“You have the map?” she asked him now, as she was a city girl and knew it.
“Yep. Trail is marked. Four miles round-trip, one-thousand-foot elevation gain. We can do this.” He stopped long enough to waggle an eyebrow at her, offer a reassuring kiss.
She acquiesced while leaning all the way into him. He could be charming, with his mop of brown hair, thick lashes, and dark puppy dog eyes. And he was fit, an up-and-coming ADA who burned away his courtroom frustrations running half marathons. Given how much she enjoyed every inch of that runner’s body . . .
Fine, she would hike. For love, people had done worse.
She stepped back, hefted up the first pack, grunted a little at the weight.
“We’re going to earn those water bottles,” she said.
Chuck swung the second pack onto his own back as if it were nothing. “We got this,” he said.
“Promise to carry me?”
“I don’t want to use up all my strength. I still have some plans for us, end of day. I’ve heard the views are excellent from the trailhead. But I’m kind of wondering”—he leaned closer, whispered in her ear—“if sex on a mountaintop won’t be even better.”
“Sweaty and pine needly,” she told him, but he had her attention now. Hiking. Huh. She didn’t even like gyms. But the great outdoors, coupled with the promise of the right reward . . .
“We got this,” she agreed hoarsely. Then, after fighting with the straps of her pack, she followed her lanky, cute-as-sin boyfriend out the door.
* * *
—
FIRST MISTAKE: CHUCK SET THE pace. He was a cardio freak, and steep winding mountain trails were no problem for him. Janet was gasping almost immediately, and transitioning from romantic thoughts to murderous plots. One woman on the jury, she figured. That’s all she’d need to be acquitted of Chuck’s impending demise, if he didn’t slow down for his obviously suffering girlfriend.
Second mistake: Chuck wore new boots. One mile up, he developed a hitch in his stride. Shortly after that, he was wincing.
Janet worked as a vet tech, which made her the medical expert even when it came to humans. Meaning she was the one who had to forcefully halt Chuck’s determined death march, sit his ass on a boulder, and demand that he remove the boot.
The heel of his left sock was already spotted with blood.
“Gee,” she couldn’t resist saying, “so much for my crappy tennis shoes.”
He glared at her, and she could tell he was also making the transition from sex to bodily harm. Some things sounded like more fun than they really were. Hiking, Janet had already decided, was one of them.
She had Chuck gingerly pull off his extra-thick hiking sock. Even sitting in the shade, they were both drenched in sweat and breathing hard. Janet was never leaving air-conditioning again.
She rummaged through her pack till she found the first aid kit, another purchase still bearing tags. She inspected the bare-bones offerings. Neosporin and Band-Aids it was.
Chuck flinched when she touched his heel, then made little whimpering noises in his throat. So much for the take-no-prisoners assistant district attorney. He considered himself to be the intense one, while she was his breath of fresh air.
She hadn’t the heart to tell him he had no idea how much courage it took to help wounded animals, and just how tough you had to be to realize when medical intervention wouldn’t be enough, and that last, final step was all you could offer the sweet, trusting eyes staring back up at you.
She let him have his man pride now, trying not to sigh too loudly as she gently dabbed the antibiotic cream on his raw heel, then covered it with a Band-Aid. Not a perfect fix, she already knew, as his stiff boots would continue to rub.
“We should go back,” she suggested.
“No way. Not this close.”
“We still have a mile to the summit, not to mention the hike back down.”
“I can do it. It’s just a blister.”
“Didn’t you once say blisters are the worst enemy of the long-distance runner?”
“This isn’t a long distance.”
“You’re crazy.”
“That’s why you love me.”
“I thought it was the puppy dog eyes.”
“I don’t have puppy dog eyes!” He was already working his sock back on.
“Puppy dog hair?” she suggested, giving up the battle she already knew she would lose. She returned the first aid kit to her pack, looking off in the distance as he slid his foot back into his boot. He was gritting his teeth, hard.
Janet rose to standing, watching Chuck lace up his boot, then hobble about as if he were magically all better.
She retrieved her water bottle from the side pouch for a long drink. It didn’t help. She was hot, sweaty, and completely done with the great outdoors.
* * *
—
CHUCK RESUMED THE HIKE. HE was going to destroy his own foot, no doubt about it. Would rub off all the skin and be in pain for days to come. And she’d get to hear about it. Again and again. Like the man-flu, except for feet.
New objective: Get to the top, take in the view, snap a selfie, retreat. Then, never speak of this day again.
Chuck’s limping grew more and more pronounced. Janet trudged along, waiting, waiting . . .
“I want a stick,” Chuck announced abruptly.
He stopped and she nearly ran into him.
“A stick?” she said.
“Like a walking stick. I think it will help.”
“Sure.” Because a wooden staff would stop his foot from rubbing against his brand-new boot?
But Chuck was now a man with a plan. They’d come to a turn in the trail. A slightly flatter spot, but up this high, the trees were shorter and Janet didn’t see much in the way of fallen branches. Chuck shrugged out of his pack. She followed suit, grateful for the break even if she didn’t completely understand the mission.
They set their packs beside a boulder, then Chuck took the first step off the trail, heading deeper into the shade of the trees. Janet wasn’t sure she liked this, but found herself following.
There were low leafy shrubs everywhere; Janet hadn’t a clue what anything was called. But a thin path seemed to wind between the underbrush. Chuck hobbled forward, eyes peeled for the right stick, branch, something. Janet kept casting glances back where they’d left the trail.
Isn’t this how people died? Wandering off trail, never to be seen again?
Chuck came to a small clearing. The ground was flatter and rockier here. They were definitely off the beaten path, this area covered in layers of decaying leaves. It smelled of mold, Janet thought, crinkling her nose. But ahead was a huge, broadleaf tree and around it, yes, a scattering of debris.