Page 1 of Just Act Natural

ONE

GRANT

Only my youngestbrother would call on the first day of my vacation. My phone lights up with Rhett’s name as soon as I drop into a chair at the coffee house where I’m killing a little time this morning. I haven’t been out of Texas for twenty-four hours. For someone who shuns responsibility whenever he possibly can, he’s sure pretending he doesn’t know what time off means.

“The store had better be on fire if you’re calling me already.”

“It’s almost like you don’t trust me.” He sounds way too happy. Usually, that means he’s up to something.

“I didn’t accuse you of setting the fire.” Although, with Rhett, I can never be too sure.

“Well, good news—there’s no fire. Obviously, you got to Oregon okay.”

“My plane got in late, but I’ve been awake since four.” Which explains the large coffee in front of me—the house special with thick cream and entirely too much brown sugar. It’s almost undrinkable, but with the barista right here watchingwhile he wipes down the counter, I don’t want to just throw it away.

“You should have given yourself an extra day to adjust to the time like I said.”

“You are the paragon of good planning and responsibility in this family.” I take a heftier gulp of the sweet coffee. Normally, I’m at my best first thing in the morning, but I’m not normally running on less than five hours of sleep.

“I know my place.” Rhett might as well be preening, he sounds so chipper. “Youngest, troublemaker, best looking. The works.”

“Most humble,” I add.

“Nah, can’t infringe on your territory. Are you heading out this morning?”

“In a few more minutes.” As soon as I finish this cavity-inducing coffee, I’ll grab my duffel and meet up with the guiding company. This café is right across the street from Horizon Hikes’s green awning and their windows plastered with fliers, detailing the trips they offer. Somewhere on there is one for the easy five-day walk I’m about to go on in the nearby National Forest—the perfect start to my month off.

“Cool beans. How’s the hermit cave?”

“I’ll check in to mycabinafter I get back from the hike.”

“Cabin at a lodge on the outskirts of nowhere. I’ve seen the pictures. That’s where people go to write their manifestos.”

“It’s a high-end lodge.” Not that I know much about fancy accommodations. Most of my vacations have me sleeping on a mountainside, not luxury resorts. This place has a king-sized bed, a private hot tub on the back deck, and a fluffy white robe hanging on a hook somewhere. But if I talk it up too much, Rhett might pass on my managerial responsibilities to someone else and swing into town to crash my party.

He fakes a sneeze that sounds suspiciously likehermit cave.

“Fine. It’s remote. That’s why I booked it.” A little cabin in the woods right on a river sounds just about perfect to me. My youngest brother, who would rather act like he’s fifteen instead of thirty, would never understand the impulse. “I promise to keep the manifestos to a minimum.”

“Seriously. A month off, and you go into the woods like Henry Flipping Thoreau. Your priorities are all wrong.”

“A literary reference? I’m impressed.” And may have downloadedWaldenonto my e-reader in case I want a re-read while I’m in the cabin, but I won’t give my brother that much ammo.

“Your stress levels would be better served bymoresocial interactions, not less. If you know what I mean.”

I’m surprised he doesn’t verbally addwink wink.He’s had no subtlety with his opinions ever since I announced my intention to take a month away from our family’s business. He sent me links to singles’ cruises, cities around the world with reputations for the best nightlife, and several hotels with swim-up bars.

None of that has ever appealed to me. Usually, my trips are centered around my next mountain summit, and truly, aren’t all that relaxing. Weeks of prep and planning for a grueling climb? While it’s worth it, I want something different this time.

As soon as I saw the lodge’s website and that cabin, I knew I needed to stay there. It planted a restless itch beneath my skin that feels less likeescape fromand more likerun to, even though I’ve never been here before. But Rhett wouldn’t understand or sympathize with that kind of woo-woo explanation.

“Did you call just to roast my choices or was there something else?”

“No, just that. How’s the town? Any chance you’ll actually get out into sunnySunshine?”

That’s right. I’m sitting in a town called Sunshine, Oregon. It’s like visiting a town named Dry Heat, Texas. But the cloudlessJune day defies the state’s reputation for gloomy weather, even if the thermometer won’t break eighty.

“It’s a lot like home.” Right down to the cheery bakery and the group of older men gossiping on a park bench. The only real difference are the mountain peaks standing like sentinels in the distance. Texas has a lot fewer of those. Here, I’ve got ten mountains to choose from within a two-hour drive. If I really wanted to take a rest from climbing during my sabbatical, I probably should have found a place without so much temptation.

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