CHAPTER 5
TREYTON
I said yes on a Wednesday,and we left before dawn the next morning after I'd spent all night trying to convince myself it was just about checking the runoff.
The high meadow was the best place on the whole ridge to see the wide variety of wildflowers. Soleil had been asking me about it for two solid weeks. She was going to go up there with or without me, and the runoff was bad enough this season that going with her was less stupid than letting her go alone. I wasn't going to mention that I'd been awake since two, or that I'd put on a clean shirt, or that I'd packed a thermos with two cups instead of one, or that I'd done all of that before I'd asked myself why.
She was already on her porch when I came down the road at five. Her headlamp was on, she had a day pack at her feet, and she appeared to be wearing real hiking boots instead of her usual pink sneakers. A small sketchbook stuck out of the top of her pack, and a long braid hung over one shoulder. The corner of my mouth tried to lift, but I put a stop to it before she noticed. I’d take her to the high meadow, but I wasn’t going to let myself enjoy it.
“Good morning.” Her tone was way too cheery for this early.
“Morning. I brought coffee.”
“For both of us?”
“Yeah.”
She caught herself before she gave me a full smile, but her eyes lit up. I appreciated her not making a bigger deal out of me bringing coffee than it was. I handed her one of the cups. She took it with both hands.
Biscuit jumped down off her porch and stood between us.
“Does he get to come with us?” she asked.
“Yeah, but he'll move faster than either one of us. Don't try to keep up with him.”
Soleil glanced down at my dog and smiled. Was he still actuallymydog? I wasn’t sure but didn’t want to waste the time or energy trying to figure it out yet. “Got it.”
“And don't feed him anything.” Last time he’d followed me up to the meadow, I’d given him some jerky that didn’t agree with him. I didn’t want Soleil to clean up after him when we got back. Because inevitably, he’d be spending the night with her again. Fucking traitor.
“Okay, boss.”
I didn’t like the teasing tone she’d used when she called me boss, because boss was the last thing I wanted to be to the curvy blonde who talked to flowers. But I let it go, and we started up the ridge.
The first half hour was easy walking. Pre-dawn light came up the east face, mist rose from the creek, and the chill in the air chased the last bit of sleep away. Biscuit ran ahead and circled back and ran ahead again. Soleil sipped her coffee and didn't talk, which I hadn't expected. I'd been bracing for her to fill the silence and instead she walked beside me drinking coffee and watching the light come up the ridge in a way that suggested she was taking it all in.
I kept three feet of space between us.
When we reached the creek crossing, I stopped. The water was higher than it had been last week, which meant the snow on the peaks Gibson had asked me about had run down faster than it should have. The current sent water racing over the rocks. I could see the stones we needed to step on, but the second one was wet halfway across the top, and the third one had a sheen on it that meant it was going to be slick.
“It’s higher than yesterday,” she said.
“Came up overnight.”
“Should we —”
“No. We're fine. I'll go first. Step where I step. Don't think about it.”
I made it across without slipping and looked back. She stood on the bank with her cup in one hand and the other tugging at her braid. I reached back without saying anything, and she took my hand. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was steady. I kept my eyes trained on the far bank, aware of every point of contact between us in a way that made the creek crossing the least dangerous thing I'd done all morning.
I'd figured her hand would feel small in mine. I'd spent two weeks knowing it would. But knowing it and feeling it were not the same thing, and it hit my chest before it hit my hand.
I let go on the far bank. She didn't thank me or seem to be affected by the physical contact at all, just adjusted the weight of the pack on her shoulders and continued on. Biscuit was already a hundred yards up the trail.
The second switchback was where the runoff had cut a new channel across the path. I saw it before she did. Three feet wide, maybe six inches deep, the water moved fast enough to carry gravel. Crossing shouldn’t be a problem, but the bank on the upslope side was loose and the bank on the downslope side dropped about ten feet before it leveled out.
“Take my hand.” I reached for her again, bracing myself for how I knew it would feel this time.
“Treyton, I can —”
