Sierra High (Trail Magic Book 2) Chris

Mor
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 TRAIL MAG ∙ IC

noun

Goods or services freely given to hikers for no reason other than to make their
journey a little better. Comes in many forms. It could be bottled water in the
middle of a dry stretch of trail, cheeseburgers grilled trail side, or a lift to or
from the nearest resupply point.
 Sierra High
Trail Magic Book 2
Copyright © Chris Mor 2022

Chris Mor Books

PO Box 3424
Gresham, OR 97030

Editing by HEA Author Services - Jami Nord, developmental,

and Kimberly Hunt, copy edit

Cover Art by MiblArt

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or used in a fictional manner. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written
permission of the publisher.

Map used with permission from the Pacific Crest Trail Association. For other maps and more
information about the trail, visit them at pcta.org.
 Warning!
The following is a work of fiction and should not be considered an actual guide to hiking the
Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). A successful thru-hike of the PCT takes months, if not years, of
preparation, both physically and logistically. There are many great resources out there for planning a
trip along all or portions of the PCT. This is not one of them.
Be safe.
Take a buddy.
Take the right equipment.
But above all, get out and see more of this beautiful world of ours.
Go take a hike!
 For Mom,
Thank you for letting me hike around the Three Sisters when I was 11.

And to Troop 148,

For being willing to take an 11-year-old backpacking
 ITINERARY
The Sierra Nevada Mountains
Day 29: Mojave Desert, Belle
Day 31: Tehachapi Mountains, Grinder
Day 32: Camp Above Miller Springs, Belle
Day 33: Landers Meadow Camp, Belle
Day 35: Walker Pass Campground, Bats
Day 38: Kennedy Meadows, Belle
Day 38: Kennedy Meadows, Nova
Day 39: Clover Meadow, Belle
Day 42: Golden Trout Wilderness, Belle
Day 42: Rock Creek Crossing, Grinder
Day 43 Rock Creek Lake, Belle
Day 44 Crabtree Meadow, Bats
Day 45: Mt. Whitney Summit, Nova
Day 46: Lone Pine, Belle
Day 47: Crabtree Meadow Ranger Station, Nova
Day 49: Forester Pass, Belle
Day 54: Muir Trail Ranch, Belle
Day 57: Devils Postpile, Bats
Day 59: Yosemite National Park, Belle
Day 60: Yosemite Valley, Grinder
Day 60: Yosemite Valley Lodge, Belle
Day 61: Tuolumne Meadows, Belle
Day 65: North Kennedy Meadows, Belle
Day 67: Toiyabe National Forest, Belle
Day 69: Echo Lake, Bats
Day 72: Donner Lake, Belle
Day 72: Donner Lake, Bats
Day 72: Donner Lake, Belle
Day 72: Donner Lake,Nova
Day 72: Donner Lake, Grinder
Night 72: Donner Lake, Belle
About the Author
Click on the map to see it on pcta.org.
Of all the mountain ranges I have climbed, I like the Sierra Nevada the best.
- John Muir
 THE SIERRA NEVADA MOUNTAINS
Stretching four hundred miles from Tehachapi Pass in the south to Fredonyer Pass in the north, the
“snowy mountains,” as translated from Spanish, contains three national parks, two national
monuments, and twenty unique wilderness areas. Among its many peaks is Mt. Whitney, the highest
point in the contiguous United States, at 14,505 feet.
The range features heavily in the works of the famous naturalist John Muir. He worked to
promote awareness of the Yosemite Valley and Sequoia Forest, hoping to preserve these and other
natural wildernesses for generations to enjoy as he had. His efforts led to the creation of the National
Park system and the Sierra Club. In addition to having a mountain, pass, and wilderness area named
for him, the John Muir Trail stretches 214 miles along the backbone of the Sierra Nevada from Mt.
Whitney to Yosemite Valley.
Snow covered trails, rushing streams, fast changing weather, and the possibility of elevation
sickness are only some factors which make this one of the most dangerous sections of the Pacific
Crest Trail.
 DAY 29
MOJAVE DESERT
2,146 MILES TO GO

Belle
A soft light filters in through the dirty window, lighting up specks of dust dancing in the morning
sunlight like little fairies. The vision and the quiet bring a smile to my face. Maybe it’s because
Grinder isn’t yelling at us to get up. Or maybe it was all the orgasms last night. Beside me, Nova
gently snores, and when I turn toward him, my smile grows bigger. Yep, definitely the orgasms.
There’s a soft chirp from the nightstand. Nova had called it Grinder’s tone back in Cajon Pass.
He also said it would keep going until he answered it. Which led to having a little fun at Grinder’s
expense. Looking at Nova’s still sleeping—and naked—form, I reach for his phone. Sure enough,
there’s a text from Grinder. I catch the first few words before the screen goes dark, but they’ve got my
full attention. I hold the phone above Nova’s peaceful face long enough for the device to recognize
him, then open the message.
BLAKE: Go ahead and sleep in. Rest up. Leaving at dusk tonight. Do you have
Belle’s number so I can let her know?
Extracting myself from Nova’s arms, I climb out of bed and grab my pants from where they’re
lying on the floor. I put on my panties and T-shirt when I made a late-night run to the bathroom and
didn’t bother taking them off when I climbed back into bed.
Stepping out onto the small porch, I tap on Grinder’s icon and push the call button. I don’t have to
wait long for him to answer.
“Morning, dickhead,” Grinder greets me with way too much cheer. By now, he’s likely had a
shower and two cups of coffee.
“That would work a lot better if I had a dick. Still, it’s nice to know you’ve accepted me as one
of the guys.”
There’s a muffled curse on the other end. “Belle, I didn’t . . .”
I cut him off with a chuckle. “Don’t worry about it. What’s this about leaving at dusk?”
“Uh, yeah. I was thinking maybe we’d do a little night hiking. Avoid the heat.” Grinder clears his
throat. “Maybe see some stars. Bats mentioned you might like that.”
I check the caller ID. Huh. It says it’s Grinder. I shake my head, raising the phone back to my ear.
“Yeah. That sounds great.”
“Okay then. We’ll head out sometime around dusk. According to my app, Tylerhorse Canyon is
twenty-four miles away, but it’s flat most of the way. We should be able to reach it before dawn.”
“Sounds great. I’ll tell Nova when he wakes up.”
I hang up and head back inside. Returning the phone to the nightstand, I strip out of my pants
before climbing back into bed. I slept great last night. Maybe better than I have this entire trip. But a
thru-hiker knows to rest up when they can. If Grinder’s letting us sleep in, I won’t say no.
 I curl up next to Nova, expecting him to still be asleep, but warm fingers brush the exposed skin
where my shirt has ridden up. They trail over my side and across my stomach. Maybe they’ll head up
toward my breasts next. Or even better, go lower.
“Mmm. I like waking up next to you,” Nova mutters behind me.
I wiggle farther into his grasp. And his morning wood. “It has its perks.”
“Who was on the phone?” he asks, placing soft kisses along my shoulder.
“Grinder. We’re staying here until dusk. He wants to cross the Mojave at night.”
“Whatever will we do with the time?” Nova muses. His hand dips under my shirt, his warm
touch making my skin tingle.
“It was weird though,” I mutter, rolling onto my back and threading my fingers with his. It’s clear
what he wants, but it’s so much more fun when he has to work for it.
His sapphire eyes are half-lidded, still heavy with sleep. “Grinder wanting to hike the desert at
night? Sounds like a good idea to me.”
“No, that makes sense. But I think he’s doing it to be nice to me.”
He cocks his head to the side in confusion. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No. It was just weird. Not like him, you know?”
Nova chuckles. “Don’t worry. He’ll be an ass again soon enough.” As if on cue, Nova’s phone
pings with Grinder’s tone. He reaches over me, which has the added benefit of him ending up on top
of me, his hard length pressing into my waking core. He picks up the phone and grins as he holds it up
for me to read. “What did I tell you?”
BLAKE: I fucking hate you. I’m throwing out all your condoms.
I laugh as Nova returns his phone to the nightstand, then gasp when he nips at my sensitive nipple
through the thin fabric of my T-shirt. This time, I don’t resist when he lifts my shirt until it’s joining
my pants on the floor. Nor when he trails soft kisses all the way down my stomach before settling
between my thighs and devouring me as if I’m all he wants for breakfast.
Give the man some credit. Nova knows how to wake a woman in the morning.

We check out of our cabins early, but stick around the property throughout the day, lounging
around and resting up as hikers arrive and depart. Grinder gets a ride to the nearby market and deli
around five, bringing back four cheeseburgers with fries for dinner. While we eat, other groups set out
into the cooling desert as dusk approaches. We won’t be the only ones hiking under the stars tonight.
After dinner, Bats tosses something at me, then a similar item flies toward Nova. I catch the item,
turning it over. “A headlight?”
“It has a red-light function perfect for night hiking,” Bats tells me.
I pull the light out of the plastic wrapping and put it on my head, adjusting the straps for a snug
fit. “Where did you get these?”
“At the outdoor store in Big Bear. They were on the clearance table, and I thought I’d grab a
couple. Grinder and I both have our own, but Nova’s the idiot who left his at home, and I haven’t seen
you using one. I thought they might come in handy, or at least be a good backup.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, smiling with appreciation.
Grinder rolls his eyes as he rises and starts stretching. “Yeah. Yeah. Bats has nice toys. You can
thank him once we’re back on the trail. Get ready to leave.”
We slip into our stretching routines, the quiet interrupted by the occasional “Ow” whenever
someone smacks Nova for staring at my ass for too long. Laughing at their playfulness, I spend a few
extra seconds on certain stretches that might highlight certain parts of my body, stealing glances at
Nova and catching his appreciative smile. Funny thing is, I’d almost swear I caught Bats stealing a
glance or two. And even one from Grinder, though he was the most subtle, if it even was a glance at
all. Then again, it might have been my imagination running away with ideas of being at the mercy of
all three of them.
With a huff, I push those thoughts down. After last night, it’s pretty clear who I’m with, and I’m a
one-guy type of girl. As long as I’m with Nova, I won’t do anything with any other guy, let alone
either of his two best friends. I know all too well what it’s like to be cheated on, and I could never do
that to someone else.
We start out around seven, heading west along the highway the short distance back to the Pacific
Crest Trail. Ahead of us, the sun continues dipping toward the horizon as the sky above us dims, a
few wisps of cloud floating along.
A mile up the trail, we turn and follow the famous Los Angeles Aqueduct for another mile before
crossing it and heading north as the sun disappears, and the sky turns from a soft blue to a velvety inky
color. Stars appear, dotting the sky overhead, a few here, a cluster there. In a few hours, a sliver of
moonlight should appear, inching closer to the new moon in a few days. Another hour into our hike
and the sky is dark enough for the edge of the Milky Way to become visible, streaking across the sky.
We take our first break of the night at the point where we leave the roads we’ve been walking
along and get back to walking on dirt paths. We’ll be walking along the Aqueduct again, except this
time it will be a few feet beneath our feet, not beside us.
I’m sitting on a rock, pointing out constellations to Nova, when Grinder chuckles. “What?”
Grinder shakes his head. “How many science degrees did you say you have?”
“Geology,” I answer. “With minors in forestry and botany. Why?”
“And astronomy?”
I shake my head. “I picked up a few of the constellations growing up outdoors. Or hanging around
the science section of the library. But even if I didn’t know any of their names, I’d still be enjoying
this. They’re a beautiful sight.”
Nova leans in close to whisper, “They aren’t the only beautiful sight out here.”
It’s a good thing we’re all using red lights tonight, because there’s enough heat rushing to my
cheeks to be noticeable.
“Thanks,” Bats says from my other side, causing me to choke on a sip of water. “But don’t let
Belle catch you checking me out. It might piss her off.”
“Stop distracting her,” Nova tells Bats.
“I’m not distracting her.”
“Yes, you are. Why else would she identify the Pleiades as the Big Dipper?”
“What?” I ask in confusion.
Nova takes my hand, adjusting it to point at a cluster to the right of where I was pointing. “Ursa
Major.” He uses my finger to trace the familiar line to the North Star, and I mentally kick myself for
not picking up the mistake. “Polaris. It’s cool. The Pleiades, or Seven Sisters, look a lot like the
dippers.” He lets go of my hand and I already miss his touch. “What’s next?”
 I gaze at him, curiosity taking over. “Why do I get the feeling you should be the one pointing out
stars to me?”
Nova smirks and shrugs, leaving Grinder to fill in the blank. “He would, but he left his telescope
at home. Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t get offended when you went stargazing with Bats first. Or
haven’t done more of this yet.”
“Kind of hard when you’re marching us until we’re halfway asleep,” Nova retorts.
“Speaking of which,” Grinder says, rising and dusting his pants off.
A few minutes later, we’re back at it, with Nova taking over, pointing out astronomical wonders
as we walk.
As we pass the occasional Joshua tree on the ground, the stars, a few clouds, and a sliver of
moon pass overhead. For a couple of stretches, the trail disappears, and we end up having to rely on
our map apps and the occasional wooden post bearing the trail logo to stay on the path until we turn
up into the Tehachapi Mountains. Around six in the morning, as the sun is rising over the desert to the
west of us, we flop down under some Coulter pines next to a creek in Tylerhorse Canyon, taking over
the site from a group heading out for the day. We top off our water bottles in the small, steady stream
and snag a few bites of dried food. None of us care to stay awake long enough to cook anything.
I spend a few minutes taking photos of the sunrise before the soreness of the night’s hike becomes
too much and I collapse atop Bats’ ground cloth next to Nova. He wraps me in his arms from behind,
while in front of me, Bats’ deep breathing lulls me closer to unconsciousness. I’m asleep before the
sun rises above the horizon.

