Wild Within (Wild at Heart #1) (16 page)

“I thought you did things big in Texas.”

He lifted her nude body off the ground and stretched it on the nylon, tucking her clothes behind her head as a pillow.

“Big doesn’t have to mean fast, Just Grace.”

She watched him languorously unbutton his shirt and giggled. “I feel like I’m at a male strip show.”

He pulled off his shorts, long and slow, one leg at a time. Then he nestled his head onto her abdomen and curled his legs beside hers.

“In Texas, cooking a good barbecued brisket can take all day.”

“Well, we’ve got…” A quick inhalation of breath sucked the words out of her mouth as Lone Star’s lips brushed past her belly button and began to explore the region below.

***

Lone Star left the next morning after breakfast, hitching a ride with the father of a northbound thru. Grace’s heart felt light.

He loves me.

Her body tingled with renewed energy and her feet itched to begin walking.

I could sail across these mountains. The faster I go, the sooner I’ll see him again.

At ten, she left the sandy turf for Kennedy Meadows Campground. Ahead lay a kaleidoscope of peaks, fords, and lakes, beginning with the trail’s highest point, Forester Pass. Then up and down over Glen, Pinchot, Mather, Muir, and Selden Passes.

Only squirrels and crows accompanied Grace to the campsites near the Kern River. As she passed the empty tenting spots, a voice called from the direction of the water.

“Hey! We could use some help over here.”

Grace looked around. A young blonde waved frantically from the middle of the river. Grace looked behind her. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Can you help us out?”

The tall grasses tickled her bare legs as Grace pushed toward the gentle rushing of the water. When she got closer, she saw more people, all in t-shirts and shorts, standing knee deep in the flowing stream.

“Thanks.” The woman motioned to her friends when Grace reached the bank. “We’re having a contest, and we need a judge. A fair judge.” Her words slurred.

“How can I help?”

One of the men spoke up. “We’re having a problem with cheating.” Before he could continue, a friend shoved him from behind. He lost his balance and fell to his knees in the water.

The standing friend clarified. “Only
one
of us has been cheating…” Two men stopped him in mid-explanation by showering him with river water until he gagged.

Grace pointed to the remaining woman, a brunette who stood apart from the water fight. Her shoulder-length hair was tied back with a pink bandana. Sweat stains encircled the underarms and neckline of a floral t-shirt, and her mauve running shorts were patched with material in the shape of a heart. Despite the worn clothing and grime, Grace recognized the remainders of a thru-hiker fashionista.

Maybe she’ll have a more sensible attitude.

“You in the flowered t-shirt. Yes, you. Tell me what you want me to do.”

The brunette gave her friends a smug smile. Hands on her hips, she thrust out her chest so that it strained the thinning fabric.

“Well, we were having a little drink at the store this morning.” She enunciated her words with effort. “And Gordon here was talking about how he can do this awesome handstand. To make a long story…I mean, a short…we thought Gordon was full of shit. But to make things interesting, we moved it to the river.”

The woman stared at Grace.

“Moved
what
to the river?”

“The contest.” The woman sighed. “Don’t you get it?”

This is like talking to a two-year-old.

“What
kind
of contest?”

“Oh, didn’t I say? A handstand contest. We all do a handstand in the river. And whoever stays up longest wins.” The woman threw out her arms to emphasize the last word and wobbled. One of her friends caught her before she hit the water.

“Easy there, Ecstasy.” He took over. “You didn’t tell her the problem. The problem is that when we’re all upside down, we can’t see anything. Like if somebody,” he pointed at the man he’d shoved earlier, “comes up for air in between.”

“Dude, who’re you accusing of cheating?” The first man, still kneeling in the river with the current eddying around his legs, struggled to stand.

“Hey, back off, you two.” Grace clapped her hands. “I don’t want to be here all day. I get it. I’ll be the judge. I’ll give the word, and you start. Ready?”

