Seven

Over the next few days, the hike turned rougher, the trail steeper, filled with copious natural stone steps, many of them uphill. But where there was uphill, downhill must follow, and Carly wondered when the trail would level off, if ever. At times she had to use her hands to climb exposed ledges. Still, despite the strenuous workouts, the blisters she nursed, frequent rain, and thick black flies and other insects near all bodies of water, she was glad she’d come. The alpine region through which they trekked made her grateful for the warm clothes she’d packed, and the brisk, clean air brought new life to her lungs. The awesome views at the summits of each mountain were masterpieces to her eyes, and she took so many pictures, she was glad she’d invested in a second camera card. The sensation of being secluded safely away in nature’s quiet corner helped Carly to relax and forget about the real world for a while.

She and Nate had become true “trail mates,” and she found it curious he hadn’t been nearly as talkative with her today as in recent days. A slight tension sizzled between them, though his attitude toward her remained friendly and helpful.

Their lives had produced a pattern. During the days, they hiked, climbed, and sometimes fell or otherwise banged themselves up. During the evenings, they relaxed, ate, and got to know one another better. Carly had also become good friends with Kim, amazed at how intelligent the girl was. She talked about the regular things all teenage girls enjoy—favorites in music, fads, and boys—but at times when they played cards, their conversation took a deeper route, and Carly got a good look inside the girl’s mind. For herself, she hadn’t shared much beyond the basics of her personal life, and she intended to keep it that way. She never mentioned Jake’s name; just thinking about him put a sour taste in her mouth.

“Carly.”

The presence of Nate coming up behind her so abruptly and murmuring her name threw her, and she startled.

“Hold still. Don’t move.”

The words themselves brought all manner of terrible visions to mind. “What is it?”

“Just hold still.” Nate’s hand made a quick swipe through her hair, and she did all she could not to scream.

“A bug? There was a bug in my hair?” The inchworms falling from the trees the other day had been bad enough to try to avoid.

“A spider.”

Just the name gave her shivers. She and the eight-legged creatures didn’t get along well—she always gave them their distance. Regardless that she knew the vicious invader was gone, she swept her fingers through her hair.

“It was pretty small. About the size of a nickel, with legs.”

“You are not helping any.” She gave up combing her fingers through her hair and bent double, flipping her hair over to whisk her fingers through as if washing it.

“I did get it out.”

“I know, but it might have had babies.”

“In your hair?” She heard the amusement in his voice.

“They carry them in a sac, you know. My aunt stepped on one once—hundreds of tiny babies went scurrying all over the floor.” Just saying it gave her another dose of shivers.

“Well, no worries. I see no more creatures running through your hair. Tiny or otherwise.”

“Thanks.” The word came out droll.

“So, I take it you don’t like spiders?” Nate had the audacity to grin, and Carly could have cheerfully pushed him down the rock step they’d just climbed.

“Name one person who does,” she shot back.

“Spiderman.”

His crazy answer made her roll her eyes. “Those people not belonging to the fictional world of Marvel comics.”

“I’m impressed. You know your comic books.”

“Not really. My cousin grew up on them.”

“Any sisters, brothers? I hardly know anything about you.”

“I’m an only child. And anyway, you know all that’s important to know, and more besides.” Carly shrugged, uneasy with the turn of conversation and her memory of spouting off about her parents. “Whereas I know next to nothing about you. How come?”

Nate looked ahead on the path. “We should catch up to the others.”

“Well, that was an evasive answer if ever I heard one.”

“Not much to tell.” He didn’t meet her eyes, instead showing extreme interest in their surroundings. “But I guess we could resume this conversation at lunch if you want.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

And she did.

As they gathered at Birch Glen Camp, Carly put aside her noonday habit of reciting notes into her mini recorder and, hands clasping her thighs, she sank to her knees in front of Nate.

“I’m all ears,” she said, her manner pure innocence.

“What?”

“For the story of your life.”

He groaned. “You have a good memory.”

“I have a great memory. So how about it?”

Nate took a long swig from his water bottle and capped it. “Well, to begin with, I was born.”