After sleeping well into the afternoon, we enjoy a good meal, making use of the water next to us
to cook with. The day is cooler than expected, rising into the low eighties instead of the nineties, and
by five we’re all antsy enough to grab our bags.
“There’s been reports of a water cache about sixteen miles from here,” Grinder says as we head
out. “It’ll make for a short night, but it will also make it easier to go back to hiking during the day.
We’ll rest up and head out around noon.”
The rest of us nod in agreement as we fall into line, Nova setting a leisurely pace as he resumes
playing astronomer for us. The first half of the night goes smooth, as we trek up to a ridge with Oak
Creek Canyon to the northwest of us and the Mojave Desert sweeping down and to the southeast.
We’re crossing through a field of sagebrush when Nova screams and jumps off the trail. “Holy
shit, holy shit, holy shit!” He runs toward Grinder a few yards up the trail.
I shriek as Bats’ hands wrap around me from behind, pulling me into him and away from
whatever danger Nova spotted. “Are you okay?” Bats asks.
I take a deep breath and relax into his firm embrace. “I’m good.”
“What happened?” Bats asks Nova, who’s hunched over panting from his sprint.
Nova points toward where he was walking moments ago. “Something lunged at me.”
As Nova tries to catch his breath, the rest of us examine the surrounding area, sending three
beams of red light across the surrounding terrain. Our beams converge a few feet off the trail from
where Nova jumped, and we find the culprit. A rattlesnake, somewhere between three and four feet
long, with its teeth buried in a furry rodent twitching and struggling to escape the snake’s grip, but
losing the fight.
 Bats huffs an amused chuckle at his friend’s expense. “Don’t worry, Nova. You weren’t the one
on the menu tonight. Are you all good over there?”
Grinder looks at Nova, then back to us. “Yeah. You and Belle okay?”
“We’re both good,” Bats assures him, releasing his hold on me. “Just a little spooked, thanks to
Nova. We’ll back up a bit and give the snake a wide berth. Meet you up the trail a bit?”
Grinder and Nova agree, their lights turning and heading away as we drop back a few paces,
heading into the brush to make a wide arc around the snake. Bats steps in front of me. “Let me go first,
in case the snake has any friends nearby.”
I wave for him to go first. “Ah, Bats. You really do care about me.”
“Of course I care for you,” he blurts out, then stops dead in his tracks. “I mean, I like you. A lot.
As a friend.”
I laugh, reaching out and giving his hand a squeeze. “Wow. I didn’t know you could get that
flustered. Your cheeks are all red and everything.”
His hand reaches for his face, and my laugh grows deeper as realization hits him. “Because you
have a red light shining on it.”
I give his massive hand one more squeeze. “Hey, I like you too, big guy.” Then I give him a
playful push forward. “Come on. We don’t want to keep Grinder waiting.”
We catch up to Nova and Grinder a few minutes later, resuming the trail as we continue heading
northeast along the ridge. Two miles later, a low hum fills the air and the whoosh of wind turbines as
we pass a large wind farm before dropping to reach Oak Creek. It’s a small stream, but there are a
few gallons of water in plastic jugs under a nearby picnic table, which we use to top off our bottles.
“Camping isn’t allowed here, but a few hours should be okay,” Grinder says. Bats nods and
drops his pack, going for the ground cloth. “Once the sun is up, we’ll go find somewhere to sleep for
a bit. Then maybe try to get a few more hours of hiking in this afternoon.”
We all mumble our agreement as we roll out our sleeping bags. I try to stay awake for a few more
minutes, soaking in the beautiful night sky above. All too soon, I’m fast asleep.
 DAY 31
TEHACHAPI MOUNTAINS
2,089 MILES TO GO

Grinder
Oak Creek trickles along nearby while I sit atop the picnic table, flicking through location data of
the trail ahead for the third or fourth time. I’ve lost track, but that’s the idea. My mind is whirling, and
I need it to stop. If it doesn’t, I’ll hear Belle again. Her shriek made my heart do weird things I don’t
want to think about. Or admit to. Not that it matters. She’s Nova’s girl. She’s off-limits. I sigh and
start scrolling through again. There aren’t many good places to stop, but it doesn’t hurt to keep
checking.
Someone’s stirring, making the tarp rustle, and my gaze flicks toward the brunette sitting up and
stretching. She digs something out of the pack behind her, and I try not to admire the shape of her ass
in the dim morning light as she bends over her bag.
Belle turns as she stands, noticing me in the light of my phone screen. “Oh,” she squeaks, then
clamps a hand over her mouth, glancing down to see if she’s roused Bats or Nova. “You startled me,”
she whispers when she’s drawn closer. “What are you doing up?”
“Trouble sleeping. What about you? We’ve still got a few hours until we need to leave.”
She holds up the small pink device Bats gave her in Big Bear. “Gotta pee. I’ll be right back.” She
turns up the trail, heading away from the creek and disappearing into the brush a safe distance from
the water.
My gaze follows her, but only out of concern for her safety. It has nothing to do with checking out
her ass again. And I’m not anxious while I wait for her to return. Nope. Not at all.
“What time is it?” Belle asks, sitting down next to me when she returns a few minutes later.
“Quarter to six,” I reply, shutting off my phone.
Above us, the dark night sky is giving way to the pre-dawn glow, highlighting more of Belle’s
features. Her button nose. Thin, soft lips. Blue eyes, which seem to find wonder in everything she
sees. What does she see in me that fills her with wonder? I push the thought from my head, moving to
stand. “We should get back to sleep.”
A delicate hand touches my forearm, and I pause. “Stay?” Belle looks at me with a softness that’s
hard to resist. “The sun should be up any minute. Stay and watch the sunrise with me.”
I return to my spot next to her. The sky has already gotten lighter, going through a myriad of
shades of dark to light blue. The few clouds far above turn a golden hue as bright light peeks over the
eastern horizon.
“The guys have probably already told you this, but I used to do this all the time. Waking up early
to watch the sunrise,” I say, trying to distract myself.
“Why don’t you anymore?”
I freeze, uncertain of what to say. Except I do, and it’s the weakest excuse I have. “No time. Too
much school. Too much business. Just . . . too much of everything else.”
 Belle scoffs at the answer. “That’s exactly when you should take the time to watch a sunrise. Or a
sunset. When you don’t have time for anything else. Taking a moment to appreciate nature’s beauty can
be the best thing you do for yourself.”
Belle leans closer, resting her head on my shoulder. I should push her away, put some distance
between us. Except, her words ring truer than anything I’ve heard in some time. Being this close stirs
up those feelings from earlier. Feelings I don’t want. But pushing them down, pushing her away,
seems like the stupidest idea. So I let her stay there on my shoulder.
We watch in companionable silence as the sun creeps higher above the horizon. She leans against
me. And I let her. Enjoying a moment I don’t have a right to enjoy.
She sits up, letting out a small yawn, then turns to stare at me with those sky blue eyes and a soft
smile. “Thanks for sitting with me.”
I smile back. “Anytime,” I tell her. I might even mean it.
She heads back to her sleeping bag. For a moment, I consider opening my app again, but with one
more glance at the morning sun, I head back to my sleeping bag and close my eyes, content for once as
a new day begins.

My alarm goes off at nine and I rouse the others. After some quick snacks while rolling up our
bedding, we get back to the trail.
We pass through the wind farm as the trail follows dirt roads and paths marked by wooden posts
high above Cameron Canyon. Dust and shrubs cover the area, leaving the morning sun to beat down
on us as we crisscross down the switchbacks leading into Tehachapi Pass, reaching Highway 58 just
before noon. As we cross the overpass, Belle is overcome with a giddy excitement which would have
driven me crazy a month ago. Now, it’s mildly amusing.
Yeah, shut up.
“You seem way too excited for an overpass,” Bats points out. “Is the heat getting to you? Do we
need to take a break?”
I glance around us. The temperature is getting up there, but there’s no shade in sight.
Belle smacks him. “Yes. But not because of the heat. This is the start of the Sierra Nevada.”
Belle spreads her arms in a classic ta da pose, then frowns when none of us join in her excitement.
The hill in front of us doesn’t look much different from the one behind us. Shrubs look the same
too. “Are you sure about that?”
She cocks her head to the side with a look that says she’s trying to decide whether I’m being
serious or not. “Of course, I’m sure. We’re not just passing over a highway. We’re passing over the
Garlock Fault, which divides the Tehachapi Mountains to the southeast from the Sierra Nevada to the
Northwest.” She gestures toward the two sides, emphasizing her point. “Actually, the Garlock is
pretty unusual for being a left-lateral fault when most of the faults in California are right-lateral.”
Nova gets a goofy grin like he’s enjoying her explanation a little too much. “So this is another
one of those special places for you?”
Belle squints as she marches up to Nova and jabs a finger into his chest. “No. No more rocks.”
She waves her threatening finger at me and Bats. “From any of you. I’m serious. Leave No Trace. Got
it?”
We all nod.
 But seriously, fuck that.
Bats hangs a little too far back for Belle to notice when he stoops down. I pick up the pace and
pretend to tighten my shoelaces next to a nice stone. I distract her with a grin as she draws close.
“You know, why don’t you take the lead, Belle.” Her up front makes it easier to drop the stone in my
pocket without her noticing. Or the fist bump I get from Bats.
At first, the Sierra Nevada aren’t much different from the range south of the pass. Same dusty
trails. Same two-foot tall shrubs that don’t shade worth shit. But there is a lot more wind on this side
of the pass. Enough that an hour later, when we reach the first patch of dirt worth stopping at, we keep
going, heads down against the dust and sand raking across our exposed skin. Same for the next two
spots. It’s not until we reach the fourth spot, five hours into our day, that we finally plop down behind
a rickety wind shade someone’s built. Well, maybe not too rickety, since it’s still standing in this
wind.
I mutter a curse when I check the time. Bats and Nova are tired, but Belle looks exhausted. We
shouldn’t have watched the sunrise. I should have shooed her back to her sleeping bag and done the
same. Now we’re paying the price for that moment. Still, when I look at her, the corners of my lips
rise, and I know I’d do it again if she asked. I shake it off, turning away from the site. “Need to piss.
Then I’ll take a look at the map and see how long we can stay.” There’s a chorus of mumbled
agreements as I head up the trail and around a bend.
I unzip my pants and widen my stance right before Bats steps up beside me, doing the same.
“What the fuck, dude?” I demand.
Bats grins at me. “What’s wrong? Intimidated?”
I don’t take the bait. Instead, I turn away and focus on the task at hand.
“Beautiful sunrise this morning,” Bats says.
His comment catches me off guard, and I turn back, almost spraying his foot. Would have served
him right. Fixing my aim, I tell him, “You were free to join us.”
He grins. “Nah. You two seemed to be having a moment. All cute and cuddly.”
“Fuck off,” I snap, but there’s no heat in the retort.
Bats chuckles. “Hey, I get it. You’re late to the Belle-Is-Awesome bandwagon. No worries, bro.
Just glad you’re finally on board.”
“That’s not . . . I’m not . . .”
He eyes me for a moment. “Hmm.”
It’s my turn to eye him, wondering what the hell that’s supposed to mean. Glancing down, I notice
the dry patch in front of him. “Did you come here to piss or to piss me off?”
Bats smiles, shrugs, and zips his pants back up. “Nope. All good.” He turns to leave, leaving me
confused as shit.
I hurry to zip up and follow, catching him on the outskirts of the clearing. Grabbing his arm, I tug
him just off the trail. “Spill it.”
“Spill what?”
“You have that I know something you don’t look.”
“And?”
I huff. “And you know how much that look pisses me off. So spill it.”
Bats turns his gaze away and I follow, my eyes landing on Belle as she laughs at something
Nova’s said. The sound causes a slight twinge in my chest.
 “Dangerous territory ahead,” Bats says.
My gaze returns to meet his. “They say it’s the toughest part of the trail.” Bats huffs like maybe he
wasn’t talking about the trail. “Unless there’s something else on your mind?”
Bats takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He shakes his head. “Nah, dude. I’m sure we’ll
kill it, as long as we’re careful.” He crosses over to flop down on the tarp next to Belle and Nova.
I take a moment for my own deep breath, then join them.
“This is going to be awesome,” Belle is saying, as I flop down on the far side of Bats. “It’s been
great seeing the different parts of the San Andreas Fault, but now we’ll really get to see the results of
plate tectonics.”
Her untamed enthusiasm, which would have annoyed me two weeks ago, keeps me enthralled.
Amazing what a good cup of coffee does. It’s reminding me of why Bats and I took up hiking in the
first place. To get out and experience the incredible world around us.
Yes, Bats was right about her. Just don’t tell him. Shit like this goes straight to his head.
I pull out my phone and open my map app. “Reel in the enthusiasm and get some rest, princess.
That way, we can see it sooner. Okay?”
There’s a rustle of polyethylene as Belle climbs over Bats’ chest, looking down at me. Bats
seems amused by it. Then again, he’s used to pile-ups of two hundred pound dudes, so Belle must feel
light as a feather. Nova takes the opportunity to stare at Belle’s ass. Yeah, I don’t blame him for that
one either.
“How much sooner are you thinking?” Belle asks.
“Hmm?”
“Are we still hiking today?” Her tone is cheerful, as usual, but there’s exhaustion in her eyes.
Same with Bats and Nova. Hell, I’m sure I don’t look much better.
I sigh. “Ideally, we’d make for a place with water.” I hold up my phone, showing her the next
likely location. “But it’s twelve miles away and the closest place to camp is two-thirds of a mile
before it or four miles after. Not good choices.”
Belle snatches the phone from my hand and starts scrolling through locations.
“Belle . . .”
She cuts me off by pressing a single finger to my lips. “Shh. Looking.”
“Playing with fire there, Belle,” Bats warns. “Keeping Grinder from his maps.”
“What? Are you going to spank me for being bad?” Belle blurts out, then clamps a hand over her
mouth when she realizes what she’s said. There’s a loud smack, and she shrieks. “Nova.”
I push up to glare at my friend, who’s grinning ear-to-ear.
“What? You really want Bats smacking you with those paws of his?” Nova asks with a playful
smirk.
As Belle turns back to the phone, there’s a slight reddening of her cheeks. Interesting. Maybe our
Belle likes a little Beast.
Oddly enough, the look on Bats’ face says he also might be up for finding out.
“Here,” Belle says, turning the phone and passing it back as she climbs off of Bats’ chest. “Five
miles away. Plenty of room. Little wind from the reports.”
I glance at the comments. “And no water.”
Belle sighs. “No water. There doesn’t seem to be a way around that.”
Unfortunately, she’s right. “How’s everyone’s water?”
 “I’m okay,” Belle replies.
“Same,” Bats adds.
“Not so good,” Nova answers with a sheepish frown. “I guess I was thirstier than I thought
today.”
“I’ve got you,” Bats tells him. “I should have enough for two, but we’ll have to make it stretch.”
“Everyone got a dry dinner available?” I ask. This time, I get three heads nodding. “Okay, then.
Let’s try to get a few hours’ rest, then we’ll head for Belle’s tent site and get out of this wind.”
 DAY 32
CAMP ABOVE MILLER SPRINGS
2,071 MILES TO GO

