Page 23 of Roughing It

I barely have time to check the charge and signal on my phone before he thrusts a tumbler of coffee and one of the pastries from The Bee and The Bean into my hands.

At my unasked question, he shrugs. “The pale blue bag gives it away, and it’s the only thing besides what you slept in last night and are wearing now you bothered to bring in. I figured Clairy must’ve loaded you up. You seem like the type who needs carbs and caffeine to be tolerable.”

What. A. Jerk.

I snatch the coffee and croissant and stomp past him. This better be the best sunrise in the history of sunrises.

Together, we set off, me doing my best to keep pace with Hudson’s longer stride. The coffee is delicious, and the day-old croissant tastes as buttery and chewy as the one from yesterday. This isn’t terrible. It’s still dark out and a little chilly, but not unpleasantly so. I can totally hike.

It’s clear after way too much silence, Hudson isn’t going to strike up a conversation, so I do what I do best. I talk.

“What are you?”

He pauses and cants his head to the side. “What?”

“Rancher, cowboy, lumberjack?”

“Do you see a Stetson? Or any cows or horses? And lumberjack? Why on earth would you think… No. I’m not a lumberjack.” He mumbles something about ridiculous city women as he shakes his head and walks away.

“So, if you aren’t any of those, what are you?”

“Not sure there’s a term. I guess outdoorsman?”

Outdoorsman. I test the word on my tongue and weigh it against the man who stomps ahead of me. The surety in his steps, the way he smells like a forest in the fall—yeah outdoorsman suits him.

In my live, I called Hudson a meal, but even that isn’t enough. He’s a buffet. Everything about him aside from the adorable freckles—Seriously. So. Fucking. Cute—saysrawr daddy.The sunkissed skin, the messy hair hidden beneath a ball cap, the faint wrinkles on his brow and around his piney eyes. The impudent tilt of his lips when he smirks, the work-honed body…

Yeah, I’m not going down that road before the sun’s up.

Another ten minutes of hiking—all uphill, I swear—and the first twinge of pain starts in my feet. I swallow around the discomfort and speed up to catch Hudson. It’s less of a hike and more of a power walk.

“Do we have a particular destination in mind?”

A grunt is my answer. Loquacious he isn’t.

“Some cliff, a clearing?” No answer. “You must have something in mind.” Nada. “The air here is so crisp; it’s almost too clean, you know?” Zilch.

My feet scream for me to stop, and I swear the path gets steeper. “I have a surprisingly strong signal up here. I worried it would be a massive dead spot.”

Silence. The power of this man’s selective hearing is astounding. I chatter mindlessly, doing anything to keep my mind off the steadily growing ache in my boots, the way my toes throb, and my heels slip. It’s still too dark to see much, so I can’t even enjoy the scenery. The only noises are my prattling and heavy breathing.

No animals. No sunrise.

Each step transforms into needles pressing into my soles. I bought highly recommended socks and boots. I did the research. What the hell is happening?

It’s been hours. Okay, that’s not technically true, but my feet burn like they’re being roasted over blazing coals. Quality hiking boots, my ass.

“Hudson, how much further? We’ve been walking forever. Where are we even going?” I’m being whiney, but my feet are killing me. And I’m betting we aren’t making a loop, which means doubling at least this distance to get back to the cabin.

I shudder.

“We still have a ways to go.”

“A ways? What does that mean in regular measurements? And why haven’t we seen a single animal? You said we had to come this early because the animals would be active.”

He stops, his aggravation with me clear. “Maybe if you stopped complaining, we’d see something. No animal will come within fifty feet of us with the way you’ve been squawking.”

“Why didn’t you tell me to stop talking earlier?”

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