by Daws, Amy
She nods, the grin basically permanent on her face right now. “I will, but eventually, you’re going to have to spill the details on the ex, okay?”
“Fine,” I reply, rolling my eyes and opening the front door. “I’ll see you later.”
“Later, loverrrr,” she coos, hanging her head out the front door and waving at me coyly.
And with a nervous feeling in my belly, I punch in Sam’s address on my phone and head toward Boulder.
It’s a sunny morning, but the road is still covered in frost as my GPS takes me west on Boulder Canyon Drive, a curvy blacktop that winds through the mountains. This area reminds me of Salt Lake City, so I can see why Miles feels so at home here. It’s an outdoor lover’s paradise—if you’re the adventure type. I never really was, but I seem to be changing now, which is good.
In high school, I was the girl who did everything but loved nothing. I was class president, captain of the cheer team, and an active member in the drama club. I was even a mathlete for a while because I had a huge crush on a guy in my geometry class. I was never labeled one thing because I did everything.
Miles, on the other hand, was a gearhead through and through. He was always working on cars and motorcycles. He was stir-crazy if he didn’t have his hands on something, whereas I was perfectly happy curling up with a book and letting the written word take me on a journey.
But I have to admit, putting myself out there—even with just ice fishing these past couple of weekends—has brought me a sense of pride and accomplishment that I never expected. I can’t imagine how I’ll feel after climbing a frozen silo.
I turn onto Sam’s narrow gravel road that has sharp curves and seems to only go uphill. This has to be dangerous during a storm or in heavy snow. Maybe that’s why Sam has a snowmobile? Regardless, it is beautiful back here. The farther I drive in, the more and more stunning the area becomes. It’s heavily wooded and full of fresh, untouched snow as far as the eye can see.
I drive uphill a while longer until a small log cabin finally comes into view. It has a high-pitched roof and a large wraparound porch with Adirondack chairs positioned on either side of the bright green double doors. Smoke billows out of the chimney above, which I can only assume is from a wood burning fireplace inside. Talk about rustic. The entire cabin looks like a scenic painting topped with fresh snow and sweeping views of the mountains on all sides. It reminds me of a much larger version of the fish hut I saw out on the lake—secluded, quiet, peaceful.
I pull up alongside the house and get out, eager to take in the sights when I hear the front door open. My gaze swings over to Sam’s broad frame as he turns to lock the deadbolt. I swallow slowly as I unabashedly zero in on his ass. Has it always been that…full? I don’t remember ever noticing it before. Maybe because he’s wearing different pants now? He’s wearing some sort of special mountain trek trousers by the looks of the label, and they are tight! His ass looks like two footballs stuffed under a blanket. I sincerely hope there’s some stretch in them, or he most certainly isn’t going to be climbing any sort of silo today.
He turns on his heel, his eyes cast down as he zips up his black winter coat. He begins descending his front steps, finally looking up, and then pauses on the last step. “What are you wearing?” he asks with an accusing gaze as he stares down my body.
My brows furrow as I tighten my red wool coat around me. “Clothes. What are you wearing, Mr. Tight Pants?” I mumble the last part under my breath.
“I’m wearing winter climbing gear because it’s January and cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. Where’s the stuff you bought at Marv’s?” He looks damn near angry with me!
“It’s in my trunk,” I reply. Walking to the back of my car, I pop the trunk and produce the infamous red and white snowsuit. “I couldn’t leave my house in this getup in case Miles woke up before I left. I thought I could change here.”
Sam exhales heavily and turns to reclimb his front steps. “So this means you’re not backing out?” he states with great disappointment as he fumbles through his keys.
I walk up the steps, squeezing my snowsuit and boots to my chest. “I didn’t back out of ice fishing, and I’m not backing out of this. I’m excited to get some shots of me in action today. Sterling will flip out when I send him pictures of me on an iced silo!”
He grumbles under his breath as he finally finds the key he was looking for and begins to push open the door. When I move to walk inside, he steps into my path. “Wait, did you call me Mr. Tight Pants down there?”