Belle
The sky is brighter than I would have expected by the time I wake up the next morning. Sitting up,
I run my fingers through my messy bedhead and grab my phone. “Um, Grinder?”
A few feet away, Grinder looks up from where he’s leaning against a rock, reading something on
his phone. Probably a map. “Morning,” he greets me with a pleasant smile.
Nope. The sun is too far up and Grinder’s smiling. I must still be dreaming. “Is it really . . .?” I
trail off, certain what I was about to ask is impossible.
“Almost eight?” Grinder finishes the question for me. “It is. I thought everyone could use the
extra sleep.”
Mouth agape, I nudge Nova, who swats my hand away and reaches out to pull me back down.
“Go back to sleep.”
I squint and point at Grinder. “Who are you, and what did you do with Grinder?”
Grinder chuckles. Standing and making his way toward his pack, he explains, “Yesterday was
pretty brutal. We all needed some rest.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a familiar pouch.
“Coffee?”
I nod and set to work on my morning routine. A few minutes later, Nova is yawning and making
breakfast with me, Bats is listening to something as he packs, and Grinder is handing me a cup of
coffee. I could get used to hiking like this.
By nine, we’re back on the trail. Sporadic trees provide some shade against the arid heat as we
descend to the head of Pine Tree Canyon, then make our way back up to cross along the eastern slope
of the two peaks making up Sweet Ridge. The low hum of wind turbines along the ridge continues
throughout the morning, mixing with the call of chickadees in the branches.
We stop for lunch when we reach a pipe-fed cement cistern next to the trail the map calls Golden
Oaks Springs. The surrounding trees are an oasis from the building heat of the day, which is heading
toward eighty. There’s another couple already there filling their bottles when we arrive. “We were
just heading out.”
“Take your time,” Grinder replies with a warm grin as we drop our packs.
“Someone’s feeling friendly today,” I remark, collapsing into Nova, who wraps an arm around
me. “See what a little extra sleep does for your mood?”
Grinder chortles. “Don’t get used to it, princess. If I hadn’t let you bums sleep in, we’d all look
like him,” he says, jerking a thumb toward Bats.
The big guy lays sprawled out a few yards away, earbuds in and eyes closed. He must really
enjoy the Stephen Hawking book I recommended. He’s been listening to it every chance he gets. Bats
raises his hand, then his middle finger, waving it at Grinder. I laugh as I pull out my lunch. Bats still
has a good amount of my food, but I’ve kept most of my energy bars, and I still don’t trust him around
my jerky supply.
A half hour later, our stomachs and water bottles full, we set out to finish our traverse around
Cache Peak. The guides call it the tallest peak in the southern Sierra mountains, but at a mere sixty-
seven hundred feet, it’s a foothill compared to the peaks we’ll reach in a week. From there, it’s a
slow drop into a dry ravine, losing our tree coverage as the temperature reaches the high seventies.
As the temperature keeps climbing, so do we, passing along grassy hillsides.
Just before five in the afternoon, we reach a large open field surrounded by blue-oaks, at about
the same time the temperature tops out at eighty-four. Sweat is dripping down my forehead and giving
my moisture-wicking shirt a tough challenge. On the outskirts of the field, stone fire-rings dot the
landscape, two of them already surrounded by hikers setting up in the shade.
Ahead of me, Grinder stops and turns. He sighs and wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty
brow. “Bats, pick a spot to set up camp.”
“Fuck yes,” the big guy moans as he looks around the perimeter. He points to a spot nearby.
“There.” We all follow him to the chosen location, plopping down under the first tree we can find. It
only takes Bats a few minutes to have his hammock up. He hops in and rocks back and forth.
Nova soon asks the usual pressing question. “Water?”
Grinder pulls his phone out and opens an app. Nova scoots close and pulls me into his lap. I get
all kinds of ideas of what I’d like to do while I’m sitting here, his cock beneath my ass, but I’m tired
and dirty for all the wrong reasons, so I push those tempting ideas aside. For now.
“Miller Spring is about a mile down the road,” Grinder is explaining to Nova. “It’s a bit of a
climb coming back, but it’s the closest water. Hour, maybe an hour and a half round trip.”
“Great,” Nova mumbles. “When do we leave?”
Grinder looks at me, then back at Nova and Bats. “Would you two mind going? I need to do some
planning, and I’m hoping Belle can help me.”
Nova looks about as stunned as I feel. Sure, Grinder and I had agreed in Acton to work together,
but we hadn’t actually done so yet. “Um, yeah. I can do that,” I tell him. Then ask Nova, “Mind filling
my bottles?”
Nova gives me a quick peck on the forehead before shifting me out of his lap. “No problem.
We’ll even take Grinder’s bottles. Won’t we, Bats?”
Bats shifts to climb out of his hammock, scowling. “Hell no. If you want to take his bottles, fine.
I’m taking Belle’s.”
“Love you too, asshole,” Grinder says, digging out his empty containers and passing them to
Nova. “I’m stealing your hammock while you’re gone.”
“You can’t. But Belle can,” Bats replies, as he and Nova take off for the dirt road heading to
Miller Spring.
I hop up into the hammock like it’s a swing, letting my legs dangle over the side. “Well, what do
you have so far?” I ask Grinder once the others disappear down the road.
Grinder watches me swing, rubbing the stubble on his chin. He’s been growing it out since
Hikertown, which might be the longest he’s gone without shaving the entire time we’ve been on the
trail. It looks decent on him. Like maybe he’s loosening up a bit, letting go of all the expectations
weighing on him. I tilt my head, inviting him to join me. “Just get over here. I’m sure we’ll finish
before they’re back. I won’t tell.”
Soon Grinder’s swinging with me. He’s even grinning. Since we cleared things up between us,
it’s been easy to be alone with him. If he keeps it up, I might even admit to liking him. Just a little.
Maybe.
“What’s up?” I ask him after a few quiet minutes have passed. “I’m sure you already have
everything planned. So, what do you really want to talk about?”
Grinder turns to look at me, and for a moment, it’s like there’s a whole new him swinging with
me. His face is lacking the cold frustration he sported during our first month together. His brown eyes
have a glow to them, like warm espresso instead of day-old drip. His firm jaw has relaxed, no longer
gritting his teeth at every stop.
Grinder breaks the silence, clearing his throat. He opens his mouth to say something but stops.
Instead, he looks away, pulling out his phone and opening his maps app. “We’ve got a little over a
hundred miles to Kennedy Meadows. I’m thinking four days to get there, then maybe take a rest day
before heading up into the Sierra Nevada.” He pauses, noticing the scrutinizing way I’m looking at
him. “What?”
“What was the first thing you wanted to say?” I ask, not letting go of the feeling in my gut that
there’s more to this conversation than our hike.
Grinder stills, letting his phone drop to his lap. “I just . . . I wanted to ask how you and Nova are
doing.”
I blink in surprise, scrambling to think of what to say. “Oh. Um, good. I guess. I mean, yes, we’re
doing good.” I reach over and squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad.” There’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes me believe him. “You deserve good. You
both do.”
I cock my head, unsure of his meaning. “Thanks?”
He shakes his head. “That didn’t quite come out right. I meant, with all the bullshit your ex has
put you through this year, you deserve something just as good. I’m glad Nova can help you with that.
He is, isn’t he? Helping you get over your ex?”
I nod, trying hard not to think about how much help Nova gave me in Lancaster. Well into the
night. Of course, all it does is make me want more of his help. “He is. But why do you make it sound
like he needs a little good too?”
Grinder winces, realizing he said more than he wanted to. “You know we gave him his nickname,
right?”
“Nova? Or Casanova?”
“Both. Bats named him Nova back in high school.”
“Because he loves the science show.”
Grinder nods. “Exactly. But I changed it to Casanova in college. He’s always had interesting luck
with women.”
Crap. I don’t know if I want to hear about Nova’s relationship history. I know he’s more
experienced than me, but then, that’s not saying much, since I’ve only had one boyfriend. Hearing
about it can only lead to wondering what I have to offer that other girls didn’t, or why the hell Nova’s
with me. But this seems to be important to whatever Grinder wants to tell me. “Interesting how?”
“He has that laid-back model look, so there have always been plenty of women lining up to
spend a night with him.”
I blanch slightly. Nope. I was right. I don’t want to hear this. “Please don’t tell me about all the
women he’s slept with.”
 “What? No. That’s not what I’m telling you.”
“Then what are you telling me?”
Grinder lets out a huff. “Yes, he has some history. Enough to warrant the name. But it’s not why I
gave him the name.”
“Then why?”
“Those girls were all for a one-night stand with him. But Nova’s always wanted something more.
He wants something deeper, but all they wanted was his body. Anytime he’s tried to date someone, he
gets shot down, thanked for the night, and left looking for the next girl. Until you.” He pauses, giving
me time to process his story. It puts some things into perspective, like how he can be good in the sack,
but trips over his words when he’s trying to be romantic. “Look,” Grinder says, taking my hand in his
and pulling my gaze to meet his. “I’m happy for you, Elizabeth. I am. But I’m ecstatic for Kayden. As
long as you’re here for him. If you’re just using him for rebound sex—”
I cut him off with a sharp squeeze of his hand. Grinder’s not trying to persuade me to leave like
before, he’s looking out for his friend. I can respect that. I’d do the same for Rachel. “Hey. You don’t
need to worry. That’s not me. I’m here because I like him. A lot. You were right. He’s a good guy. But
he’s not the only one, you know.” Grinder’s eyes go lighter, hopeful even, and I snicker. “Bats is
pretty good too.” His eyes drop and he tugs his hand back, but I hold tight. “And you, Blake. You’re
not half bad either.”
He chuckles, relaxing again. “Half bad?”
I shrug. “Well, you make a decent cup of coffee, at least.”
He laughs, deep and rich, jolting me like a shot of espresso. “Decent? I can still hear you
moaning over your first sip of my coffee.”
I laugh with him, remembering that first delicious sip in Acton. After a minute, I shoulder bump
him. “So, are we good here?” Grinder grins and nods. “Okay then. Kennedy Meadows in four days,
huh? What’s the plan to get us there?”
Grinder turns his phone on and shows me the screen. “So we’re here. At the top of Back Canyon,
above Miller Spring . . .”
An hour and a half later, plan firmly set, Bats and Nova walk back into camp. Bats leading the
way with a snarl on his lips. “Next time, you make the fucking hike,” he growls at Grinder.
Leaving the two to glare at each other, I snag Nova and pull him behind the trunk of a blue oak.
As soon as we’re out of sight, I swing my arms around his neck, pulling him close and claiming his
mouth in a passionate kiss full of tongues and desire and need. His hands find my waist, fingertips
digging into my hips as his growing erection presses against me.
“Was it that bad staying behind with Grinder?” he asks when we pull apart, panting and
breathless in the best of ways.
I laugh, giving him a playful smack. “No. He’s tolerable when he’s not being an ass.”
“Sounds like something I might have said a while ago.”
“If you’re looking for an ‘I told you so’ that’s not why I pulled you back here.”
“So why did you? Not that I’m complaining about getting to kiss you.”
I raise a hand to cup his cheek, staring into those deep blue eyes. “I wanted to tell you I’m here
because of you, Kayden. Not the sex, or to piss off Grinder, or any other reason. I’m here because I
want to be here with you.”
Nova’s lips meet mine again. This kiss doesn’t have the passion of our previous kiss. It doesn’t
leave me aching for him in my core. Instead, it’s tender and full of hope for something deeper and
leaves me aching in my chest. Because I’m warming up to the idea of something deeper with Nova.
By the time we break apart this time, the bulge in Nova’s pants is hard as granite and threatening
to tear through his zipper. “I need to feel my cock inside you again,” he moans. “But all my condoms
are in my damn bag.”
I lick my lips, about to suggest another option, when Grinder’s voice breaks the mood. “Nova.
Belle. We’ve got an early morning. Let’s go.”
“Fuck,” Nova groans, leaning his head back against the tree. “When’s the next stop with a room?”
“We can reach Kennedy Meadows in four days,” I tell him. “If we stick to Grinder’s plan, we’ll
be there for two nights. It’s a campground, but I’m sure there’s somewhere to be alone while we’re
there.”
Nova’s gaze grows dark with wanton desire. “Can we make it in three?”
Heat races through my body, straight to my core, but I reluctantly push off. “You have no idea
how good that sounds, but we’ll be pushing it to make it in four.” Grinder’s voice rings out again, and
we both sigh. “We should get back to camp.”
“You go,” Nova tells me, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. “I, uh, need a minute.”
I smirk as I chance a glance at the still hard bulge in his pants. I should be nice, and not tease
him, but I trail a hand down his body and cup his cock, the fabric of the pants the only barrier between
us. Leaning close, I whisper with a lustful voice, “Be sure you picture me satisfied when you’re done.
I was last time.”
I leave him with a peck on the cheek, a playful smile on my lips, and a groan escaping his mouth.
 DAY 33
LANDERS MEADOW CAMP
2,055 MILES TO GO

