Page 4 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

Claire

The next morning, as I pull up to the Silver Elk Trail, northwest of Longdale, Inez texts.

Soooo sorry! I woke up a lot in the night and I’m still not feeling well this morning. Go on without me, though, and have a blast!

I send her my condolences and groan, resting my head on the steering wheel. She’s pregnant. I understand. But I was hoping for Inez’s peppiness to get me going today because I had a restless night.

I kept dreaming of my grandparents’ big anniversary celebration coming up—the one that I’m helping them plan and am semi-responsible for.

In my dreams, there was a swan attack, where mutant swans with pulsating orange eyes and razored beaks ravaged the whole party, leaving my grandparents collapsed on the floor.

Yeah, I can’t even bring myself to text Sophie about that one .

Bloody, violent nightmares aside, I have to do this hike. I’m hard wired to go, go, go. I always have been.

I sigh, rubbing my eyes and covering a yawn with the back of my hand. I can do this. It isn’t just for my health and well-being. It’s for the health and well-being of our trailways project and Longdale at large.

I stare out of my windshield at the small crowd gathering in the makeshift parking lot at the base of the mountain. My mountain.

I love Longdale with a fierceness that’s hard to describe. It’s the kind of place where everyone knows your name, but they also know that your mom’s aunt’s cousin once held the high school state record in the long jump.

It’s special. Comfortable. No fuss, no muss. A winding, fraying rope connects me to this mountain and the people living at the base of it, and nothing can sever it away.

Darkness still licks around the edges of the scene, but the first light of dawn is visible in the east. Rich McClain is here. He and his wife, Leisel, have actual hiking backpacks on. They’re holding hiking sticks and are even wearing those legit, khaki wilderness hats.

For a hike that’s a couple of hours round trip, tops.

Geez, Rich. You’re not some wilderness guru on a week-long survivalist journey. This is the local hiking club. We got some people solidly in the retirement crowd and even a few kids. It’s family-friendly, not an episode of a wilderness survival show.

Rich is, for all intents and purposes, my only real competition for Inez’s position. He’s made it clear that he wants to be the city manager. And I’ve also made it clear that I will annihilate him on my way to victory.

And here he is, trying to stick his nose in my trailways business ?

I get out of the car so fast, my head is spinning.

It’s that place between night and morning, and the cool spring air lifts the fluttery pieces of hair that have escaped my hastily gathered ponytail.

“Claire Lawson?” Rich shouts across the clearing. “I didn’t know you were a hiker.” His voice is so loud that everyone turns to look at me.

“Yep, yep.” I paste a beaming grin on my face before reaching in the car to retrieve my aluminum water bottle. The whole big backpack thing is highly unnecessary. A water bottle will suffice, thank you very much.

I straighten. “Hiking’s great.”

That is to say, I’m sure I’ll think it’s great once I get the hang of it.

Just because I’m new to hiking doesn’t mean I can’t love it with the same fierceness I’ve reserved for Longdale.

Rich and his wife reach me, and he eyes my regular, old non-hiking shoes, as if they’re quite possibly going to ruin it for everyone.

“Well, we’re glad you’re here. There’s a bit of a hard incline close to the top, but other than that, the trail’s pretty easy.” The way he surveys the land, with his feeble, skinny, farmer-tanned arms folded across his chest, makes it clear he thinks he’s in charge.

I’ve seen that look around the office a lot.

“Oh, I know,” I can’t help adding. At least, that’s what the topography reports from our ecology consultant tell us.

He opens his mouth, probably to ask me if I’ve hiked this trail before. I turn to his wife before he gets the chance.

“And how are you, Liesel?” I ask, pulling down my sweatshirt over my hips and straightening the waistband of my black leggings.

She curls a smile as she surveys me. “I’m out in God’s creation!” she says. “I couldn’t be better. ”

Of course she has on cool hiker gear and those brown and orange hiking boots that are just so…cool. They’re the ones I was eyeing on the L.L.Bean website.

And she’s chipper like her husband this morning. Great.

“Doug was pleased I was joining the hiking club,” Rich the bootlicker says. “He said he’ll join in a few of these this summer, so we’ll probably see him sometimes.”

“Doug” is Mayor Whitten. Rich is the only one in the office who can get away with calling him by his first name because Rich’s dad and the mayor are lifelong friends.

