Page 5 of Wild About the Mountain Guide (Maplewood Springs #2)

Peyton

I’ve been awake since six a.m. No one else is, though, so I’ve been lying here for the last half hour overthinking. It’s a skill I’m proficient at. I excel at it even.

First, I tried to come up with twists for my thriller, but all I could think about were romance plots.

How weird is that? I’ve never written a romance before and don’t have a clue about how they’re structured, yet I already have half a plot.

It’s all because of Knox. We were the only ones left around the campfire last night, and I enjoyed every millisecond of it.

We connected. I didn’t want the night to end, but I couldn’t stay awake.

I’m enjoying a mental replay of the stream crossing where Knox rescued me and grabbed my hand when a drop of water hits my forehead. I blink up at the tent ceiling, hoping I imagined it, but sadly, this isn’t my vivid imagination playing along. Another drop. Then another.

“Please tell me that’s condensation,” I mutter, but even as I say it, I hear the patter of rain on the tent fly. Within minutes, it escalates from gentle patter to serious drumming.

Through the thin tent walls, I hear Knox’s deep voice. “Morning, everyone! Hope you’re staying dry in there.”

He sounds way too cheerful for someone whose outdoor adventure just got rained on. I unzip my tent flap and peer outside to find him standing in the drizzle like it’s a beautiful sunny day, already dressed and apparently waterproof.

“I don’t think my tent is waterproof,” I tell him.

“Ouch. Better get your rain gear on and pack your tent before it’s completely soaked then,” he says.

Right. Rain gear. I dig through my pack and find the bright yellow jacket I bought at Maple’s Outfitters. The salesperson assured me it was completely waterproof, but looking at it now, I’m not so optimistic about its abilities—or its fashion rating. If I’m honest, it’s nothing short of hideous.

Still, I put it on and quickly stuff my belongings into my backpack before taking out my pack’s rain cover.

I’m trying not to focus on how ridiculous I look.

I know I shouldn’t care, but Knox is around, and the rain jacket makes me look like an oversized canary.

Not exactly the look I want to be sporting in front of the man I… I…

I shake my head. Never mind.

One by one, the others emerge from their tents looking like they’re preparing for chemical warfare.

Brandon has on what appears to be a full rain suit, complete with a matching hat and gaiters.

Alex and Alexandra are sharing an umbrella, which seems impractical but adorable, and they’re twinning.

Christine has a sensible poncho on, and Harmony… well, Harmony has crystals.

“Rain is just Mother Earth’s way of cleansing our spirits,” she announces, standing in the downpour with her arms spread wide and a big, goofy smile on her face. “I’m going to embrace it!”

“You’re going to catch pneumonia,” Knox answers. “Where’s your rain jacket?”

“I don’t believe in fighting nature’s intentions,” Harmony says, spinning in a circle as water drips from her hair. “This rain is a gift!”

Knox looks like he’s calculating how quickly he can get a hypothermic spiritual guru down the mountain when this goes south. “Harmony, I need you to put on some waterproof clothing. Embracing nature is great, but not at the expense of your core body temperature.”

While he’s dealing with her, I notice the general mood of the group has shifted from yesterday’s cautious optimism to something closer to wet-dog misery. The rain is coming down steadily now, transforming our cozy campsite into something that resembles a disaster movie set.

“All right, everyone,” Knox calls out once Harmony is grudgingly wrapped in an emergency poncho. “We’re going to pack up and head to the shelter about two miles from here. It’s got a roof and walls, so we can wait out the worst of this weather there and have some breakfast.”

“How long do these mountain showers usually last?” Alex asks, trying to keep the umbrella over both him and Alexandra while stuffing their sleeping bags into their backpacks.

“Could be an hour, could be all day. But the shelter has a fireplace and enough space for everyone. We’ll be comfortable,” he says.

Packing up a tent in the rain is like trying to fold laundry in a car wash.

My bright yellow jacket turns out to be an expensive fashion mistake with zero waterproof abilities, and by the time I finally get my tent rolled up and stuffed into a plastic bag, I’m soaked through to my thermal underwear.

“Everyone ready?” Knox asks, shouldering his pack like it weighs nothing.

We set off in single file, with Knox leading and me somewhere in the middle, trying not to slip on the increasingly muddy trail.

The rain has turned every rock into a potential skating rink and every root into a trip hazard.

Within the first half mile, I’ve already had two near-wipeouts and one moment where I was certain I was going to slide straight down the mountainside.

“This is quite invigorating,” Brandon calls out from behind me, consulting his waterproof GPS device. “According to my weather app, we’re experiencing a classic mountain precipitation event with a forty-seven percent chance of—”

His commentary is cut short by a yelp and a crash.

“I’m okay!” Brandon announces.

I turn to see him picking himself up from a mud puddle. His pristine rain gear is now decorated with brown blotches of smelly mud.

“You sure you’re all right?” Knox asks, making his way back down the line to check on Brandon.

“Absolutely. Though I think my hiking pole might have experienced some structural damage,” Brandon says.

Knox examines the broken pole. He doesn’t look fazed at all. It’s clear he deals with equipment failures on a regular basis, even when it’s pouring rain. “We can work with this. Christine, do you have any duct tape in your pack?”

“Of course,” she says, already digging through her gear.

While Knox and Christine perform emergency surgery on Brandon’s pole, I see Alex and Alexandra disappear around the bend ahead of us.

“You two! Get back here,” Knox calls out before I can alert him.

Wow. Does he have eyes on his back or something? I swear the man catches everything. Which is a good thing, of course, considering he’s here to keep us safe.