Carly’s brows arched. “Why does this sound strangely like an intro to David Copperfield?”

Nate laughed. “I’m surprised you recognized it.”

“I’m a writer, Nate. I have an interest in books. But I’m surprised you brought up a classic. Somehow you don’t strike me as being a literary bug.”

“You’re right; I’m not. Old memories still lodged in there from high school, I guess. I had to write a report on that book. I almost sweat drops of blood over that paper.”

Carly laughed. “Ah. That explains it. So, I know you were born, and that your name is not David Copperfield. What about your family?”

Did she imagine it, or did Nate tense?

“A father, a married sister, stepmother, stepbrother. Like I said before, Mom died when I was a kid, and Dad remarried several years ago.” He shrugged. “Not much to tell.”

“You’re too modest; I’ll bet there are a lot of interesting things about you.” A flash of heat swept over Carly, and she noted his surprised look at her telltale words. “I mean, everyone has stories of interest. So let me help you along a little. What did you do before you got fired?”

“You’re a curious sort, aren’t you? Is this an interview?”

“No, strictly off the record. I guess you could say curiosity runs deep in my blood.” She shrugged as if that explained it. “Besides, I told you my former job title, so it seems only fair you should reciprocate. Isn’t that what buddies do—swap jokes and trade woes?”

“Oh, so now you want to be my buddy,” Nate said in mock amusement. “Now that the spotlight is trained on me.”

She gave a sweet, not-so-innocent smile, and he snorted.

“Okay, buddy, I was a tour guide for a small organization in southern Vermont. I basically carted people around the countryside to places of interest.”

“And you don’t call that interesting?” Carly could see Nate as a tour guide; he had that friendly quality with people, even strangers. And he was careful to watch out for others getting off on the wrong trail—literally. Carly remembered when he’d stopped Kim from using a side trail. She hadn’t seen the blue blaze marking the tree. Maybe that’s where he’d gotten his protective nature, from his job. Or maybe it was just a part of who he was.

“What?”

She made an effort to stop grinning. “Just thinking you would have made a great tour guide, is all.”

“A compliment, coming from you?” He gathered his brows in pretend amazement. “I think someone must have slipped something into your mud-protein shake.”

She laughed. “Okay, okay. I know I was pretty hard on you at first, but maybe I was wrong about you. Give a girl a break.”

Hearing footsteps, Carly swung her head around. “Hey, Kimmers.”

The teen waved back, but Carly noted her face seemed tense as she walked on into the shelter and sat down at a table there. Maybe she’d had words with her dad; Carly had spotted them in intense conversation earlier that morning.

“Do you give everyone nicknames?” Nate asked. “I’ve heard you call Jill Ju-Ju, and Sierra, Cat.”

“Only my friends. Jill got dubbed Ju-Ju because of her desire to always fix things. Like Zu-Zu’s petals.” She looked at him when he only stared. “From the Capra movie It’s a Wonderful Life.”

“Oh, right.”

“And Cat, well, with her pretty auburn hair and green eyes, she just looks catlike. Kim became Kimmers because the word reminded me of glimmers and shimmers; she’s always so bubbly.” Carly tilted her head and stared at Nate in deep reflection. “I guess since we’re trail mates now, I need to think up a name for you, too. Trail Mate just doesn’t cut it.” She grinned wickedly. “Maybe Alfalfa. . .Kelpie. Or Shadow would work. Creek Scourge or Brook Rogue are options, too.”

“Cute.” Nate reached over to tug a hank of her hair, as if they were children.

“Hey—only kidding!” She laughed. “And no one touches my hair.”

“Right, I’ll remember that for the future.”

“You’d better,” she said in a menacing tone.

“Does that order count in the case of any future arachnid dwellers?” His grin teased. “Or do I have permission then?”

She couldn’t help it; she swatted his arm.

“Hey!” Nate pulled back, laughing.

“Hi, you two.” Sierra walked up to them. “Ted wants everyone to gather for a short reading. Since Jill’s sick, we’re camping here, and we won’t be having discussion tonight.”