Belle
I wake when an alarm that isn’t mine goes off from somewhere nearby. Grabbing my phone, I huff
with annoyance at the time. Someone unzips their tent. I sit up and open my tent door enough to peek
outside. Grinder’s stretching outside his tent. By the time I pull on my pants and climb out of my tent,
Grinder is sitting about thirty yards away in the center of the meadow, facing east. As I approach, he
looks up from his camp stove, which is heating the small espresso maker he picked up in Big Bear.
“Crap,” I mutter, flopping down on the opposite side of the stove from him. “I didn’t grab my
cup.”
Grinder shrugs and tells me, “No worries, you can use mine.” I shoot him a curious glance, and
he smirks back at me. “What? The sooner you’re caffeinated, the sooner we can get going.”
I chuckle, but don’t argue as I take a seat next to him. The last bits of the dark blue of night soften
as warm light spills out above the trees surrounding the camp, highlighting the nearby peaks.
Remembering some requests from my Instagram feed, I pull my phone out of my pocket and snap a
few pictures of the sunrise. When I tuck my phone back in my pocket, Grinder’s pouring the first cup
of coffee and holding it out for me. I wrinkle my nose at the dark liquid.
“I don’t have any of Bats’ cream or sugar,” Grinder apologizes.
“Well, if it’s good enough for you . . .” I take a sip of the dark brew, letting the flavors sit on my
tongue long enough to savor, but not long enough for it to burn my tongue. I moan in appreciation, then
hold out the cup to Grinder. He pauses from pouring fresh water into the device. “It’s good, but I
won’t drink a full cup straight. Save the grounds for another morning.” Grinder takes the cup, which
we end up passing back and forth a few times as we finish watching the sunrise.
By the time we get back to our tents, Bats is stuffing his hammock into its pouch, water for his
breakfast bubbling away on the stove next to him. We each have gotten our morning routines down
pat, and we leave the meadow by seven, despite Bats dragging Nova out of his tent at around six
twenty, much to most of our enjoyment. After all, I doubt Nova enjoyed being hauled out in his boxer
briefs as much as I enjoyed the sight of his toned body. Until he noticed me staring at him, grinned,
and strutted that fine ass back to his tent.
Our morning is a series of climbs up into the Piute Mountains. We alternate passing through
grassy meadows with spectacular views of the surrounding landscapes, and shaded paths through high
reaching Jeffrey pines, black oak, and squat scrub oak chaparral. The weather promises to be rather
hot again today, so we push ahead early in the hope we can take it slower this afternoon.
After rounding Weldon Peak, we reach a junction with a dirt road dropping west of us into Little
Heart Canyon. Right in the middle of the junction, someone has arranged a series of stones to read six
hundred. Checking my app, whoever did it was close enough, so we scrunch together to take a few
selfies for my Instagram feed to mark another hundred miles down.
 Two miles later, we cross into the Sequoia National Forest and make a stop at Robin Bird
Spring, another project of the Forest Service, like Golden Oak Springs yesterday. Water pours from a
spigot into the metal cistern. A couple of hikers are already here, snacking on granola bars while they
top of their water supply. We ask and answer the usual “where are you coming from” and “where are
you headed” questions as we top off our own water and grab a bite to eat for lunch. We don’t stay
long, shoving some snacks into our hip pouches to nibble on throughout the afternoon.
Leaving Robin Bird, we keep climbing through a forest of Jeffrey pine, but we pause long enough
in a meadow to snap some shots of clusters of pure white phlox in bloom with their five-petaled
flowers. We reach a saddle around two, separating the Cottonwood and Landers Creek watersheds,
then start our descent into the latter as the temperature climbs into the eighties. The trail takes us
above the dry creek bed until reaching the western tip of Landers Meadow.
I’m halfway across a large dirt road when Nova curses, bringing the entire party to a stop.
“What?” Grinder demands.
Nova holds up the drinking tube of his water bladder. He winces as he says, “I’m empty.”
Grinder stares at him in disbelief. “How? Didn’t you fill up back at the spring?”
“I guess I forgot,” Nova admits with a sheepish wince. “I still have a liter in my water bottle.”
Grinder lets out an annoyed growl. “That won’t be enough to get to Willow Spring. Fuck. Give
me a minute.” He finishes crossing the road and drops his pack as he digs his phone out. “Double
check,” he tells Nova while he opens his map app.
Bats helps Nova out of his pack and I cross to sit down while we’re stopped, giving Nova a
reassuring peck on the cheek. That gains me a slight smile as he pulls his bladder and water bottle
out. “Just the liter,” Nova confirms, pouring the contents into his empty bladder.
“Can’t we share?” I ask. “Give him a half liter each or something?”
“It’s getting hotter and we’re about to lose the shade,” Grinder says as he scrolls through options.
“Landers Meadow Camp is about a mile away. They have a piped water source. It’s only a half mile
detour, so it shouldn’t slow us down too much. But we’ll need to get in and out quickly if we’re going
to reach the next water source before sunset.”
Twenty minutes later, we reach a large campground near the intersection of two forest roads.
There are a few campers around the western field, a mix of hikers and car campers, including a
trailer with a ramp that looks like it was used to bring in an ATV or some dirt bikes.
Our destination is in the eastern field, on the other side of the dirt road we hiked in on. When we
reach the metal trough with the pipe, a half dozen others are there filling water bottles and bladders.
When one of them hears we’re heading for Willow Springs, he advises, “Don’t. It’s a bug infested
mud hole. We tried stopping there to fill up this morning. Would have run out of water if it wasn’t for
the cache at Kelso Road.”
We thank him for the information before turning toward Grinder. I can already see the wheels
turning, weighing this new information. “Fuck,” he mutters as I draw closer. “Just . . . fuck.”
“I don’t remember seeing many camping spots along the way,” I say. Grinder nods.
“So, do we keep going?” Nova asks, screwing on the lid of his water bottle and tucking his water
filter away.
Grinder ponders this for a long moment, scratching his beard. “Good camping spots become
sporadic ahead. Water even more so.” He lets out a long sigh, then adds, “I’d hoped to reach Kennedy
in four days.”
 I reach over and grab his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Hey. It’s all good. Maybe we don’t take a
full day off when we get there. Maybe just a pair of half days. Like we did at Big Bear.”
“No. We need a good rest day before heading up into the Sierra,” Grinder admits.
“Then we’ll make up the time elsewhere.” Grinder fixes a questioning look on me. “We need to
get you to Canada by Labor Day. Right?”
Grinder shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that, Belle.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You have your research. And there’s still plenty of time.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m still going to take a million pictures, but that doesn’t mean we can’t meet
both goals.”
Grinder sighs. “All right. We stay here tonight. With the extra time, we can clean some of our
clothes and freshen up. In the morning, we’ll fill up before we leave. And maybe a little extra?” he
asks Bats.
The big guy nods. “I have my three-liter collapsible container in my bag. I can fill it before we
head out. Belle’s eaten most of her food in my bag, so the extra weight’s no big deal.”
“I’ll go find us a place if you can finish topping my bottle off?” Grinder asks. Bats takes the
bottle, and Grinder heads across the dirt road.
After finishing at the trough, we find Grinder setting up his tent in a grove beneath some tall pine
trees, two of which are just the right distance for Bats’ hammock. Within minutes, he’s swaying away,
listening to his audiobook again.
As Nova and I finish setting up our own, a click-clopping draws my attention back to the road.
The sound of a horse whinnying proceeds four horses, two carrying an older couple and two carrying
large bags on both flanks, as they stride into the campground. They make their way to a spot a few
yards from us, and I bounce with giddy excitement.
Grinder walks up next to me and follows my gaze, an amused smirk crossing his face. “What?
Haven’t you ever seen one before? We’ve passed enough evidence they’re out here too.”
He’s not wrong. The PCT was designed for both hiker and equestrian use, but other than their
“evidence,” as Grinder puts it, I haven’t seen any on the trail yet.
“I have, but not this close before. Do you think they’d let me pet them?”
Grinder chuckles, then nods his head toward the couple dismounting. “Let’s find out.”
We greet the couple in the usual way, finding out they’re out here doing the southern section of the
trail. Even though most consider that portion to end in Hikertown before crossing the desert, they’re
heading for Kennedy Meadows, where their friends will pick them up.
When I ask, they’re all too happy to let me pet one of their horses. They wave me closer and
introduce me to a chestnut mare named Sophie. “Hello, Sophie,” I coo, running my hand along the
smooth side of her neck, my smile growing with every stroke. “She’s incredible.”
The older lady chuckles. “Yeah, when she’s willing to go where you want her to, she is. Have
you been around horses before?”
I shake my head. “My scout troop went to a horse ranch for summer camp one year, but I got sick
before we were supposed to leave for camp.”
Grinder’s attention snaps to me, a look of almost remorse in his eyes. As if he’s sorry I missed
that chance. He turns back toward the couple and asks, “I don’t suppose my friend could get a ride on
Sophie? Once around the campground, maybe?”
 “What?” I stammer out in surprise.
The couple look at each other. “I don’t know,” the husband replies. “We’ve been putting them
through their paces a lot. They need the rest.”
“Hold on a second,” Grinder implores, then dashes back to his tent.
“What’s that about?” Nova asks, taking Grinder’s place beside me.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
Grinder returns a minute later, a small, familiar white bag in his hand. “I have about a half bag of
my personal blend,” he tells the couple, holding it open for them to get a whiff. “Once around the
campground, and it’s all yours.”
“Grinder,” I call out in shocked surprise. “What are you doing?”
He turns and smiles. “Getting you the horse ride you missed.”
I turn to Nova with stunned disbelief, but he just shrugs like it’s no big deal. “He does this all the
time. Better to just let him do it than deal with him being grouchy for not getting his way.”
The wife takes an extra sniff. “Deal,” she says, taking the bag.
“Deloris . . .” her husband snaps.
“Oh shut it, Hank. Maybe if you had packed enough coffee for the entire trip, I wouldn’t have
said yes. Now help this young lady up and take her around camp.”
Hank scuffles over, helping me to get my foot in the stirrup and climb up onto Sophie. I take a
moment to settle into the saddle, getting my other foot into the opposite stirrup, then hold on tight to
the horn. “Ready?” Hank asks, grasping the reins. I glance at Nova and Grinder, who both share a
look that says either I’m the best thing they’ve seen, or the funniest. Assholes. I nod to Hank, then let
out a loud eek as Sophie lurches forward.
For the next five minutes, I’m gently bounced around the campground, Hank leading Sophie while
Nova and Grinder walk beside us. Sophie glides along as if I weigh nothing. As my ride progresses, I
relax, taking in the new vantage point from up high.
“This is amazing,” I say to no one in particular. “Everything looks so different up here.”
Hank chuckles. “Yeah, a few extra feet of height does that. Lets you see things you wouldn’t from
down here. I’ve done the trail on foot, and while we might not be able to take the horses everywhere
the trail goes, we get a unique experience in the places where we can.”
Naturally, Grinder’s the one to ask, “How far do you go each day?”
“Oh, about thirty miles a day, but that’s more for sore asses than the horses. A horse in good
shape can do fifty a day with a day off every three or four so you don’t wear them out.”
We soon arrive back at Hank and Deloris’ campsite, and the guys help me down off of Sophie.
“Thank you so much,” I squeal, giving Sophie one last pet.
“Glad you enjoyed it,” Hank replies. “And I look forward to enjoying the coffee.”
As we head back to our own site, I stop Grinder, throwing my arms around him before he can
protest. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.”
Grinder hugs me back, a warmth sparking between us I’m okay with. I’ve gotten along with Nova
and Bats from Day One. Grinder’s taken some perseverance to reach an understanding. It’s clear why
the other two kept insisting I give him time to come around. Now that we seem to be there and I’m
getting to know him, I’m glad I listened.
“It’s what friends do for one another, right?” He says it as if he’s not really certain. Like maybe
he doesn’t really have too many friends other than Bats and Nova, and that makes me a little sad for
him.
“It is. But I can still thank you for it. Though it leaves you with one big problem.”
Grinder freezes. “Problem? What problem?”
I snicker as I pull away and give him a playful wink. “How are you going to caffeinate me in the
morning?”
Nova howls in laughter, patting his friend on the back. “Shit, dude. She’s got you there. And don’t
even think of suggesting that instant crap you have buried in your pack.”
Grinder and I share in Nova’s laughter as we step back into camp.
“What did I miss?” Bats asks, taking his earbuds out.
“Grinder traded away his coffee for Belle’s ride, and now he has nothing to wake her up with,”
Nova explains.
Bats winces. “Yeah. Good luck, bro.”
“Well, while you figure that one out,” I say to Grinder, “I’m heading back over to the trough to get
some clothes washed. And maybe myself. Anyone joining me?”
I don’t even have to look at Nova to know how big of a grin is on his face, but it’s there. Wicked
and playful all at once. Grinder rolls his eyes and waves us off. “Go, you two. I’ll get a clothesline up
before you get back.”
Nova swats me on the ass. “You heard him. Let’s go.”
A giggle escapes me as I hurry into my tent to collect my things. Pulling my sleeping bag out of its
stuff sack, I fill the sack with my laundry, my eco-friendly soap, and a special bag for doing laundry
on the trail. I pop out of my tent a moment before Nova does the same, slinging his own bag of laundry
over his shoulder.
We take our time heading to the water trough, talking about my ride and how good it’s going to
feel to be at least somewhat clean for the first time in days. I laugh and smile the entire way, as I
usually do when I’m around Nova, his ever present grin as contagious as always.
We get to the trough and I pull out the special bag for laundry. Nova takes one look and chuckles
as he shakes his head. “Let me guess. The Trail Gear blog again?”
“Maybe, but it’s still a good item.” Nova nods in agreement, then pulls out the same bag. “Wait.
Is that where you found it too? I thought you said the writer’s an ass.”
“Oh, he is. But he knows his stuff.”
We work through our laundry, adding a few items and some soap to the bag with each go,
dumping the dirty water in the tree line away from camp. I add the T-shirt I’m wearing to the last load
before sealing the bag, working in the soap, spinning the bag, and rinsing each item before putting
them in the stuff sack to take back to camp to hang and dry. Finally, I pull out my washcloth and get it
wet before attacking the dirt and sweat that’s accumulated on my skin for the last four days. After the
second time I groan with relief, my gaze meets Nova’s heated eyes as they track the motion of my
washcloth over my skin. My hand slows, then takes a deliberate swipe across my collarbone and the
swell of my breasts.
He runs a hand over his chin, considering all the things he’d like to do to me at that moment. My
body tenses with anticipation, because his look is making me think of all the things I want to let him
do to me. Fucking Nova in Hikertown was something I had desperately needed. Now that we’ve done
it, I’m eager to do it again, and again, and hopefully, again. One of these days, I hope to test just how
much endurance he has.
 After a quick glance around the mostly empty field, Nova declares, “Fuck it.” He grabs my hand
and leads me into the tree line away from camp. Stopping in a small clearing, he spins around,
capturing my lips in a crushing kiss with all the pent-up desire that’s been building over the last week.
I meet his ferocity in kind, parting my lips in both an invitation and a demand, and soon our tongues
are tangling in a fervent dance.
Nova’s hands grip my ass, digging in and pulling me into his firm body. I let out a small whimper
when he pulls his lips away from mine, but when he trails kisses across my jaw and down my neck, I
tremble in anticipation for where else those lips might be heading. Soon enough, his lips cross my
collarbone and reach my breasts. My nipples strain against the fabric of my sports bra, and I’m
desperate to be rid of it.
When he nips at my pert points, I arch into him, but the restrictive garment isn’t helping. “Get me
out of this damn thing,” I demand.
Nova’s hands slide up my back, leaving parallel trails of tingles along their way. Hitching his
fingers under the seam of my sports bra, he peels the vile fabric off, releasing by breasts from their
torture. I groan my appreciation, taking a moment to rub the soreness out of them, even though Nova
clearly has plans of his own for them. I hope it includes his warm, wet tongue.
He shifts uncomfortably. “Problem there, Casanova?”
“Fuck, Belle. Is that what that sound is each night? You taking off your bra?”
A chuckle escapes me. “Um, yeah. What did you think I was doing?”
“Taking off your boots. Shit, I won’t be able to hear that sound again without picturing you
rubbing those beautiful tits.”
“Hmm. Is that so?” I slow down the pace of my hands, opting for more of a teasing show than a
soothing rub down. “Anything in particular you want to do to them?”
His eyes have been following my hands, but his gaze snaps up to meet mine. A wicked smile
creeps across his face. “Fuck yes.”
I release my grip on my breasts as he descends on them, taking one of my nipples in his mouth
while he kneads the soft flesh of the other. Fuck, I could spend the rest of the day like this, with Nova
worshipping my breasts. But we have a limited amount of time before someone notices our absence.
“Please tell me you have a condom with you?” I beg.
Nova chuckles. “Ready so soon?”
“Maybe you should check and find out,” I suggest. He slides his other hand around from my ass to
my front, flicks open the button of my pants, and pulls the zipper down. Pulling my panties aside, he
runs a finger along my slick seam and I almost stumble as my body goes weak from the stimulation.
He rubs at my aching clit, and I gasp as a wave of pleasure washes over me. Then, he sinks a finger
into me and I lose it, clenching around his finger as he swirls it across my G-spot.
As my orgasm tapers off, I reach for Nova’s pockets. “Back right,” he instructs. I find the foil
package as he opens his fly, releasing his straining cock. I grasp it, pumping it for good measure
before tearing open the packet and rolling the condom down his shaft.
“How do you want to . . .”
“I don’t care, as long as you get your dick in me now.”
Nova bends down, helping me the rest of the way out of my pants, then guides me toward a
nearby tree. “Hands on the trunk,” he says, turning me away from him. I do as he says, and am
rewarded by the feel of his cock rubbing down my crack until he finds my wet opening.
 “Kayden,” I whisper, a plea of desperation.
Nova answers my plea by grasping my hips with both his hands and sliding into me. He goes
slow at first, making sure we’ve got good footing in the loose soil. Once he’s certain we won’t tumble
over like gawky teens, he thrusts into me with building speed and force, pounding me harder and
harder until he’s fucking me with everything he’s got.
My next orgasm builds with the intensity of his thrusts until he reaches up and tweaks my nipple.
That’s when I lose control. My head tilts back and my eyes roll up as I’m lost in a flood of pleasure.
My walls clench again, pulling him into his own release and milking him for all he has.
I collapse against the tree, panting and satisfied. “We really need to get back,” I moan, wishing
that wasn’t the case. I open my eyes as Nova removes the used condom and kicks at the dirt under a
nearby bush. “What are you doing?” He pauses, looking like a deer in the headlight. “You can’t bury
that.”
“I can’t keep it, either.”
“You know the rule. Pack it in, pack it out.”
He casts a forlorn look at me. “Belle, come on.”
I shrug as I pull my panties and pants back on. “Maybe you need to think about that before we do
this again.”
That thought puts a smile back on his face. “Again, huh?”
I bite my lip, taking a moment to savor his naked abdomen. “Fuck yes. But only if you dispose of
that the right way.” Nova sighs, then ties the condom in a knot. He winces as he slides it into his
pocket, and I chuckle. Stepping closer, I slide a hand along his chest and lean in for a kiss. “Or maybe
next time we’ll find a different way to take care of you,” I say, licking my lips. “Now come on. We
need to get our clothes hung up to dry.”
 DAY 35
WALKER PASS CAMPGROUND
2,013 MILES TO GO