I bite my lip, a deep flush rushing up from my neck. “Maybe.”
His brows lift, and he does that shy smile thing again that he’s horrible at hiding. “Were you checking out my ass there, sparky?”
“No,” I bark out a bit too aggressively. “I was just watching you, and I couldn’t help but notice that you bought your pants a size too small.”
“These are professional climbing pants,” he states, leaning closer to me. “They are supposed to fit snugly so they don’t get hung up on any jagged edges.”
I shrug my shoulders dismissively. “I knew that.”
He chuckles under his breath and steps back for me to enter, and I do my best to ignore his manly scent as I pass him. When I walk into his foyer, I’m surprised at how grown-up looking Sam’s cabin is. For a ginger brawny man bachelor, I guess I expected it to be a mess of mismatched furniture—an old couch from college and maybe a folding table and chairs.
But Sam not only wears man jeans, but he also has a man house on top of it. The entryway opens into the living room with a black sectional sofa and cozy leather armchair. On the far right wall is a natural stone fireplace that still has embers glowing inside it. On the left is a dining room with a long rustic table and unique chairs with industrial piping that make a strong statement. Just past the dining area, I can see a bit of the kitchen. It has knotty white cabinetry and a small island in the middle. This cabin is adorable.
Sam’s footsteps march across the pale pine flooring as he directs me to the hallway straight ahead. I follow him closely as he points to the left. “Bathroom is there on the right.” He turns around, clearly not expecting me to be standing so close because our bodies brush up against each other, reminding me of the moment at the bar last night and that damn kiss last weekend.
“Sorry,” I mumble, stepping back and ignoring my racing heart.
Sam does the same, furrowing his brow as though he’s deep in thought. Without a word, he strides back the way he came and disappears into the front of the house.
I close the bathroom door and press my back to it, exhaling the breath that was stuck in my lungs as I take in Sam’s cute bathroom. It has an elevated soaker tub in one corner with wide-open views of the mountains. Obviously, you don’t have to worry about curtains when you live in the wilderness.
Past the vanity, a pocket door has my curiosity piqued. I set my stuff down on the counter and walk over to slide it open. On the other side is a large bedroom. I look down and see Sam’s brown boots from last night on the floor at the foot of his bed and realize it’s not just a bedroom, but it’s Sam’s bedroom.
I take a single step inside and eye the king-size bed against the wall. It has a large barnwood headboard and a taupe duvet with fluffy white pillows scattered at the top. He even took the time to make it, albeit a bit sloppily. Natural light pours in from the large windows that wrap the corner of the room, so you feel like you’re sleeping right in the mountains. And I swear if I breathe in deeply, I can smell the faint scent of leather and Irish Spring soap. It smells just like Sam.
I walk over to the long dresser on the opposite wall and see an old photo in a frame. It’s a picture of a man, a woman, three girls, and a little boy who looks about twelve years old in this picture. The boy and the man are holding a long board with a row of fish hanging from it. I reach out to finger the old fishing lure he has sitting on the dresser beside it. I get the sinking suspicion that this is personal and I’m cr
ossing a line so I quickly tiptoe back to the bathroom and close the pocket door.
Trying to forget about what I saw, I quickly change into my winter gear that cost me more than my textbooks did for my final semester at the University of Utah. Thankfully, I remember to keep a layer of clothes on underneath this time. I then grab my wool coat and Sorels and make my way out of the bathroom to find Sam.
He’s sitting in the big leather chair with his head tipped back and his eyes closed. His chest rises and falls in a deep, rhythmic pattern.
“Are you seriously asleep?” I blurt out, not the least bit worried about the polite way to wake him up. We’ve been zipped into a tiny hut together for hours on end, so I think manners are optional at this point.
The corners of his mouth curve up as his eyes remain closed. “I could be.”
“I got dressed really fast I thought,” I reply, tugging out the gloves in my pocket.
He peeks at me through one eye. “Faster than last time, that’s for damn sure.”
