“Hang on!” Noah reached out and grabbed my arm when a sudden drop almost sent me tumbling down the mountain.
“I’m hanging, I’m hanging!” I screamed over the whistle ofthe wind, which bent the tree branches at impossible angles. Each raindrop felt like a tiny ice dagger against my skin.
As the path flattened, I stretched forward to wrap my arms around Biscuit’s neck, using his bulk to shield my face from the rain. “Good boy, Biscuit, good boy. I’ll owe you a whole orchard of apples if you get me home safe.” Biscuit must have softened his opinion of me because, for once, it didn’t feel like he was plotting to launch me into space.
When a flash of lightning illuminated everything in stark black and white, I caught sight of Yeti ahead of us, leading the way down the trail. Despite the cold, the rain, and the fact that the heavens were using us for lightning bolt target practice, Yeti never wavered in her wolf-dog duty, though she did splash into every passing mud puddle with an enthusiasm that suggested she wasn’t totally hating the adventure.
“There!” Noah pointed ahead, raindrops pelting my face. I squinted through the gloom, barely making out a wooden structure tucked against the rocky face of the mountain. Noah loosened the reins, and both Duke and Biscuit surged forward, hooves churning through the mud as the end times raged.
“Stay close and hold on!” Noah called over his shoulder. Duke moved with confident ease across the increasingly treacherous ground as our destination grew larger, one of the fishing cabins we’d spotted on our hike.
Almost there.
Just a few seconds longer.
Another bolt of lightning crackled overhead, and I swore I could feel the electricity buzz through my molars.
Biscuit churned forward, just as motivated as I was to get out of the storm.
The door burst open with a sharp crack as Noah’s shoulder connected with the ancient wood. He stumbled inside, dragging me and our saddlebags with him. Yeti raced past us, shaking water like a furry garden sprinkler.
“Stay here.” Noah squeezed my shoulder, his hand warm despite everything. “I need to get the horses settled.” He disappeared back into the storm before I could protest, leaving me dripping on the worn floorboards.
The cabin was dark except for the occasional flash of lightning through a single grimy window. As my eyes adjusted, I made out the sparse interior. Calling it “primitive” would’ve been a compliment. Water pooled around my feet as I wrapped my arms around my shoulders in a futile attempt to get warm, teeth chattering like one of those windup toys.
“I’m guessing this won’t be one of those glamping experiences,” I told Yeti, wringing out my hair. She gave her fur another good shaking.
A sad, bare mattress lay directly on the floor in one corner, its springs probably older than the mountains. One wall featured a cold, empty stone fireplace, with a few moldy logs beside it. No electricity. No running water. No Egyptian cotton sheets with ethically sourced goose down pillows.
The sound of rain hammering the roof was deafening. Another flash of lightning illuminated rough wooden walls, a few rusty hooks for gear, and absolutely nothing that could qualify as a modern comfort. Worst of all, I didn’t have my phone to document this misery. I could only imagine the sympathy likes I would’ve harvested.
I peeled off my soaked jacket, hanging it on one of the hooks just as Noah stumbled back inside. Rivers of water trickled down his body, joining the growing puddle on the floor.
“You know when I said I wanted authentic Coloradocontent, I was thinking more ‘rustic charm’ and lessBlair Witch Project.”
“Blair what?”
“Witch Project. You know, the low-budget horror movie that made everybody motion sick. The one with the girl and the snot running down her nose?”
Noah shook his head.
“Well, it’s a classic, so I’m making you watch it with me if we survive this.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. “If we survive this … then sure.” He stripped off his jacket and hung it beside mine. The wet fabric of his shirt clung to his torso, outlining every ridge and plane with the textured detail of a topographical map.
A steady drip-drip-drip from above made me look up. “Um, Noah? I think your roof has a leak. Make that leaks plural. An entire leak convention, actually.”
Water trickled through multiple spots in the ceiling, creating an indoor rain shower that would have made the spa shower in my luxury suite jealous. Then, a gust of wind yanked the door open, slamming it against the wall with a bang even louder than the thunder. Rain and leaves whipped inside as Noah lunged for the handle and shouldered it closed.
“Here.” I slipped the Gucci belt from my waist and looped it around the handle. “We can use this to tie it shut.” At Noah’s questioning look, I shrugged. “What? I grew up in California. You learn to get creative during earthquakes.”
I wrapped the other end of my belt around a nearby hook, creating a makeshift latch.
“Not bad, city girl.”
I spotted an old cooking pot in the corner and grabbed it, positioning it under the worst leak, then strategically arranged a couple of dented metal cups under the other leaks.
“Bob the Builder would be proud.”