Bats
Things have been looking up ever since Grinder and Belle sorted things out and we’ve moved
past the Mojave, yesterday being an exception. The shade we enjoyed in the Sequoia National Forest
disappeared when we left the forest two miles after leaving camp. We found the cache at Kern Valley
Road we had been told about, pausing long enough to take a drink and top off. Past the road, we only
found empty containers in a few scattered spots.
We passed Pinyon Mountain to the southeast of the trail, then struck north, taking breaks
whenever we passed under a Joshua tree, which wasn’t often. Most of them taunted us from a dozen
yards away. As the temperature climbed toward ninety, even Belle seemed less willing to stop,
snapping pictures only when we paused for water, content to let Grinder do his thing and get us out of
this oven.
We stopped for the day at a trailhead next to a dirt road. A place the map calls Bird Spring Pass,
but there certainly wasn’t a spring around there. There were, however, several five-gallon jugs. Many
still full of water.
“A bunch of hikers got sick after drinking from one of the bottles,” another hiker told us. “I read it
in the comments on my app. If you filter it, you should be fine, but a couple of commenters are
suggesting boiling or tablets if you’ve got them.”
I looked at Grinder and cringed. We’re each carrying two liter hydration systems in our packs
and a liter bottle on the sides. Add in the extra three-liter bag I was carrying, and that was a shit-ton
of water to boil. “I’ve got tablets,” I told him. “They taste like crap, but our energy drink powder
should cover the taste.”
Grinder agreed as we looked for a spot among the brush. Apparently, off-roaders like to go
ripping through there from time to time. “We can boil water for dinner tonight and in the morning.
Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Without any trees for my hammock, I laid down my ground cloth again. Belle and Nova joined
me, looking all lovey-dovey at each other. I’m glad they could finally take things to the next level.
Having Belle around has improved this trip for all of us. She’s put a smile on Nova’s face that was
missing all winter. Pulled Grinder out of his ass and got him appreciating the trail. And me? She’s
been a great distraction from all the could-have-beens that had been floating around my head. It’s
given me time to come to grips with the fact my Sundays will be about watching football, not playing
it. Falling asleep next to her, even though it’s Nova’s arm wrapped around her, I’m all right with how
things are.

When I wake, I’m surprised to find Belle isn’t still lying between Nova and I. Sitting up, I spot
her a few yards away, working with Grinder to boil water for breakfast and instant coffee. It got
pretty cold last night, so I welcome the mug she hands me when I join them.
“When did you get up?” I ask.
Belle shrugs, pouring a packet of grounds into her own cup. “About twenty minutes ago. Missed
the sunrise, unfortunately.”
“I got some photos for you,” Grinder says, and I turn to look at him in surprise. He just rolls his
eyes and goes back to boiling water.
“Thanks.” Belle beams, then scampers off to change for the day.
I draw closer to my friend and ask in a low voice, “You took photos for her?”
“Shut up,” Grinder tells me, catching the irony of my question. “We haven’t started the day yet.”
I chuckle and lift my mug for a sip. “No, we haven’t.”
Freshly caffeinated, Grinder wakes Nova and we swing into our morning routine. Soon, we’re
leaving the trailhead to start our climb into the Kiavah Wilderness. About mid-morning, we reach a
pinyon pine forest, which keeps us shaded for the next couple of hours. We stop for lunch before we
trade the shady trees for shrubs and sun again.
As we reach the mid-afternoon heat, we reach a trail junction leading to McIver’s Spring.
Checking our water levels and noting we have three more hours ahead of us, we veer off for the
quarter mile to the spring. When we get there, we find a board and batten cabin shaded by some
pines.
“This looks cozy,” Nova quips as we round the building to the front porch.
Opening the door, I shake my head. “Pass,” I tell him, taking in the litter and graffiti.
“We’re just here for the water,” Grinder reminds us, helping Belle with her pack.
We find the pipe below the cabin, and are a little dismayed by the trickle, but at least it’s water,
and it’s been a hot day. There are a few empty one-gallon jugs lying about. We rinse one out and place
it under the spigot, taking the chance to rest on the porch while we wait for the jug to fill. Belle pulls
out a spare packet of jerky and passes it around, making sure I get it last. I don’t blame her. I doubt I
would have passed it along, and this way, I don’t have to. She made some great jerky, after all. Once
the jug is full, we top off our bottles and head out, eager to reach our destination.
An hour after leaving the spring, we reach the long descent into Walker Pass, the scorching
afternoon sun beating down on us as we make our way through the rocky, shrub-covered landscape. I
hold back a bit, partly to go slow because of my knee, but also to let the dust the others are kicking up
settle down. When we reach the bottom of the slope, Nova throws his arms up and cries in relief as
he turns down a spur, passing a sign I’m soon close enough to read announcing the Walker Pass
Campground.
The others have collapsed under one of the three pergolas, another being used by a family in an
RV and the other by a group of hikers, who wave at us in greeting. Reluctantly, I pull out my ground
cloth again. The only thing upright around us are the metal supports of the structure that are too close
together for my hammock, and the concrete bathroom along the edge of the road leading onto the
grounds.
I take a moment to relax on the ground when Grinder walks up. “There’s water over by the
bathroom. We’re going to go fill up. Can I take your containers?”
I squint at him in suspicion. “Really, dude?”
He shrugs. “What? You’ve been carrying extra for us for the last two days. Least I can do.”
 I squint again. “And?”
Grinder rolls his eyes. “And . . . It was a hard stretch coming downhill.”
“I’m fine, bro,” I tell him, then do a couple quick bicycle kicks. “Knee’s fine too. Stop bringing it
up, and maybe I’ll forget about it.”
Grinder groans, holding out his hand. “Just let me get your damn water.”
I roll over and pull out my reservoir and bottle. “Fine. More time to listen to my book. If I’m
asleep when you get back . . .”
“We’ll probably wake you,” Grinder says with a grin as he turns to follow Nova and Belle
toward the bathrooms.
Chuckling, I watch him go before popping in my earbuds and pressing play.
Twenty minutes later, the others return and start making dinner, but I’m too relaxed to join them.
Besides, the action in my book has picked up, and damn, this shit is getting good. Until I jolt upright,
about as abruptly as the book I’ve been listening to ends.
I look at my phone.
I look at it again.
Opening up my audiobook app, I look at it a third time.
The app is waiting for a review for the second book. The second of two books. The only two
books the app listed. So then . . . What the hell? That was not the end of a series. It was a to be
continued ending. I double check the release date. A year and a half ago. If there’s a third book, then
where the hell is it?
I check my signal. None. Fuck.
I open an app that shows available cell service. There’s supposed to be coverage farther up the
trail, but not close enough. Maybe if I walked around, I might find a blip? “Gotta crap,” I declare,
getting up from the tarp and heading for the concrete building.
I keep my phone open, searching for a signal. Any signal. On the far side of the bathroom where
the guys can’t see me, I wave my phone around like I’m looking for aliens. But it works, and I find a
blip. As fast as I can, I pull up Amazon and do a search. There it is. Book three. Released fourteen
months before the second audiobook. It doesn’t look like there’s a fourth book, so it must be the last
of the series. What the hell is going on here? Why isn’t the third book out? There’s an option to
purchase the ePub. I press the buy now button . . .
And lose the signal.
Fuck.
I wave my phone around, frantically searching for the lost signal, but I come up blank. I notice the
time. Crap. I’ve been out here too long to just be taking a dump.
Reluctantly, I shove my phone back in my pocket and head back to camp.
“Are you all right?” Grinder asks as I return.
“Yeah,” I mutter, flopping down on my tarp and tossing my phone on top of my bag. “Just a little
constipated. No worries.”
I grab my phone again. I could re-listen to the first two books, but damn it, I want to know how it
ends. No, I need to know how it ends. I glance over to where Belle and Nova are giggling over
something on her tablet. They’re going through photos for her research project. Should mean her
phone is free. I wonder if she’s got book three on it? If I could borrow it for a minute or two . . .
I pull out my stove and casually approach, dropping onto the bench next to Belle. I shouldn’t feel
nervous. I shouldn’t. I’ve faced off with some of the biggest, toughest athletes in college sports. A
five-foot-nothing, one-hundred-thirty pound geologist is nothing. So why do I feel like I’m about to
break out in a sweat? Probably because this could go terribly if she finds out . . .
No. Nope. She’s not going to find out. Not if I play this cool.
You just want to borrow her phone to read something she doesn’t know you’re reading.
“Hey, Bats,” Belle beams. “What’s up?”
Fuck. I’m sweating.
“Just finished my audiobook,” I tell her honestly enough. “Thought maybe I could borrow your
phone and try another?”
“Oh. Um, sure,” Belle says. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and holds it out for me. “Are
you okay? You look a little off.”
Crap. Does she know?
A bead of sweat dribbles down my forehead. That must be it. She sees the sweat. I swipe it
away. “It’s nothing,” I tell her, reaching for the phone.
She lets me take it, pointing out, “I’ve got one on plate tectonics. Might be of interest since we’re
heading higher into the Sierra Nevada. I can pull it up for you.”
“You’ve got your research to focus on. I’ll find it.”
I head back to my ground cloth, pretending to search my pack as I open her phone and find her
ePub reader. I open the library and scan the selections. Sure enough, there’s the series. Right there. I
tap it. The folder opens. Three books. All purchased. And all downloaded.
“Yes!”
I freeze as three sets of eyes swing my way. I reach into my bag, pulling out a packet and holding
it up. “It’s Thai curry night.”
I turn to dig out the rest, but when I move to get up, Belle is standing there, arms crossed, with a
dozen questions written on her face.
“Spill it,” she spits out.
“Excuse me?”
She glares at me. “Thai Curry? Really? Then why can I see a picture of ravioli on the front from
ten feet away?”
I turn the packet around. Shit. My eyes flick to Belle’s phone. She reaches down and takes it.
When she unlocks it, then her eyes go wide. Before I can open my mouth, I’m being dragged by the ear
out of camp like a disobedient child by a woman half my size. “Ow. Let go.”
Belle stops and spins on me, poking me in the chest with the phone. “Why the hell were you
looking at . . .” Belle stops short of naming the series. She doesn’t have to. Cards are on the table, so
to speak.
Yep. I’m screwed.
“My Kindle library,” she finishes. “You’re supposed to be listening to audiobooks about science.
Not . . . Not . . .”
This is not good. She’s so furious she can’t even form words. I’m about two seconds from getting
my ass kicked. It’ll be like an Italian mastiff being taken down by a chihuahua. Oh well. Might as well
lean into it. “A reverse harem romance?”
“Yes. That,” Belle shrieks. “How the hell did you go from Steven Hawking to . . . there?”
Defeated, I sigh, and tell her, “I tried. I really did. For the first two nights. But I just wasn’t
feeling it. I couldn’t follow along. All I know about physics is the bit about objects in motion staying
in motion.”
“An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in
the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force,” Belle recites. “Newton’s first law of
motion.”
“Yeah. That one. Only, in the locker room, our version was a runner in motion stays in motion
. . .” A devilish grin creeps across my face. “Until I hit him. Although I like that last bit about
unbalanced forces. A few of the guys on the team were unbalanced forces, if you catch my drift.”
Belle pinches the bridge of her nose as she tries to figure out how we got here. “Okay. But that
doesn’t explain anything.”
“I wanted it to work. It could have too. The volume was nice, the pace was good, but I just
couldn’t follow along.”
“No one can follow along,” Belle retorts. “It’s what makes him Steven Hawking.”
“Granted. But it left me frustrated. It’s hard to fall asleep when you’re frustrated. So, I thought I’d
try something else from your library. The take on Alice in Wonderland sounded interesting, so I
downloaded both books while we were at Big Bear, and I’ve been listening to them ever since.”
“Okay . . . But that’s almost twenty hours between the two books. If you’re only listening to
enough to fall asleep to, that should keep you going for a month. Maybe two.”
I look down and kick a rock. “I, um, got a little hooked. I’ve been listening almost as soon as
we’ve gotten into camp.” Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “What? It’s a good story.”
“I know. That’s why I got the audiobook.”
“Exactly. So . . . where’s the third book?” She blinks, confused by the question. “The third book.
It was released two and half years ago. Way before they did the audiobooks. So, where’s the third
audiobook? Why haven’t they released it?”
“It’s been recorded and submitted. But it hadn’t been released by the time I left. Wait. Is that what
you were looking for on my phone? The third book?” When I don’t answer, she takes my silence for
one instead. “Oh my god, you were! You really liked it, didn’t you?”
I shrug, looking anywhere but at her. This isn’t a conversation I was ready to have. “I didn’t
expect to be drawn in like that. The story’s well written and really grabs your attention.”
“Uh huh,” Belle says, smirking in a self-satisfied way not too dissimilar from Grinder. “The sexy
parts aren’t too bad either. Are they?”
If I thought I was uncomfortable before, having to talk about “sexy parts” with Belle is making
me squirm even more. “I wasn’t . . . opposed to those parts,” I hedge.
Belle giggles, handing her phone back to me. “Well then. You should really enjoy the third book.
Lots of good story.”
I nod, reaching out to take the phone. “Thanks. And, um, can you maybe not tell the guys?”
Belle gets a playful grin. “What? You don’t want them to know you’re reading sexy books?”
I return her grin. “Do you want Nova to know that you read sexy books? Or Grinder?”
Belle winces. “I get your point. Now come on. If we’re out here much longer, Nova’s going to
wonder what we’re up to.”
I laugh as we turn back toward camp. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Grinder is already suggesting all
kinds of things to him.”
Belle punches my arm. “I can still take my phone back. Besides, if you’re nice, I’ll let you listen
to another series on my phone.”
“Oh, yeah?”
A saucy grin curves her lips. “How do you feel about hockey players?”
Laughing as we walk back into our campsite, the light feeling vanishes as we walk in on Nova
and Grinder tearing through their bags. “Um, guys?”
Nova turns toward us with a worried expression. “How many dinners do you have?” Confused
by the question, I shrug. “You might want to count them, dude.”
Belle and I exchange confused looks before heading to our bags. Nova’s meaning becomes clear
a moment later. “Two. How far is Kennedy Meadows?”
“Fifty miles,” Grinder answers, dropping onto the bench at the picnic table. “Fuck. This is my
fault.” He pulls his phone out and unlocks it. “I can fix this.”
“Grinder . . .” Belle says.
Grinder keeps going. “I think there’s a bus into Onyx that stops along the highway.”
“Grinder . . .” Belle says again.
“We can get some more food there in the morning and then head out.”
With a huff, Belle rises from her pack, turns, and drops a half dozen packets of food on the table.
The three of us turn in surprise, because what the hell?
“We’re ahead of my original schedule,” Belle explains. “So, I have some extra. I’m a little light
on snacks thanks to the jerky thief.” I shrug. Not sorry. “But I have enough dinners and a couple of
extra energy bars.”
“I’ve got extra oatmeal and a few more bars as well,” I add.
Grinder sighs, the tension in his shoulders dropping. “Yeah. That should work. I’m sorry, guys. I
don’t know where I messed up.”
Belle opens her mouth to say something, but I beat her to it. “No worries. We’ve got enough food
to get to our next resupply point. This was a big stretch without a lot of wiggle room, but plans change
sometimes. We’re out here experiencing something most people never even think to try. Enjoy the
good parts and forget about the rest.”
Grinder nods, letting out a long breath. “You’re right. We might be running on empty by the time
we reach Kennedy, but we’ll get there.”
A hiker from the other group walks up, waving a bottle. “A trail angel just dropped off some
fresh snacks and two cases of beer. Do you guys want any?”
I nod as the others get up from the table. “Yeah. A drink sounds great. Thanks.”
 DAY 38
KENNEDY MEADOWS
1,962 MILES TO GO