I roll my eyes as he sits up and rubs his hands over his face. “Are you nursing a hangover?” I ask, eyeing him speculatively.
He eyes me right back. “Boys get hangovers. Men get over it.”
I smile at the response and watch him stand, towering over me once again now that I’m out of my heels. He catches me looking, so I swerve my eyes around his living room. “I like your place.”
He nods, and a sense of pride casts over his face. “It’s been home for a few years now.”
“How big is the property?”
“I have almost five acres. It’s all timber, but I have room for my big shed out back that stores all my toys.”
“What kind of toys?” I ask and cringe when my mind went to someplace dirty.
“Just my quad, snowmobile, motorcycle, and pickup.”
“I knew you had a pickup.”
His brows lift. “Did you now?”
I sigh deeply. “You’re just like my brother. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner.”
Sam laughs at that. “Well, you’re nothing like your brother, so I think I get a break for not realizing who you were when we met.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, my voice rising defensively. If he doesn’t think I’m like my brother, what does he think I’m like? “Are you going to call me basic too?”
“Hell no,” Sam replies quickly, his brow furrowed seriously. “Maggie, you are like a jigsaw puzzle with a million pieces. I think it’d take me years to figure you out.”
I smile at that very specific comment, a warmth creeping through my chest that I haven’t felt in a long time. To crush the moment full of sexual tension, I quickly punch Sam in the shoulder. “Just as long as we get it all on camera for Sterling!”
Sam’s face falls, and I catch a glimpse of a wounded expression as he touches the spot I just hit. “Just don’t be so focused on the future that you miss what’s happening in the present, all right?”
He turns on his heel and walks out the door, leaving my mind reeling with his parting words.
Fish Or Cut Bait
We arrive at Peterson Farm, just east of Boulder. It’s a place I’ve been to a couple of times with my climbing buddy I met in college. We belayed each other for years until he moved to Denver with his wife. I haven’t really done much climbing since, but thankfully, it’s like riding a bike. And let’s face it, I’m here to make sure Maggie has a trustworthy belayer and doesn’t land herself in the Boulder hospital with some crazy injury that her brother would find a way to punish me for.
We pull up to three eighty-foot silos that are iced to perfection with huge curtains of ice gleaming in the sunlight. A couple of climbers are already on one, aggressively swinging their ice axes and slowly moving their way up to ring the bell at the top.
I slide out of my truck and walk to the back, pulling the tailgate open to grab my bag.
Maggie joins me, her eyes wide as I open a bag that probably looks like it’s full of murder weapons to her. “I don’t have any of that stuff,” she says, looking nervously at my gear and then up at the ice climbers. “I didn’t know I needed it.”
I half smile and shake my head at her. “No worries, they have everything here.”
“Maggie!” a voice calls out, and I turn to see a guy with a ponytail running toward us. He’s literally running as if getting to her five seconds faster will be worth it. “You actually came.”
“Hi…” Maggie falters, clearly searching for his name.
“Ezekiel, remember?” He reaches out and pulls her into a hug, which seems overly friendly for someone whose name she didn’t even remember. “And you are?”
He looks at me, and I reflexively puff my chest out. “Sam.”
“Ezekiel,” Maggie stammers, “this is my friend, Sam. He’s apparently an avid climber and has offered to assist me today. Sam, Ezekiel was staying at the same bed and breakfast as I was and is one of the guys from the magazine who recommended I try this out.”
“You’re an avid climber?” Ezekiel asks, his eyes falling down my body like he doesn’t believe it.
“I used to be,” I reply through clenched teeth because I can already smell this guy’s fucking testosterone, and I don’t like it. “I haven’t climbed in a couple of years.”
“If you don’t use it, you lose it, man.”
I roll my eyes and sling my bag over my shoulder. “I’m not worried.”
“This ain’t no waterfall climb,” Ezekiel states with narrowed eyes.
I lift my brows and have to hold back my laughter. “No, it certainly is not. But my buddy and I did a lot of bouldering and redpointing…so I think I’m going to be just fine.”
