Page 83 of Mountain Mens' Curvy Obsession

“That being said, I’m about to show you something I told you about years ago. You don’t remember it or you would’ve asked about it.”

I let him take the lead again, cautiously following him up the trail and over the stony ridge. It’s not a difficult hike, and I’m not too pregnant to make the trip. If anything, the movement will do me good.

“You know me better than I know myself,” I say.

“Just down there,” Chance says, pointing downward.

I stop for a moment, registering the trail as it gently descends westward between the thinning pines. To my surprise, a settlement rises about a hundred yards down, with small wooden cabins clustered together around a hot spring. I can see the steam rolling up from our vantage point. The cabins are quaint, with indigenous motifs, their roofs painted red, white, and yellow.

“Oh, wait, there’s a Cree reservation and a national park not far from here!” I gasp, remembering what the Hayes brothers told me about the mountain and Seeley Lake during the first days of my amnesia. “You mentioned something about a kids’ camp on the other side of the mountain.”

“This is the camp, yes,” Chance replies. “Granted, the kids are home, given the blizzard. It’s usually the grown-ups who venture up here in the winter. The camp is almost empty today, though.”

“It’s odd… the rooftops, I mean.”

He follows my gaze and smiles again. “Mills’s grandfather had them painted. If anyone gets lost on this mountain, they can use the rooftops as a compass of sorts. As soon as you’re at the top and you look around, you’ll have the campsite as a point of reference.”

As we descend, Chance tells me about the Cree people’s desire to keep the campsite as natural and as unintrusive as possible. I love listening to his stories about this place and its history.

“Even the pigments they used to paint the rooftops were processed naturally from herbs and minerals. They get a fresh coat every spring, too, just to keep the colors bright and fully visible,” he says.

“I like how you remember all these details, and how you carry them with you everywhere,” I reply.

“Knowledge is power. And stories make life more colorful, don’t you think?”

“I wholeheartedly agree.”

He takes my hand and helps me down the rest of the path, as the snow hides treacherous, sliding rocks. We reach the campsite in good time, just as the noonday sun hits it. It looks even brighter up close.

Each cabin has a bedroom and a small kitchenette. There’s an outhouse on the southern edge, along with a large pile of firewood covered with a heavy tarp. In the middle of the camp, the elders built a firepit surrounded by wood stumps carved into sturdy stools. Wrought iron pots lay next to it, bottoms up.

“As soon as the snow melts, you can smell the cornbread and fried meat all the way from the lodge,” Chance says.

“It’s so nice.”

“See this?” He points to one of the dressers as we step into a cabin. “They keep linens and blankets here for the weary travelers. There are jugs of fresh water under the kitchen counter.” He walks over to a cabinet and opens the door for me to see. “Coffee, coffee pot, all the basics for a decent night’s sleep and a morning cup of coffee before hitting the road again.”

“Wow, this is amazing.”

Mills’s voice sounds out. “I thought I heard voices.”

“Sheriff!” I exclaim, noticing he’s not in uniform today, having opted for jeans and a thick, khaki winter jacket instead. “If you’re here, who’s scouring Seeley Lake for Leo?”

Maybe I shouldn’t have opened with that, but it’s been a constant source of concern for me since I first saw Leo in town. He’s not the kind of man I can easily forget.

“I’ve got deputies working on it,” Mills replies. “I need a day off once in awhile. And besides, I’ll admit, I do find comfort in knowing you’ve got the Hayes brothers protecting you 24/7.”

“Me, too,” I politely concede.

“Nico and Booker have their own tasks for the day,” Chance tells the sheriff. “Booker’s following up with your techs on the USB drive, and Nico’s dropping a few incentives here and there for the townspeople to keep an eye out and let us know about any suspicious movements or people they might spot.”

“Good,” Mills says with a heavy sigh. “Seeley Lake and the surrounding districts owe you a debt of gratitude. It is about time you cashed that in.”

“We never planned on doing that, truth be told,” Chance says.

“Yes, but desperate times, brother…”

“A debt of gratitude?” I ask, curiously glancing at Mills.

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