by Julee Baker
Still, she mused, was this whole idea wise? How could a person dread and look forward to an encounter at the same time? Was it smart to even think about being near this man? He intrigued her, no getting around it. And, from a purely practical standpoint, she really could use the training. Needed it—if she were to continue her work in wilderness areas.
Rounding the last curve to Hawk’s place, the tangle of thoughts was swept aside as she passed under the stylized, steel, “Shadowhawk Ranch” sign, supported by two large fir posts over the drive. A breathtaking panorama opened before her. The crisp, mountain air intoxicated her. Having experienced his ranch only once, during that mini-blizzard at the end of April—its current transformation, a mere month later was nothing short of phenomenal. The place was a living, breathing postcard.
The cabin stood in the middle of a clearing, which was now covered from end to end with velvety green carpet, spotted at intervals with sprinklings of various native flowers, predominantly yellows and whites, but with a few lavenders and blues sprinkled about. She’d need to learn the names. Gigantic Douglas fir surrounded the meadow. The shadowed areas within the groves looked dark as caves. Quite a contrast to the golden sunlight splashed across the meadow. Lake barely noticed driving the rest of the way up to the buildings, her attention so distracted by the scene downhill.
The jeep had hardly stopped rolling before Lake’s instincts took over and she moved down into the meadow, camera in hand. Just a few quick shots. Good thing she had decided on the hiking boots instead of tennis shoes.
Oooo . . . One of the larger yellow patches of the as-yet nameless wildflowers near the edge of the meadow positively glowed from the light and drawing her like a bee to a flower. She readied the camera as she walked. Hmmm . . . for the best angles . . . a few shots approaching . . . interesting ones from straight above . . . another quick adjustment to the settings. Ignoring the damp grass, Lake was down on wet knees, crouched low to the ground, shooting upward from underneath the beauties with a gorgeous, blue Montana “big sky” as background.
“I could eat you.”
A voice rumbled from close range and startled Lake enough to send her scrambling to her feet, barely catching her camera by its cord. At five-foot seven, she wasn’t short, but Hawk loomed above her by a good half foot at least.
“That is if I were a hungry grizzly, and believe me, this time of spring, I would be very hungry.”
A strong arm reached out and steadied her. Hawk’s teeth flashed white against his tanned skin with a grin Lake thought might be as dangerous to a girl as a grizzly’s.
“Hard to pass up a tasty morsel in my own backyard.” Hawk tilted a look at her and finished with a quiet laugh, “You do get lost in the zone, don’t you? We’d better get started on that lesson before you do too much more wandering, or the last picture they find on your camera might be of a grizzly’s gaping mouth and a bunch of really big, sharp teeth.” He laughed.
“Well, so long as I got the shot, I guess. It’d be a great one . . .” Lake said seriously, delaying her laughter long enough to let him wonder if she was kidding. When she released her laugh, Hawk’s frown receded quickly and he joined her with a chuckle, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry I got distracted, it’s so . . . I mean . . . this meadow is wonderful . . . I’m at a loss for words. I guess that’s why I became a photographer.” She shook her head, adding an apologetic smile. “It’s a disease, I can’t help myself. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No problem. Glad you like it. My little piece of heaven on earth.”
The smile Hawk wore went completely through him. Here was a man in his element, she thought, totally at home and comfortably at ease. She stood on the edge of the meadow locked in his smile for a moment, until she realized she was staring and an unexpected wave of shyness overtook her. She began examining the flowers at her feet. Hawk’s gaze followed hers.
“Wild hyacinths.” He said.
“Gorgeous blue.” Lake answered.
“Yeah, I think blue might be my favorite color.” He looked at her. “Used to be green, but lately . . . well, I’m finding I’m really partial to blue. Go figure.” He mercifully released his hold on her gaze then and looked back at the flowers. “They’ll bloom till late June, early July.”
