“I’m not planning to do anything dramatic,” I promise, my voice steadier than I feel.
“Good.”
I swallow. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” he interrupts, not unkindly. “You thought you were following the hiking trail.”
“I’m not?”
“Nope,” he says, climbing up below me. “You’re on a game trail.”
“A what?”
“Game trail. Animals use them. Deer. Elk. Bears.” He tips his head, assessing the terrain with a quick, practiced scan. “They have no trouble with this kind of terrain.”
“I’m walking straight toward a bear?” I ask, my voice shrill.
A corner of his mouth lifts, just barely. The almost-smile transforms his face, softening the weathered lines. “If you were, you’ve made enough noise to scare it away.”
“That’s a relief,” I mutter.
He reaches my side. “I’m going to talk you down. You’re going to do exactly what I say. Deal?”
I nod. “Deal.”
He moves closer, not too close, placing his boots deliberately. Each step is sure, calculated. “See that flat gray stone there? That one’s solid. It won’t shift. Step on it.”
He shows me where the rock is stable and where it isn’t. Points out places to put my hands and feet, small divots and edges worn smooth by weather and time. His voice stays low and even, like he’s done this a thousand times.Guess I’m not the only dumb hiker to accidentally go off trail.
I focus on him. On his steadiness. On the fact that he isn’t panicking, which makes it easier for me not to.
When my boots finally hit stable ground, relief floods through me so fast my knees wobble.
He’s there instantly, hand hovering near my elbow without touching. Waiting for permission.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” I say. “I think so.”
He studies me for a moment longer, then straightens. Up close, he’s even more imposing. Wide shoulders that strain against his shirt. Forearms corded with muscle, visible where his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His face is weathered in a way that speaks to time spent outdoors rather than age, though I’dguess he’s somewhere in his late thirties. Dark hair, just a little too long, with streaks of gray at the temples that catch the fading sunlight. Eyes that are somewhere between green and brown, flecked with gold.
Something low in my stomach tightens. I tell myself it’s adrenaline. Leftover fear. Anything except what it actually is.
Attraction.
Raw and immediate and completely inappropriate given the circumstances.
“How long have you been hiking?” he asks.
“I’m not much of a hiker,” I admit. “I mostly walk easy trails closer to the city. I’m not used to anything like this.”
He nods. “So, why are you here today then? And alone?”
I reach back, fingers brushing the strap of my pack where the urn rests. “My brother used to hike up here. It was his favorite place in the world, so I thought it would be a good place to spread his—” My voice catches in my throat, unable to say the final word.
Something shifts in the man’s expression. There’s no pity there. Just recognition and understanding.
“Where were you headed?”