Belle
“Hello, hot stuff,” I purr seductively, licking my lips. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Really, princess?” Grinder scoffs, but I ignore his attitude.
“Shh. I’m trying to enjoy this.”
Grinder rolls his eyes at me. “Is this what you’re like with Nova?”
Next to him, Nova smiles like a Cheshire cat. “Hell no. This is so much better.”
I shoot Nova a nasty glare. “Excuse me?”
Nova holds up his hands defensively. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. But right now, I
really wish I was that coffee mug.”
“Hmm. Is that so?” Lifting the mug, I take a long sip, savoring the hungry look in Nova’s eyes as
much as the coffee. Almost. Four mornings of instant coffee hasn’t been an adequate substitute for
Grinder’s blend. I make a show of licking each drop off my lips, moaning, “Delicious.”
“Not this again,” Grinder says with a sigh.
I shrug a shoulder as I take another sip. “If you wanted to keep me well-caffeinated, then you
shouldn’t have traded away the coffee.”
I brace for his comeback, but he just smirks, shaking his head as he lifts his own coffee mug to
his mouth. Not for the first time since Landers Meadow, I wonder why Grinder made that trade. Bats
had said it was the kind of thing Grinder does for his friends, but my gut seems to think there’s more
to it than just being a friend. A lot more. Then again, there’s the chance my gut is being influenced by
the minx in my head that still has delusions of foursomes.
Speaking of our fourth, Bats walks up to our table with a tray, placing it down between me and
Nova. I wiggle happily as I reach for the plate with blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs.
“Forget something?” Grinder asks, staring at the tray.
“You’re welcome to grab the second tray,” Bats suggests. Grinder shakes his head, pulling his
phone out instead as Bats turns to head back to the pickup window.
“Are you getting a signal?” I ask. It was the first thing I checked when we reached the general
store in Kennedy Meadows. I miss Rachel’s voice, but there hadn’t been a single bar or service on
any of our phones.
“Nope,” Grinder says succinctly, his fingers tapping away at the screen. “Paying for the Wi-Fi.
There we go.” A few moments later, his relaxed expression sours.
“Daddy says hi?” Nova guesses when Grinder drops his phone in the middle of the table.
“I’ll look at it later,” Grinder growls, irritated.
Bats returns with the second tray. “Did I miss something?” he asks, taking in his quiet, brooding
friend.
“He got a love note from home,” Nova answers.
 Grinder sneers and grabs his breakfast.
“Ignore him,” Bats says, digging into his eggs.
Grinder snorts. “Have you ever tried to ignore my father? Hell, he’s probably already gotten an
alert that his message has been delivered. I’ve got maybe two hours to email him back. So, can we
enjoy our food before my day gets ruined?”
We settle into an almost meditative silence as we dig in, filling our stomachs for the first time in
three days after discovering how close we came to running out of food. We’d spent the last two days
traversing two wilderness areas. Owens Peak had been brutal on the legs the first day out of Walker
Pass, with steep climbs slowing us down. We ended up in a small campsite on the edge of a ridge
overlooking the valley formed by Spanish Needle Creek far below. It was barely large enough for
two tents, so we opted to throw down Bats’ tarp and collapse into a tired heap while we watched a
gorgeous sunset. Chimney Peak yesterday was a welcome change, with a single large but even climb
in the late morning. Which was about when the snacks ran out, save a few energy bars we held onto
for breakfast this morning. We hiked a full twelve hours yesterday, and might have tried to end up
here, but by the time we reached the slow-moving South Kern River, we had two hours of hiking
ahead of us with only an hour of light left. So we gave into the bubbling call of the river and called it
a day, claiming a sandy patch of ground near a spot deep enough to wade into and wipe off the dirt
and grime of the last few days.
When Grinder woke us up this morning, we faced a pretty simple choice. We could eat the last of
our oatmeal and take our time covering the last five miles to Kennedy Meadows, or we could “get
your asses up” and be there when the small restaurant attached to the store opened up for breakfast.
We each had an energy bar as we packed up quickly and headed up the trail, salivating over what
options might await us when we got there.
When I push my empty plate away and finish my third cup of coffee, I eye Grinder’s phone. “Can
I borrow your Wi-Fi?”
Grinder shrugs as he downs the last of his own coffee. “Why? Need to make your Instagram
post?”
“No. I was hoping to call Rachel. I haven’t talked to her since Agua Dulce, and I want to let her
know how we’re doing. And since there’s no cell service here . . .”
Grinder unlocks his phone and holds it out for me to take, flashing me a soft smile like it’s a
pleasure to let me use it. “Sure. We can all say hi.”
I’m about to argue I’d like to talk to her privately, because I can imagine the sort of innuendos
Rachel’s going to make, but the look on Grinder’s face tells me I’m not getting a private chat if I want
to use his phone. I suppress a wince and pray my bestie isn’t about to embarrass me. “Fine.” I send a
quick text to let her know the incoming call is from me, then find the FaceTime app and press call.
“Lizzy,” Rachel screams. “How’s your harem going?” Heads all over the outdoor patio turn my
way in curiosity.
I cringe and my cheeks flush with embarrassment, not wanting to know how many people heard
her question. Nova slides up next to me with a broad grin and wraps an arm around my shoulder.
“We’re great. Aren’t we, guys?”
Rachel’s eyes go wide. “You aren’t alone. Are you?”
“Nope,” I tell her. I turn the phone around to show her Bats and Grinder on the other side of the
table. “Say ‘hi,’ guys.”
 “Hey, Rachel,” Bats says, waving at the camera.
“Nice to meet you,” Grinder adds.
I turn the phone back around, happy to find Rachel flush with the same amount of embarrassment
as she caused me. “You could have warned me,” she chides.
I chuckle and point out, “You didn’t exactly give me time.”
“Guess not.” Rachel sighs. “I miss you, babe. It’s been too long.” Someone mutters something
off-screen. Rachel turns. “I know I have you, love. But I need my bestie too.”
“Is that Charles?” I ask.
“Yeah. He says ‘hi.’ So, where are you?”
“Kennedy Meadows for a supply stop. We’ll be heading up into the Sierra Nevada tomorrow.”
“Hmm. Let me see,” Rachel says, getting up and walking around our apartment. It looks like she
was in the living room and is heading into the kitchen. She scans something off-screen, her face
contorting in concentration. “Ah. Got it. Wait. Are you really that far ahead?”
Confused, I ask, “What are you looking at?”
“Your schedule. I posted it on the refrigerator. How did you get there so fast?”
I turn the phone to point at Grinder. He pauses mid-sip and shoots me a look that says, yeah, so?
“And which one are you?” Rachel asks.
“Grinder,” he says with a touch of annoyance.
“Oh, yeah. He looks like it.”
I whip the phone around before Grinder can open his mouth to respond. “Anyway,” I say, pulling
back a semblance of control over this conversation. “We’re good. Heading into an area where service
is going to suck. And you should probably bump the ship dates of my boxes up a week.”
“Will do,” Rachel replies, then turns her attention toward Nova. “Good to see you again. Are you
taking care of my girl?”
My core tingles and my stomach flutters at the thought of how Nova’s been taking care of me
since I last talked to Rachel. Beside me, he chuckles and winks. “You know it.”
Rachel is about to say something else when an alert pops up on the screen and a tone rings out. I
glance at Grinder, whose face twitches. “I’m guessing you already know who that’s from?” He lets
out a resigned sigh and nods. “Um, Rach. I better go. Good to talk to you. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Lizzy,” Rachel replies, blowing me kisses as I end the call and hand the phone
back to Grinder.
He takes the phone, stands, and leaves without a word.
“Dad?” Nova asks, and I nod, watching Grinder walk away from the commotion around the
building.
“We should find a spot now when most of the hikers are leaving,” Bats suggests.
Nova and I agree, and soon the three of us are circling the mostly empty field behind the store in
search of a spot to camp. About a dozen hikers are still here, taking a day off before heading up into
the mountains. We find an opening near some trees where Bats can hang his hammock.
Grinder hasn’t returned yet, and an uneasiness settles in my stomach. He’s been happier the last
two weeks since he told me his story back in Acton. About his rocky relationship with his father, and
the restrictive timeline he gave Grinder for this trip. I hope Grinder having to call home doesn’t send
him back to being the grumpy asshat we all put up with for the first three weeks of our trip.
“I need to use the restroom,” I tell Nova and Bats. “Too much coffee.”
 Nova laughs. “With you? No such thing.”
“We’ll look for a spot for our tents when you get back,” Bats says, and I give him a thumbs up as
I head back toward the building.
After peeing and washing up, because yes, even I can have too much coffee, I walk around the
building, listening for a familiar voice. An uneasy feeling is creeping up on me with every step until I
find him behind the store.
“Yes, sir,” Grinder says. “I understand, sir . . . Love you too. Give my best to Mom.”
Grinder hangs up, then stares at the phone clutched in his hand so tight his knuckles have gone
white. After a long moment, he tilts his head back and lets out a guttural scream full of anger and
frustration.
I should turn around. Head back to the guys. Let Grinder have a moment to collect himself.
Instead, I make my way toward him. “Hey.”
Grinder’s head snaps around, eyeing me with suspicion. “What are you doing back here, Belle?”
Looking for you, dumbass.
“I heard you scream. Is everything okay?”
Grinder huffs, like I’m the source of his annoyance. That uneasy feeling the old Grinder has
returned takes hold again. “It doesn’t concern you. Go back to camp.”
“Yes. It does concern me,” I say softly, creeping closer.
Grinder glares at me, but the heat is leaving his eyes and his breathing is regaining a deep, steady
rhythm. He rubs a hand across his face, which has become tired and ragged in the few minutes since
he left the table. “Go, Belle. Go back to camp. Leave me alone for a single damn minute. Everything
will be fine.”
“Grinder, please.” I inch closer, enough to reach for his hand, but I hesitate, uncertain if doing so
would help or make things worse. “After we talked in Acton, things were better. Right? Maybe I can
help again? Or I can just listen, if that’s what you need.”
Grinder rounds on me with an anger in his eyes I can’t decipher. Is he mad at me, his father, or
maybe himself? “You can’t fix this, princess. I’m not your problem to solve. So stop trying. You want
to make somebody happy? Go find Nova. I’m sure he’d love a blowjob. He’ll probably even return
the favor.”
I don’t have time to be shocked or outraged or disgusted before my hand is flying toward his
face. One second, he’s talking. The next, my palm stings, turning as red as his cheek. I don’t wince,
biting back the ouch I want to release. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, I glower back at him,
matching the intensity in his eyes.
I reach back to slap him again, but this time he catches me, his hand wrapping around my wrist
with an iron grip. My pulse beats frantically beneath the rough swirls of his thumb. He yanks me into
him, the now familiar musky odor of Old Spice washing over me. Cinnamon, cedar, and citrus. The
fingers of his free hand grip my throat, lifting my gaze to meet his. His eyelids droop, partially hiding
the heat in his eyes. It’s not an angry look, and it’s certainly not in a loving or caressing way. More
like he’s trying to control me. Own me. His breathing is calm, but mine is hectic, pushing my breasts
into him with each breath and making my traitorous nipples harden. I want to pull back. I want to run.
But something keeps me rooted here, my gaze unflinching as I stare into eyes growing hotter by the
second.
“I let you have the first one, because yeah, that was an asshole thing to say,” he growls, deep and
Another random document with
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said for the children, probably.”
It certainly was. Never had a photographer a more hard-working
morning. No blame to the weather, which (alas, for the salmon-
fishers!) was perfect as ever; but the difficulty of catching the sitters
and arranging them, and keeping them steady, was enormous.
First the servants all wished to be taken; some separately, and then
in a general group, which was arranged beside the kitchen door, the
scullery being converted into a “dark room” for the occasion. One
after the other, the maids disappeared, and re-appeared full-dressed,
in the most wonderful crinolines and chignons, but looking not half so
picturesque as a Highland farm-girl, who, in her woollen striped
petticoat and short gown, with her dark red hair knotted up behind,
sat on the wall of the yard contemplating the proceedings.
The children ran hither and thither, highly delighted, except Franky
and Austin Thomas, who were made to suffer a good deal, the latter
being put into a stiff white piqué frock, braided with black braid,
which looked exactly as if some one had mistaken him for a sheet of
letter-paper and begun to write upon him; while Franky, dressed in
his Sunday’s best, with his hair combed and face clean, was in an
aggravating position for his ordinary week-day amusements. He
consoled himself by running in and out among the servants, finally
sticking himself in the centre of the group, and being depicted there,
as natural as life.
A very grand picture it was, the men-servants being in front,—
Highland men always seem to consider themselves superior beings,
and are seen lounging about and talking, while the women are
shearing, or digging, or hoeing potatoes. The maids stood in a row
behind, bolt upright, smiling as hard as they could, and little Franky
occupied the foreground, placed between the gardener’s knees. A
very successful photograph, and worthy of going down to posterity,
as doubtless it will.
Now for the children. The baby, passive in an embroidered muslin
frock, came out, of course, as a white mass with something
resembling a face at the top; but Austin Thomas was a difficult
subject. He wouldn’t sit still, no, not for a minute, but kept wriggling
about on the kitchen chair that was brought for him, and looked so
miserable in his stiff frock, that his expression was just as if he were
going to be whipped, and didn’t like it at all.
In vain Franky, who always patronised and protected his next
youngest brother in the tenderest way, began consoling him: “Never
mind, sonnie,”—that was Franky’s pet name for Austin,—“they
sha’n’t hurt you. I’ll take care they don’t hurt you.”
Still the great black thing, with the round glass eye fixed upon him,
was too much for Austin’s feelings. He wriggled, and wriggled, and
never would this likeness have been taken at all,—at least that
morning,—if somebody had not suggested “a piece.” Off flew Mary,
the cook, and brought back the largest “piece”—bread with lots of
jam upon it—that ever little Scotchman revelled in. Austin took it, and
being with great difficulty made to understand that he must pause in
eating now and then, the photographer seized the happy moment,
and took him between his mouthfuls, with Franky keeping guard over
