Page 3 of Shared By the Mountain Men

He turned around and gestured at my Clif Bar with the ax. “So you decided to stop for a snack rather than treat your injury?”

“I was going to take a pain pill!” I rattled the bottle at him. “But I need some food in my stomach first.”

“Ibuprofen will only mask the injury. You might make it worse.”

“Thanks, doctor lumberjack.”

“You don’t like accepting people’s help, do you?”

“Not from strangers walking around with axes.”

His scowl deepened. “You shouldn’t judge people based on their appearances.”

“Why not? For all I know, you’re a serial killer who’s going to chop me into six pieces.”

The bearded woodsman blinked. “Six pieces?”

“Both arms, both legs, head, and torso.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“I have an active imagination.” I left the rest unsaid:when confronted with dangerous-looking men.

“I’m up here clearing the trails,” he explained with just a smidge of annoyance. “This is the kind of place where you’dexpectto see axes. Now, if you see someone walking around downtown Denver with an ax, then you should be worried.”

“It’s not just the ax,” I said, feeling guilty for lashing out. “I don’t have a good track record of trusting men lately.” After a few heartbeats, I added, “Sorry.”

“Thanks,” he replied, hefting the ax across his chest. “I’m going to kill you now.”

I instinctively recoiled, pushing off with my ankle before the pain reminded me I couldn’t go anywhere. For the first time since he appeared, the stranger’s lips curled in a smile. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“Oh you’resofunny.”

“I’m Jack.”

I made myself stop glaring and replied, “Melissa.”

Jack rested the ax against a nearby tree and took a knee in front of me. He paused and glanced up at me for permission, and after I nodded, he took my ankle tenderly in his massive, calloused hands.

“On a scale of one to ten, tell me how much it hurts.” He began gently poking at parts of my ankle.

“Five. Five. Four. Three…FUCK. Ten. Ten!”

Jack carefully lowered my ankle to the ground. “I’m pretty sure you have a ligament tear. Can you try putting some weight on it?”

I pushed off the ground, leaning heavily on my good leg. Slowly, I tried shifting the weight to the bad one.

“Nope,” I gritted out, flopping back down onto my butt. “Not even a little bit of weight.”

Jack sighed and looked around. Then he glanced at his Garmin watch. “Where are you headed?”

“Denver.”

He started laughing, then trailed off. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“Why would I be joking about that?”

“You don’t look like the typical thru-hiker.”

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