7 - Melissa

7

Melissa

Jack retrieved the key from the office, then led me up a gravel path to the Indigo Cabin. The cabin on the left—the Blue Cabin, based on the color—was occupied; an old woman was smoking a joint on the porch, and she raised a hand in greeting as we passed.

The inside of my cabin was cozy and quaint; there was a little living space that blended into a kitchen, with a hallway that led to a bedroom and bathroom in the back. It reminded me of the inside of an RV, except that the ceilings were much higher, which gave the illusion of being more spacious.

It was much cuter than I wanted to give Jack credit for.

“Do you want the tour?” he asked.

“I think I can figure it out.”

He slapped the key into my palm. “The camp store is closed now, but it opens at nine in the morning. We have a food truck that parks out front during the day. There’s no maid service, so you’ll have to call the office if you need anything.” He tapped his finger on a laminated piece of paper taped to the wall. “Any questions?”

“What were you going to call me earlier?” I asked.

Jack gave a start. “Huh?”

“At the clinic, you called me an asshole. And you said it was a lot nicer than what you wanted to call me. What did you want to call me?”

Jack stared at me. “If you use your imagination, I bet you can figure it out. Enjoy the bed.”

Even after he closed the door, I could hear his deep laughter as he walked back to the office.

Once he was gone, I dropped all pretenses of being annoyed. This cabin was adorable . Lots of windows, but with remote-controlled blinds that allowed privacy. One of the walls was decorated with an oil painting of a mountain, painted all in blues and grays. The bathroom had a shower and a full bathtub.

And the bed! Queen-sized, perfectly-white sheets without a single wrinkle, and enough pillows to make a fort. It called to me like a linen siren from a Greek epic.

I wanted nothing more than to fall face-first into the pillows and pass out, but I knew I needed to bathe. I closed all the blinds in the cabin, made sure the front door was bolted, then drew a bath.

I sank into the water, propping my ankle up on the edge to keep the wrapping from getting wet. As soon as I was submerged, I let out a long sigh, and with it exhaled a big chunk of my worries.

Yeah. This was better than sleeping in a tent, even if I didn’t want to admit it to Jack the Annoying Lumberjack.

I passed out as soon as I got under the covers. Jack was right: the bed was as comfortable as a cloud. More comfortable, if you could believe it. And even though I was occasionally woken by the throbbing pain in my ankle, I always fell right back asleep.

I hadn’t bothered to set an alarm. When I eventually blinked away the sleep from my eyes, I realized sunlight was streaming through the crack in the blinds. My phone said it was ten in the morning.

That was a lot more fun than waking up at five in the morning to boil water for my freeze-dried breakfast.

Thinking about food made my stomach rumble; I’d skipped dinner last night. I threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and wandered outside. A few people were walking around the campsite, and two little boys rode by on bicycles. I immediately located the food truck Jack had mentioned and headed for it as fast as my ankle would allow. The swelling hadn’t gone down at all, and it hurt like hell when I put weight on it, but I could limp around. Especially when motivated by the smell of real food.

I ordered a burrito from the food truck, then sat on a log by the river to eat. It was a crisp morning in the shade, and there was a trail by the river with a scattering of joggers and bikers. Two men in kayaks went by on the river, shouting happily as they navigated a stretch of rocky rapids.

It was so peaceful.

I heard footsteps to my right. Jack was walking by with a bundle of firewood under one arm and an ax resting against his shoulder. He gave me a satisfied smile in passing.

“Yes, the bed was great,” I admitted.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I can see you thinking it!”

He chuckled and continued on his way. I watched him go, the sunlight playing through his dark hair and making it shine. He would have been hot, in a rugged sort of way, if he wasn’t such a dick.

After wolfing down my burrito, I returned to my cabin and read my book on the porch while enjoying the beautiful day. That evening, I visited the camp store to buy a microwave dinner. Somehow, a bottle of gin ended up in my basket. Half the bottle was empty when I woke up the next morning, and there was a splitting pain in my head to match my throbbing ankle.

A breakfast burrito from the food truck helped dispel my hangover. So did sitting in the rocking chair on my porch and reading my book. After a week of trying to cover as much ground as possible during the day, it was refreshing to sit around without any itinerary. There wasn’t a campsite nine miles up the trail that I needed to reach; there was only my incredibly-soft bed waiting for me ten feet away. My schedule was as listless as my life felt.

Despite enjoying my stationary situation, I didn’t feel like eating at the food truck for lunch. Google Maps said that the town of Crested Butte was just over a mile away, with at least a dozen food options that made my mouth water. I tested my ankle; it was still grotesquely swollen, but I could move around a little better than yesterday. A mile seemed doable, especially since I wasn’t in a hurry. I could take as many breaks as I needed.

The dirt road leading out of camp was forested for the first few minutes, but then the trees gave way to open fields that gave me a better view of the area. Crested Butte was tucked away in a valley with mountains all around, and the foothills were carpeted with wildflowers of all colors. I’d had breathtaking views during the first week of my Colorado Trail journey, but it had been difficult to savor them while trudging along in the wilderness, covered in sweat and grime. Now that I didn’t have any expectations for the day, I was able to truly appreciate how beautiful it was out here. It was certainly better than Ohio.

I made it about a quarter of a mile when a vehicle came up the road behind me. I moved off to the side to let them pass, but the car slowed down as it neared. It was a mud-streaked white Jeep.

