Page 11 of Just Act Natural

“Best words in the English language,” I say with a heavy sigh. Sleeping on the ground still sounds awful, but it will get me off my feet, and that’s not nothing.

We follow him along the spur path well off the main trail to a clearing where everyone else has pulled off their packs and found spots to sit down. For turning sixty, every last one of them looks way more spry than I feel after hours of hiking. Deena and Mitchell are probably a bit younger than the couples, but since they chose to do this as their job, their enthusiasm for it makes sense.

Quickly unbuckling my chest and waist straps, I start to slide the heavy pack off my shoulders. As soon as the weight shifts, I lose my balance and almost tumble sideways into the dirt.

“Here.”

Grant’s voice is at my back. Suddenly, my body feels like it could float into the sky. I can’t help the little groan of relief I make as he lifts the weight off my shoulders. It’s a better rush than any massage. I spin to find him setting my pack down next to me.

“I almost landed on my face.” Truly, my conversation skills with this man are unmatched.

He’s already abandoned his pack a few feet away. I would ask how he got out of his monstrosity so easily, but the answer is pretty apparent beneath his slightly sweaty shirt: big old muscles. Which I try not to ogle like a weirdo, but my eyes have minds of their own.

“The extra weight makes it easy to get off balance.” He offers me a small smile that starts that floaty feeling all over again.

Nope. I’m going to chalk that up to the fresh mountain air. I turn around to search for the best spot to sit down. This is technically a work trip, and I need to stay focused. I’m here to learn about outdoorsy stuff, not get all moony over Grant Dimplechin and his amazing voice and uncanny ability to lift heavy packs like they’re nothing.

“How’s our caboose holding up?” Scott’s perched with his wife on a fallen log, grinning at us between handfuls of trail mix like he’s hoping I might break down in tears.

I find a dry, smooth rock and sit down. My butt’s probably going to go numb in about two minutes, but at least my feet can relax. I’m immensely grateful I took Mitchell’s advice andwalked around in my hiking boots every day after I signed up. My feet still ache, but they’re not covered in blisters.

I don’t think. Kind of afraid to check.

“We’re doing great,” Grant says.

“Totally invigorated.” I sound like a goof, but they already know we’re on the struggle bus. No need to indulge his morbid curiosity.

Mitchell’s sprawled right in the dirt with his elbows on his knees. “After we set up our tents and have a quick lunch, there’ll be time for a short hike with good views of the Three Sisters.”

“It’s one of my favorite spots on this trip,” Deena adds. “It’s also one of the last spots where there’s reliable cell service. If you need to check in with anyone, I would advise you to do it there.”

I pretend to be engrossed in picking through my trail mix, searching for the chocolate candies. We’ve barely sat down, and they’re already talking about heading out again. There’s no way I have the desire—or, maybe more importantly, the energy—for an optional hike just to see the nearest mountain peaks I’ve seen a thousand times in my life.

But…if the views are as good as they say, pictures would be useful for my website proposal. If this were any other type of company event, I would want to get the full experience so I can market it properly. Ugh. I should go with them. Even though nothing sounds better right now than taking a nap in my tent. Which I hope is self-assembling or something because I don’t have the first clue how to set one up.

I barely listen to the couples talk about Yosemite, the Tetons, and other places they’ve explored across the country. Mostly, I’m thinking about how sweaty I am, the total lack of shower facilities, and how gross I’ll be by the end of the week. I kind of need Mitchell to set up our horror show of a toilet, too. I amnotgoing the personal-hole route.

My attention focuses when a big black ant crawls across my leg. I flick it off. Then I notice a second one. And a third. Looking down, I freeze as my brain catches up to the fact that I’m covered in giant ants.

I shriek, shooting to my feet. Ants rain onto the forest floor as I run my hands down my legs. Spinning in a circle, I swipe at everything I can. My skin tingles as though they’reeverywhere. They really might be. I start breathing too fast, sweeping my hands over myself again and again, but they keep marching on.

Someone’s saying something, but I can’t focus. My brain’s too busy with the very important task of getting these bugs off me.

Grant catches my forearms, his eyes snagging mine until I stop squirming. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

My instinct isnotto believe him—I’m swarming with bugs—but he’s so calm and collected, I can’t help but trust him. I nod, not even sure what I’m agreeing to.

He brushes quick swipes down my back and legs while I try not to completely lose my mind. His hands dust over my butt, and even in my freaked-out state, I can tell he’s being totally clinical instead of taking advantage of the situation. His touch ghosts over the front and back of my clothes in swift motions.

“That’s it,” he says. “They’re gone.”

My heart’s racing, and my skin isn’t convinced yet that there’s no more threat. Adding to my embarrassment, my hands flutter between us like I’ve had five cups of coffee. Grant’s steady presence is comforting, though, and something inside me starts to settle down.

“Think that will go on her blog?” one of the men says behind him. Low laughter hums through the group, and I kind of want to crawl into a hole somewhere.

Except, of course, that hole would probably be filled withmore ants.

For just a second, something verynon-Clark Kent-like flashes in Grant’s eyes. It’s angry and protective, like it’s costing him not to turn around and say something back. But it’s gone again in a moment as he ducks his head to inspect me, nothing but concern in his expression now.

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