him the while, lest anybody did him any harm. And a very good
picture it is, though neither boy is quite handsome enough, of
course. No photographs ever are.
Little Sunshine, meanwhile, had been deeply interested in the whole
matter. She was quite an old hand at it, having herself sat for her
photograph several times.
“Would you like to see my likenesses?” she kept asking anybody or
everybody; and brought down the whole string of them, describing
them one by one: “Sunny in her mamma’s arms, when she was a
little baby, very cross;” “Sunny just going to cry;” “Sunny in a boat;”
“Sunny sitting on a chair;” “Sunny with her shoes and stockings off,
kicking over a basket;” and lastly (the little show-woman always
came to this with a scream of delight), “That’s my papa and mamma,
Sunny’s own papa and mamma, both together!”
Though then she had not been in the least afraid of the camera, but,
when the great glass eye looked at her, looked steadily at it back,
still she did not seem to like it now. She crept beside her mamma
and her Lizzie, looking on with curiosity, but keeping a long way off,
till the groups were done.
There were a few more taken, in one of which Sunny stood in the
doorway in her Lizzie’s arms.
And her papa and mamma, who meanwhile had taken a good long
walk up the hill-road, came back in time to figure in two rows of black
dots on either side of a shady road, which were supposed to be
portraits of the whole party. The mountains opposite also sat for their
likenesses,—which must have been a comfort to the photographer,
as they at least could not “move.” But, on the whole, the honest man
made a good morning’s work, and benefited considerably thereby.
Which was more than the household did. For, as was natural, the
cook being dressed so beautifully, the dinner was left pretty much to
dress itself. Franky and Austin Thomas suffered so much from
having on their best clothes that they did not get over it for ever so
long. And Sunny, too, upset by these irregular proceedings, when
taking a long-promised afternoon walk with her papa, was as cross
as such a generally good little girl could be, insisting on being carried
the whole way, and carried only by her mamma. And though, as
mamma often says, “she wouldn’t sell her for her weight in gold,” she
is a pretty considerable weight to carry on a warm afternoon.
Still the day had passed pleasantly away, the photographs were all
done, to remain as memorials of the holiday, long after it was ended.
In years to come, when the children are all men and women, they
may discover them in some nook or other, and try to summon up
faint recollections of the time. Oh, if Little Sunshine might never cry
except to be carried in mamma’s arms! and Austin Thomas find no
sorer affliction in life than sitting to be photographed in stiff white
clothes!
But that cannot be. They must all bear their burdens, as their parents
did. May God take care of them when we can do it no more!
The week had rolled by,—weeks roll by so fast!—and it was again
Sunday, the last Sunday at the glen, and just such another as
before: calm, still, sunshiny; nothing but peace on earth and sky.
Peace! when far away beyond the circle of mountains within which
parents and children were enjoying such innocent pleasures, such
deep repose, there was going on, for other parents and children, the
terrible siege of Paris. Week by week, and day by day, the Germans
were closing in round the doomed city, making ready to destroy by
fire, or sword, or famine,—all sent by man’s hand, not God’s,—
hundreds, thousands of innocent enemies. Truly, heaven will have
been well filled, and earth well emptied during the year 1870.
What a glorious summer it was, as to weather, will long be
remembered in Scotland. Even up to this Sunday, the 2d of October,
the air was balmy and warm as June. Everybody gathered outside
on the terrace, including the forlorn salmon-fishers, whose last hope
was now extinguished; for the patient gentleman, and Sunny’s papa,
too, were to leave next morning. And the fish jumped up in the
glassy loch, livelier than ever, as if they were having a special jubilee
in honour of their foe’s departure.
He sat resigned and cheerful, smoking his cigar, and protesting that,
with all his piscatory disappointments, this was the loveliest place he
had ever been in, and that he had spent the pleasantest of holidays!
There he was left to enjoy his last bit of the mountains and loch in
quiet content, while everybody else went to church.
Even Little Sunshine. For her mamma and papa had taken counsel
together whether it was not possible for her to be good there, so as
at least to be no hindrance to other people’s going, which was as
much as could be expected for so small a child. Papa doubted this,
but mamma pleaded for her little girl, and promised to keep her good
if possible. She herself had a great desire that the first time ever
Sunny went to church should be in this place.
So they had a talk together, mamma and Sunny, in which mamma
explained that Sunny might go to church, as Maurice and Eddie did,
if she would sit quite quiet, as she did at prayers, and promise not to
speak one word, as nobody ever spoke in church excepting the
minister. She promised, this little girl who has such a curious feeling
about keeping a promise, and allowed herself to be dressed without
murmuring—nay, with a sort of dignified pride—to “go to church.”
She even condescended to have her gloves put on, always a severe
trial; and never was there a neater little figure, all in white from top to
toe, with a white straw hat, as simple as possible, and the yellow
curls tumbling down from under it. As she put her little hand in her
mamma’s and they two started together, somewhat in advance of the
rest, for it was a long half-mile for such baby feet, her mamma
involuntarily thought of a verse in a poem she learnt when she
herself was a little girl:
“Thy dress was like the lilies,
And thy heart was pure as they;
One of God’s holy angels
Did walk with me that day.”
Only Sunny was not an angel, but an ordinary little girl. A good little
girl generally, but capable of being naughty sometimes. She will
have to try hard to be good every day of her life, as we all have. Still,
with her sweet, grave face, and her soft, pretty ways, there was
something of the angel about her this day.
Her mamma tried to make her understand, in a dim way, what
“church” meant,—that it was saying “thank you” to God, as mamma
did continually; especially for His giving her her little daughter. How
He lived up in the sky, and nobody saw Him, but He saw everybody;
how He loved Little Sunshine, just as her papa and mamma loved
her, and was glad when she was good, and grieved when she was
naughty. This was all the child could possibly take in, and even thus
much was doubtful; but she listened, seeming as if she
comprehended a small fragment of the great mystery which even we
parents understand so little. Except that when we look at our
children, and feel how dearly we love them, how much we would
both do and sacrifice for them, how if we have to punish them it is
never in anger but in anguish and pain, suffering twice as much
ourselves the while,—then we can faintly understand how He who
put such love into us, must Himself love infinitely more, and meant
us to believe this, when He called Himself our Father. Therefore it
was that through her papa’s and mamma’s love Sunny could best be
taught her first dim idea of God.
She walked along very sedately, conversing by the way, and not
attempting to dart from side to side, after one object or another, as
this butterfly child always does on a week-day. But Sunday, and
Sunday clothes, conduced exceedingly to proper behaviour.
Besides, she felt that she was her mamma’s companion, and was
proud accordingly. Until, just before reaching the church, came a
catastrophe which certainly could not have happened in any other
church-going walk than this.
A huge, tawny-coloured bull stood in the centre of the road, with half
a dozen cows and calves behind him. They moved away, feeding
leisurely on either side the road, but the bull held his ground, looking
at mamma and Sunny from under his shaggy brows, as if he would
like to eat them up.
“Mamma, take her!” whispered the poor little girl, rather frightened,
but neither crying nor screaming.
Mamma popped her prayer-book in her pocket, dropped her parasol
on the ground, and took up her child on her left arm, leaving the right
arm free. A fortnight ago she would have been alarmed, but now she
understood the ways of these Highland cattle, and that they were not
half so dangerous as they looked. Besides, the fiercest animal will
often turn before a steady, fearless human eye. So they stood still,
and faced the bull, even Sunny meeting the creature with a gaze as
firm and courageous as her mamma’s. He stood it for a minute or so,
then he deliberately turned tail, and walked up the hillside.
“The big bull didn’t hurt Sunny! He wouldn’t hurt little Sunny, would
he, mamma?” said she, as they walked on together. She has the
happiest conviction that no creature in the world would ever be so
unkind as to hurt Sunny. How should it, when she is never unkind to
any living thing? When the only living thing that ever she saw hurt—a
wasp that crept into the carriage, and stung Sunny on her poor little
leg, and her nurse was so angry that she killed it on the spot—
caused the child a troubled remembrance. She talked, months
afterward, with a grave countenance, of “the wasp that was obliged
to be killed, because it stung Sunny.”
She soon looked benignly at the big bull, now standing watching her
from the hillside, and wanted to play with the little calves, who still
stayed feeding near. She was also very anxious to know if they were
going to church too? But before the question—a rather puzzling one
—could be answered, she was overtaken by the rest of the
congregation, including Maurice and Eddie with their parents. The
two boys only smiled at her, and walked into church, so good and
grave that Sunny was impressed into preternatural gravity too. When
the rest were seated, she, holding her mamma’s hand, walked
quietly in as if accustomed to it all and joined the congregation.
The seat they chose was, for precaution, the one nearest the door,
and next to “the pauper,” an old man who alone of all the inhabitants
of the glen did not work, but received parish relief. He was just able
to come to church, but looked as if he had “one foot in the grave,” as
people say (whither, indeed, the other foot soon followed, for the
poor old man died not many weeks after this Sunday). He had a
wan, weary, but uncomplaining face; and as the rosy child, with her
bright curls, her fair, fresh cheeks, and plump, round limbs, sat down
upon the bench beside him, the two were a strange and touching
contrast.
 Two little churchgoers.
Never did any child behave better than Little Sunshine, on this her
first going to church. Yes, even though she soon caught sight of her
own papa, sitting a few benches off, but afraid to look at her lest she
should misbehave. Also of Maurice’s papa and mamma, and of
Maurice and Eddie themselves, not noticing her at all, and behaving
beautifully. She saw them, but, faithful to her promise, she did not
speak one word, not even in a whisper to mamma. She allowed
herself to be lifted up and down, to sit or stand as the rest did, and
when the music began she listened with an ecstasy of pleasure on
her little face; but otherwise she conducted herself as well as if she
had been thirteen instead of not quite three years old. Once only,
when the prayers were half through, and the church was getting
warm, she gravely took off her hat and laid it on the bench before
her,—sitting the rest of the service with her pretty curls bare,—but
that was all.
During the sermon she was severely tried. Not by its length, for it
was fortunately short, and she sat on her mamma’s lap, looking
fixedly into the face of the minister, as pleased with him in his new
position as when he was rowing her in the boat, or gathering nuts for
her along the canal bank. All were listening, as attentive as possible,
for everybody loved him, Sundays and week-days; and even Sunny
herself gazed as earnestly as if she were taking in every word he
said,—when her quick little eyes were caught by a new interest,—a
small, shaggy Scotch terrier, who put his wise-looking head
inquiringly in at the open door.
Oh, why was the church door left open? No doubt, so thought the
luckless master of that doggie! He turned his face away; he kept as
quiet as possible, hoping not to be discovered; but the faithful animal
was too much for him. In an ecstasy of joy, the creature rushed in
and out and under several people’s legs, till he got to the young man
who owned him, and then jumped upon him in unmistakable
recognition. Happily, he did not bark; indeed, his master, turning red
as a peony, held his hand over the creature’s mouth.
What was to be done? If he scolded the dog, or beat him, there
would be a disturbance immediately; if he encouraged or caressed
him, the loving beast would have begun—in fact, he did slightly
begin—a delighted whine. All the perplexed master could do was to
keep him as quiet as circumstances allowed, which he managed
somehow by setting his foot on the wildly wagging tail, and twisting
his fingers in one of the long ears, the dog resisting not at all. Quite
content, if close to his master, the faithful beast snuggled down,
amusing himself from time to time by gnawing first a hat and then an
umbrella, and giving one small growl as an accidental footstep
passed down the road; but otherwise behaving as well as anybody in
church. The master, too, tried to face out his difficulty, and listen as if
nothing was the matter; but I doubt he rather lost the thread of the
sermon.
So did Sunny’s mamma for a few minutes. Sunny is so fond of little
doggies, that she fully expected the child to jump from her lap, and
run after this one; or, at least, to make a loud remark concerning it,
for the benefit of the congregation generally. But Sunny evidently
remembered that “nobody spoke in church;” and possibly she
regarded the dog’s entrance as a portion of the service, for she
maintained the most decorous gravity. She watched him, of course,
with all her eyes; and once she turned with a silent appeal to her
mamma to look too, but said not a word. The little terrier himself did
not behave better than she, to the very end of the service.
It ended with a beautiful hymn,—“O Thou from whom all goodness
flows.” Everybody knows it, and the tune too; which I think was
originally one of those sweet litanies to the Virgin which one hears in
French churches, especially during the month of May. The little
congregation knew it well, and sang it well, too. When Sunny saw
them all stand up, she of her own accord stood up likewise,
mounting the bench beside the old pauper, who turned half round,
and looked on the pleasant child with a faint, pathetic sort of smile.
Strange it was to stand and watch the different people who stood
singing, or listening to, that hymn; Maurice and Eddie, with their
papa and mamma; other papas and mammas with their little ones;
farmers and farm-servants who lived in the glen, with a chance
tourist or two who happened to be passing through; several old
Highland women, grim and gaunt with long, hard-working lives; the
poor old pauper, who did not know that his life was so nearly over;
and lastly, the little three-year-old child, with her blue eyes wide open
and her rosy lips parted, not stirring a foot or a finger, perfectly
motionless with delight. Verse after verse rose the beautiful hymn,
not the less beautiful because so familiar:

“O Thou from whom all goodness flows,

I lift my soul to Thee;
In all my sorrows, conflicts, woes,
O Lord, remember me!

“When on my aching, burdened heart,

My sins lie heavily,
Thy pardon grant, Thy peace impart,
In love, remember me!

“When trials sore obstruct my way,

And ills I cannot flee,
Oh I let my strength be as my day,
For good, remember me!

“When worn with pain, disease, and grief,

This feeble body see,
Give patience, rest, and kind relief,
Hear, and remember me!

“When in the solemn hour of death

I wait Thy just decree,
Be this the prayer of my last breath,
‘O Lord, remember me!’”

As Little Sunshine stood there, unconsciously moving her baby lips

to the pretty tune,—ignorant of all the words and their meaning,—her
mother, not ignorant, took the tiny soft hand in hers and said for her
in her heart, “Amen.”
When the hymn was done, the congregation passed slowly out of
church, most of them stopping to speak or shake hands, for of
course all knew one another, and several were neighbours and
friends. Then at last Sunny’s papa ventured to take up his little girl,
and kiss her, telling her what a very good little girl she had been, and
how pleased he was to see it. The minister, walking home between
Maurice and Eddie, who seized upon him at once, turned round to
say that he had never known a little girl, taken to church for the first
time, behave so remarkably well. And though she was too young to
understand anything except that she had been a good girl, and
everybody loved her and was pleased with her, still Sunny also
looked pleased, as if satisfied that church-going was a sweet and
pleasant thing.
 CHAPTER X.
Little Sunshine’s delicious holiday—equally delicious to her papa
and mamma, too—was now fast drawing to a close. This Sunday
sunset, more gorgeous perhaps than ever, was the last that the
assembled party of big and little people watched together from the
terrace. By the next Sunday, they knew, all of them would be
scattered far and wide, in all human probability never again to meet,
as a collective party, in this world. For some of them had come from
the “under world,” the Antipodes, and were going back thither in a
few months, and all had their homes and fortunes widely dispersed,
so as to make their chances of future reunion small.
They were sorry to part, I think,—even those who were nearly
strangers to one another,—and those who were friends were very
sorry indeed. The children, of course, were not sorry at all, for they
understood nothing about the matter. For instance, it did not occur in
the least to Sunny or to Austin Thomas (still viewing one another
with suspicious eyes, and always on the brink of war, though Sunny
kept her promise, and did not attack again), that the next time they
met might be as big boy and girl, learning lessons, and not at all
disposed to fight; or else as grown young man and woman, obliged
to be polite to one another whether they liked it or not.
But the elders were rather grave, and watched the sun set, or rather
not the sun,—for he was always invisible early in the afternoon, the
house being placed on the eastern slope of the hill,—but the sunset
glow on the range of mountains opposite. Which, as the light
gradually receded upward, the shadow pursuing, had been, evening
after evening, the loveliest sight imaginable. This night especially,
the hills seemed to turn all colours, fading at last into a soft gray, but
keeping their outlines distinct long after the loch and valley were left
dark.
So, good-bye, sun! When he rose again, two of the party would be
on board a steamboat,—the steamboat, for there was but one,—
sailing away southward, where there were no hills, no lochs, no
salmon-fishing, no idle, sunshiny days,—nothing but work, work,
work. For “grown-ups,” as Sunny calls them, do really work; though,
as a little girl once observed pathetically to Sunny’s mamma, “Oh, I
wish I was grown up, and then I might be idle! We children have to
work so hard! while you and my mamma do nothing all day long.”
(Oh, dear!)
Well, work is good, and pleasant too; though perhaps Sunny’s papa
did not exactly think so, when he gave her her good-night kiss, which
was also good-bye. For he was to start so early in the morning that it
was almost the middle of the night, in order to catch the steamer
which should touch at the pier ten miles off, between six and seven
a. m. Consequently, there was breakfast by candle-light, and hasty
adieux, and a dreary departure of the carriage under the misty
morning starlight; everybody making an effort to be jolly, and not
quite accomplishing it. Then everybody, or as many as had had
courage to rise, went to bed again, and tried to sleep, with varied
success, Sunny’s mamma with none at all.
It recurred to her, as a curious coincidence, that this very day,
twenty-five years before, after sitting up all night, she had watched,
solemnly as one never does it twice in a lifetime, a glorious sunrise.
She thought she would go out and watch another, from the hillside,
over the mountains.
My children, did you ever watch a sunrise? No? Then go and do it as
soon as ever you can. Not lazily from your bedroom window, but out
in the open air, where you seem to hear and see the earth gradually
waking up, as she does morning after morning, each waking as
wonderful and beautiful as if she had not done the same for
thousands of years, and may do it for thousands more.
When the carriage drove off, it was still starlight,—morning starlight,
pale, dreary, and excessively cold; but now a faint coloured streak of
dawn began to put the stars out, and creep up and up behind the
curves of the eastern hills. Gradually the daylight increased,—it was
clear enough to see things, though everything looked cheerless and
gray. The grass and heather were not merely damp, but soaking wet,
and over the loch and its low-lying shores was spread a shroud of
white mist. There was something almost painful in the intense
stillness; it felt as if all the world were dead and buried, and when
suddenly a cock crew from the farm, he startled one as if he had
been a ghost.
But the mountains,—the mountains! Turning eastward, to look at
them, all the dullness, solitude, and dreariness of the lower world
vanished. They stood literally bathed in light, as the sun rose up
behind them, higher and higher, brighter and brighter, every minute.
Suddenly an arrow of light shot across the valley, and touched the
flat granite boulder on which, after a rather heavy climb, Sunny’s
mamma had succeeded in perching herself like a large bird, tucking
her feet under her, and wrapping herself up as tightly as possible in
her plaid, as some slight protection against the damp cold. But when
the sunshine came, chilliness and cheerlessness vanished. And as
the beam broadened, it seemed to light up the whole world.
How she longed for her child, not merely for company, though that
would have been welcome in the extreme solitude, but that she
might show her, what even such baby eyes could not but have seen,
—the exceeding beauty of God’s earth, and told her how it came out
of the love of God, who loved the world and all that was in it. How He
loved Sunny, and would take care of her all her life, as He had taken
care of her, and of her mamma, too. How, if she were good and
loved Him back again, He would be sure to make for her, through all
afflictions, a happy life; since, like the sunrise, “His mercies are new
every morning, and His compassions fail not.”
Warmer and warmer the cold rock grew; a few birds began to twitter,
the cocks crowed from the farmyard, and from one of the cottages a
slender line of blue peat smoke crept up, showing that somebody
else was awake besides Sunny’s mamma; which was rather a
comfort,—she was getting tired of having the world all to herself.
Presently an old woman came out of a cottage-door, and went to the
burn for water, probably to make her morning porridge. A tame
sheep followed her, walking leisurely to the burn and back again,
perhaps with an eye to the porridge-pot afterward. And a lazy pussy-
cat also crept out, and climbed on the roof of the cottage, for a little
bit of sunshine before breakfast. Sunny’s mamma also began to feel
that it was time to see about breakfast, for sunrise on the mountains
makes one very hungry.
Descending the hill was worse than ascending, there being no
regular track, only some marks of where the sheep were in the habit
of climbing. And the granite rocks presented a flat, sloping surface,
sometimes bare, sometimes covered with slippery moss, which was
not too agreeable. Elsewhere, the ground was generally boggy with
tufts of heather between, which one might step or jump. But as soon
as one came to a level bit it was sure to be bog, with little streams
running through it, which had to be crossed somehow, even without
the small convenience of stepping-stones.
Once, when her stout stick alone saved her from a sprained ankle,
she amused herself with thinking how in such a case she might have
shouted vainly for help, and how bewildered the old woman at the
cottage would have been on finding out that the large creature, a
sheep as she had probably supposed, sitting on the boulder
overhead, which she had looked up at once or twice, was actually a
wandering lady!
It was now half-past seven, and the usual breakfast party on the
door-step was due at eight. Welcome was the sound of little voices,
and the patter of small eager feet along the gravel walk. Sunny’s
mamma had soon her own child in her arms and the other children
around her, all eating bread and butter and drinking milk with the
greatest enjoyment. The sun was now quite warm, and the mist had
furled off the loch, leaving it clear and smooth as ever.
Suddenly Eddie’s sharp eyes caught something there which quite
interrupted his meal. It was a water-fowl, swimming in and out
among the island of water-lilies, and even coming as close inshore
as the pier. Not one of the nine geese, certainly; this bird was dark
coloured, and small, yet seemed larger than the water-hens, which
also were familiar to the children. Some one suggested it might
possibly be a wild duck.
Eddie’s eyes brightened. “Then might I ‘low’ in a boat, with papa’s
gun, and go and shoot it?”
This being a too irregular proceeding, Sunny’s mamma proposed a
medium course, namely, that Eddie should inform his papa that there
was a bird supposed to be a wild duck, and then he might do as he
thought best about shooting it.
Maurice and Eddie were accordingly off like lightning; three of
Maurice’s worms which had taken the opportunity of crawling out of
his pocket and on to the tray, being soon afterward found leisurely
walking over the bread and butter plate. Franky and Austin Thomas
took the excitement calmly, the one thinking it a good chance of
eating up his brothers’ rejected shares, and the other proceeding
unnoticed to his favourite occupation of filling the salt-cellar with
sand from the walk.
Soon Donald, who had also seen the bird, appeared, with his
master’s gun all ready, and the master, having got into his clothes in
preternaturally quick time, hurried down to the loch, his boys
accompanying him. Four persons, two big and two little, after one
unfortunate bird! which still kept swimming about, a tiny black dot on
the clear water, as happy and unconscious as possible.
The ladies, too, soon came out and watched the sport from the
terrace; wondering whether the duck was within range of the gun,
and whether it really was a wild duck, or not. A shot, heard from
behind the trees, deepened the interest; and when, a minute after, a
boat containing Maurice, Eddie, their papa, and Donald, was seen to
pull off from the pier, the excitement was so great that nobody
thought about breakfast.
“It must be a wild duck; they have shot it; it will be floating on the
water, and they are going after it in the boat.”
“I hope Eddie will not tumble into the water, in his eagerness to pull
the bird out.”
“There,—the gun is in the boat with them! Suppose Maurice
stumbles over it, and it goes off and shoots somebody!”
Such were the maternal forebodings, but nothing of the sort
happened, and by and by, when breakfast was getting exceedingly
cold, a little procession, all unharmed, was seen to wind up from the
loch, Eddie and Maurice on either side of their papa.
He walked between them, shouldering his gun, so that, loaded or
not, it could not possibly hurt his little boys. But he looked extremely
dejected, and so did Donald, who followed, bearing “the body”—of a
poor little dripping, forlorn-looking bird.
“Is that the wild duck?” asked everybody at once.
“Pooh! It wasn’t a wild duck at all. It was only a large water-hen. Not
worth the trouble of shooting, certainly not of cooking. And then we
had all the bother of getting out the gun, and tramping over the wet
grass to get a fair shot, and, after we shot it, of rowing after it, to fish
it up out of the loch. Wretched bird!”
Donald, imitating his master, regarded the booty with the utmost
contempt, even kicking it with his foot as it lay, poor little thing! But
no kicks could harm it now. Sunny only went up and touched it
timidly, stroking its pretty, wet feathers with her soft little hand.
“Mamma, can’t it fly? why doesn’t it get up and fly away? And it is so
cold. Might Sunny warm it?” as she had once tried to warm the only
dead thing she ever saw,—a little field mouse lying on the garden
walk at home, which she put in her pinafore and cuddled up to her
little “bosie,” and carried about with her for half an hour or more.
Quite puzzled, she watched Donald carrying off the bird, and only
half accepted mamma’s explanation that “there was no need to
warm it,—it was gone to its bye-bye, and would not wake up any
more.”
Though she was living at a shooting-lodge, this was the only dead
thing Sunny had yet chanced to see, for there was so little game
about that the gentlemen rarely shot any. But this morning one of
them declared that if he walked his legs off over the mountains, he
must go and have a try at something. So off he set, guided by
Donald, while the rest of the party fished meekly for trout, or went
along the hill-road on a still more humble hunt after blackberries.
Sometimes they wondered about the stray sportsman, and listened
for gun-shots from the hills,—the sound of a gun could be heard for
so very far in this still, bright weather.
And when, at the usual dinner-hour, he did not appear, they waited a
little while for him. They were going at length to begin the meal,
when he was seen coming leisurely along the garden walk.
Eager were the inquiries of the master.
“Well,—any grouse?”
“No.”
“Partridges?”
“No.”
“I knew it. There has not been a partridge seen here for years.
Snipes, perhaps?”
“Never saw one.”
“Then what have you been about? Have you shot nothing at all?”
“Not quite nothing. A roe-deer. The first I ever killed in my life. Here,
Donald.”
With all his brevity, the sportsman could not hide the sparkle of his
eye. Donald, looking equally delighted, unloosed the creature, which
he had been carrying around his neck in the most affectionate
manner, its fore legs clasped over one shoulder, and its hind legs
over the other, and laid it down on the gravel walk.
What a pretty creature it was, with its round, slender, shapely limbs,
its smooth satin skin, and its large eyes, that in life would have been
so soft and bright! They were dim and glazed now, though it was
scarcely cold yet.
Everybody gathered around to look at it, and the sportsman told the
whole story of his shot.
“She is a hind, you see; most likely has a fawn somewhere not far
off. For I shot her close by the farm here. I was coming home, not
over-pleased at coming so empty-handed, when I saw her standing
on the hill top, just over that rock there: a splendid shot she was, but
so far off that I never thought I should touch her. However, I took
aim, and down she dropped. Just feel her. She is an admirable
creature, so fat! Quite a picture!”
So it was, but a rather sad one. The deer lay, her graceful head
hopelessly dangling, and bloody drops beginning to ooze from her
open mouth.
Otherwise she might have been asleep,—as innocent. Sunny, who
had run with the boys to see the sight, evidently thought she was.
“Mamma, look at the little baa-lamb, the dear little baa-lamb. Won’t it
wake up?”
Mamma explained that it was not a baa-lamb, but a deer, and there
stopped, considering how to make her child understand that solemn
thing, death; which no child can be long kept in ignorance of, and yet
which is so difficult to explain. Meantime, Sunny stood looking at the
deer, but did not attempt to touch it as she had touched the water-
hen. It was so large a creature to lie there so helpless and
motionless. At last she looked up, with trouble in her eyes.
“Mamma, it won’t wake up. Make it wake up, please!”
“I can’t, my darling!” And there came a choke in mamma’s throat,—
this foolish mamma, who dislikes “sport,”—who looks upon soldiers
as man-slayers, “glory” as a great delusion, and war a heinous
crime. “My little one, the pretty deer has gone to sleep, and nobody
can wake it up again. But it does not suffer. Nothing hurts it now.
Come away, and mamma will tell you more about this another day.”
The little fingers contentedly twined themselves in her mamma’s,
and Sunshine came away, turning back now and then a slightly
regretful look on the poor hind that lay there, the admiration of
everybody, and especially of the gentleman who had shot it.
“The first I ever shot,” he repeated, with great pride. “I only wish I
could stay and eat her. But the rest of you will.” (Except Sunny’s