“Ju-Ju’s sick?” Alarm wiped the smile from Carly’s mouth. She hoped her friend hadn’t gotten hold of some bad water.

“Yeah, probably a twenty-four-hour virus. With all this rain we’ve had to hike in, it’s a wonder all of us aren’t sick.”

True, but rain only augmented an illness; it didn’t start one. And they’d been wearing protective rain gear.

“Ted said this might set us back a day. We won’t know if she can manage the hike until tomorrow morning.”

Carly shrugged off her worries for Jill and stood to her feet. The only part of this group hike that made her uncomfortable had been the devotional readings with discussion following. Most nights during the onset of the hike, she’d sought escape in her tent, but not wanting to be rude to her hosts, she had joined the group on other occasions.

She felt like an interloper during those times Ted or another person read Bible passages aloud, followed by conversation, sometimes intense, as each gave their views. She didn’t believe in any of what they said, had never been raised to accept it, so she couldn’t take part and sat silent, a reluctant observer. But at some point, something infinitesimal had metamorphosed within her in such a quiet way she’d hardly noticed when her feelings had begun to change.

Before this hike, she had doubted the existence of God and argued such a viewpoint to the ground when anyone brought it up. Being so attuned with nature and absent from the continual distractions of town life and the electronic devices that were part of her existence had quieted her mind and made her think. Here, she experienced a different world; maybe not a better world than the one she knew in Goosebury, but one that offered mental peace and emotional solitude, as well as physical challenge. A world where she could stand on summits so elevated that if she reached up, she could touch the sky and then look over the panoramic landscape far below and all around her. A world clustered amid trees and rocks and water, riddled with snow-peaked mountains and hidden valleys. A world where it became more and more difficult to accept her belief that life had come into being by chance.

As Ted read aloud, Carly watched a shaft of afternoon sunlight stream through the branches of nearby trees. A flash of orange streaked through the light, and she saw a fire salamander dart over the ground from under a log and race through the tall grass.

How could this all have just happened? She’d never really thought about it, just went along with her family’s ideas; but the detail in each leaf, each flower, each creature, diverse and beautiful in its own way, had to have been crafted by a master hand.

Shivers went through her as her mind began to open up to the concept she had always denied.

There is a God.

From what she’d witnessed of her friends Leslie and Jill and seen of their lives, she was ninety-nine percent certain this all-Supreme Being was the God of the Bible. The God who had made a heaven and a hell. And knowing that, Carly experienced a stirring of personal doubt, guilt—and fear.

If they were right and Carly was wrong, then she was in even worse trouble than she’d thought.

❧

The next day, Nate questioned his decision to ask Carly if she wanted to tag along for a short, four-mile spur down a side trail, but the words shot out of his mouth before he could reel them back.

“Sure.” She looked at him, curious. “I’ll get my backpack.”

Nate didn’t blame her for her surprise. One minute, he retreated from her; the next minute, he invited her company. At breakfast, he’d barely talked to her. But he didn’t want to make the trek alone for more than just safety’s sake.

“How’s Jill doing?” he asked when Carly returned. “I saw you go to her tent earlier.”

Carly finished buckling the strap around her. “She’s a trooper, though I know she hates to hold everyone back like this. But she hasn’t been able to keep anything down and is too exhausted to move. Sounds like that virus that was going around Goosebury before we took off.”

“She shouldn’t feel bad about holding anyone back. This is a much-needed diversion. Ted has been running everyone too hard, trying to get so many miles in each day. It’s nice to kick back for a while and rest. Especially before tackling the Camel’s Hump. That mountain has challenged the best of hikers.”

“And we’re going on a short hike to relax?” Carly grinned.

“Okay, well it’s nice for the others who are new to this sort of thing. Me, I can’t sit still for long. If I do, my muscles may atrophy.”

“Same here.” Carly cast a glance up and sobered. “But the sky looks like rain.”

“So when have we ever let a little moisture stop us?”

She laughed again. “Agreed. Should we invite the others?”

“I did. They’d rather rest, and Ted is busy taking care of Jill.”