Alex and Alexandra hurry back toward us through the rain. I’m relieved they didn’t wander off, but my relief soon makes room for worry when Alexandra’s foot catches on a slick root.

“Watch out,” I shout, but it’s too late.

Alexandra’s on the ground before my words are even cold, her ankle awkwardly twisted beneath her.

Yikes. I write about people getting murdered in my thrillers, but seeing a twisted ankle makes me queasy.

Alex kneels beside his girlfriend in the mud as Knox rushes over.

“Let me take a look.”

“I’m fine,” Alexandra insists, wincing when Knox examines her foot.

“Doesn’t seem to be broken, but it’s definitely sprained,” Knox says. “Can you put weight on it?”

Alexandra tries to stand with Alex’s help, but immediately favors her uninjured foot. “It’s not too bad. I can walk.”

“Okay. We’ll take it slow, and once we get to the shelter, you can rest and ice it.”

Our pace slows to a crawl as Alex practically carries Alexandra up the muddy trail.

When the shelter finally comes into view through the trees, I’ve never been so happy to see a roof in my life.

But as we get closer, I spot smoke rising from the chimney and six backpacks lined up under the covered porch area.

Oh, no. The shelter that was supposed to house our group of six is already occupied.

“Great,” Knox mutters under his breath.

A man in expensive-looking outdoor gear emerges from the shelter as we approach and crosses his arms over his chest.

“You folks looking to use the shelter?” His tone suggests he’s already decided we can’t.

“That was the plan,” Knox says. “Public shelter, last I checked.”

“Right, well, we got here first. My group’s been training for a summit attempt on Denali, and we need the space to properly organize our gear and review our route plans while we wait out the rain.

” He looks at our bedraggled group with barely concealed disdain. “Guided beginner’s tour, I’m guessing?”

Knox’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his voice professional. “Wilderness retreat. And we’re not asking you to leave. Just to share the space.”

“And we’ve got an injured person with us,” I tell him.

The man gives me a condescending smile. “Right. Well, I’m sure other shelters along the trail would be more appropriate for your group’s needs.”

“In this weather?” Christine speaks up. “That’s not safe, and you know it.”

“The nearest alternative shelter is four miles from here,” Knox says, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You want us to walk that far when we’re wet, cold, and injured?”

Another man emerges from the shelter, this one wearing what appears to be enough technical gear to climb Everest. “Marcus? What’s going on?”

“Hey, Todd. These people want to use our shelter because they claim someone’s injured.”

“What kind of injured?”

“Sprained ankle,” Knox answers before Marcus can. “Nothing serious, but she needs to rest.”

Marcus and Todd exchange a look. “We can’t be responsible for liability issues if someone in your group gets worse. Our insurance doesn’t cover—”

“Nobody’s asking you to be responsible for anything,” I interrupt, surprising myself with my sharp tone. “We’re only asking to share a public shelter during a rainstorm.”

Harmony appears at my side. “The energy in this space is very hostile. I think these men have some serious chakra blockages.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing at the look of horror on the mountaineers’ faces.

“Well? Are you moving out of the way or what?” Knox asks.

Marcus continues to block the entrance to the shelter.

“Look, I get it. You paid for some kind of wilderness experience package, and now you’re disappointed that nature isn’t cooperating.

But this is serious terrain for serious people.

We’ve got a weather window to hit, gear to organize, and frankly”—he looks pointedly at Brandon, who’s still sporting mud stains on his rain jacket—“we need to maintain a certain standard of preparation.”

“Standard of preparation?” Knox demands. “You mean, like having enough basic courtesy to share a public facility during a storm?” He doesn’t raise his voice, just calmly asserts himself. And honestly, I’m tempted to high-five him. Or kiss him, but that’s probably not appropriate.

Wait. What? Kiss him?

Before I can start overanalyzing my thoughts, a woman appears in the doorway. She has a lean, weathered look that comes from actual mountain experience, not just expensive gear.

“What’s the holdup?” she asks.

“Just explaining to these folks that we need the space,” Marcus says.

The woman looks past him at Alexandra limping slightly on her ankle, Harmony shivering despite her spiritual connection to the rain, and the rest of us dripping and muddy. Her expression shifts. “There’s room for everyone if we squeeze in tight.”

“Margo, we discussed this. We need to focus on—”

“On not being unkind to people who need shelter,” she cuts him off before turning her attention back to us. “I’m Margo, a mountaineer guide. Sorry about Marcus and Todd here. They get a little intense about maintaining their elite mountaineer image.”

Marcus looks like he’s been slapped in the face. “Margo, our group dynamics—”

“Will survive sharing space with other human beings for a few hours,” she finishes.

“But we don’t have enough supplies to feed—” Todd starts to protest.

“Nobody’s asking you to feed us. We brought our own food, our own gear, and our own courtesy. Though apparently that last one isn’t as common as I thought,” Christine says.

“And we have crystals,” I blurt. No idea why. It just comes out.

Todd squints at me like I’ve grown a second head. Then he gives us a defeated sigh. “Fine. You can come in.”

I turn to Knox and catch him grinning at me. My heart does a little flip-flop. Does his amused smile mean his heart rate also picks up every time he looks at me? Or am I reading too much into this?

“The crystal comment definitely swayed them. You should’ve led with that,” he says.

“I panicked. It was either that or sacrifice my last protein bar,” I whisper. “But it worked. Thank goodness we get to go inside now.”

“After you,” he says, stepping aside just enough to let me pass, but not quite. It’s as if he’s almost forcing me to touch his arm.

Was that on purpose or a happy accident? Either way, no one would ever have to force me to touch his arm. I’d shell out actual money to do it again.