Son of a bitch.

“Want a ride into town?” Jack asked out the window.

Without stopping, I replied, “I’m fine, thanks.”

The Jeep crawled along next to me, crunching gravel. “You sure? It can’t be fun walking this far with a busted ankle and a gin hangover.”

“I’m fine without—wait a minute. How do you know I’m hungover on gin?”

“We’ve got cameras in all the cabins,” he replied, deadpan. “Living room, kitchen, bathroom. Half our income is from streaming it all on OnlyFans.”

I stepped closer to the open Jeep window, anger flaring inside of me like a volcano. “You sick asshole . I swear to fucking God if I find a camera, I’m calling the police first, then every newspaper from here to Denver.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Christ on a cracker, you really can’t take a joke. There aren’t any cameras in your cabin. Calm down.”

“Telling a woman to calm down has never worked in the history of the world. How the hell did you know what I was drinking last night?”

“I check the camp store inventory every morning,” Jack replied angrily. “To make sure the teenager running the cash register doesn’t steal anything. Goddamn, I wouldn’t have made a joke about it if I knew you’d blow your top.”

“Right, because women are usually receptive to jokes about hidden toilet cameras,” I said.

Jack let out a sigh through gritted teeth. “Maybe I should’ve left you in the mountains with a busted ankle.”

As he drove away, I shouted, “I’m beginning to wish you did!”

My ankle seemed to hurt more after the run-in with Jack. Especially when the road went up a very gradual hill. The way the incline forced my toes to point upward definitely aggravated my injury. Soon I was limping worse than before.

But I wasn’t going to admit to myself that I should’ve accepted the ride from Jack.

A few minutes later, another car came up the road behind me. It was a dark Toyota 4Runner, and it slowed down just like the Jeep. I decided that I was going to accept a ride from them as long as the driver didn’t look like a serial killer.

Not only was the driver not a serial killer, it was Doctor Noah’s familiar smiling face. “I thought I recognized that limp! Now, didn’t I tell you to stay off that ankle?”

“I was feeling ambitious,” I admitted. “And my ankle wasn’t too bad when I woke up.”

“Judging from your gait, it’s bothering you now.” He ran a hand through his thick blond hair. “I’m heading into town. Let me give you a ride.”

His smile was so open and warm that I found myself unable to decline. “I’d appreciate that.”

Noah hopped out of the 4Runner and hurried around to the passenger side to help me up. Despite my protests, I didn’t mind his steadying hand on my back. The car was pristine and smelled like sweet pine needles.

“I’m glad you’re feeling ambitious enough to walk, but you really ought to stay off the ankle.” His lecture was softened by the way his smile filled his entire face, even reaching his cobalt blue eyes.

“Sorry. I was getting a little stir-crazy at the cabin.”

“Oh! You’re staying at Jackie’s riverside cabins?” Noah asked. “They’re great. Real cozy. I would totally rent one if I didn’t already have a house a mile upriver.”

He was gorgeous, he was a doctor, and he owned his own place. If this guy had popped up on my Tinder feed, I would have swiped right fast enough to dislocate my finger.

“The cabin is nice,” I admitted. “Better than sleeping in a tent.”

“I bet! Don’t get me wrong—I love camping as much as the next guy. But after a few days, I need a real bed.”

“Amen.”

We turned off the dirt road and onto the main road into Crested Butte. It was like a picturesque western town that had been revamped for modern times, with bars and restaurants and shops along the five or six main blocks. All of the restaurants had outdoor seating, the kind that used to be parallel parking spots but were repurposed during COVID. Lots of people were walking around with coffee cups or shopping bags.

And the cyclists! For every pedestrian I saw, there were two people on bikes. Men, women, young, old, people of all shapes and sizes were biking around town. Everyone smiled and waved, including several people who called out “Doctor Noah” by name.

“You’re a popular guy,” I said.

“That’s the life of a doctor in a small mountain town,” Noah replied happily. “I set broken bones, patch up scrapes, diagnose colds, administer vaccines, and occasionally deliver a baby when the obstetrician can’t get here in time from Gunnison.”

Noah stopped at a red light, and then I winced. Walking down the sidewalk to my right was Jack. Just as I began considering ducking down in my seat, Jack’s eyes passed across the Jeep… and then locked onto my face through the windshield.

He shook his head and scowled at me.

“Hey Jackie!” Noah said, sticking his arm out the window to wave.

Jack paused next to my open passenger window long enough to say, “Guess you’ll accept help from some people.” He continued on his way before I could think of a response.

“He offered me a ride into town before you did,” I began to explain.

Noah only chuckled. “Jackie’s a big grump. You don’t need to elaborate more than that! Where in town were you headed?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I was going to wander around until I found something good for lunch.”

Noah pulled onto a side street and then parked next to a cafe. “What you’re looking for is Marlene’s Diner. Best sandwiches in town.” He hopped out and hurried around to the other side in time to help me down. “Tell you what. I’m heading there now… how about you join me?”

“Join you for lunch?” I repeated dumbly.

“Sure!” He quickly held up a hand. “Not as a date. Just a friendly lunch. Besides, I told Marlene I’d send as much business her way as I could. You can tell me about this crazy hike you were trying to do.”

Why the hell not? I thought before nodding.