They’d only traveled about a mile before the rain hit. Nate pulled up the hood of his rain gear, and Carly did the same with hers. Instead of the mild shower he’d hoped for, the precipitation became a deluge, hindering their ability to walk.

Carly grabbed his arm and pointed off the trail to an area where the trees formed a canopy. “We could stay there until this passes.”

“Under the trees? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“There’s no lightning, and even if there were, on a mountain-side covered with so many trees, the chance of a strike are about one in a million.”

She took off without waiting for him to answer. “Lady, do you always flirt with danger?” he called after her.

Shaking his head, Nate had no choice but to follow. The other option that flitted through his brain—dragging her back to camp—didn’t seem a wise choice.

Once under the thick, sheltering boughs, which let in scant droplets of rain, Nate had to admit it was nice not to have to clear his vision by continually wiping water out of his eyes. With a little smile, Carly tipped her head back against the trunk, her eyelids sweeping down as if to absorb her surroundings and the few drops that landed on her skin.

Nate took the liberty of studying her face. Her lashes wet, they still had a curl at their tips, thick and lush, as natural as the gentle arch of her eyebrows. In this wilderness hike, the women didn’t bother with makeup, and Nate knew all he saw of Carly was natural. Rain only accentuated her beauty as the clear beaded drops played with the light, emphasizing her high cheekbones, the gentle slope of her forehead, the smooth line of her nose, which ended in a soft rounded tip. Underneath, her lips were full and moist.

A strange sensation knotted his throat, almost painful, as he stared at her mouth, then back up to her closed eyes.

“You’re staring at me,” she said. “Stop it.”

Surprised she realized it, he felt a bit disconcerted. “So, what, now you have radar in your eyelids?”

At that, her lips curled into an amused smile. “All women do, didn’t you know?” She opened her eyes, and Nate wondered if it was his recent scrutiny of her features that made him notice how shimmering dark they were and how big. “It’s the only way we can keep ourselves armed against unwanted attention.”

“Right.” Nate looked back out at the trees. What was he doing? What was he thinking? Of course, Carly didn’t want anything to do with him on a more serious level; he also had no desire to take it further. They were trail mates on the path to friendship. Nothing more.

For the remainder of the downpour, Nate focused on the range of trees surrounding them and their diversity of textures. Thick hardwoods and slender pines stood with one another, opposites in traits but equals in their cause for existence. Each trunk maintained its own space, not allowing the other trees inside its circle, but still, they all somehow managed to work together in harmony to give the mountainside beauty, the animals shelter and food.

“Nate, listen.” Carly looked toward the west. “Do you hear that?”

Broken from his wry musings, he struggled to listen. The rain had lessened, and he could hear what sounded like a faint bawling, almost a bleating.

“Whatever it is sounds as if it’s in trouble.” Carly moved toward the sound.

“Carly, I wouldn’t do that.”

Regardless, she continued her course.

“Woman, don’t you ever listen to anyone?” he muttered in frustration, following her.

She stopped at the edge of some overgrowth, pulling it back. Even above the sounds of trickling water, he heard her gasp. “Nate! Come look.”

He joined her, looking over her shoulder. A cream-spotted fawn nestled on the grasses, its head low. Its frail body was no more than the size of a large housecat, and its soft, pointed ears lay to the side as its huge black eyes watched them.

“Oh, Nate. Isn’t she the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen?” Carly’s voice became soft, wondering. “And the poor baby’s shivering. Do you think she’s cold or scared?”

Nate watched Carly lean forward as though she might pet it.

“Carly—don’t.” He grabbed her arm, this time not allowing her the choice of going against him. “I know it’s cute and it’s tempting to pet, but you shouldn’t touch any wild animal, especially a baby.” Releasing his hold on her, he studied the fawn, whose bleats had grown more frantic. “It looks like it’s only a few weeks old.”

“Where’s the mother?” Carly scanned the area as if hoping to spot a doe, then turned back to the fawn. “You don’t think the poor thing has been abandoned, do you?”

“No, that’s how a doe treats its young. It hides them somewhere safe and returns when the fawns need to feed.”

