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Somehow, he'd edged closer to her, and the side of his arm pressed into hers. Ellie glanced down at the space where their skin touched, then back to him in a pointed glare. He scooted away with a murmured, "Sorry," and pointed back to the map.

  Atta girl, I wanted to say, then lock my arm around her shoulder and pull her into me. I refrained, however. The last thing Ellie wanted was an overprotective friend, even though I wouldn't mind.

  "It's not that big a deal, right?" Kimball asked. "We can find other places to hike around there after we find the cabin. It'll be the same number of days."

  "Why?" I asked. I leaned my elbows onto my thighs so I could meet his gaze. He met mine, and despite the flighty personality I'd seen so far, there was something hard as stone in his gaze now.

  "Because it's an adventure."

  "What if I say no?" she asked.

  Kimball's mouth opened to respond, then closed again. He blinked three times before he responded. "Well, of course, I'll defer to your expertise, but I thought you knew this area. We were told we were getting the best guide from these mountains. If a little detour like this is so dangerous . . . well . . . maybe the trip isn't worth the money we've paid."

  A lingering note of challenge in his tone drew my spine up, and he pointedly ignored me to stare hard into Ellie's eyes.

  Her gaze tapered.

  "Are you challenging my professionalism and attention to safety?" she asked in a low voice as hard as granite. "Just because you want to follow an idea that may not even be real doesn't mean I have to agree. I don't appreciate insinuations, so if you have something to say, then say it."

  Atta girl! I wanted to say again. Then cuff this loser on the side of the jaw so he had a good, long sleep tonight.

  Kimball lifted two hands, a look of contrition on his face now. "Of course I trust your expertise. I apologize if it came off as something else."

  "Do you trust my expertise?" she asked pointedly. "Because I have my doubts for obvious reasons."

  "Well, yes. I just . . . I think this could be kind of boring. We came to this alpine place for a bit of adventure."

  "I came to make sure you're safe. If there is a course change, which I can be open to, it will be a safe one."

  Kimball nodded and managed to look at least a little repentant. "Fair. I'm sorry if I overstepped."

  "You did." Her tone softened. "It's your hike, Kimball and Steve. We can go where you want. But I will not be bullied, frightened, or manipulated into it. Are we agreed?"

  "Agreed."

  Steve met her gaze and nodded, even though he hadn't said anything. His reluctant gaze from earlier had a bit more curiosity in it now. For so many reasons, I wanted to throw my arms around her and kiss her like I never had before.

  Ellie turned back to the map, all rigid professionalism now.

  "The place you want to see is about two miles from here, but we'd have no trails and would have to cross a couple of ridges. I know them. I've been to the top of most of them before, but it'll take most of tomorrow with terrain like that, because you can't always go in a straight line. There's ups and downs and unknowns. We could get there in the evening at the pace we took today."

  Kimball clapped his hands together. "Sounds great! Isn't that better than a boring trail?"

  "No. There are shale fields that get slippery and hold mountain lions, not to mention thick brush and forest to move through. A broken ankle isn't unlikely. Do you really want to do it?"

  "Yes."

  "Steve?" Ellie asked.

  He shrugged.

  She stared hard at him for a moment, then back to Kimball. No doubt she was torn between the common sense of sticking to the plan and known routes, where Daniel would be aware of her movements, versus abandoning them to a whim. But how to please the customer? Particularly when he proved to be a wild card. For a moment, I wanted to ask to talk to her. To pull her aside and convince her out of this utter madness. The deeper we trekked into difficult territory, the harder to extract—or get away from them. But that would make her lose respect and she was the decision-maker here.

  "Can I see the map?" I asked quietly.

  Thankfully, when my arm pressed against hers, she didn't give me a dirty glare or move back. If anything, she'd scooted closer to me now. Whether subconscious or not, I felt grateful she didn't shy away. Our legs pressed together. Her stability against me was more powerful than I expected.

  Just like old times.

  "This spot?" I asked Kimball to verify. He glanced at the map and nodded.

  "Yeah."

  "Probably has a shale field above it," I murmured to Ellie.

