“Berg. Did he bring you some supplies, growl at you a little, then leave?”
“More or less.”
“Mm.” She set a hand on her hip and gave me a lopsided smile. “Don't take it personally. He's like that with everyone except his dog, and lately I'm not so sure about the dog.”
“The dog seemed friendly.”
“Did he?”
“I think Treyton was upset about it.”
“Of course he was.” She squinted out the window at nothing. “We call him the grump of Hollow Peak. You should know that. He's been the grump since he got here and he'll be the grump when he leaves and the only person who's ever made him not the grump for more than four minutes at a time is a foster brother of his who lives in Texas and shows up here twice a year on a motorcycle. Name’s Bison, and rumor has it he’s due for one of those visits sooner than later.”
I filed that bit of info away. Treyton had a foster brother. From Texas. Who rode a motorcycle.
“Treyton said he owns the cabins?” I was fishing for information, and Mae knew it. Places like the Switchback Café thrived on gossip.
“He owns the cabins and owns the ridge. Builds furniture nobody around here can afford. Mostly ships it off to rich folks in Aspen and Vail. He’s quiet and doesn’t go looking for trouble. The Army gave him discipline and life made him quiet. He fixed my back step last fall even though I never asked him to, then didn’t let me pay for it. He’s a pain in the ass.” She squinted at me. “You're here for the whole summer.”
“I am.”
“Hmm.” She nodded once like I'd confirmed something she'd already decided. “Don't let him hide. He's better when he's not.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but she didn't wait for me to figure it out. She picked up my empty plate and went back to the counter, where one of the men was holding up his mug for more coffee.
With the sketch of the cinnamon roll finished, I turned the page and started a thumbnail of Mae. When I’d finished my coffee, I paid in cash and left a tip that came to more than my breakfast. Mae had been right about the Magic Latte. Hopped up on caffeine, I walked out into the sun.
I'd come to Hollow Peak to draw flowers, not to think about a man who built furniture he couldn't sell to his neighbors and rented out cabins to women he clearly wished hadn't shown up. I knew that type of man. He'd already decided what I was, but he was wrong about me.
I drove back up to the cabin with cinnamon on my fingers and the Magic Latte going to work in my chest, and I decided I was going to find the stand of glacier lilies he'd mentioned yesterday.
Up the south trail. About a quarter mile. Better light. He had told me himself.
The trail started behind the cabin and climbed. I went slow because I wanted to enjoy the journey. The wildflowers up here weren't shy. They were everywhere… tucked into rock crevices, leaning out of moss, clustered around the bases of trees in colors that didn't seem like they should exist in nature. I stopped twice in the first ten minutes to try to capture their joy on paper.
I passed the first wooden post about four minutes in. It had a green top, just like he'd said. I noted it and kept going.
The second post was harder to spot. The trail had narrowed, and I was keeping an eye on my feet to make sure I didn’t trip over anything. When I looked up, Treyton Berg stood aboutten feet away. His big frame took up the whole trail, and his expression said he’d been waiting for me.
“Soleil.”
“Treyton.”
“You're past the second marker.”
I looked back. The post was, in fact, behind me. But only about fifteen feet. I’d been so focused on the columbine I'd been sketching that I'd walked straight past it. “I didn't see it.”
“I noticed.” He didn’t yell. Didn’t even raise his voice. He just stood in the middle of the trail with his arms crossed and his work boots planted, looking at me like I was a problem he'd been planning to address all morning.
I should have apologized, maybe even turned around. Instead, I held my ground. “The flowers don't know about the markers.”
His jaw moved back and forth. “The markers are for you, not the flowers.”
“I'm aware.”
“Are you?”
The dog wasn't with him. Treyton must have left him at home. Which meant he'd come up the trail on purpose. Looking for me. He'd probably left the dog at home because he didn't seem to like the fact that Biscuit liked me. That was, somehow, the most flattering thing that had happened to me in years.