Rich grew up mowing “Doug’s” lawn and collecting his mail when he was out of town. “Bootlicker” isn’t a strong enough word for Rich. And I don’t need to spell out what this means for my battle for the city manager position.

If Rich gets the position, he’ll likely stay in it for thirty plus years, which means I can kiss my Longdale city manager dreams goodbye.

I’d be more likely to get the job if it weren’t for the small fact that I’m a woman.

I’m not saying the city government of Longdale is sexist, but there is an odd precedence that the mayor loves to bring up.

All of the city managers in recent memory have been women…

and they’ve all left the job shortly after starting because of marriage and children.

Not that anyone can bring this up legally, but the little side comments and “jokes” do crop up. It’s a thing.

So I may very well lose the position to Rich simply because he’s a man and he’s friends with the mayor.

Am I going to have to talk to Rich and Liesel the whole two hours today?

I cringe, but a man walks towards us. He’s tall, wearing a dark blue Dri-FIT shirt and grey athletic shorts.

His shoes are more of an athletic style and less hiker-ish.

Thank goodness we don’t have another wilderness pro know-it-all on our hands here.

He’s not L.L.Bean. He’s Sports Authority. And his coolness is blowing Rich and Liesel’s vibe out of the water.

He smiles. With his thick, dark hair and his intense dark brown eyes, he’s quite possibly the best-looking man I’ve seen in a very long time.

I give him a smile back that might say more Thank you for saving me from the McClains than I’d like.

“Hello, have you done this before?” I ask.

He hesitates. “Not here in Colorado, no. I’m excited to get into hiking more.”

“Me, too. My friends tell me I work too much.”

“She definitely works too much,” Rich adds, with a yuck yuck laugh.

I give him the briefest glare that I dare to do because I have to be civilized right now. It’s a look that says: We’re not friends, Rich, so I wasn’t referring to you.

An older gentleman with a wide-brim straw hat and a short, white beard clears his throat nearby.

“Can I have everybody’s attention? Welcome to the inaugural hike of this season’s Longdale Hiking Club!

” His grin is gap-toothed. “Thanks for coming out this morning. I’ve been chomping at the bit to go all winter long and the moment is finally here.

And don’t worry, we’re starting out with this nice and easy one to slowly get us back in shape. ”

He consults the clipboard in his hands before looking back up at the crowd .

“I’m Al, your trail guide today. I’m also the president of the hiking club, so I’ll state the rules now.

” He gazes out over the group, tucks the clipboard under his arm and clasps his hands in front of him.

“We ask you to be respectful of the natural resources on the trail and leave no trace. Please be courteous to your neighbors. If you tend to hike at a slower pace, file into the back. I’ve asked a couple to bring up the rear for us.

It’s been a long winter, am I right?” The group of about twenty snickers.

“We’re excited to be back at it, so let’s get started. ”

There’s something in his eyes—a passion for Longdale and our mountains.

Solidarity, brother.

Rich and Liesel immediately step to the front of the line, which is where I definitely don’t want to be. I could hold up the line if I start sucking wind.

I stand back, allowing several people to step in front of me. Thank goodness I won’t have to hike right behind the McClains because I’m in no mood to hightail it up this mountain like I’ve got something to prove.

People talk excitedly as the group starts. A family with two preteen kids file in behind me, and I lose track of the handsome stranger.

It’s just as well. I don’t need to socialize or talk with people. I’ll focus on nature, immersing myself in the vision of the trailways project.

We get started through a clearing in the trees, aspens and pines forming a canopy overhead.

I’m huffing and puffing way too soon and it’s embarrassing.

Still, luckily, the pace isn’t too fast for me.

The air is still chilly since the sun’s not up yet and I tug the sleeves of my sweatshirt down over my wrists .

The cozy, winding trail is narrow, the smell of clean, morning air floating on the breeze. It’s just…nice. Makes sense that people go out of their way to do this.

Our trailways project will only enhance the experience.

We’ll provide public restrooms instead of the portable kind and better mile posts along the trail.

It’s going to be perfect. I make a mental note of all the possibilities so I can share them with Inez on Monday.

I have to be her eyes and ears now…her boots on the ground.

Not that I’m wearing boots. Just some beat-up old sneakers.

Rich’s too-loud voice booms up ahead as he admonishes his fellow hikers to refrain from dropping any food wrappers on the trail. He’s right, but it’s annoying. “Maybe respecting nature could mean you tone down the voice, Rich,” I mutter under my breath.