Twenty-two

A nna stretched, standing on the balcony to welcome the dawn. Wyatt was already downstairs doing who knows what. Apparently, he wasn't one to let the day start without him.

Racing down the stairs, she missed a step and landed hard on one knee. Her mouth tasted like blood, and her tongue throbbed. "That'll leave a bruise," she grumbled. "Missing a step is getting to be a bad habit of yours, Anna."

She slowed her pace amid visions of tumbling down the stairs.

Streams of morning light brightened her mood. The open sliding glass doors welcomed nature's sounds and scents, and Wyatt stood on the patio, having his coffee in the spring sun.

She moved into the kitchen, poured a steaming cup, and joined him. A chilling gust stole her breath, so she pulled her arms close around her like a blanket.

Wyatt's eyes were gray while he stood by the pool, and her mood dimmed. But as he strode toward her, sunlight changed his eyes to deep blue. Metal screeched against concrete when he yanked the patio heater toward a chair. She returned his smile.

"We had someone on the property last night." At least, he didn't try to shield her from the truth.

"What does that mean? Someone was trying to get into the cabin?" The cabin was her haven. She'd found a safe place—or so she thought. She started to shiver, and small bumps rose on her arms.

Tenderness softened Wyatt's face. He slipped off his fleece jacket and tucked it over her shoulders, his arms lingering around her, the jacket and his nearness enveloping her in heady sandalwood. When she tipped her face up at him, his gaze dipped to her lips. His eyes darkened, his pupils dilating.

Did she just stop breathing? Without her permission, her eyelids fluttered closed, and her face angled toward his.

Then he released her, leaving her unbalanced.

"No one tried to break into the cabin." He stepped back and raked a hand through his hair, mussing the perfect tousling. "The security system picked up some movement by the gate and the fence line. The camera captured images—a couple guys, youngish, maybe even teens."

"Teens?" She loosened her grip, planting her feet more firmly to ground herself, though the heady sandalwood lingered. She breathed it in. Not helping!

What were they talking about? Right, teens. "So they could've just been out messing around at night, trespassing?"

"Right. I've had that before. We're remote, but people know about the cabin when they wander around in the mountains. It's why I installed the security system. Locals were coming up and swimming in the pool. I didn't want any kind of accident, so I added the fence. When that didn't work, I had to put in the security system."

Made sense, but was it wishful thinking? Her cuticle beckoned. At this rate, she wouldn't have much skin left. "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know, Anna. We'll be cautious and consider that someone might know we're here. I have the cameras, so someone won't just sneak up on us."

She rubbed her aching head and let out a low breath before her stomach rumbled. "Um, let's pretend it was teens looking for a place to party. Nothing else we can do right now, and my tummy's thinking of those bagels and bakery items we picked up in town two days ago." She spun around, heading toward those goodies. Denial was hungry work.

"Then let's pack some sandwiches and go on a picnic. There's a wonderful place I enjoy on the north side of the mountain. You said you wanted to go over there, right?" He stood at the refrigerator with an endearing smile that sent warmth through her veins.

She started toward the door, muted her doubts, and gave in to an unexpected rush of excitement.

"Sounds like an amazing adventure." She pivoted to him. "Mother used to tell me stories about that mountain. She'd make things up to keep me entertained while we traveled. We came back once after we moved, ya know? I don't remember why. Maybe I never knew."

She backtracked, stopping at his side. "You said my mother owned the property. Who owns the property next door now?"

"Well, the short answer is Greta owns it, now maybe Devlin. But something's going on with it. Greta purchased it from your mother when you two moved to Texas."

Greta again. Anna would think about that later.

"I always kinda wondered."

They finished getting everything together for their picnic, including coats and plaid wool blankets. Wyatt pulled the truck closer to the cabin, the engine revving. Once everything was loaded, he opened her door, waited for her to get in, and took off.

A tingle went through her. She was in his truck for no reason other than doing something she wanted to do. No errands, no chores, just because!

"Mother and I never could afford vacations," she confessed. "We always joked we were ahead of our time and invented the staycation."

He downshifted. "What did that mean for you two?"

"Not much. Just that we'd plan low-cost activities together. Watching old movies, listening to music, going for walks, or riding bikes in the park, just spending time with each other."

His lips quirked. "Sounds like you have some fond memories of those times."

"I do actually." She clamped her hands on her knees. "Mother was good at making something out of nothing. It seems practice makes perfect."

Ouch, had she said that aloud? Wyatt just adjusted the heating, tipping the vents her way when she shivered.

The sun was brilliant. And a warmth filled her to the brim.

"What are you thinking about right now?" He must've caught her smiling.

"I'm excited for this adventure. It's been a long time since I've gone somewhere for no other reason than wanting to. I needed this."