Flowers . . . flowers . . . Lake told herself. Talk about the flowers. “What are those little yellow ones at the edge of the woods?”
“Sagebrush Buttercup. They’ll disappear here shortly.”
“Pretty.”
“Um-hmm. Just don’t get the notion to chew on one of them. The natives used to crush up the petals and put them on meat to poison coyotes.” He warned.
Lake’s expression caused the corner of Hawk’s mouth to twitch. Spurred on by her appropriate surprise continued, “They also crushed the whole plant and rubbed it on their arrow tips.”
She backed up a bit from the deceptive beauties. “Huh—I had no idea.”
“There’s a treasure trove of medicinal plants and herbs out there too.” He turned slightly and looked off down the slope. His hands rested on his hips. “Food too, if you know what you’re doing. For instance, natives used to plan their spring migration around the flowering of the Bitterroot. They’d dig up the roots before they flowered and dry them. Too bitter to eat without boiling, though. They’d mix the boiled roots with berries or meat and make them into patties they took with them as they traveled.”
“Oh, yes. I know that flower. The Bitterroot. Pink. Pretty. The state flower . . . I’ve seen them on Suzanne’s menu.”
Hawk’s smile crinkled the tan skin around his honey eyes. “Well, we’ll have to find some for you to look at in person. No menu can do them justice.”
They both laughed.
“Speaking of treasure troves, you seem to have a wealth of information. Are you expert on all things Montana?”
He crossed his arms and considered. “I know my share. But the most important thing I know is, you can never know enough.” His gaze rested on her face for a moment. “Like I said the other night, respect. That’s the first lesson you have to get through your head. It’s all beautiful. Awe-inspiring. Every day, I can’t help feeling I’m one lucky son-of-a-gun to be here, but I never forget to keep my wits about me when I’m out hiking or whatever.”
“I realize I have a lot to learn.” Lake smiled. “I do tend to get into the zone pretty fast and tune out whatever else is going on around me.”
“Yeah. I totally get that. Only I go into my zone in the safety of my studio.” He motioned his head toward the larger of the two outbuildings on the property. “You, however, put yourself in a different situation out here.” He made a broad gesture to the area. “We have to get you up to speed for your own safety. Lining up a reliable guide wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. Have some eyeballs watching the woods while you’re in your photog zone.”
Another easy smile stretched across the lips Lake remembered all too well and she looked away toward the spot Hawk pointed to. Farther down the hillside, the terrain flattened out by a stand of firs.
“Those Wake-robins down there are pretty rare.”
“Oooo, cool. What a cute name.”
“Yeah, but, before you go crawling down there to take your pictures, you should know you might have some competition. Wake-robin roots are a favorite of bears.”
Lake’s mouth opened in a silent “Oh.” at the info. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.” She narrowed a look at him. “How did you know I was thinking?”
“I also read minds, or didn’t Sam mention that?”
Lake laughed. “No, I guess he forgot. Really—how?”
“Your eyes have been darting down there for the past two minutes. It wasn’t hard to jump onto your train of thought.”
“Am I that transparent?” Lake smiled.
Hawk’s expression turned thoughtful. “In some things, but we’ve all got our walls. I think we’ve both smacked into a couple of ea
ch other’s recently.”
Lake thought about her walls. Yes, she did have them, one being a big bulwark constructed with Jeremy’s help, matter of fact. Was the mortar too hard to withstand an invader, if he chose to advance? And just what kind of walls did Hawk Matthews have?
She kept her answer light, “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“I’m a big boy. I’ll take my chances.” His comment flustered her, but he grinned and nodded his head sideways toward the cabin. “C’mon, let’s head up to the house. I laid out materials for today’s lesson. We can do flora and fauna another day.” He smiled.
So, he was thinking there would be another day?
“Okay. Let’s go. I’m all ears.”
“Hardly, but they are cute.” Lake’s stomach did a little somersault when Hawk tweaked the earlobe left uncovered by her braid.