“But what if she doesn’t come back? What if this poor little girl is left all alone without her mother to take care of her? Look at her now. She’s so fragile, so vulnerable. She looks as if a strong gust of wind might blow her away. What if a bear finds her?”

“The pelt helps to camouflage the fawn against would-be predators.” Nate watched doubt and compassion play across Carly’s face, noting how she’d instantly labeled the fawn a female and not a male.

Carly swung her head around to pinpoint him with flashing eyes. “We can’t leave her here all alone!”

“There’s nothing else we can do, Carly. We can’t take it back with us. We need to respect the wildlife. And hard as it may seem when things look bad, we can’t tamper with nature’s order, much less violate state laws that forbid anyone other than a wildlife rehabilitator from intervening with sick animals.”

“That just seems so wrong,” she fumed. “So let me get this straight, according to the system, we let a helpless creature, no more than a few weeks old, die because man’s law says we must. That’s just not right.” Tears shone in her eyes, astonishing Nate. “Under extenuating circumstances, I think some laws need to be vetoed or rewritten.”

“This is more than just about the fawn, isn’t it?” he asked softly.

He watched her lips part in surprise, watched her clamp her teeth and her jaw grow firm as a hard glint shone in her eyes while she struggled to maintain composure. Struggled, and lost. To his bafflement, she bowed her head, and her shoulders shook. He’d never seen Carly so vulnerable, like the baby fawn.

Compassion urged him to move forward and take her in his arms, while common sense warned him to back away while he still could. His heart triumphed in the battle with his mind, and compassion won.

He pulled her close, and she stiffened as his hands gently pressed against her back. “It’s okay, Carly. It’s okay.”

She relaxed against him, little by little, dropping her forehead to his collarbone. Along with his sympathy for whatever brought on her mute sobs, Nate couldn’t help but realize he enjoyed the soft feel of her in his arms. As she released quiet tears mixed with the gentle sprinkle of rain, Nate smoothed a hand along her slick hair. Her hood had fallen away at some point, and just as he thought about plucking it up and replacing it, she lifted her eyes to look at him. Glazed with tears, they’d never appeared so beautiful, so soft. Her lashes curled in gentle spikes, her lips trembled.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Shh.” With a slight shake of his head, Nate moved his hands to cradle her jaw, then leaned in to kiss her.

Her lips were cool, soft, wet from the rain, and what Nate had told himself he intended to be a token of gentle reassurance turned into much more. He brushed his lips over hers and heard her gasp. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt like this, or why he’d been avoiding it. Stunned, he pulled away a fraction and looked into her slightly unfocused, night-dark eyes.

“What are you doing?” She breathed a little faster, her features soft, uncertain, her lips that he’d just touched with his parted and trembling.

“I don’t know, but if you figure it out, don’t tell me,” he whispered before leaning in to kiss her again. To his shock, Carly whimpered and pressed against him, sliding her hands up around his neck as their kiss altered into one of mutual need. He moved his hands to her back and responded with equal fervor, until suddenly she pressed her hands against his chest and broke their kiss, pushing away. He released her.

She retreated a few steps, wouldn’t meet his eyes. Nate stood motionless and couldn’t keep from staring at her.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said after a taut silence elapsed.

“I shouldn’t have responded.”

“But you did, and I did.” Nate’s voice was low. “So where does that leave us, Carly?”

She shook her head in frustration. “Don’t ask; I don’t know. Maybe we should just call it a mistake.”

“A mistake is something never meant to happen. Neither of us may have expected this just now, but I think if we’re honest with each other, we’ve both felt the currents all along.”

Carly shut her eyes, and her lips parted, revealing to Nate he’d been correct. “I don’t want a relationship, Nate. Not now. I just came out of a really bad one.”

He didn’t want a relationship, either, so why was he pushing her? He shoved his hands in his pockets. Another minute passed before he spoke.

“Mind telling me what that was all about earlier?”

“You mean my crying jag?” The cynicism crept back into her voice. “I thought you would have figured it out after what I told you at the restaurant. My mom abandoned me on my aunt’s doorstep when I was a kid, remember?” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Call it a sudden weakness that overcame me when I saw the fawn. I’m really over those days, and I have no idea why I carried on so.”

