Page 40 of Kind of a Dirty Talker

Of course, they shouldn’t!

Things feel good between us for the first time in ages. Having hot, carnal, pull-my-hair-and-talk-dirty-to-me sex is what got us into trouble the first time. We’re clearly better off as friends.

Last night was “just friends,” and it was lovely.

Right… Because you always hold hands with your guy friends and think about how gorgeous they look in the moonlight. You should back out of this role-playing nonsense and rent a solo cabin as soon as you get to the park.

“Oh, hush,” I mutter to the inner voice as Freya sniffs every square inch of the grass behind our camper, dooking urgent warnings about all the animals that were close to our home on wheels last night.

She glances over her shoulder as I speak with a look that asks “are you kidding me?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, love,” I assure her. “I was talking to myself. The voice of reason isn’t going to ruin the fun this time. I’m too excited about hunting Butch Cassidy’s treasure.”

Saying his name aloud is enough to send a delicious shiver of anticipation down my spine. Our research around the campfire last night revealed the suspected resting place of Butch Cassidy’s stash is only a little over an hour from the Arches National Park campground.

Another big bonus? It sounds like the treasure least likely to be cursed.

Butch Cassidy wasn’t a good guy by any stretch of the imagination, but his sins were of the common criminal variety, and he was famous for doing his best to avoid killing people during his robberies. The other treasures were far more problematic. Montezuma was said to have cursed his treasure before he died and the Spanish priest who enslaved the Native Mexicans, forcing them to forge crosses from his stolen gold before he buried it in the desert, surely left an ugly psychic stain on everything he touched.

I’m all about the adventure, but my luck is bad enough without adding a curse on top of it.

Though, I don’t feel unlucky this morning…

With the sun warm on my face, the breeze ruffling Freya’s fur as she explores, and the proud shadow of Buffalo Dick stretching nearly a mile across the prairie in the early morning light, I feel like a million bucks.

And like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

For some people, home is a place or a person. For me, it’s this feeling, of being out under the endless sky, connected to nature in all its peace and beauty.

I pull in a deep breath, holding it in my lungs as I send out a silent thank you to the planet for being so fantastic. In times when the world feels dark and hopeless, I try to look back on moments like this. Moments when I feel the deep, steady pulse of Mother Nature and know she’s going to be all right in the end, even if Homo sapiens end up destroying ourselves. Our planet will heal and foster new life, continuing to be glorious long after humans are fairy tales told around the campfire of whatever species rises to take our place.

“I’m voting for cockroaches,” I tell Freya as she leads the way back to the camper, picking up the pace as she spots Wes putting shredded chicken into her bowl atop the picnic table.

His smile widens as we approach. “What a gorgeous morning.”

“Perfect,” I agree.

He pulls in a deep breath. “I wish I could spend every day like this. Out in nature, away from screens and all the problems humanity creates for itself.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” I murmur, resisting the urge to lean into his strong chest and give him a hug.

Promising myself we can hug if we find Butch Cassidy’s treasure—such a find would require a hug-level celebration—I ask, “Did you find a campsite for the night?”

“I did,” he says as I loop Freya’s leash around one leg of the table and set her on top to have her meal. “But we’re going to need our fleece jackets if we go out to dinner. It’s still cold near Aspen. The ski resorts are closed, but we’re looking at a high of forty-eight today and a low near thirty tonight.”

I clap my hands. “Yay! I love frosty evenings in the mountains. And I found an outdoor store just outside of Denver that has wide-brimmed fedoras in stock. It’s only ten minutes out of our way.”

Wes’s eyes light up. “Awesome. Do they sell bikes? I was thinking mountain bikes might be a good thing to have. I’m not sure how deep into the desert we’ll have to go on our hunt. Might be nice to have wheels.”

Collecting a banana from the plate of snacks Wes brought out for breakfast, I nod. “It sure would…if we could both ride bikes.”

His brows shoot up. “You can’t ride a bike?”

“I don’t think so. I haven’t tried it since I was a tiny kid. My parents moved to a house on a gravel road when I was seven and there was nowhere to ride. I almost tried again when I was on vacation in my twenties, but my boyfriend complained about the price of renting beach cruisers in Santa Monica, we got into a big fight, and ended up throwing sand at each other instead.”

“Jerk. A bike rental is always a worthwhile expense,” he says. “And I’ve been wanting to buy a dirt bike for a couple years now. I’ll get one for me and one for you. If you don’t like it, we can always give it to Binx when we get home. She’s a big bike rider.”

I nod, frowning. “Right, but did you miss the part about me not being able to ride this bike?”

---