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Lizzie
Myshoulderscreamsas I wrench to a stop. Again.
Stems of over-friendly bushes seem to wrap around my legs, and leaves brush my jeans with a soft noise of soothing. After an hour’s trek through the wilderness, the low brushing sound feels more patronizing than comforting. My temper flares as I look back at the wheels of my suitcase, which are stuck beneath a tree root. It had been invisible when I walked over it, but now the damn thing had somehow appeared out of nowhere to catch my luggage.
I glare at the nearest likely culprit, a large conifer tree.
“You’re not scaring me off,” I tell the tree, with as much sass as I can still muster after a four-hour flight, three-hour cab ride, and sixty-minute hike through the forests of the Smoky Mountains. “I’m here. Deal with it.”
I put my weight into my legs, haul back on the handle of the case, and break it free with brute force. There’s a creak and the small crack of snapping plastic, but the handle holds. Just.
I’m here. Deal with it.
As I trundle further into the woods, I wonder just exactly who I’m trying to convince—the trees or myself. The little town of East River Forge has not exactly welcomed me.
Maybe this is all a giant mistake…?
I’d arrived to find the one and only hotel underwater and unable to take visitors until they handle the recent flooding. Then I’d torn something in my wrist trying to get my bags over the doorstep of the post office.
And now I’ve been sent on a blind voyage by the enthusiastic postal worker promising a spare bed at the end of this trail. Honestly, I’m wondering if Fate is sending me a sign.
Go back to New York, princess.
“I am not…” I huff, pulling my case over another dip in the footpath, “…a princess!”
As if to prove me right, a sweaty lock of hair falls into my eyes. I push it back with an equally sweaty palm and look out through the trees for the next logical path.
I’ve never been a girly girl. I’ve never been one for jewels and dresses. I’m a strong and capable woman. And I can find my way through a few trees, dammit!
“Only a little ways…” I mumble as I choose the more easterly path. That was what the kind lady on the main road had said when I had stopped for directions. The woman had possessed more wrinkles than she had skin and looked like Mother Time herself, but her eyes had been bright and intelligent. I’d trusted her instructions.
Fat lot of good they were.
“Apparently,” I grumble to myself, out of breath and out of patience, ‘Only a little ways’ is slang for ‘let’s send this gullible tourist to get lost in the woods’.”
A shriek suddenly caws above me and a small animal streaks across my path!
I try to avoid it and lose my balance. My luggage goes in one direction, my body in the other. My arms pinwheel, and a second later, the ass that I work so hard on in spin class is taking the brunt of my fall. I hit the ground with a painful thud and can’t help an infuriated shout of rebellion.
“Ow!” I cry accusingly at the woods.
What I don’t expect is for the woods to shout back.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I blink stupidly from between two fronds of emerald green, and look up. And continue looking up. The shadow that comes stomping out from the darkening forest seems a mile high. With shoulders that go on forever and heavy, clumping boots. It’s as if I’m being marched upon by Big Foot himself.
The monster’s voice is distinctly unfriendly and as he steps into a patch of dying light, it’s clear that his expression matches. Dark brows slant angrily across his brow and his jaw is clenched hard and square.
Despite the sheer scale of him, I’m not frightened. Just annoyed.
“Excuse me?” I demand, dusting my hands. My palms sting where small stones and debris have caught in my skin.
“You’re scaring the wildlife.” Big Foot accuses, eyeing the path the rabbit, or whatever it was, had careened along. He folds his arms across that broad chest, weight shifting from one monstrous boot to the other. He tilts his head to one side in a pose that screams teacher or traffic cop—an authority wanting to hear just how the person was going to explain themself.
“Scaring them?” I laugh through my nose. “Thumper over there just near gave me a heart attack.”
I try to find purchase on the ground with my heels but fail. Somehow, I’ve ended up in a dip with my butt below my legs. With no leverage, I’m stranded like a turtle on its back.
