“Thank you. For this.” I gesture to my cheek. Another nod before he hands me a small blister pack of tablets.
“Ibuprofen.”
A soft smile jots across my lips. I’ll win him over. He’s just too delicious to let go.
CHAPTER TEN
I thought hiking the Grand Canyon rim-to-rim would be this magical, solitary experience, with eagles squawking and the whistling of the hot, but not overly oppressive air as my soundtrack. I envisioned spending hours alone, with nothing but my pretty backpack and the odd longhorn goat for company. I imagined I’d have unlimited space to think, and that the silence and lack of human contact might drive me mad, but I’d still end my hike with a sense of triumph and a sprinkle of an existential epiphany.
This…is not that.
It feels like I’ve wandered into a flight school with helicopters passing every ten minutes. And then there’s all the foot traffic and the pervading smell of sunscreen, in addition to the many structures invading the once natural surroundings. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the man-made structures because they lessen the risk of having to pee anywhere besides a toilet, so long as I plan my stops correctly. It’s just not what I expected. And I haven’t even spotted one goat.
Jack was quiet but attentive on the rest of our hike toPhantom Ranch, my campsite for the night. He walked ahead, peering over his shoulder every so often to check on me with one or two grunted words.
The things those grunts do to me, though.
Once we arrived, he left me beside a wooden signpost with a burnt-in 7.4-mile marker while he scoped out the best camping spot. I told him I was perfectly capable of doing that myself, but he replied that the one who hadn’t had his head rammed into the side of the mountain should go.
It was sweet.
I had to put up a tiny fight, though, for the diehard independent girlies. And I know that at some point, I’ll need to regain control of this endeavor so that I can walk out of this canyon with a scrap of my dignity and the ability to be honest when I tell my parents I did it. But I reckon an hour or two of handing over the reins won’t water down that achievement all that much.
Plus, I’m busy walking the fine line between poking the bear and being agreeable. I wouldn’t want to annoy Jack into greater suspicion, especially when I’m still carrying around that mystery item.
It’s a pity there’s no cell service down here, because the internet would be very helpful in figuring out what kind of arrowhead Marigold has hidden in her bottom.
“Oh, you poor thing!” Sue appears in front of me, hands on her hips, looking like she’s just found a wounded bird. “Frank, come help Willow out here,” she calls over her shoulder before turning back to me. “Frank’ll carry your backpack to your campsite.” She smiles, and a flustered Frank puffs over to her side.
“Oh, that’s okay, really. I’m…uh, still deciding what site I’m gonna pick. That’s very kind of you, though.”
Frank nods in relief, a hand falling to his wife’s elbow to steer her away.
“Well, holler if you need anything! We’re in campsite three. Frank’ll be happy to help, won’t you, Frank?” She pats his chest affectionately as he mumbles an affirmation.
They bustle away, Sue chattering the entire time, Frank nodding so he can get her to move faster.
My cheeks lift as I watch them, their sand-toned shirts blending into the overexposed filter on the orange rockface. It makes everything appear an unimpressive brown, with hints of dirty plum in the shadows. Various cacti infuse washed greens into the earthy landscape.
Jack returns, without his backpack, and pulls me up to my feet before motioning for me to pivot so he can carry Marigold. It’s heavenly having the weight off my shoulders.
“You should hire your services out,” I tell him with a wistful sigh. “You smell better than a pack mule, too.”
A grunt is his only response as he continues walking. I guess I’m following.
Thirty-three campsites dotted in two rows lay beside the Colorado River’s calmer relative, the Bright Angel Creek. Each site has enough space for two to five tents and includes a picnic table and a food locker box, which I will be using because the bears and ravens need to know I’m not a feeder.
Wild, overgrown trees and parched bushes create natural boundaries between each space. We’re all playing house out in the wilderness, with tiny one-brick-high walls as property dividers.
Jack stops at campsite number twelve and hangs my bag on a metal pole beside his before scooting stray rocks away with his foot. He likes things neat.
“Um…not that I’m complaining…but why are we sharing a campsite? Didn’t you reserve one?”
“I can camp anywhere I need to, so, no. I’m only here foryour safety.” He declares, avoiding eye contact while sorting food and unrolling a tent. The way his biceps work threatens to put me in a coma right here.
“See, but that’s not really valid.” I shake my head, trying to steer my thoughts away from his muscles. “Because I don’t need protection.”
I flop onto the bench of the picnic table, wishing my tent would assemble itself. It’s only two in the afternoon, and I’m aching to crawl onto my sleeping mat and pretend I’m on an island, napping in a hammock, awaiting the cabana boy on his way with a cold drink and a sexy smile.
