Page 4 of Shared By the Mountain Men

“Now who’s judging people based off their appearances?”

His lip twitched with the hint of a smile. “You’ve got me there. Where are you camping tonight?”

“Shavano Campground.”

“You’ll never make it there before dark. Even with a good ankle. You need to see a doctor.”

“I can’t see a doctor,” I replied.

“I’m pretty sure you can.”

“I don’t have health insurance right now.”

Jack stared at me for three long seconds. “You started a thru-hike of the Colorado Trail without any preparation, and you don’t even have health insurance?”

I wanted to snap back at him, but I had been grumpy enough with someone who was just trying to help me. So I ignored all the assumptions he was making about me—assumptions that were annoyingly accurate—and said, “I can’t afford to see a doctor. What other options do we have?”

Jack ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. “Tell you what. There’s an off-shoot trail leading to my Jeep. It’s less than a mile. Then I’ll take you to see my buddy. He’ll fix you up for free.”

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” I said slowly, “but getting checked out by a random dude isn’t really comforting.”

Narrowing his eyes at me, Jack replied, “My buddy works at the Crested Butte Medical Center. He’ll treat you for free. He owes me a lot of favors.”

That didn’t sound bad. But my ankle throbbed even when I wasn’t putting weight on it, and it was beginning to turn a sickly shade of purple.

“A short walk to your Jeep sounds better than trying to get to my campsite for the night,” I admitted.

Jack slung his ax into a loop on his belt and hefted my backpack. It felt massive on my back, but he shouldered it like it barely weighed anything.

“Need a steadying hand?”

“I’m okay,” I replied.

We started moving. I was able to put atinybit of weight on my ankle, but I had one hell of a limp. Still, I was moving forward. Jack led the way, walking a few feet before glancing back at me.

After a few minutes, he let out a deep sigh. “Let me help you.”

“I said I’m fine.” I knew I was being stubborn but I was in a pretty bad mood with my busted ankle.

“I really don’t have all day to get you to my Jeep.”

He approached and wrapped an arm around my back. I wanted to brush him off and reiterate that I was fine, but the little bit of support he was providing was making itmucheasier to move.

“Thanks,” I muttered after a few minutes.

“Oh, so I do get a thank you.”

I glared sideways at him, then felt myself soften. “Sorry. I haven’t had a great time in the past week.”

“I can tell.”

We walked along the trail for five minutes, then found the cut-off that led to the trailhead where Jack was parked. The terrain immediately tilted downward, which was more difficult thanks to my ankle. Jack shouldered more of my weight as we descended.

This dude was strong. Thank goodness hewasn’ta serial killer… although that still remained to be seen.

There was a rattling noise behind us, and then the sound of tires scraping on dirt. A big guy on a mountain bike skidded to a stop five feet from us. And I meanbig guy. If I thought Jack was a large man, this guy was absolutely gigantic.

The newcomer stared at us from behind the visor of his mountain biking helmet. His arms were as thick as tree branches, and covered with tattoos. I instinctively recoiled away from him, but he still seemed to loom over me. His presence was a physical force out here in the woods. Like he was one of the mountains in the San Juans.

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