Page 3 of Wild About the Mountain Guide (Maplewood Springs #2)

Peyton

Thirty minutes into our transformative wilderness experience, and I’m already questioning every life choice that brought me here.

We walk single file along what Knox generously calls a trail, but what looks more like someone pushed a few branches aside.

My brand-new hiking boots are cutting off the blood supply in my feet, and my backpack feels like I’m lugging a small refrigerator.

To keep myself from crying, I distract myself with revenge fantasies.

I can’t help it. It’s the thriller author in me.

Right now, I’m imagining sending my editor, Melissa, on a wilderness retreat.

Preferably during mosquito season. With no coffee and a tent that leaks.

Oh, and during a pitch-black night with eerie animal sounds.

She’d love that, right?

“So fun,” she’d say, right before realizing she forgot her dry shampoo and discovering that the only toilet around is the one you dig yourself behind a tree.

There’s nothing fun about this whole ordeal.

My calves are on fire, my water bottle has already leaked all over my sleeping bag, and I’m pretty sure there’s something gross in my hair.

I still don’t get how this is supposed to inspire me to finish my thriller.

I doubt I’ll write a single word this week.

I’ll be too busy surviving to have creative ideas.

“Everyone doing okay back there?” Knox calls over his shoulder.

He’s smiling like this is nothing but a scenic stroll.

He could probably navigate these mountains blindfolded without breaking a sweat, while my shirt is already clinging to my back, even though it’s supposed to be moisture-wicking.

I make a silent deal with myself to start working out if I survive this week.

I knew spending all day hunched over my laptop wasn’t exactly doing my stamina any favors, but I didn’t think my sedentary lifestyle would leave me gasping halfway up a gentle incline.

“I’m doing great,” Harmony chirps from behind me, her crystal necklaces jingling annoyingly with every step. At least her sage stick has finally stopped smoking. It was making my eyes water. “I can feel Mother Earth welcoming us with open arms.”

I want to point out that Mother Earth’s idea of a welcome seems to involve a lot of rocks specifically engineered to trip people, but I’m too busy trying not to face-plant into a tree to respond.

Ahead of me, Brandon is simultaneously consulting what appears to be a GPS device, a compass, and a laminated map. “According to my calculations, we should reach the first waypoint in approximately—”

“When we get there,” Knox interrupts with a close-mouthed smile that suggests he’s dealt with Brandon’s type before.

We continue hiking in silence, but after another fifteen minutes or so, I hear a rustling in the bushes that sounds way too big to be anything cute and harmless like a rabbit.

My thriller-author brain immediately conjures images of every predator that might call these mountains home.

Grizzly bears. Mountain lions. Those aggressive squirrels you read about sometimes.

Serial killers with a love for axes and out-of-shape hikers.

“Um, Knox. What was that noise?” I ask.

He turns around. “What noise?”

The rustling gets louder. I brace for claws, teeth, or fiery eyes. Instead, a deer steps onto the trail about twenty feet ahead of us. It’s beautiful, with large dark eyes and spots dappling its brown coat.

“Oh, my goodness,” Christine whispers. “It’s magnificent!”

I fish my phone out of my pocket to snap a picture, but Harmony has other ideas.

“Beautiful forest spirit,” she whispers, pulling a handful of crystals from her pocket and holding them up like some kind of mystical offering. “I can sense your ancient wisdom. Your aura is absolutely radiant.”

Strangely, the animal doesn’t run. Which is weird. Maybe it’s used to people. Or maybe it’s too confused by Harmony’s energy to move.

“We should back away slowly,” Knox says under his breath, but Harmony is already stepping forward with her crystal collection.

“Don’t be afraid, gentle soul,” she says, approaching the deer like it’s a lost puppy instead of a wild animal. “I’m here to commune with your spirit. We come in peace.”

“Harmony,” Knox’s voice carries enough authority to make her stop in her tracks. “Wild animals aren’t pets. Please step back. Now.”

The deer suddenly snorts loudly. It’s the kind of sound that in my books would be followed by something very bad happening to my characters.

I freeze. This is it. This is how I die. Not in some dramatic thriller-worthy scenario, but because I got trampled by Bambi on day one of a wilderness retreat I didn’t even want to go on.

But Knox isn’t having any of that. He steps forward with a calm confidence that makes my heart do something weird and fluttery in my chest. “Easy there,” he says, though I’m not sure if he’s talking to the deer or to us. “Everyone stay still for a minute.”

The deer looks at Knox, then at Harmony with her crystals, then at Brandon, who’s now reading aloud from his guidebook about deer behavior patterns. It gives us one last look, apparently deciding we’re all too weird to deal with, and bolts.

“That was incredible.” Harmony practically vibrates with excitement. “Did you feel that connection? That pure, untamed energy?”

“I felt something, all right. Pretty sure it was the early stages of cardiac arrest,” I mutter.

Knox catches my eye with what might be the beginning of a smile. “Welcome to the wilderness,” he says. “Never a dull moment.”

I grin as I fall into step beside him. I look over my shoulder to check if Harmony is out of earshot. “Have you ever seen someone dangle crystals in front of a deer?”

“That was a first for me. And trust me, I’ve seen my fair share of weirdness on these retreats.”

His eyes sparkle as he says it, and that sends a little jolt down my spine. For a second, I wonder if this gruff, no-nonsense mountain guide might actually enjoy my company rather than seeing me as a helpless city girl.

I raise an eyebrow. “Weirder than that?”