He didn't make a funny remark or belittle her. He didn't try to agree. He just looked at her and let her enjoy this moment. Then he smiled that smile, melting her heart.

Anna adjusted her sweatshirt sleeve as she tried to pull herself together. Would she ever get used to Wyatt and that smile? The way she reacted to everything he did made her vulnerable. But today, it didn't matter. Today, she was on an adventure.

He wiggled his finger toward a clearing. "A town stood there years ago with almost three thousand people, mostly miners, and a post office. Now it's just a few falling-down ruins, but the old school's still down that road."

She shivered. "I remember that building."

"Sounds like bad memories this time."

"Not my happiest. The children's taunting still haunts me."

"Well, over here's a happy memory for me." He jerked his thumb to the right. "My favorite swimming hole. The water was so cold you only dared to get in by jumping all the way, water over your head, and you didn't get back out until you were done."

"I imagine that's because the water came from the snow runoff."

"You'd be right too. You'd get so cold, you wouldn't even know you were cold until later."

"Makes me think of that bubbling hot tub at your place."

He glanced her way, his eyes a bit… steamy? "Yes," he drawled, his gaze dipping along her. " That's a much better idea. Maybe tonight?"

"Mmm. Maybe."

He didn't ask if she'd brought a suit, and she didn't offer the information.

At least, he seemed to be enjoying himself too as the truck bounced along the dirt road, some sections like washboards after spring runoffs created ruts as it washed the dirt away. Sometimes it felt like they might just bounce right off the road. But it was bliss.

She giggled. "Your truck'll need a wash after all this."

He slowed. "We can keep going, but the snow's getting lower on the mountain, closer to the road with each turn. As we approach the shaded side, a snowbank might make us turn back."

"Will we be able to turn around if that happens, or would it block us in?"

"There isn't any traffic. We should be okay to turn around with this beast." He patted the four-wheel drive's dashboard, then winked at her. "Not to mention my excellent driving skills."

"Then let the adventure continue," she sang out, on top of the world.

The air was cooling. The dashboard temperature gauge indicated 41 degrees, which was cold for someone who lived in Texas most of her life. Good thing he'd suggested she bring the warmer coat along. "It was over sixty when we left the cabin."

"Yep, we're on the mountain's shady side now."

"Can we stop for a minute and feel the snow?"

"Sure thing." He stopped when he had a wide enough spot to pull off the road.

Nice of him not to lecture about how there'd be snow where they were going as well as plenty of opportunities to stop later. He stopped because she asked, then let her get out and play. She formed two snowballs before her hands froze, numb. Her tennis shoes weren't holding up well, either.

"Okay, that's enough." She hauled herself back into her seat and patted it. "I'm ready for these heated seats. I don't know how people handle this cold or how they dealt with it years ago without such luxury items."

"True. We hope we're never pushed hard enough to reveal our true strength. It's surprising how someone can have the ability, when challenged, to find a little more strength somehow."

They rode quietly. "I've been to some historic fort reenactments." Eager to plunge into the details, she slid back, angled her legs toward him, her back toward the door. "People dress in the styles of the time. Tools, food, and lodging are historically accurate. At one event, trappers carried a load as heavy as the actual load. They could only carry it a few feet before the next person took over, and it went on like that."

"Sometimes, it's beyond imagination how they managed. At least canoes and water travel helped them. Of course, that only worked for some destinations."

She had much to appreciate.

Wyatt pointed up ahead. "We're almost to the spot I know you'll enjoy. There used to be an old fire lookout atop the mountain during the early gold rush days. Someone up there saved much of the area when he spotted a fire."

"Right." She shifted in her seat, the heated pad almost too warm when considering fire. "I remember it was called the Great Wilderness Fire because it caused miles of damage."

"It happened during the early gold rush. Rumor has it that some miners had to leave their gold behind or they were killed trying to take it. There are always rumors of lost fortune."

The search for gold and fortune. So people came to find their fortune only to die of starvation, cold, or bushwhackers.

"I can see why this place is special to you." She let out a sigh. "The views are already spectacular, and we haven't even gotten to the top."

He pulled into a wide turnout. A couple of picnic tables waited high up the hill—very high up. Maybe she should've asked if his sister had any boots she could borrow. With the snow going through her tennis shoes, she remembered that cold-wet feeling from her childhood. Tennis shoes didn't stand a chance against snow.

A historical sign marked what looked like the mine, and another stood closer to the picnic tables.

"Let's unload. I can't wait for you to see this." Wyatt hopped down. She almost expected to watch him bounce along up the hill like a little boy.

He stopped at her door. The latch clicked, and cold air rushed in as the door opened. It took her breath.

"Whew. The word brisk doesn't cover this, at least not to a Texas girl." She glanced over to the console to see the temperature, but it was no longer displayed.

Wyatt was still standing at the door, holding something. He wiggled it in front of her—a pair of white snow boots.