  "Doesn't seem like a safe spot for any house," Ellie said, more to me than him, her brow creased in thought. Her finger touched a line. "We can make it to this ridge, I'm just not sure how to get down."

  "This person you spoke with about the haunted cabin with treasure," I asked Kimball, "what was their name?"

  "Can't remember."

  "When did you talk to them?"

  Kimball shook his head, his gaze on the fire in a should-be relaxed pose that didn't fool me. "A few days before we came."

  "Huh."

  Another silence fell on the group, burdened this time with questions. Of course there was no person that he talked to. Ellie and I knew everyone in town, which is likely something he didn't bank on. The holes in his story would make his boat sink because now I was onto him.

  There was something at that cabin, all right. But I doubted it had anything to do with ghosts or treasure. Even Steve kept his gaze away now and I wondered what he'd have to say if he cracked that thick shell and came out a bit. Maybe if Kimball wasn't around, I could get the big guy to open up.

  Tomorrow, there may be a way to do that.

  11

  Ellie

  A distant rumble of thunder accompanied us to bed.

  The thick, rolling sound felt eerie against the hiss of Devin dumping water on the fire and the rolling clouds of smoke that billowed out of it. Embers winked out, leaving darkness in the wake of warm light. I reached up to turn on my headlamp but stopped to let my eyes acclimate to the dark first. When I could make out what I needed to by starlight, I left it off.

  Devin moved next to me but didn't say anything. I felt his presence like a band of warmth at my side. Although I didn't entirely acknowledge it, he made me feel safer.

  "Steve," I said and broke the quiet. "I think it's safe to say that we should expect rain at the very least. More likely hail and lightning. I'm not comfortable with you sleeping outside without any protection."

  "He'll be fine," Kimball said.

  I ignored Kimball.

  "Steve?"

  Steve shifted, a mere shadow in the night. "Thanks," he said. "I'm fine."

  In the darkness, they were only blurry lumps. The extra cover of night seemed to give Kimball even more courage to speak on behalf of his friend, which I didn't like. The whole evening had been odd and sent me for a bit of a loop. Why was their dynamic so weird? Why did Kimball want to get to a supposed haunted house so badly? My instincts told me there wasn't a house there, but there could be. An old trapper’s cabin, dilapidated and in pieces. I'd stumbled on them in the back mountains before. Besides, mountains were tricky. They didn't give guarantees.

  A crack of thunder growled overhead. Lightning streaked through a bulkhead of clouds moving in from the west. It blocked out the stars in the distance. For all its size, it didn't seem to be in a hurry.

  I made my decision in the split second when the light illuminated Steve's face, and I saw uncertainty there. One could even call it fear, and I had a feeling he hadn't meant to let me see it.

  "My tent is yours," I said. "Devin and I will share one."

  A moment of dumbfounded quiet followed.

  "What?" Steve asked.

  Devin didn't say a word, and I realized that I'd held my breath and wondered if he would. No sound issued from him, so I took it as a good sign. Hopefully, he'd brought more than just a pup tent, or th
is would be a very cozy night.

  "The choice is yours," I said in Steve's general direction. "I can't force you to sleep in it, but I won't be in it. I would be annoyed to find out you endured hours of hail and cold rain when an empty tent awaited you, particularly because we may have a challenging day tomorrow."

  An edge of reluctance—and relief—colored his reply.

  "That’s . . . very kind. Thank you."

  Kimball said nothing.

  Devin stayed right at my side as I headed toward his tent, which he'd put near mine. Would Kimball balk at being left on his own side of the tree line? We'd pitched our tents at least fifty feet away to give them privacy. Devin had chosen well, in a copse of sturdy quaking aspens that would provide some shield from the inevitable wind. Their leaves would soften some of the hail if it fell.

  Once I approached the tent, I flicked on my headlamp and pulled my sleeping bag and pack out. Wordlessly, Devin grabbed my pack and ducked into his own tent with it. My sleeping bag soon followed. I couldn't help but wonder if Steve felt relief at being away from Kimball for the night.

  For some reason, I did.

  As soon as I emptied the tent, I paused to think through my next move. Devin seemed to read my mind as he flipped his headlamp on.

