“I didn’t realize you were taking us on a hike,” Fräulein Brewer grumbled behind him. The snow made for a perfect sound carrier. He could hear her as if she were speaking directly into his ear. A flash of remembrance from the night before hit him, when he’d been so tempted to kiss her, so close to her, smelling her, her unbound hair brushing his arm.
“In other languages, we say this is a walk, as any walk. We don’t make distinctions. It is the English who have to prepare themselves. The rest of us, we expect hills.”
“Hills?” Fräulein Brewer protested. “This is an actual mountain.”
Fräulein Bridewell huffed a laugh. “Where are you taking us, Mr. Vogel?”
“The edge of the grazing pasture. It is not too far now.” Karl glanced back at them. Neither of them was bent at the waist or fatigued. Good sign. They continued without speaking, him listening to their rhythmic breathing and clear steps. Perhaps taking them up a mountain wouldn’t be so bad after all. But surely, even with three months of preparation, they could not be serious about the Matterhorn.
The downed fence was easy to find. The split-rail fence abutted the forest. It was obvious from the arrangement that snowmelt had pushed a boulder down the hill, crashing it into the fence, and irreparably cracked the wooden rails. It would only take a dry day to make the wood split and crack even further, allowing the boulder to continue its path downward.
After assessing the damage, Karl leaned the hatchet against the trunk of a tree. “So,” he said, and then set to rollingthe boulder to a copse of trees that would easily hold its weight. He returned to the damaged fence, getting his breath under control. “What questions do you have for me?”
**
Justine had nothing in her head, which was unusual. Typically, she had a ticker tape of constant reminders, worries, thoughts, and tasks scrolling through her head. But here, watching Karl Vogel push a boulder, Justine could not remember a single one.
Thighs. That’s what she thought. Those massive thighs flexing as he pushed away the boulder. Then, when he returned, broad chest heaving, she had to push herself to think. Thankfully, Ophelia took the opportunity to speak, because Justine was lost.
“Mr. Vogel, we would like to arrange to climb several of the surrounding mountains over the coming weeks, as preparation for the Matterhorn come summer.” Ophelia stepped forward. “We would very much like to have your expertise in knowing which mountains and terrain would be best for acclimation to the Alpine environment.”
Justine finally came to herself long enough to realize Ophelia was using her obsequious voice. Was that really necessary? He was their guide. She paid him. He had to do what he was told. Why was she flattering him?
A breeze came up and chilled her. She pulled at her woolen cape and marveled at Mr. Vogel’s work without a coat. Was he impervious to the cold, as he’d been impervious to the altitude? It was hard for her to concentrate on the words they were exchanging, and Justine looked away to clear the space Karl took up in her mind. The vista was beyond words she could string together. Scotland had been beautiful, but so was this, in an entirely different way. The white crimping of the surroundingmountains fairly glowed a bone-bleached white in the morning light.
“Wait for the alpenglow this evening,” he called to her. “That is even more beautiful.”
She glanced back at him, surprised he noticed her lack of attention. Surprised anyone noticed her when Ophelia was around. Honestly, it shocked Justine how many suitors she had, being short, reckless, talkative, and, according to her mother, foolhardy. Mostly because she always stood next to Ophelia, who was tall, regal, intelligent, ambitious, aristocratic, and logical. And blonde.
And Justine didn’t think that just because they’d been friends since leading strings. Ophelia was all of those things, and yet, men didn’t flock to her. They cleared their throats, bowed deeply at the waist, and asked her to dance, where they rarely spoke, apparently. Ophelia reported not enjoying dancing because her partners were so quiet. Justine, on the other hand, couldn’t make any of them shut their pitiful gobs.
So the fact that Karl Vogel called over to her was surprising. Shouldn’t he be scraping and bowing to Ophelia?
“Then it’s settled?” Ophelia asked. Karl nodded his head once, and then Ophelia turned around and looked at Justine, beaming.
That told Justine she should have been paying attention. The sound of the hatchet made her jump. She whirled around to find Ophelia stepping lightly down the path to where Justine stood, and Karl cutting down a tree.
It was, in a word, magnificent. But it didn’t stop there. With two hard cuts, one from either side, the thin tree fell right to where the broken fence sat. He cut it to size, and with every swing, Justine’s mouth grew drier.
“We should get back,” Ophelia said.
Justine nodded in agreement, but she could not make her feet move. Not as Karl stood up the tree trunk on its end and stripped the bark from it. She had believed, not knowing exactly how a fence was mended, that it was a project that took a long time. She expected twine or wire, or nails or something. But no. None of those things. Only the broad-shouldered blond Karl Vogel with his long-handled hatchet.
“Good thing you aren’t the fainting type,” Ophelia said.
“Good thing,” Justine managed.
Karl looked up, noticing them still standing there. “Did you need something further, Fräulein Bridewell?”
“Not at all, but Fräulein Brewer had a question.” Ophelia elbowed Justine in the ribs.
“I hate you,” Justine whispered to her friend.
“Ja, Fräulein?” His bright blue eyes landed on hers, and she had never felt as utterly stupid as she did right then.
Her mind fumbled for something, anything. “What time will we be going on our walk tomorrow?”
“One in the afternoon,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. There was amusement in his face. And it made her cheeks burn with embarrassment.
