like how to convince you I'm not going anywhere. Like how to be what Kevin needs. Like how to love you the way you deserve.
"Like whether you still dip everything in ranch dressing," he said instead, keeping it light even though his pulse was hammering. "Or if that was just a phase."
April laughed so hard she bent over. There it was—that real laugh he'd been chasing since he walked back into her life.
"Still do. Some things never change."
"Good to know." Shane held her gaze a beat longer than necessary. "Some things shouldn't."
Kevin raced back, breaking the moment. "Are we going or what? Pete's ready!"
April turned away first, but not before Shane caught the small smile playing at her lips.
They followed the trail into the canyon, the sandstone walls rising sheer on either side, streaked with gold and rust. South Boulder Creek ran beside them, swollen with snowmelt, tumbling over boulders the size of cars.
Pete trotted as far ahead as his retractable leash would allow, nose down, tail wagging like a metronome.
Kevin darted from one side of the path to the other, stopping to pick up smooth stones. “Can we skip these later?”
“Absolutely,” Shane said. “But first, a lesson.” He stopped and crouched beside the creek.
“See how it’s clear here, but down there it’s a little murky?
” Shane pointed to where the current curled around a bend.
“That’s the outflow. Water warms as it slows, picks up silt. The cold, clean stuff’s the inflow.”
Kevin squinted. “So if we got turned around, we could follow the cold one upstream to find the source?”
“Exactly.” Shane smiled. “You’re already thinking like a tracker.”
Kevin touched the surface, yelped at the chill, then laughed. “That’s awesome.”
They moved along the creek, and April crouched beside them to get a closer look at the water.
Her shoulder brushed Shane's, and the contact sent electricity straight through him.
He was suddenly, acutely aware of everything—the warmth of her skin through her shirt, the faint scent of her lilac soap, the way her hair fell forward as she leaned in.
"It really is colder here," she murmured, trailing her fingers through the current.
Shane watched her hand, remembered those same fingers tangled in his hair last night. Had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Physics. Cold water's denser, moves slower."
"Show-off." But she was smiling.
April shifted her weight, the rocks under her feet unsteady, and Shane's hand shot out instinctively—catching her waist, steadying her. His palm spread against the curve of her hip, and for a heartbeat neither of them moved.
Her eyes lifted to his. Close enough that he could count the gold flecks in her hazel irises, close enough to see her pupils dilate slightly.
"Careful," he said, voice rougher than intended. "These rocks can be slippery."
"Right. Slippery." But she didn't pull away immediately. Her hand had landed on his forearm for balance, fingers curling slightly against his skin.
Kevin splashed further upstream, oblivious, playing with Pete along the bank.
Shane's thumb moved, stroking once along April's hipbone through her jeans. He watched her breath catch, watched color bloom across her cheekbones.
"Shane," she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"We should probably—" She tilted her head toward Kevin.
"Yeah." But Shane didn't move. Couldn't seem to make himself let go of her.
Finally, April squeezed his arm once—a silent thank you or wait until later or maybe if God was smiling down from heaven today I feel it too—and stepped back onto solid ground.
Shane's hand fell away slowly, reluctantly, still feeling the phantom warmth of her against his palm.
Kevin called out something about finding a perfect skipping stone, and the moment dissolved. But when Shane glanced at April, she was touching the spot on her hip where his hand had been, and the look she gave him promised they'd finish this conversation.
Just not with an eight-year-old present.
When they reached Kevin, the kid’s grin was bright enough to make Shane’s throat tighten a little.
He remembered being that age—skinny and scrappy, running these same woods with Bear and Waylon, Elias always a step behind with a notebook full of ‘official mission logs.’ They’d made spears out of mop handles, fought imaginary bad guys, camped by the creek until their parents dragged them home.
He remembered the sound of Waylon’s laugh echoing through the canyon. Gabe trying to light a fire with wet pinecones. Ben explaining how moss grew thicker on the north side of trees—and Bear immediately arguing it depended on moisture, not direction.
Shane smiled faintly. They hadn’t known a damn thing, but they learned by doing.
That was where he’d fallen in love with the wild—with the rhythm of moving through terrain, reading the wind, finding quiet in the noise. That was where the idea of becoming a SEAL had taken hold, before he knew the difference between dream and cost.
He didn’t tell Kevin any of that, of course. The kid didn’t need the weight of ghosts.
April grinned as she watched him. “I take it you were this kind of kid, too.”
“Worse,” Shane admitted. “The whole gang of us, we all thought we were soldiers and SEALs. Used to sneak out here, play recon. Got in trouble more times than I can count. We called ourselves Mountain Division, all the way back then.”
April’s eyes softened. “And look at you now.”
He shrugged. “Guess the training stuck.”
They started walking again.
"I remember," April said quietly.
Shane looked at her, surprised. "Remember?"
"In high school. You and your friends were kind of legendary." Her mouth curved. "The Mountain Division crew, always in trouble for something. I remember sophomore year when you guys 'borrowed' the principal's golf cart for a 'tactical maneuver.'"
Shane laughed despite himself. "In our defense, we returned it."
"With pine cones stuffed in the exhaust and a hand-drawn 'captured enemy vehicle' sign duct-taped to the windshield." April shook her head, but she was grinning. "Principal Hoffman was not amused."
"Worth it though." Shane's chest warmed at the memory, at the fact that April had been paying attention even back then. "You noticed us all the way back then?"
Something flickered across her face. "Dude, I said legendary, didn’t I? But I mostly paid attention to you."
The admission hung in the air between them, weighted with all the things they'd never said to each other when they were teenagers. When April was the smart girl from the wrong family and Shane was the golden boy who wasn't supposed to look twice at her.
"I didn't know that," Shane said softly.
"That was kind of the point." April's smile turned bittersweet. "You were busy being popular. I was busy trying to prove I was more than my last name."
"April—"
"It's okay." She touched his arm briefly. "We were kids. We didn't know anything."
"I knew enough to tell my parents to hire you as my tutor." Shane caught her hand before she could pull it away. "Best decision I ever made."
"Really? Because I'm pretty sure you failed that calc test on purpose so you'd have an excuse to see me."
Shane's ears went hot. "That is absolutely not—" He stopped at her knowing look. "Okay, maybe a little bit."
April laughed, and the sound chased away the ghosts of who they used to be, leaving only who they were now.
Two people who'd found their way back to each other despite everything.