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He glanced over his shoulder.“Hopefully?”
“I came up here a few times on horseback when I was a kid, and we never saw any sign of bears.”
The path rose and wound past several boulders tall as Matt’s head, then stretched across a small meadow. At the far side lay a crystal-clear pond, fed by a stream tumbling down the side of the mountain.
A shrill whistle split the air.
Charlie breathed a sound of awe as he stepped off the path and sank onto a boulder to watch several marmots playing a game of tag near the pond. The size of large cats, they sportedbrown fur with buff around the neck and belly, and were completely oblivious to the interlopers along the path.
Jolie slid her pack from her shoulders and unzipped the top. She tossed Charlie a plastic bag filled with day-old bread and fresh vegetables for the marmots. “They aren’t used to people, so be really quiet when you scatter this on the rocks, then come back here,” she said. “You can eat your lunch while they eat theirs.”
Under his father’s watchful eye, Charlie picked his way slowly down the trail and quietly spread the food along the edge of the pond. The marmots sent up a chorus of warning whistles and disappeared in a flash as he spread out the booty.
Charlie tiptoed back to fetch his own lunch from Matt’s pack, then settled down on a flat rock to watch.
Five minutes passed before a furry brown head peeked up from between the rocks. In another five, several marmots were squealing and wrestling over ownership of the treats.
Clearly entranced, Charlie’s shaking shoulders were the only sign of his silent laughter.
Jolie pulled a thin blanket out of her backpack and spread it out on a grassy patch by the trail. She sat down on one side and, rummaging deeper into the pack, pulled out a box of crackers, a small jar of peanut butter, and a Ziploc bag of seedless grapes. “Want something to eat?”
Matt’s eyes twinkled as he hunkered down over his own pack and withdrew an identical menu—except his peanut butter was extra crunchy. “I guess we think alike.”
In the bright sunlight his tousled hair gleamed like ebony. He had the kind of hair that made her want to reach up and comb it back with her hands, just to feel the silky strands slip through her fingers.
With those broad shoulders and muscular arms, she could imagine him as a rugged trapper, explorer or scout ranging through this mountain a hundred years earlier.
“Hey, Dad!” Charlie’s voice echoed through the rocks above them. “Can I fish in this pond?”
Matt lifted an eyebrow at Jolie.
“Sure, just stay out of the water,” Jolie called out. “It’s probably not more than forty-five degrees. Need any help?”
“‘Course not!” Charlie bent over his backpack and withdrew his small rod, assembled it, then industriously began untangling the line. In a few minutes he was heading for the edge of the pond.
“He’s been on some Scout outings,” Matt said, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “Caught a few sunfish and now figures he’s ready for the big time. This morning he told me he was bringing Secret Weapon Bait.”
From what Jolie could see, he was baiting his hook with hot dog cubes, so dealing with the cleaning of fish probably wouldn’t be a problem.
“Do you guys do much camping?” she asked. “Backpacking?”
Matt settled more comfortably on the blanket next to her, with the food between them, though his watchful gaze didn’t stray from his son. “As a kid, my family vacationed on lakes in northern Wisconsin and Minnesota. Never out here, though. And once I grew up...” His expression grew somber. “There really wasn’t much chance anymore.”
“Tell me about what happened,” Jolie asked quietly, surprising herself. “With your wife.”
She’d always kept a certain reserve with patients, careful not to edge out of a comfortable professional distance. She’d done the same with friends. Never allowed herself to get too close to anyone.
But now she found herself wanting to know everything about this man sitting next to her—what he did in his spare time, what his entire life had been like up to this point.
As if she had a right.
Suddenly uncomfortable, she felt a faint flush of warmth creep into her cheeks.
He’d leaned back on one elbow, still watching his son. Without shifting his gaze, he answered, “Not much to tell, really.”
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to pry.”
He didn’t speak for several moments, then he cleared his throat. “I was going to college. Had big plans for a bachelor’s degree in commercial art, and a job somewhere in New York or Chicago. Advertising, maybe.”
