Sienna was already there.
I stopped before going in, partly because of the biting cold wind, partly because I needed a breath. After the dry humping confession, she looked like she might hop a plane to Alaska and never come back, but she was here, readying for two days and one night.
I didn’t need that thought in my bloodstream before sunrise.
I opened the door, and Sienna stood near the workbench, tightening the straps on a winter-weight pack. Her headlamp cast a warm halo around her face as she worked, braid swinging across a puffy insulated jacket the color of cranberry. Her winter gear looked equal parts professional and vaguely explosive with all the layers.
Dark thermal leggings.
Thick wool socks stuffed into waterproof boots.
A fleece-lined beanie with a tiny pom-pom on top.
Black gloves with touchscreen pads on the fingers.
And a bright neon gaiter around her neck that clashed in a way that somehow made sense on her.
For a moment, she didn’t notice me.
Her breath fogged in the air as she wrestled with the cinch pulls. “Why are winter packs so dramatic?” she muttered. “Just cooperate. I don’t need this level of resistance in my life.”
I almost smiled before I could stop myself.
She finally looked up, startled in a full-body jolt that made her pack tip sideways and crash to the floor.
She froze.
I raised an eyebrow. “Morning.”
“That was totally nothing,” she said quickly, trying to drag her dignity off the floor along with her backpack. “I meant to drop it. Warming up the… straps. Gravity check. Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking something.”
“Possibly.”
She glared in a way that wasn’t even remotely threatening.
I knelt beside the pack and helped her stand it upright. “Ready?”
“No,” she said. “Yes. Maybe. It’s five a.m. on a Saturday, and the world is cold and unkind.”
“It is twenty degrees.”
She pointed at me. “Exactly. Twenty degrees is the opposite of kindness.”
I clipped the buckle across the top of her pack. “It could be worse.”
“It could be summer,” she retorted.
I almost laughed at that, but I didn’t. I needed to be careful today. The last thing I needed was for my guard to slip when we were supposed to be assessing trail logistics.
The pack cinched tight, she stood and dusted off her gloves. “Okay. Let’s get the ATV.”
The lodge kept one main vehicle for hauling guides and equipment to nearby trailheads: a Polaris Sportsman 570 ATV, forest green, with a winch, heated grips, and a rear cargo rack large enough to hold our packs.
It was a good machine.