Nate doubted she was as emotionally invincible as she wanted him to believe. “Carly, it really is okay to cry.”

Her brow arched wryly. “Are you speaking from experience or just saying what feels right at the moment?”

“Both.”

She didn’t answer. After a moment, she looked away from him and to the fronds that covered the baby deer. “What about her?”

He knew he would regret the words that formed in his mind, but they escaped regardless. “I guess we could stick around for a while, out of sight, and wait to see that the mama comes back. With the way the fawn was bawling, if the doe is nearby, she’ll be coming soon.”

Carly’s smile brightened the day, making him glad he’d suggested it.

“Thank you, Nate.”

Together, they moved away from the fawn and among the trees closer to the trail, hidden from view of the fawn’s bed but still within range to spy. Nate wondered how long they would have to stand there until Carly’s hopes were satisfied; he didn’t want to wait for hours. Worse, he had no guarantee the mother would return. The doe might have been hurt or killed by a carnivore. Yet Nate had a feeling Carly wouldn’t budge from her observation post until the doe made an appearance.

As the minutes passed, he thought of a multitude of questions he wanted to ask but reasoned it better to leave such things unspoken at this point. Normally, he enjoyed the sounds of nature and didn’t always like to talk, but their earlier words felt as if they’d been left teetering on a precipice, undone and unfinished. His only worry was that if he said too much, he would push her over, along with the conversation.

“Nate, it’s okay. Really.”

“What?” Startled she had spoken, he looked at her.

“You’re wondering what to say to me about my mother. Or maybe you’re wondering if you should bring up our kiss. So let me save you the trouble; I’d rather not talk about either.”

“You know, Carly, it baffles me how you always think you can read my mind.”

She offered him one swift glance at his somber words. “So, was I wrong?”

Nate didn’t want to admit that this time she was dead on target. But the thought of continued silence oppressed him. He fished about in his mind for the right words, but those that came to him seemed too trite. Those he longed to speak, too personal. What did someone say to a woman like Carly in a situation like this?

“Nate.” Her excited whisper broke through his frustrated musings. “Look.”

At the edge of the trees where he had kissed her, a doe moved with wary grace, then stopped and sniffed the ground. He hoped the delicate creature wouldn’t be able to discern their scent, that the rain had washed it away. If the doe didn’t return to the fawn, Nate wasn’t sure what Carly would do.

As they watched, the doe lifted her head, alert. The fawn bawled louder as if sensing its mama nearby. After another tense wait, the doe moved to the tall fronds where she’d hidden the fawn.

“A happy ending,” Carly breathed with a wistful smile. “That was worth every second of standing in the rain to see.” She looked at him. “Again, thank you.”

He smiled and nodded. “Are you ready to return to camp?”

“You don’t want to continue the hike?”

“The others might get worried if we’re gone too long and send out a search party.” Nate was only half-joking. “Ted’s pretty upset about Jill, and I don’t want to add to his troubles by not showing up for lunch.”

“I’ve been worried about her, too,” she said as they started the hike back.

“Well, it’s like I told Ted, she has nothing that a good amount of loving, prayer, and rest won’t cure.”

Carly didn’t respond, and Nate wondered which of the three she didn’t agree with. He doubted it was the second, since she was with a church group, and didn’t think it could be the last. Everyone complained at one time or another that Ted pushed them too hard. So that left loving, and considering the glimpse she’d given him into her past and the knowledge that she’d just come out of a bad relationship, Nate had a sneaking suspicion Carly had rarely been on the receiving end of any real affection.

The sudden thought that he might be the one to change all that sent an unexpected rush of adrenaline through his veins. One minute he fought the idea of a relationship with her; the next, he welcomed it. She was fire and water, ice and wind—her passionate nature, her free spirit attracting him like no other woman had done. He had enjoyed the times they’d conversed on friendly levels, and a part of him had been drawn like a moth to her flame when they’d exchanged heated banter. She confused him, exasperated him, magnetized him, and fascinated him.

He was beginning to feel as mixed up as Carly acted.