Page 2 of Wild About the Mountain Guide (Maplewood Springs #2)

Knox

I knock on Sawyer’s front door with my elbow, balancing the box of cinnamon rolls from Summit Sweets in one hand and my coffee in the other.

I’m about to spend a week babysitting city folks who think grizzlies are oversized teddy bears, but not before I bring my best friend and his pregnant wife some breakfast.

The door swings open. Sawyer takes one look at my face and chuckles. “You look nervous. Don’t tell me the big, tough wilderness guide is worried about a few city slickers.”

“I’m not nervous,” I say, stepping inside. “I’m just… mentally preparing. Why did we think this retreat idea was a good business move again? I hated it the first time we did it, and I drew the short straw again .”

“Because tourists pay good money to pretend they’re wilderness experts for a week, and we need the income. Plus, you drew the short straw fair and square,” he says as he closes the door behind me.

Right. The money. The only reason I’m not currently faking my own death to get out of this retreat.

“Remind me to rig the drawing next time. Leading this thing two times in a row should come with hazard pay. But you’re right, I do need the money.”

“How’s your grandmother doing?” Sawyer asks with a concerned look.

“Stable for now. Her dialysis isn’t getting any cheaper, and the home nurse I hired for the week costs more than my truck payment. But she’s worth it, and she’s the only one I trust to keep an eye on things while I’m gone.”

He nods. “Sorry, man.”

“It’s okay. Thank goodness this retreat pays way better than our usual gigs. Anyway, enough about me. How’s Reese doing?”

“Enormous and cranky. She finished another thriller last night and kept me awake, gushing about how brilliant the twist ending was.”

Sawyer leads me into the living room, where his wife, Reese, is curled up on the couch with a book in one hand and the other resting on her very pregnant belly.

“Hey, Knox. Thanks for checking on us before you disappear into the wilderness for a week.”

I grin. “Someone has to make sure Sawyer’s blood sugar is stable for when you go into labor. I’ll be gone all week, so I won’t be able to resuscitate him if he faints,” I put the box of cinnamon rolls on the coffee table.

“Oh, fresh cinnamon rolls from Summit Sweets! Thanks.” Reese’s eyes light up. “But why do you look like you’re about to face a firing squad?”

“I met two of my retreat participants this morning. One thinks crystals are adequate bear protection, and the other—” I stop mid-sentence when I see the book in Reese’s hands.

The cover shows a sinister-looking house with the title The Mother-In-Law’s Mistake emblazoned across it. But it’s the author photo on the back that makes my coffee nearly exit through my nose.

I frown. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Reese follows my gaze.

“That’s her. That’s one of my retreat participants.”

The book literally flies out of Reese’s hands as she struggles to sit up straighter, which I imagine is no easy feat when you’re nine months pregnant. “Peyton Reed? The Peyton Reed is here? In our small mountain town?”

“She is. And she looked about as thrilled to meet me as a cat meeting a dog groomer.”

Reese narrows her eyes at me. “Why are you blushing? Wait… are you into her?”

“What? No,” I say a bit too fast, grabbing a cinnamon roll like it might save me from this conversation. “I only met her this morning. We barely exchanged two words. Just because she’s hot doesn’t mean I’m into her, okay?”

Reese chuckles. “You’re so into her. And you have to introduce us! I’ve read every single one of her books. She’s brilliant at psychological—”

“Whoa there, mama bear.” I hold up a hand. “You’re about to pop any second, and I need to meet my group in twenty minutes. There’s no time.”

“But she’s my favorite author!”

I check my watch and grab my keys. “If we all survive the week, I’ll get you that introduction. Deal?”

“ If she survives? You better not let anything happen to my favorite author, Knox,” Reese warns me.

“I won’t let her die. That’s literally my job.

Although keeping thriller writers alive in bear country wasn’t exactly covered in my wilderness guide certification.

” I drain the rest of my coffee and head for the door.

“I better get going. And if that baby decides to make an appearance while I’m gone, try not to panic. ”

“I’ll be fine,” Reese says with a warm smile.

“I was talking to Sawyer,” I say with a grin and duck out the door before he can throw something at my head.

Twenty minutes later, I’m standing outside the Hartley Peak Adventures Outpost watching what might be the most chaotic group of humans I’ve ever been asked to keep alive assemble in front of me.

Harmony is there in full spiritual warrior mode.

She’s wearing flowing pants, enough crystals to stock a New Age shop, and burning sage while mumbling chants.

The middle-aged guy next to her looks like he bought out the entire REI catalog this morning, complete with price tags still attached to his backpack.

A young couple is having what appears to be a very serious discussion about granola bar ratios, and an older woman is applying sunscreen like she’s preparing for a journey to the surface of the sun.

