He scanned over my face. “I have one more condition.”
My face fell. Of course, there was a catch. This was the part where he was going to ask for sex. He’d already said he didn’t want a relationship, and that was the only thing I had to offer.
“What?” I said through my teeth.
“I wanna hike Barr Trail up Pikes Peak. None of the guys will go up with me.”
I puffed out a breath of relief. “Pikes Peak. That’s your condition?”
He shrugged. “I know you’ve hiked it before. A few times.”
“I’m probably one of the few locals who has.”
“Exactly. Will you hike it with me?”
“Really?” I wrinkled my nose, dubious.
He looked around, confused. “Is that stupid?”
I shook my head. “No.” I threw my arms around him and squeezed, pressing my cheek against his. His skin was soft, except for the stubbly parts. “It’s perfectly reasonable.”
His arms snaked around me, his muscles tense. “Not really. You don’t know how much hell my brothers are going to give me for bringing a girl home—especially a girl I’m not fucking.”
I pulled back, looking at him. “I’m the first girl you’ll be bringing home?”
“Yeah,” he said, frowning.
“We’ll just tell them that we’re friends. No big deal.” I lay back against him, nestling into his side.
He pulled the blanket up and around me. “Yeah,” he said with a sigh, “I’m going to end up punching one of my brothers over this.”
“What? Like it’d be the first time?” I teased.
He poked me in the ribs, and I squealed. The sound made him cackle.
He quieted. “I’m sorry … about what happened to you. And I’m sorry about Don. I tried. I saw the look on your face. I didn’t want you to lose him.”
“He was a good Papa,” I said, leaning my head back against his shoulder.
Chapter Nine
“Nope. No more seats left on the Cog Rail,” I said, glancing down at Taylor.
He was bent at the waist, grabbing his knees.
“Look,” I said.
The peaks and valleys below us were spread out for miles under a blanket of green that turned bluish farther out. We were above the clouds. We were above everything.
Taylor took a swig from his canteen and then let it fall to his hip from the thick green strap hanging from his shoulder and across his chest. He pulled the black fleece pullover over his head that he’d had tied around his waist for most of the climb, and then he returned his Oakley sunglasses back over his eyes.
“It’s gorgeous, but so was Lightning Point.” He turned toward the building behind us. “There’s a fucking gift shop up here? Really?” His breath was still labored, so he took another drink of water. “A gift shop and no way down.”
“And a restaurant. I thought you interagency guys were supposed to be in shape?”
“I’m in shape,” he said, standing a bit taller. “Almost thirteen miles of uphill rocky terrain, breathing thinner air, isn’t part of my daily workout.”
“Maybe you should quit smoking,” I said, arching an eyebrow.
“Maybe you should start.”
“It’s bad for you.”
“So is that energy bar full of high-fructose corn syrup and saturated fat you ate an hour ago.”
I pointed at a gray-haired gentleman posing with his wife at the Summit Point sign. “He’s not whining.”
Taylor’s face screwed into disgust. “He probably drove up here.” He put his hands on his hips and took in the landscape. “Wow.”
“Exactly,” I said.
Both times that I’d hiked Barr Trail were with my parents, and we were some of the only locals who had hiked the Peak once, much less twice. My parents were always passionate about seizing opportunities, and failing to hike a famous trail that was practically in our backyard when hundreds of thousands would travel to experience it would have most certainly been a missed opportunity.
That was back when I had been their Falyn—the girl they felt died the night they’d found me in the bathroom, crouched and sweaty, praying for help I couldn’t ask for. But the Falyn they had known didn’t die. She never existed, and that was probably what was so hard for them to accept—that they’d never known me at all. Now, they never would.
Taylor and I ambled about the summit. People were talking, but it was quiet. There was too much space to fill with voices. Taylor took pictures of us with his cell phone, and then he asked the older couple we’d spoken about before to take our photo at the summit sign.
“You’ve got to get a cell phone,” Taylor said. “Why not just get one of those pay-as-you-go phones?”
“I save all my money that doesn’t go to bills.”
“But think about all the pictures you’ve been missing out on.” He held up his phone. “I’m holding these hostage.”
I shrugged. “People have forgotten to use their memories. They look at life through the lens of a camera or the screen of a cell phone instead of remembering how it looks, how it smells”—I took a deep breath through my nose—“how it sounds”—my voice echoed over the smaller peaks below—“how it feels.” I reached out to touch his upper arm.
Something familiar sparked in his eyes, and I pulled away, stuffing my hands in the front pouch of my hoodie.
“Those are the kinds of things I want to keep, not a photograph.”
“When we’re their age,” Taylor said, gesturing to the older couple, “you’ll be glad we have the photograph.”
I tried not to smile. He probably didn’t mean it the way it sounded to me.
Taylor kicked at my foot. “It was a good day. Thanks for riding my ass all the way up.”
“I knew you could do it.”
“I’m just glad I did it with you.”
We locked eyes for an indeterminate amount of time. I knew I should look away, that it was awkward and weird that we were just staring at each other, yet I couldn’t seem to find the desire to look at anything else.
He took a step. “Falyn?”
“Yeah?”
“Today wasn’t just good. It might be my best day so far.”