They walked together to the cabin. Elle, who’d been observing silently, now did a “happy dance” around them as they walked, picking up a stick at one point and nudging Lake’s leg. She obliged him and gave it a walloping throw. It landed halfway across the meadow.
“Niiiiice arm.” Hawk exclaimed, genuine appreciation evident, as they watched Elle charge after it. He looked to her. “You didn’t get that arm pressing a shutter. Impressive.”
“Worthing Wildcats. Illinois State Softball runners-up, senior year. Center field. Thank you very much.” Shoulders back, she lifted her chin proudly.
“Wildcat?!” The grin returned. “Oh yeah, that’s good. I like that.”
Upon reaching the door of the cabin, Hawk opened it with a “Ladies first. Or, should I say, Wildcats and dogs first?”
Elle pushed ahead of them, nearly knocking Lake off her feet. Hawk caught her shoulders and steadied her, until Lake’s, “I’m good,” made him drop his hands.
“Right . . . right.”
It was Hawk who now appeared flustered. He diverted attention to the dog.
“Uh . . . You’ll have to excuse her, she’s used to being the lady of the house. And, now that it’s out in the open that you’re a wildCAT . . . well, can you blame her?” He winked. “But, really, she’s just after her favorite spot.” He nodded toward the big leather couch as Elle landed on it.
“Don’t spoil her much, do you?” It was more comment than question. Lake already knew the answer.
“Ha. That obvious, huh? Well, let’s just say we’ve been through an awful lot together. She’s family. He hung his bark colored Stetson on the peg and ran fingers through his dark hair, attempting to push it back into place.
“Hat-hair. The bane of the cowboy’s existence.” He grinned, and Lake had to will her hand to stay at her side, squelching the notion to help him push a stray lock from his forehead.
“Here.” He motioned to the dining room. “C’mon over to the table.” The angled heels of his black boots thudded across the gleaming hardwood floors, adding exclamation points to every long, lean, levied stride.
“Let’s start by covering some key items you should always carry with you when you’re hiking.”
He was being so hospitable, she was touched. She followed, taking in the “cabin” as they passed through the expansive living room with its tall windows, and rounded the massive two-way stone fireplace which anchored the center of the cabin, to the dining room. The place was great, glowing with golden woods and warmth, but the enigma in front of her held most of her attention.
He must be . . . what . . . early thirties? And the shoulders . . . And holy-hunk he was good looking. But no wife? No permanent woman in his life? Hmmm. What was the catch? He was knowledgeable. Lake knew he went to church, by Something Sam had mentioned. From the exchange in the meadow, she knew he had a sense of humor, which could be as, if not more attractive than good-looks. She sensed a spirit of fun that wasn’t obvious at first. He could be charming.
Now there’s a word a girl doesn’t use often about guys these days. So, what was his deal? How come no girlfriend?
“Lake . . . Earth to Lake . . . Hey Wildcat.” His voice broke through her thoughts.
“Oh, sorry . . . I . . . I was just thinking,” she trailed off, too embarrassed to come up with a snappy reply.
“Yes, I could tell you were . . . thinking.” He studied her, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately too.”
Same wave-length?
Hawk pulled a chair out. She acknowledged the courtesy then, proceeded to be enlightened by his wilderness I.Q. The man’s knowledge of outdoor safety was extensive.
He reiterated the importance of making others aware of your travel plans and expected return time. He explained the tendency of inexperienced hikers to get distracted and not follow those original plans.
“Being unfamiliar with the area, I’d advise you to take someone along as a guide—someone like myself, for instance,” he added with a wink.
She was instructed on the use of a compass. Hawk was a big fan of carrying a GPS device, but still preferred to train his students as if they were not available. She learned about the search and rescue saying, “Cotton Kills”—a complete surprise to Lake—causing her to frown at her jeans.
“You can keep them on today.”
He was having a little too much fun making her blush, she thought, but as he continued with his deadpan explanation and she wondered if the double entendre was all in her imagination.
