CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Dirk

T he warmer rain from Seattle and the Puget Sound below had finally encountered the mountains as the wet clouds fought their way toward eastern Washington. They wouldn't make it over these heights and that was why the east side of the Cascades, the other half of the state, was arid and dry.

"The rain is sure coming down," Blake observed, carefully avoiding being too close to the windows so he could manage to keep the illusion he wasn't fourteen stories high. "This is the Memorial Day weekend I'm used to."

"More stew?" I asked, reaching for his bowl in case he said yes. "We've got lots," I added, trying to encourage him to eat more yet not making too big a deal of it.

"I've already had two huge bowlfuls," he argued.

"I'm about to have my fourth so what's your excuse?"

"Twist my arm," he laughed, grinning at me. "You're quite the chef, Cadet Dirk."

"I'm my only cooking source out here for three months, so I was forced to learn how to cook."

"And how do you get the ingredients way out here?" he asked.

"Once every two weeks I order via computer and someone drops the stuff off at the trailhead, texting me that the food is there so bears don't help themselves," I explained.

"I don't like bears," Blake said.

"Heights, cold, and now bears," I stated. "But hiking deep into forests that offer all three of those things, you do like?"

"Shut up and get me more stew, pretty boy."

I took the bowl from his hand. "You think I'm pretty?" I asked, doing my best to create my prettiest pose and smiling at him. "Boys don't normally refer to me as pretty."

He moved his eyes from my feet and then slowly up to my eyes. "Yeah, I can see why."

My guest and I had spent the afternoon joking and getting to know each other a bit more. We talked about where we'd gone to school and what towns we'd grown up in. Coincidentally both of us had grown up in the south Puget Sound region near the capital city of Olympia, but because I was closer to Tumwater, a small town next door to Olympia, we'd gone to neighboring but different high schools.

Blake pegged me as a jock, and I pegged him as smart, both laughing at the generalizations. "I was smart," he admitted. "But I did cross country too," he bragged.

"Oh yeah," I quipped. "Because cross country is such a chick magnet of the high school sports."

Blake pointed at the Crock-Pot. "Stew, mister."

Our banter was easy and familiar and whatever hostility had been displayed at the trailhead a day ago was gone. Blake was funny, intelligent, and had a warmth I hadn't expected. I found myself drawn to his cheeky personality and almost forgot the pain I'd seen etched on his face when I'd first encountered him.

"I think I like you," I stated, handing him a refill on the stew and sitting across from him. "Kinda shocked about it after your icy greeting yesterday, but you're actually fun."

"And you aren't the oaf I thought you were," he said. "My dad will be so pleased when I tell him about this."

As if the universe needed to provide any weirder of coincidences, the cabin's satellite phone rang. That happened maybe twice an entire season. I held up a hand to Blake and hurried to the desk in the corner that held a computer, the satellite phone, and a few charging ports.

"Station 27," I answered.

"Is this Dirk Halloway?" a voice I didn't recognize as a familiar crew member's voice spoke.

"Sure is. How can I help?" I asked, worrying I had a problem that needed my attention, and concerned that the melting snow was still too deep to get out of my area easily.

"This is a longshot, Dirk, but this is Myles Jensen, Commissioner of Public Lands," he began. "Sorry to disturb you but I have a real concern that my son may be in danger and the last I heard, he was planning on hiking from the Forest Service road that you happen to be located at."

"I know who you are, sir, and I'm happy to tell you that your son is sitting six feet away from me right now."

There was a gasp and muffled words from the background by a female voice. "Oh, thank God," he said, a long and relieved exhale escaping him. "Oh my God. Oh, that's amazing. May I speak with him?"

I handed the phone over and listened as Blake told his story and I got one side of the conversation. There was a lot of reassuring that he was safe and uninjured. He soothed his mother when apparently his father handed the phone to her. "No, Mom. I don't know if he's married," he responded after a lengthy explanation of what had happened and she was confident Blake was safe. "Yes, Mom, I'll make sure to get his address so you can thank him but I think Dad probably has it in his office files."

Blake patiently answered a barrage of several yes and no questions. Just before his mom was done grilling him he answered one more. "Yes, Mom. He is handsome." After saying goodbye to his father, and finally convincing his mother he was completely fine, the ten-minute call ended. Blake looked at me and grinned. "You're definitely getting a promotion, or at a minimum a pay raise," he stated. "My dad is very appreciative of you saving my life."

"You think I'm handsome?"