“Wait.” The second man held up his hand. “You gotta know our names. How else can you choose the winner?”

“That’s right.” Grace frowned. “Silly me. I couldn’t just point to one of you.”

“Straight up. We might not know who you’re pointing at. I’m Bud.” He slapped his chest and turned to the man on his left.

“I’m Gordon.”

“I’m Stoli.”

“I’m Bacardi.”

“I’m Southern Comfort.”

“I’m Margie.”

“And I’m Ecstasy.”

I finally get to put names to the faces of the Sideways Seven.

“So let’s get this show on the road.” Grace took a step closer to the bank.

The group spread across the riverbed, arms held high.

Grace shouted through cupped hands, “Ready…go.”

Each of the Seven pitched forward and fourteen legs thrust straight into the air.

I’ll give this contest about five seconds.

Toes pointed to the sky like a row of upside down lizards. No one moved.

Grace counted. “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand…”

When she reached twenty-seven one thousand, Margie’s legs swayed. At thirty-one one thousand, she tipped over backward and sat in the water, sputtering. Bud was the next down. Then Gordon, Southern Comfort, and Bacardi in rapid succession. Then the six spectators watched as Stoli and Ecstasy passed Grace’s one minute mark and kept going.

“Told you tit size has something to do with lung size.” Gordon nudged Bacardi. But Bacardi didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the couple in the water.

Grace continued counting. The silence was reverential.

In the end, Ecstasy’s legs shook. At one and thirteen one thousand, she crashed into the water, sending up a shower that made Grace retreat from the sandy bank. Stoli’s legs remained ramrod straight until after Ecstasy fell, and then, as if hooked to a spring, he curled his legs to his chest and bounced out of the water, flipping to his feet like an Olympian.

He shook water from his hair like a dog. “Did I win?”

Grace stepped to the edge of the water and reached out her hand to congratulate him. “Stoli’s the winner.” She raised his arm. “One minute sixteen seconds. The grand water handstander of the PCT.”

Stoli laughed. “Four fucking years of gymnastics in high school finally paid off.” He splashed a victory circle through the shallows to the applause of his friends and waved his arms about his head and hollered. “Milwaukee’s good for something after all.”

Chapter 18

Grace had hiked consistent twenty-two mile days in the past weeks. In the Sierras she only managed seventeen. The elevation profile graphs spiked. Drops were abbreviated, like an S-wave from a seismograph. The trail ascended from river valleys and soared toward passes. Mountain peaks towered on either side as the path crested divides and then plunged toward valley bottoms. Climbing with extra food was taxing. But what slowed her down the most was the snow.

Snowfields were as barren and dangerous as the desert had been. And snow had peculiarities all its own. It could obscure tread, signposts, cairns, and landmarks. Under extreme conditions, what looked like a flat, empty terrain could in reality be a forest.

Snow was erratic, fickle. Where the snow line started on a mountain depended on the elevation and the angle of the sun. North faces had more snow than south faces. As the summer progressed, more snow melted. Its reach changed constantly.

Neither was all white stuff equal. Its consistency depended on the time of day. And consistency was everything.

Hard pack snow, Grace soon learned, was her friend. The herd of thrus wore a discolored path that the metal spikes attached to her running shoes gripped reassuringly. A makeshift staircase stomped into frozen snow didn’t collapse under her weight. But on south-facing valley walls in mid-afternoon the snow had the consistency of a Slurpee. She slid one step back for two forward.

So Grace began each day at first light, when subfreezing temperatures solidified the white landscape. That was when experienced thrus skied down snow-covered slopes on their boots, expertly gliding and twisting as though they had boards strapped to their feet.

The best Grace could do was slide on her behind. But she stopped doing that after she collided with a partially submerged rock. Afterward, she couldn’t sit for a day. From then on, she walked downhill sideways when she could, and backwards when she had to.

I don’t intend to repeat my dramatic mountain tumble.