He nods. “Oh, yeah. I could write a book about it. Not that I’m a writer or anything. That’s your job. My job is making sure you get confident enough to stop flinching every time something rustles in the bushes.”

“I didn’t flinch,” I quickly say.

The left corner of his mouth quirks up.

I laugh. “Okay, fine. I flinched.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re doing better than most first-timers. Seriously.”

“Thanks. You make it all seem so easy, while I’m tripping over my own feet.”

He shrugs. “Practice makes perfect. I’m sure you had to fail a few times before you could write a bestselling thriller, right? It’s the same for any skill, like surviving in the wilderness and summiting mountains.”

“You’re right. I don’t know why I thought you were born wearing hiking boots,” I joke. “And be honest. Do you think I’m making this trip harder than it should be by not bringing any crystals with me?”

“Huge mistake. Forgetting crystals is only something a rookie like you would do.”

“Now that should’ve been in the welcome email. Not all that boring stuff about gear and food and survival skills,” I say with a wink.

He lets out a real laugh, honest and unguarded, and my knees suddenly tremble like cooked pasta. I quickly look away, praying that no one witnessed me melt a little over something as mundane as a laugh. Luckily, Knox shifts back into mountain guide mode before anyone can focus on me.

“All right, everyone,” he announces. “Time for our first stream crossing.”

I stare at the water. It’s maybe three feet wide and probably six inches deep, but it’s moving fast enough to look like it means business.

On the other side of the stream, the trail continues up a gentle slope dotted with wildflowers that would be picturesque if I weren’t so terrified of the stream in front of me.

“It’s not very deep,” Knox says, already stepping into the water. “Just take your time, watch your footing, and use your trekking poles for balance.”

Harmony goes first, treating the stream crossing like a sacred ritual. “Thank you, water spirits, for allowing us safe passage,” she mumbles, stepping from rock to rock while her crystals catch the sunlight.

Brandon follows, rattling off facts that seem to apply more to crossing an ocean than navigating six feet of ankle-deep water.

Christine approaches the stream like a woman on a mission with her no-nonsense, focused attitude, while Alex and Alexandra—the granola couple—help each other with sickeningly sweet teamwork that makes me both envious and slightly nauseous.

Then it’s my turn.

I approach the stream’s edge and stare down at the water.

It doesn’t look that bad. A few quick steps and I’ll be across.

Easy. Except… the rocks look awfully slippery.

And the current seems faster up close. What if I fall in and my backpack gets soaked and all my emergency rations turn into mush and I die of starvation in the wilderness because I couldn’t step across a glorified puddle?

“You okay, Peyton?” Knox asks from the other side, and I realize I’ve been standing here for an embarrassingly long time.

“Fine!” I squeak. “Just… strategizing the best way to tackle this.”

“It’s not that deep. If you fall, the worst that happens is you get wet,” he says.

Right. Wet. In the mountains. Where it gets cold at night. Where hypothermia is a real thing that happens to real people, not just to characters in my books.

I want to turn back, but Knox is looking at me with his dark eyes like he believes I can do this even when I’m not sure I believe it myself.

I take a deep breath and step onto the first rock.

Okay. So far, so good. The rock is solid under my foot, and my fancy new hiking boots seem to have lots of grip, like the sales assistant promised they would.

I reach for my trekking poles and realize I have no idea how to use them for balance.

Do I put them in the water? On the rocks? Wave them around for moral support?

“Just use them like walking sticks,” Knox calls out, apparently reading my mind. “One step at a time.”

I nod and take another step. The second rock wobbles slightly, and my heart jumps into my throat, but I don’t fall.

By the third rock, I’m starting to think I might make it across without requiring rescue.

The water rushes around my boots, and I can see small fish darting between the stones.

It’s kind of beautiful, in a terrifying, I-could-die-here sort of way.

But when I lean forward to step onto the fourth rock, my entire pack shifts to one side like it’s trying to drag me into the stream.

“Whoa there,” Knox says, stepping back into the stream and catching me before I fall. “You’re doing great. Just one more step.”

For a moment, I stare at his hand. It’s a good one.

Strong and big. The kind of hand that knows how to fix things and build things and rescue thriller writers from a meandering brook.

His grip is steady and warm, and when he pulls me gently toward the final rock, I feel like I could probably walk across the entire Continental Divide without falling, as long as he’s holding my hand.

“See?” he says as my feet hit solid ground again. “Nothing to it.”

I should let go of his hand now that I’m across, but I don’t want to.

Gosh. When did I become the kind of person who gets flustered by a man helping me across a stream?

Not that that scenario has ever happened before.

Not once has a strong, capable man shown up in my life and jumped to my rescue. It’s kind of hot.

I reluctantly drop his hand, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Thanks. I don’t know what happened there when I lost my balance.”

“Heavy pack on uneven terrain. Happens a lot. You did good, Peyton.”

When he says my name, it rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest, and I have to remind myself to keep breathing normally.

Behind us, Harmony starts clapping. “That was beautiful! The way you trusted in the universe’s magic plan and let Knox guide you. Pure magic, babe.”

I want to point out that it was more about Knox catching me and less about universal magic, but I realize she’s just being kind. Maybe she’s not as insufferable as I first thought. I’m warming up to her. It’s hard to dislike someone who’s rooting for me, even if she calls me babe .

“All right, everyone,” Knox says. “Let’s keep going. We only have a few miles to cover before we set up camp. Don’t forget to enjoy the view along the way.”

Oh, I am. And not just the view of the mountains and trees, but also of… well, Knox. Maybe Melissa was right about me finding inspiration out here after all.

Just not the kind she was talking about.