She goggled at them. "Where'd you get those?"

"My sister had them at the house. I measured using the bottom of the tennis shoes you took off by the door. I couldn't see the size inside the boots. Hopefully, they work."

She slipped off her tennis shoes and tried the first boot, feeling like Cinderella trying on the glass slipper—okay, a fuzzy, frosted glass. She giggled at the rest of what she was thinking— something about a prince.

Wyatt looked at her, half amused, half concerned.

Good thing he didn't ask. She slipped the other boot on and zipped the jacket all the way up, then slid off the tall seat, using the running board.

They unloaded and headed up. She'd read the historical signs later, after they'd set up and eaten.

She was puffing with the incline. "Wow. This cold, thin air makes the hike more challenging, doesn't it?"

Her thighs burned already, and the new boots gave her some feedback. She pressed on, glanced at her load, then his stack so high and heavy.

"Thank you for carrying everything. I may have embarrassed myself with a second load. I'm not sure I would've made it." She pretended to dramatically fall from exhaustion.

He was already at the top, looking over the horizon. "When you're ready, check out this view."

Their breath became clouds of frozen words floating up into the air. She set her box on the picnic table and hurried over. Why wait?

He was right. They were on the snow-covered summit, the vista spreading in every direction. The tree lines colored the mountains, blackened by the dark shadowy sections from a fire, maybe even the Great Wilderness Fire. "From here, the other mountaintops look like rolling hills. What a colorful canvas. First, green, then dark blue, and all capped in brilliant white. This is beyond words. Thank you."

Their light breakfast was wearing thin. They set out the cheeses, fruit, and sandwiches. He'd managed to sneak in some hot chocolate and a thermos of some type of soup.

Once they were done, they picked up all their trash and rewrapped their food. Leaving nothing on the table, they took it all down to the truck, secured it inside, and kept cups of hot chocolate.

They climbed and explored, eventually finding their way to the abandoned mine. Beyond the dirt piled at the boarded-up entrance, a fallen beam and more dirt blocked the cavern. "Guess it's closed. I'm sure it's no longer safe. Makes sense that they would ensure no kids get in there." She shuddered. "Imagine how dark and lonely it is inside."

She walked over to the first historical sign. It wasn't a traditional historical marker, though the shape and style were similar. It was a donation plaque more than a memorial. Her eyes widened.

Wilderness Pass Memorial Park

1985

Wilderness Pass Park was made possible by a land trust donation of forty acres from the Alan Foundation in loving memory of Jon Alan.

Jon Alan inspired many modern-day prospectors after he discovered a new vein of gold. Unfortunately, he was ambushed from behind and killed on April 1, 1985. His body was later found in an abandoned prospect hole near the mine. The murderers remain unknown to this day. One can only hope they come to a day of reckoning.

The donated picnic and recreation area will allow visitors now and in the future to enjoy the pass with its scenic views. The entire park is maintained by funds from the Alan Foundation in coordination with state and local agencies.

Anna reread the marker. Slowly. Jon Alan. "Wyatt, is this Greta's husband? He was killed near here?"

"Yes, around here somewhere." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've seen the sign every time I visit. I forgot about it, though."

Anna held her breath, a bit woozy. No way was that true. He wouldn't forget something like that, especially if this was his favorite place.

This man, who had been wonderful, who had that smile , who could warm a room with his laughter and send shock waves through her with just the brush of his hand on hers. This man couldn't disappoint her or be part of something sinister. She couldn't take one more disappointment.

Anna stiffened her spine. She better toughen up—right now .

She was still looking at him and waiting.

He shifted his weight from side to side in the snow.

She was still waiting, and it was still cold. Was it even colder now, or was that extra chill inside her?

"Okay." His breath whooshed out, fogging around him. "Maybe I didn't ‘forget' the entire time we were driving here, but I did at first. I remembered the sign once we stopped for you to get out and see the snow. Then I wasn't sure how to bring it up. I mean, you were so happy. I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

He shrugged and ran a hand over his hair, smoothing down the tufts. Seconds, maybe minutes, passed before he huffed. "It's old news, Anna, and I was enjoying seeing you this happy."

Could she buy that? She pressed her lips together. One slow breath, then another. No time to count to thirty. "I wouldn't have been upset if I wasn't taken off guard. You should've told me. There's already so much uncertainty."

Bracing for the next reveal, she hiked up to the marker near the summit. Titled "Wilderness Pass," it mentioned that the trail on the pass was used by trappers and then by miners who traveled the mountains and creeks in search of gold. Many found their treasures—others found their end. Years later, Jon Alan apparently found both.

The wind whistled past, bone-chilling with the shadows coming over the mountain. They followed the path back to the truck and the heated seats. She snapped a picture of the historical marker as they left. What happened years ago to Greta's husband?