Overcome with feeling, I gave him a quick hug. “Thank you for taking me.”
I think I surprised him because he held back for a moment before returning the hug—awkwardly at first—then gripped me tight.
“You’re welcome,” he muttered into my hair as he held me, and I smelled his clean woodsy smell and felt the way my cheek pressed against his muscular pec. I heard his heartbeat through the waffle pattern of his shirt and felt the heat of his body.
God, yum.
His biceps curled around me. He gave me one last squeeze, and we broke apart. I wasn’t sure who let go first. It didn’t matter. I felt strange—anchored and balanced while standing at the edge of a cliff.
We headed back to the truck.
Then down, down, down in elevation we went, until we hit the Valley floor. He pointed out the names of landmarks, some of which I knew or had heard of, some of which were new to me. We passed the roaring Merced River, the meadows I’d be working in later this summer, and the jutting granite peaks ringing the Valley. The sun was going down and the colors were getting muted, but we unrolled the windows and let the mountain breeze waft into the old truck.
Paying attention to my reactions, he drove slowly in a loop around the Valley, letting me gawk out the window, stopping on the side of the road to look when I squealed excitedly. Let the memory develop so I could keep it forever.
Then he pulled over and parked. “C’mon. Let’s go see the falls before it gets dark. It’s just a mile up.”
Walking along a groomed, handicapped-accessible path, we passed dozens of people going the other way, back out. Time to close up for the day.
As we hiked, he loped, a country stride that covered long distances quickly. I had to take two steps to his one to keep up, unlike his leisurely pace as tour guide in the giant sequoias earlier.
When we got to a bridge to cross over a bustling brook, a huge family pushed us to the side. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to the railing and we waited for the family to pass before continuing.
But once we set off again, he didn’t drop my hand.
I could feel callouses. His grip felt firm, strong.
He slowed his stride down. We turned a corner on the path, past a boulder as big as a building, and heard the rushing blast sound of water.
Yosemite Falls crashed down before us. A few people gathered, watching. I looked up, up, stretching my neck high, because the waterfall was a scary free fall, a straight drop of water, no rocks in the way. Eons of erosion had stained the granite gray, brown, and red. This waterfall was dizzying—and terrifying. The way the water had nowhere else to go but off of a cliff. I stared, taking in the roar of the water, the white foam, the speed of the river falling off of a sheer mountain, so high. So glad I wasn’t at the top. I tried to eye a single drop in the water and trace how long it took the journey from the top to where we stood at the bottom. I guess the water couldn’t get hurt, so it was okay for it to fall.
Court had his beardy half smile, but fully deep voice. “What do you think, Maggie?”
“It’s breathtaking.”
He looked at me. “It sure is.” And I got the feeling that he wasn’t talking about the waterfall.
The sky started to darken, the twilight time of day. The short mile hike wouldn’t take long to get back to the car—only fifteen minutes or so, less if we ran. But as the sparse crowd cleared, he held my hand. The mist from the waterfall covered my arms and face. I leaned into him, putting my head against his shoulder.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m a hugger.”
Without saying anything, he leaned back, breaking us apart, and looked into my face. His index finger traced my skin from my temple to my jaw. Maybe . . .
“You a kisser, too?”
My eyes widened. My lower lip dropped and my body warmed. My fingers and feet and other parts tingled.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
Blue-green eyes assessed me, then closed and leaned in, and he gently brushed his soft lips against mine. My eyes closed, the waterfall pouring past us, cool mist on our warm bodies, he wrapped his arms low around my waist and pulled me to him. And I had to, I just had to reach up and feel his rough, scratchy beardy beard. He parted his lips and gently slid his tongue into my mouth, deepening the kiss, and he tasted like cinnamon and oh-god-yes fun.
So damn delicious.
I ran my hands through his hair, feeling the shaved parts on the side and messing up the long part on top and fuck yes, our kiss got a little bit wilder, reckless like the water rushing over the boulders, heaving over rocks and splashing, and I lost the world and this magnificent place. I felt all kinds of turned on.
The waterfall kept rushing, but we broke apart, both of us out of breath. He ran a hand through his beard, stroking it thoughtfully. “Damn,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Now that I know what you taste like, I’m not gonna want to stop with that.”
“Me neither,” I whispered.
I’d decided. I was going for it.
“Didn’t want to do this.”
Oh no. What?
“Why not?” I managed.
“Because you have to leave at the end of summer.”
“It’s okay for right now though,” I said, knowing that I sounded desperate.
The look he gave me was confusing. He didn’t look happy about that, but I thought he would. I mean, wasn’t he the resident fuckboy?
He looked at his watch. “Gotta head back before it gets too late and too dark. We missed the alpenglow, but the stars are starting to come out.” And yes, in the still-light sky, I could see the little pops of light starting to appear.
Through the quieting forest, we made our way back to the truck, hustling because night was falling. When we got there, we looked back.
“Check it out,” he said, pointing. “The Big Dipper is pouring into Yosemite Falls.”
