Page 16 of Forever with the Mountain Man

“Wait, I have an idea,” Oier exclaims, muscling into the circle forming around Eneko and me. “Let’s have a rock-carrying contest. Whoever can lift the biggest, heaviest boulder wins.”

Eneko laughs, flexing his biceps and regarding the muscles that strain against his Carhartt with boastful glee. But I know I can outmatch all my brothers when it comes to contests of strength. I gladly nod, ready to kick their asses, whether by lifting rocks or breaking faces with my fists.

I add, “Why stop at rock carrying? I say we add wood chopping and tug-of-war to the mix. There has to be rope lying around somewhere.” I crack my neck from side to side as my brothers’ faces mix with varied reactions from glee to trepidation. “And then, if we’re not happy with the results, we can mud wrestle or go back to my original plan of beating the shit out of each other.” After the night and morning I’ve had, I need to blow off some steam with my fists.

Despite the chill of the February weather, I throw my cowboy hat to the ground and peel off my flannel and undershirt. My brothers follow suit. This is going to get messy and muddy quickly because unseasonably warm days have melted more of the snow pack than usual, making the ground water-laden.

Eneko steps forward, glaring at me vindictively. “If we’re having a rural sports competition today, let’s start with wood chopping.”

Of course, he would suggest this. It’s the only area he stands a chance of besting me.

“Alright,” I nod. “In that case, we’ll need solid judges and a crowd to watch me kick your ass. Julen, go get the family.”

Chapter Four

FELICITY

My heart races four hours into my drive to Hollister. Making my way up four eighty-eight, Hollister’s Main Street comes into view. There’s not much here, but it doesn’t surprise me, considering the town only boasts two thousand residents and enjoyed its heyday more than a century ago during the California Gold Rush.

But the buildings are quaint. I spy a gas station and mercantile, a bar called Stonie’s that looks dead except for a few cars lingering in the parking lot. To my left is a cute, pastel-colored bakery called Sweet Rush that people bustle in and out of. A café poised nearby holds promise, too, The Human Being.

Across the street, I see the Silver Fork. I found countless raving reviews about its fantastic food as Callie and I did a little research last night before this trip. But it has a big closed sign up and looks like it’s been that way for a while. I also see a cute little Bed and Breakfast where I’ll be staying for the night, but check-in isn’t until after three, and I’ve got plenty to do before then. Like figure out where Fierce Amestoy lives and finally put a flesh and blood body with a name and a face.

The Human Being hums with life. Bright, flashy paintings line the walls, offering pops of color, and the place has aneclectic, psychedelic feel. Behind the counter stands a curvy girl with medium-length, caramel-colored hair and snapping crystal-blue eyes. She smiles brilliantly at me, but there’s a sadness behind her eyes she can’t conceal.

“Welcome to The Human Being. My name’s Stacey. What can I get started for you?” I notice a funny little tattoo on the inside of her left wrist that looks like a heart with a tail. A few feet from her, in front of the copper-colored espresso machine, stands a younger woman with pixie-cut black hair, bright purple, glittery eye shadow, and a pierced nose.

I eye the drink selection, marveling at the inventive combinations of flavors and ingredients. “Wow, you’ve got quite the menu here.”

Stacey smiles politely, though unenthusiastically.

I shift my weight, looking over my shoulder to ensure I’m not holding up the line. Seeing no one, I dive into my standard freelance writer spiel because I’m always looking for new stories to pitch.

“My name’s Felicity James, and I’m a freelance writer with publications like the San Francisco Chronicle, the Reno Gazette-Journal, and magazines like edible Reno-Tahoe and edible Napa-Sonoma. I would love to speak to your owner about pitching some articles about this place. It’s adorable.”

“Thank you. Dee’s not here now, but I can give you her card,” Stacey volunteers, grabbing one from the stack beside the cash register. I finger the tie-dyed and purple card in my hand, flipping it over. “Thank you. What else would you suggest around here?”

“Definitely Sweet Rush Bakery. That place makes the most amazing pastries, including these delicious French ones that people can’t get enough of.”

After a year of living in the Hexagon, French pastries are totally my jam. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to check it out. And what about the Silver Fork?”

Big tears well in the curvy employee’s eyes, and her bottom lip quivers. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, her face flushing with embarrassment as she shifts from one foot to the other. “Babe, can you get this lady’s drink order? I have to use the bathroom.” She races dramatically down the hallway, and I look quizzically at the punk-looking barista, feeling awkward.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Silver Fork,” she frowns.

“What happened to the place? It has glowing reviews.”

“Closed,” the teen says, shrugging her shoulders. “Stace used to work there and had something going with the owner, Jerry Lee. Not sure what. But he vanished without a trace.” She shakes her head, laughing darkly. “Give it a few more months, and Dateline will be out here interviewing people again.”

“Dateline? Again?” My eyes widen as I look around the cafe, noticing a few people seated around the place but not much else.

She nods. “Yep, a couple of years back, Jess, this true crime reporter, was nearly murdered by a serial killer not too far from Wild Horse Falls. Really trippy stuff. I heard you say you write for the San Francisco Chronicle. So does she, so maybe you know her?”

I shrug. “The story has a familiar ring to it, but I can’t say I know a Jess. Sounds like this town’s far more interesting than it looks.”

“You have no idea,” the teen chuckles, cracking a smile that transforms her morose face. “Do you know what you want?”

---