Above the tree line, metallic chirps of marmots and ground squirrels broadcast her arrival. Flowers hugged the terrain alongside boulders the size of cars. Vast granite cliffs cut across the blue sky. She looked down on verdant valleys and deep, dark blue lakes where delicate patterns of snow and ice crisscrossed the surfaces. Often, as elevations increased, the setting reminded her of a quarry. Acres of rocks stretched in front of her, with some stones smaller than a frog and others larger than houses. All blended to form a rough, integrated surface.

Like pictures I’ve seen of the moon.

Thoughts of Lone Star accompanied her as the days progressed. His strong, nurturing presence blended seamlessly with the majesty of the landscape. She sometimes imagined climbing to the top of a pass to find him sitting on a rock.

Don’t rush it. He’ll be at VVR with a room reserved and a Dallas-size meal and bed waiting for me. Like he quoted in the tent: “License my roving hands, and let them go. Before, behind, between, above, below.”

Lone Star. I license all your parts.

Getting to Pinchot Pass required threading numerous tributaries of Woods Creek. As she crossed the first, she heard a familiar whooping. When she reached dry land, she turned to watch. One by one, the Sideways Seven skittered along the trail at breakneck speed and flung themselves across the water headlong, hurtling from one boulder to another. Ecstasy led the group. When she reached Grace’s side, she stopped.

“Hey, dudes, it’s the handstand judge.” The seven hikers gathered. Grace recognized Margie, the only other woman, and Stoli, with his floppy hair and lithe, gymnast build. But to her, the rest of the men were indistinguishable.

“Any more contests?”

“’Course.” Stoli put his hand in his pocket. “What would a day be without a contest? We’re trying to see who will last the longest on M&Ms.”

He pulled out a multi-colored handful. The candy glistened in the sun before he shoveled it into his mouth. “I’m gonna win this one too.” He gave her a chocolatey smile.

“You’re eating nothing but M&Ms?”

“They’re peanut. They’re good for you.” Margie’s voice held no trace of irony.

Grace shot her an incredulous glance. “Right. I’m sure they’re much higher on the food pyramid.”

“We’ve gone two and a half days so far. No one’s caved yet.”

“What about alcohol? Does that count against you?” Grace winked at Stoli.

“Hell, no. It’s strictly about food. With all this nature around, you’ve got to get sideways whenever you can.” He drew another handful of M&Ms from his pocket and offered it to Grace. “Want some?”

She stared at the mixture.

How long have those been in his pants? Oh, what the heck.

The sweet hulls crunched as her teeth sunk into delightfully warm chocolate and crisp, salty peanuts. “Spectacular.”

Others in the group fished out their stashes. “Here. Take more.” Soon Grace’s pockets overflowed with M&M donations.

“Thanks for refereeing back at the creek.” Stoli gave her a quick nod as the group pushed on through the trees. “That was the first time in my life I ever won anything.”

Later, at the top of Pinchot Pass, Grace sat on a rocky outcropping, munched half-melted M&Ms, and looked at her map. Rocks and boulders dotted the dry terrain around her. High ridges and peaks scalloped the horizon. Snowcapped mountains towered miles ahead. Tufts of white clouds floated across the azure sky.

I’ll camp at the Bench Lake trail junction in the valley. The wind up here could keep me awake all night
.

When she arrived at Bench Lake near dusk, the dimming light illuminated a pair of fishermen casting for bites on the opposite shore.
She wolfed down a cold dinner, put all her extra food into her new bear canister, and on an afterthought, jammed her shorts in as well.

Black bear country. Don’t want a roving prowler to sniff out the M&M residue.

She hung the container from a distant tree branch, crawled into her tent, and stroked the yellow walls.

This thin fabric won’t stop a bear. Or even a determined mouse. But it’s my fortress in the wilderness.

An owl hooted. Two raccoons scuffled through the brush.

I’m in one of the most peaceful places on earth. It can’t get any better than this.