“Wow.” The stars had aligned, searing the memory of this night into me. The views, the waterfall, the mountains, this man. I still felt sensitive from our kiss, breathless from our walk, and aroused by the hottie in hiking boots right next to me.
I got into the truck, and he reached around and put my seatbelt on for me. “I can do that,” I offered, reaching for his hand.
“I know you can. But it’s an excuse to do this.”
And he kissed me again, insistent but sweet, tongue tasting me, giving me a tour. Arms around me, pulling me to him, even though I was seatbelted, his cinnamon breath welcome and hot.
Fuck.
Yes.
Loosening his arms, he pulled back and squeezed my hand. Then he looked me in the eyes and this expression I could read. The twitch under his eyes meant he wanted more. So did I.
He closed the door, walking around to his side of the truck and got in.
“So I guess I’m not friend-zoned,” I blurted, and then I immediately wished that I could take it back, put the fucking toothpaste back in the tube.
He studied me intently. Then he reached over, squeezed my bare thigh, and turned the key.
“No. You’re not friend-zoned.”
“You chopping morning wood with Lumberman yet?”
My eyes widened. “Ian!”
“Just asking. Is it time for Netflix and chill?”
Not answering that. None of his business. If I was going to have a fling, I certainly wasn’t telling him first. I sidestepped the question by saying, “We don’t have TV.”
“Bet he does.”
I didn’t know if I’d ever met anyone more exasperating. “What does it matter to you?”
“I’m up for the chill part.”
“No, Ian. Housemates. Not going there.” The look on his face eased up, and he gave me a smile that was less taunting, more rueful. Maybe he really was disappointed, but I didn’t understand why. He was cute. He could get any girl he wanted.
Well, except me.
“Damn. Okay, well, if you change your mind.�
��
“I won’t change my mind.” Not gonna make him think otherwise.
“Then I’ll stay away when you guys go backpacking.”
“Why’s that?”
“If your tent’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’!”
He raised both eyebrows and ducked to miss the ball of socks I threw at him. “Don’t get so defensive.” And then he escaped before I could throw anything more substantial at him, like my hiking boots. Or a piece of firewood.
Today, training complete, I was to begin work with my crew on a meadow in Wawona, near the campground. We planned to cordon off the restoration area, remove invasive, nonnative plant species, and reroute foot traffic to avoid the delicate meadow.
I got up, retrieved my socks from where they’d landed across the room, finished getting dressed—feeling official in my still-new Park Service uniform—and grabbed my daypack to go to work.
After I closed the front door to go down to my car, I saw Yazmin sitting outside on an orange brocade cushion in a small cluster of trees. Her legs crossed in the lotus yoga position, she appeared to be meditating. My noise startled her, and she opened her eyes.
“You don’t have to be at work early?” I asked.
“I have a grove walk planned at ten, so I get the morning off.”
She reached up, stretched her arms over her head, and then got up, dusting herself off. “I really felt like I needed to focus on my second chakra.”
What?
Reading the puzzled look on my face, she pointed at her pelvic area. “The second chakra is the center of sexuality and identity. I was feeling like mine was wonky.”
All righty then. “Uh. Good. Have fun with that. I’m off to work.” I was correct about Yazmin being a Class A flower child.
A few minutes later, I pulled up at the ranger station and walked into the front, still feeling shy and new in my shiny, pressed uniform. Open for business early, the door buzzer pinged when I opened it, announcing me, just like any other visitor. Pamphlets lined the walls. A small gift shop with stuffed animals, maps, magnets, and other Yosemite paraphernalia was set up on one side. A scale model of the topography of the park occupied the middle of the room.
And Court leaned on the information counter with Amanda to his side.
I had a visceral reaction.
Court, of course, made my brain go fuzzy and my hands twitch (and maybe other parts of my body). Spiffed up in his uniform, but with an edge from his hair being shaved on the sides, he looked like the forest ranger equivalent of a hot cop who was allowed to have tattoos and a creative haircut. Kind of a punk rock ranger.
But Amanda was also standing too close to him.
Goddammit.
She was going to drive me nuts all summer, I could tell. He was mine. I was claiming him.
At least for now.
“Maggie.” His low voice, scratchy. God, I felt it.
“Hi, Court.”
“You starting field work today?”
“Yes. I can’t wait.” I also couldn’t wait until I was able to talk to him without anyone—especially Amanda—being there.
I wanted to growl at her, but instead, I said, “I’m supposed to meet my crew in the back office and then we’re going to take a government vehicle to the restoration site.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic,” she said. “Court told me all about what you were doing.”
Did he really?
So she’s one of those. Just trying to make me jealous.
Ugh!
He said there was nothing between them now, but was it true? I didn’t know him well enough.
I needed to figure out where she fit in his life, but I also had to leave. I went through the back door, met my crew, and headed out into the early morning breeze of a sure-to-be hot day.
Thing was, although I was supposed to be taking photographs with the government-issued camera, mapping out areas, and pulling out invasive species, all I wanted to do was map out my own area around Court and pull out another invasive weed.
In the process I got eaten alive by mosquitoes.
