“You really have a thing about muffins, don’t you?”
I shrugged. “What can I say? They were delicious. I’ve decided to name my firstborn child Huckleberry.”
“Is that a boy name or a girl name?”
“Either,” I said. “Both.”
Noah just shook his head, another grin forming on his perfectly shaped lips. Lips that looked incredibly kissable in the filtered light coming down through the pine trees.
“If this trail is such a secret, how come you know about it?”
“My dad and I would camp up there when I was a kid.” For a few moments, it was like Noah’s head was already there. “There’s this old pine on the edge of the cliff that’s been struck by lightning maybe three, four times. Should’ve died, but it keeps growing, all twisted and beautiful. During sunset, the light hits these crystal formations in the rock face behind it, and the whole cliff lights up like it’s on fire.”
“Ten,” I said, without giving it another thought. “My answer is ten. I want to go tothatplace. The place with the lightning tree. The place you went as a kid.”
The intensity of my voice surprised me. But what was even more surprising was how badly I really wanted to go there. And not just for an amazing photo op. I wanted to go to this secret place for a little peek into Noah’s past. I wanted to see what kind of place could have such an impact on him. Even if I had to hike mountains, raft rivers, and ride wild horses to get there.
It was no wonder that Noah’s secret trail was a secret. The trees were as dense as the floor space at a Taylor Swift concert, and the trail got even narrower the further we went. I ducked as Biscuit tried to dislodge me from my saddle with another low-hanging tree branch. “Did you train him to do this on purpose?” I asked.
“He’s not usually like this,” Noah called from somewhere behind me. “Must be feeling playful today.”
“Playful? More like homicidal.” I spat out a mouthful of leaves as I looked for the drive shaft so I could shift Biscuit into reverse.
Biscuit snorted, spraying horse snot and veering off the trail again toward a particularly nasty-looking thicket.
“Maybe I should take the lead from here on out,” said Noah.
I swatted another branch out of my face as Noah and Duke squeezed past us on the trail. “How far is this place, anyway?” I asked.
“It’s a bit of a ride,” Noah admitted. “About an hour and a half just to get there, then another hour and a half to get back. You okay with that?”
Let’s see, I thought, spending a couple of hours watching Noah’s denim-wrapped butt sway back and forth on the rear end of a horse … yeah, I thought. I can deal.
“I’m okay with that,” I said out loud, keeping the part about the butt viewing to myself.
The secret trail zigzagged up the mountainside, each turn bringing another postcard-perfect vista into view. Snow-capped peaks pierced cotton-candy clouds while golden aspens dotted the slopes like confetti.
My fingers itched to pull out my phone. Victoria wanted beautifully authentic Colorado content? This was it.
Raw, untamed, breathtaking.
The kind of beauty that would drive follower counts and engagement rates into overdrive. My hand crept toward the saddlebag.
“Everything okay back there?” Noah called without turning around.
“Other than my horse attempting arboreal homicide, everything’s great.”
“We should hydrate,” Noah said from ahead of me. “You about ready for a break?”
“Yes!”
“Follow me.”
Clenching my thighs around the saddle, I used the reins to guide Biscuit off the side of the trail, through the slalom of pine trees, around a jagged boulder, and then into an open meadow where we stopped on cue with both grace and precision. I was now an expert equestrian. Or … Biscuit was simply following the swish of Duke’s tail, which was about three feet in front of his nose.
“So when you said the word hydrate, were you thinking Pinot Grigio or Chardonnay?”
“I was thinking lukewarm water from a canteen.” Noah jumped out of the saddle and approached Biscuit on foot. “Here, let me help you get off.”