“Cotton holds moisture to the body—lowers core temperature—whereas 100% non-natural fibers, or wool, don’t. In this climate, hypothermia is a major killer. It’s vital to keep your core—head, heart, lungs—warm.”
He was all business.
“The main point I want to stress to you, Lake, is—don’t get lost in the first place.”
“Make it a rule to turn around and take a visual reference whenever there’s a terrain change—so you’ll be familiar with what the trail should look like going back. A crucial factor that a lot of beginners don’t take into consideration. Nothing’s going to look the same when you’re traveling back the opposite direction.”
He explained the need for mindfulness regarding the sun’s position in the morning compared to the evening—how it changes the appearance of the entire landscape, and how, upon coming to a divide in the trail, she should turn around and view it as if she were returning, in order to choose correctly. She then watched, fascinated, as he demonstrated how to make a highly visible night signal by tying a length of string to a chemical light stick and swinging it around in a circle.
“Here take these two rolls of flag tape, my compliments.” He pushed the rolls of brightly colored tape toward her. “Every hundred yards or so, tie off a bit. If you don’t have any, place three stones in a triangle to point in the direction you headed.”
She learned, that she should carry a zip lock bag with a chlorine tablet and a piece of tinfoil to purify and collect water. How to stuff dry grass in your jacket to add insulation.
“There’s always the old ‘light the tortilla chip’ for kindling.” At Lake’s gentle scoff, his dark brows knitted together, and he continued. It was as if he were playing the whole scenario out in his head.
“Although it’s highly doubtful in that kind of situation you’d have tortilla chips handy. But it’d be great if you did.”
“I’d probably be so stressed, I’d eat it.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Oh yeah. Stress? Bring on the chips. Big-time.” She confessed.
“Well, try to hang onto one—just in case.” He encouraged with a wink.
He was a warehouse of information, but where did the patience to teach come from?
“You’ve probably heard these questions a thousand times, from a thousand assorted greenhorns over the years. Why do you do it?”
She didn’t know him all that well yet, but she could have sworn she saw one of his own “walls” go up just then. He rubbed a hand over his jaw line and looked out the window toward Shadow.
“Long story. Let’s just
say, if I ever do start to get impatient, I remind myself I could be helping someone to save their life . . . spare a family the pain of losing a loved one . . . someone from losing a friend.” He turned back to her. “I guess that’s what keeps me patient.”
Lake knew a little of what had happened with him and his friend in the old mine when they were kids, but evidently Hawk didn’t want to, or couldn’t talk about it. Another wave of guilt washed over her about her initial judgment of him.
“Hawk . . .” Lake stood and turned toward the window for a moment trying to find the right words. “I hope you know, but I want to say this out loud. I’ve said it a hundred times in my head, but . . . I really owe you an apology . . . I mean, I admire your dedication . . .” She stopped for a big sigh. Just say it Lake. “You were right on the money when you said I needed to straighten things out with who I was really mad at . . . I needed to open my eyes . . . I mean . . .” Frustrating. The right words still weren’t there.
Hawk came over to where she stood. “Listen.” He tugged her braid. “Enough said on the subject. I did plenty of misjudging myself. Believe me, I am more than sorry about a lot of things.”
“So . . . we’re good?” Lake was relieved—or, wait—did he mean he was sorry about their kiss?
“I’d say we are. More than good.” He gave another gentle tug to her braid. Lake was feeling she could become addicted to that smile of his.
Oh boy. She was falling fast. She didn’t dare look up at him—he’d see too much. Quick. Diversion time. She reached for the mirror on the table and held it up.
“Take time for beauty?”
Her ploy worked.
“Ha. Right.” Hawk took the mirror from her and walked over to a spot where the morning sun slanted a beam through the window. Catching a ray, he playfully bounced it at her face.
“Hey!” Lake blinked away from the light, wincing and smiling at the same time.