  "Go ahead and grab your toothbrush and stuff," he said. The beam of my headlamp angled away from his face, illuminating his hands as he gestured to the tents. "I'll check the tie-downs and the rain covers. Then I'll stand guard while you change at the creek."

  I hesitated, shocked that he'd remembered. Then I felt silly. Of course Devin remembered. I liked to clean up in the stream before I climbed in my sleeping bag. He'd only teased me endlessly about it our entire teenhood together. Can't be dirty when you sleep, Ellie? You'll still smell like a hibernating bear afterward.

  My lips twitched with the memory.

  "Thanks," I said.

  Darkness hid his expression, and his voice was perfectly neutral, leaving me to wonder if he was annoyed at me volunteering to share his tent without permission. Our earlier conversation left me skeptical that he'd care, but we would be cramped together all night.

  The rolling thunder continued noisily in the distance while I grabbed my pajamas and a small toiletry bag. Devin rustled with the tents, setting mine farther away so Steve wouldn't sleep so close. The rain protectors were latched firmly on the top when he flipped his headlamp down, grabbed a bundle of things near his tent opening, and gestured for me to take the lead.

  Behind him, Steve climbed inside my tent and zipped it shut without even taking off his boots.

  My mind spun on Steve and Kimball while I headed to the stream. Near the gurgling water, Devin's beam flashed around to see the trees across the way.

  "I'll keep watch while I brush my teeth and wash my face." His light went out. "But don't take your time. That beast is headed this way."

  Behind him, light flashed across the sky, filling the thunderous bulk with electric bolts of light that turned the edge of the sky a vivid purple. At this high altitude, that kind of storm was a definite lightning hazard. On previous hikes from our high school years, we'd felt a charge in the air so strong the hair on our arms stood up. I shuddered with the memory and turned to my task.

  My toes sang with freedom when I ripped my long wool socks off and dunked my feet in the water. Devin didn't make a sound, but I could see his dark silhouette against the few stars that remained.

  While I wet a bar of soap and rubbed it into a small washcloth, my mind wandered to this Devin. Devin the soldier. Devin the deployed soldier. He acted so even-keeled. Once emotional, energetic, and extroverted, I now sensed a far more nuanced and sharp undertone in him. He hadn't lost that Devin magic . . . but he did seem tired.

  Was this Devin without me?

  I turned that thought away, because down that path lay a dangerous game. A game of wondering whether he mourned me as much as I mourned him. Whether he felt as incomplete as I had—did—and if he thought about it. Those thoughts gave way to hope, and hope wasn't something I invested in.

  Not now.

  Not when there was an actual chance.

  Inside my head, all of my boxes rattled.

  The cool water of the stream on my arm reoriented me in the moment, and the lightning provided ample motivation to finish my quick wipe-down and necessities. Devin splashed a few steps away, but not too far. Lightning brightened the woods when Devin reached back and pulled his shirt off. A quick silhouette of his flexed arms and shoulders came with the streak of light, and my stomach bottomed out. This Devin was certainly different from high school.

  When I finished, the angle of Devin's silhouette meant he watched the sky.

  "Going to be nasty tonight," he murmured as he gathered his bundle back up, flipped on his light to check the stream bed for anything we left behind, and we headed back. A few steps before my beam illuminated the orange tent, the full realization of what I'd done settled in.

  Ten hours of no-avoidance-contact between me and Devin.

  His tent was a two-man tent, but with our packs and those new shoulders of his, there'd be no space. Unless we wanted to put our stuff outside and let everything get drenched in the downpour, of course. We'd have to lay back to back or . . .

  Worse.

  With a gulp, my steps slowed. What could I do now? Nothing. Wind started to stir the trees with a sweet, balmy breeze that smelled like incoming rain. The lightning inched closer with every passing minute. Thunder grew in volume, like a giant punching the slate rocks overhead. Half the sky was overtaken now, the stars replaced by a dark mat.

  Devin slowed behind me. "Climb in," he called over one particularly loud percussion of thunder. "We'll figure it out inside."