By the end of the day, tired, dirty, and covered in bug bites, I made it back home. I gratefully hopped in the shower, cleaned up, daubed my insect bites with calamine lotion, and put on comfy sweats and a t-shirt. After a communal dinner, I lounged on the back patio, sipping a beer and munching on dessert Cheez-Its.
Katie came outside to join me. Now that a week had passed, her hair was not the same vibrant blue as it was last week, but it still wasn’t a hair color found in nature. At least not for humans. Peacocks, maybe.
She had a beer in one hand and a sketchbook in the other. “Mind if I join you?”
“Please.”
She took a sip of her beer, pulled out a few colored pencils, and started drawing, and after a few lines set down on the page, I realized what—or who—she was drawing. “Hey! That’s me!”
“Do you mind?”
“Not really, no.”
“You’ve just got the most unusual coloring.”
I was used to hearing this, though hearing it from an artist made it feel more special than it usually did. “So I’ve heard.” I paused and sipped my drink. “Other people can check a single box. Not me. Guess I’m just trying to find my box.”
“Aren’t we all? But you’re Maggie, plain and simple.” She paused, set down her pencil, and took a sip of her beer. “It’s always easier for people on the outside to tell you who you are. It’s harder to tell who you are from the inside because you have to decide for yourself.”
“Yeah, that’s true. I haven’t decided yet.”
“I’d love to paint you, though,” she said. “Your hair looks black when you’re inside, but when it’s in the sun it’s dark brown. Your skin is so lovely and your eyes are spectacular. I’ve never seen such an unusual green-brown mix.”
“That’s from my mom. She’s French and Sioux and something else. My dad’s black.”
She shook her head. “No wonder all the guys are after you.”
I stared at her and bit a cracker. “What are you talking about?”
“Court, Ian. Every guy who looks at you wants you.”
“Thanks for the compliment, but that’s not been my experience. Normally they just want me to give them a ride to the grocery store.”
Shaking her head, Katie laughed as she kept sketching. “You just don’t see it, do you?”
“I wish you were right. But you’re not.”
The next evening, Court knocked on the door after dinner. “You busy?”
He had to be kidding. With no electronic distractions, all I had to do was talk with my roommates, which I was starting to really love. “Not too busy.”
“I want to show you something. Quick hike. We should be back before dark.”
“A surprise?”
“A secret spot.”
This could be fun.
“Get your hiking boots on.”
I nodded, went to my room, pulled on my shoes, and put my hair up in a ponytail. Matt was hanging out in the living room with Ian, and I told them I’d be back after a hike. I could tell Ian had a snarky comment, but he held his tongue.
As I took off, I realized that I just left the house, carrying nothing. No keys. No wallet. We never locked the house because there were just too many of us and the house was so remote. Usually someone was home anyway, given our staggered work schedules. So different than how I lived elsewhere, in fear that someone would take all my stuff away from me. Yet another reason why I just felt comfortable here. I already had a network of friends watching out for me, and someone would watch over my home. I trusted this community in the middle of the forest.
Expecting to get in his truck, he surprised me by taking off walking up the street, then veering to a path I’d never noticed before. He turned to me. “We’re going to my favorite spot in the park. Not many people know to go here, but I go here all the time. This is a deer trail.”
He grabbed my hand.
> After kindergarten, I didn’t hold hands very much with anyone. But I loved holding his hand. Warm, strong, and big. But it also felt like he was supporting me, with more than just his body. Reaching out and holding on.
“How are you liking your first weeks?”
“It’s indescribably amazing. I feel like I’m doing something that matters. I’m making the park better.” He nodded. “Meadows are so sensitive. They really get affected by too much use. There are these old pictures of people parking in them in the 1960s and having love-ins. And really, you do that and the meadow dies. You just need to leave them alone.”
We got to an area that had some small rocks to climb up, and he let go of my hand, but then turned to pull me up. As we headed up the path, I noticed another hot spot on my feet. Dammit. I was always getting blisters. But I didn’t want to stop and fix it, so I ignored it. We continued on until the path got narrow and we had to break apart, but he still stayed right behind me, talking the whole way.
Fifteen minutes later, we huffed up to the top of a ridge, with truck-sized boulders. Together, we scrambled to the top of one. It was wide enough for ten people to sit on it, but Court went to the edge, sat down, and hung his feet over. I followed him, not liking being so high up.
But then I took a look.
A panoramic vista of Wawona lay below us, anchored by the Wawona Dome off to the side. The Q-Tip tops of pine and fir trees poked up everywhere, and we could hear the rush of the South Fork and see the granite rocks it passed.
I felt the lightheadedness from being so high up, but it was easier than before. “You’re gonna get me used to heights.”
“That’s my plan. You’re safe.”
We were also totally secluded, for the first time.
By ourselves. No party. No roommates. No tourists. No coworkers.
All alone in the wilderness.
I loved how we had jobs where we had access to places like this so easily. “It’s incredible up here.”
“Agreed.”
“Did you always know you wanted to be a forest ranger?”
“Yep. Love my job.” He picked up a pebble, fingered it, and tossed it. The pebble made a satisfying plink on the rock below.
Lumbersexual (Novella) Page 5