Then there’s Peyton, who looks like she’s mentally writing her own obituary.

But I have to admit, she took my advice.

Her designer jeans are replaced by quick-drying hiking pants.

The ankle boots have been swapped for legitimate hiking boots, and she’s wearing a moisture-wicking shirt instead of whatever impractical top she had on earlier.

She still looks terrified, but at least she won’t freeze to death in the first hour.

“All right, everyone, gather around,” I call out. “Welcome to Spirit of the Wild . I’m Knox, and for the next week, I’m the only thing standing between you and becoming a cautionary tale.”

Harmony immediately raises her hand like we’re in elementary school. “I just want to express my gratitude for this opportunity to reconnect with Mother Earth’s energy.”

“That’s great, but before you start communing with nature, let’s talk about not dying. I have three rules. Memorize them. They’re the difference between going home with Instagram photos and going home in a body bag.”

The granola bar couple stops mid-argument, Mr. REI Catalog pales slightly, and Peyton looks like she might actually throw up.

“Rule number one: the mountains don’t care about your feelings, your social media presence, or your spiritual awakening. They will absolutely kill you if given the chance, and they’re not picky about how.”

I’m met with silence. Good. Means they get that this is serious, and not some walk in the park. People always think I’m a drill sergeant during the safety talk, but I’m not. I just don’t want to call Search and Rescue—or worse, the morgue—because someone ignored the rules.

“Rule number two: everything I tell you is non-negotiable. If I say stop, you stop. If I say we’re turning back, we turn back. If I say don’t touch something, you keep your hands to yourselves. I’m not your hiking buddy or your spiritual guide. I’m your lifeline.”

I catch Peyton’s eye, and she nods seriously. At least the gorgeous thriller writer understands that real danger isn’t a plot device.

“Rule number three: stay with the group. The wilderness is not the place for solo walks. Last year, we had to call Search and Rescue for someone who thought they could handle fifteen minutes alone on a side trail. Spoiler alert: they couldn’t.”

“What happened to them?” asks the sunscreen lady, whose nametag reads “Christine.”

“They survived, but only because they got lucky and fell into a creek instead of off a cliff.”

“What about food?” Harmony asks.

“I’ll be handing out food supplies in a minute, as mentioned in the welcome email.”

I look around the group, taking stock. They’re nervous, which is good. Nervous people pay attention. Overconfident people end up injured or dead.

“Before we head out, I want to see everyone’s gear. If you’re missing something essential, now’s the time to head to Maple’s Outfitters, not when we’re six miles from the nearest road.”

As the group unpacks their supplies, I’m immediately drawn to Peyton. She has most of what she needs, though I suspect someone at Maple’s Outfitters walked her through the whole setup. Still, she’s prepared, and that counts for something.

As I approach her, I spot a sleek paperback with a blood-splattered title poking out of her bag.

“Interesting reading material,” I say.

She looks up. “Oh?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop. You’re an author, right? My friend’s wife is a big fan of your books. Apparently, you’re famous.”

A flush creeps up her neck. “Not famous enough to get out of this retreat, apparently. My editor sent me here against my will.”

“Really?”

She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Let’s just say the advance I got came with strings attached. Very outdoorsy strings.”

“Well, you followed the gear advice from the welcome email. That’s a good start.”

“I may be terrified, but I’m not stupid. I don’t want to end up dead like one of my characters.”

Something about her dry honesty makes me want to smile, but I catch myself. The last thing I need is to get distracted by a client, even a beautiful one who writes bestselling thrillers and has enough self-awareness to know she’s in over her head.

But as we’re doing final gear checks, I notice Peyton struggling with her pack’s hip belt. The waist strap is twisted and sitting wrong, which will cause her pain within the first mile, if not sooner.

“Hold on,” I say. “Mind if I adjust that for you?”

She looks relieved. “Please. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

I step closer, reaching around to untangle the belt. “The weight should sit on your hips, not your shoulders. Like this,” I explain while I position her pack.

When I tighten her hip belt, my knuckles brush against her waist, and her breath catches.

We’re standing close enough that I can smell her shampoo mixed with the crisp mountain air.

I swallow. This is the first time in all my years of guiding people into the wilderness that I’ve had such a visceral reaction to someone.

My voice is husky as I ask, “How’s that feel?”

She smiles. “Much better. Thank you.”

For a moment, we stand there, and I’m suddenly overcome by a desire to impress her. To be the kind of man she can count on. I quickly push those thoughts aside. They make me sound crazy. We’ve only just met, and she paid me to take care of her.

“All right, everyone,” I call out, shouldering my pack with an encouraging smile. “Time to see what these mountains have in store for us. Stay close, stay curious, and let’s make some memories.”