  Wind stirred my hair as I climbed in. My sleeping bag had been hastily thrown in next to his. On top of it, my pack. I dropped to my knees, removed my shoes outside, and shook the dirt free. Devin climbed inside after I pulled my shoes in and flipped on a small, battery-operated lantern. Wordlessly, he hooked the lantern onto a little tie on the ceiling. Light flooded the area and lent a sense of normalcy to the surreal evening.

  For several minutes, we quietly shuffled around. I replaced my toiletries in my pack. He riffled through a bag, mumbling to himself. The small lantern cast erratic beams through the tent. I could almost pretend that we'd stepped back in time. That high school passed the way I planned. That he hadn't lied, I hadn't chickened out, and a mere miscommunication hadn't separated us for three years and turned us into different people.

  Pretending a false dream gave my heart one quiet reprieve before I had to escort it back to reality all night long.

  The gentle, sporadic pat pat pat of rain sounded on top of the tent. The drops plunked loudly, separated by long hesitations. At the same time, we finished our busy work. I settled back onto my sleeping bag. A rock stuck into my shoulder blade. He pulled his headlamp off and set it aside. Neither of us seemed to know what to do next.

  He reached for the lamp. "You good?"

  I nodded. He flipped it off and plunged the tent into a thick black. In the utter darkness came a moment of relief. At least I didn't have to stare at those broad shoulders. The strong jaw chiseled in his new life experience. The edge of something in his motions now. I stared at the top of the tent as he wiggled right next to me and began to wonder.

  Would I sleep better because I could smell him?

  Would our friendship come back quickly?

  Like riding a bike, maybe. Instinctive. Something that you just did because you always had. You didn't have to think about the how or even the why. You just did it.

  Hadn't it already started to do that?

  Would I really be able to be acquaintances with him?

  I almost scoffed at the idea, but to scoff would be to admit defeat already. Besides, that answer depended on him. If he deployed all the time and lived in North Carolina, doing who-knew-what else, would he want to stay friends with a wild child like me? After so many years
away, he wouldn't be likely to hold onto Pineville.

  Maybe that's what hurt tonight. We were supposed to see the world together and he took that away from us. Pineville had never been big enough. I'd wanted more, and Devin had been my ticket out. My safe ticket out.

  No, I thought, suddenly confused. That couldn't be true. After three years without him, I'd proven I could do anything alone that we did together. Mountain hikes. Rugged terrain. Exploring new places.

  Did I need him to get out?

  No.

  So why hadn’t I left yet?

  Uncomfortable with the implications in that line of questioning, I turned my thoughts to Steve and Kimball. This guide wasn't as fun or adventurous as I'd hoped. Nor did it seem all that safe. Before now, any guide I had done was fulfilling enough—I spent time outdoors, taught people how to appreciate mountain life, and received money for it.

  Yet, that hadn't been enough. Despite the freedom of it, there had always been a gnawing sense of this isn't it. There's something else out there. Which led me to overnight guides. Bigger challenges. Mighty trajectories.

  But this didn't feel good either.

  Certainly not safe, for one. The mountains had always been a haven for me. Perhaps I'd wrongly assumed that I'd still feel safe with other people up here. Second, I didn't like catering to people and their whims. Was I a control freak, or did I just want to dictate my mountain experiences?

  My thoughts felt like an unsteady lurch, as if I'd missed the last step on a staircase. A big realization hovered in the distance, just out of mental reach. Too exhausted to grapple for it now, I shoved it away after one final, lingering thought: maybe Devin is what I'd been chasing all along.

  Adventure. Excitement. Fun. Laughter. Connection.

  Memories.

  Devin had left, disappeared like a ghost. The mountains were our place. The place where he came alive. The place where I could find him everywhere I went, and it didn't hurt as much.

  Was guiding a poor attempt to chase ghosts?

  Tonight wasn't the time to question all my hard work. Now I had to focus on two strange men with a plan of their own. Two men that, by all accounts, weren't on the up-and-up. All of a sudden, I was inordinately grateful that Devin had come. A mere canvas tent in between me and Kimball would never be enough. If not for Devin, I would have been up all night, concerned but not able to articulate why.