Ezekiel’s Adam’s apple bobs, and I can feel Maggie looking nervously at the two of us as we stare each other down for a beat. This is why Maggie can’t just go gallivanting around Boulder looking for adventure. There are way too many potheads around here who think they’re God’s gift to the world and to women. Maggie doesn’t need to be dealing with that bullshit on her own.
We head over to the empty silo, and the guides on staff at the farm get to work setting Maggie up with their rental gear while I strap into my own. Maggie’s eyes look wide and wary as she takes in a brief climbing lesson from the female guide named Sherry.
When I finish tightening my harness, a voice sounds off from behind me. “Care to do a little wager?”
I look over and see Ezekiel with his helmet on, looking ready for action. “What are the stakes?”
“Winner gets to be her belayer.” His eyes are on Maggie who is only half-listening to her instructor because she’s watching us instead.
“No,” I reply instantly. “I’m here with Maggie. I’m her belayer.”
“C’mon, old man…you scared?” Ezekiel goads me with an annoying tip to his chin that makes me want to punch him. His buddies come walking over with big smiles that I also want to smack right off their faces.
“I’m not fucking scared,” I state, feeling adrenaline surge through my veins at their challenge. “Or that old,” I mumble to myself mostly.
“Then do it!” one of the guys shouts and then goes quiet when I glare at him.
“What are you worried about?” Ezekiel asks. “If I win, you’ll know I’m an experienced climber, so it’s not like she’ll be in novice hands. My hands are very good at belaying beautiful women.”
Damn do I want to punch this cocky fucker. And I want to beat him. Punch him and beat him and shove his face in this snow. All of the above would feel really good right about now.
“Do it,” Maggie chimes in, and the instructor Sherry seems to be equally interested in our conversation.
“Why are you all ganging up on me right now?” I ask, looking around at everyone gathering closer, instructors and climbers alike. “I’m just here to belay my friend.”
“We have a tradition here that’s pretty cool,” Sherry states with a big smile. “If you let us film you guys racing live for our social
media page, the winning racer gets a free weekend stay at our ski chalet up in the mountains next weekend. It has a private natural hot spring that is life changing, not to mention some pretty awesome snowboarding slopes.”
“Yes,” Ezekiel cheers with a fist up in the air. “We’re doing this.”
“We’re not,” I state firmly.
“Sam,” Maggie interrupts. “Just do it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“This fucking idiot belays you poorly, and you get injured.”
“Ezekiel has been here all morning,” Sherry states, stepping closer to me. “I can assure you he is an excellent belayer.”
I exhale heavily and wonder how the fuck this went from me helping Maggie not die to me racing up a damn silo against some asshole with beaded dreadlocks.
“Unless you’re scared,” Ezekiel states with his hands held back. “I get it. Your bones are brittle, and you wouldn’t want to injure yourself.”
Maggie giggles softly from beside me, and my inner caveman voice shouts, Don’t let this blond, dreadlock-wearing, granola-eating pothead show you up in front of a girl! You know you can crush him!
I shake my head at Maggie. “You should be on my side.”
“I am!” Maggie exclaims excitedly. “It’ll be fun to watch. And it’ll help shake off the major anxiety I have over climbing up this thing right now.” She gives me a look that is so sweet and innocent, yet somehow sexy and alive…I realize with great embarrassment that I’d probably eat yellow fucking snow for this chick standing before me.
So like an idiot, I turn to Ezekiel, and state, “Fuck it…on belay, man.”
Ezekiel and his buddies whoop with joy, and minutes later, we’re standing ten feet apart at the bottom of the silo, geared up, helmets on, and cell phone cameras all pointing at us. A video camera and a photographer are catching all this action as well. I better not get my ass beat.
“Belayers, are you ready?” Sherry shouts from her position between us.
“On belay!” we both shout back, and I look at the staff member who is belaying for me. Maggie is standing right beside him with a big, bright smile on her face.
