God, it was way too much fucking fun messing with her. Everything about her was sexy, funny, and arousing. Just watching her hike fully clothed gave me a goddamn semi, but those two miles she walked with her tits hanging out? My balls ached and my cock was so hard it hurt. I don’t think she’d noticed, mainly because I’d done my best to direct her attention away from it.

For one thing, I hadn’t been with a girl in two months—I’d been focused on helping out with the saloon, helping Rome get things tightened up so I could step away and figure my own life out. Two months without sex? In my world, that was a fucking eternity. Or rather, an eternity without fucking.

And, truth be told, when I took care of things with the aid of lotion and Kleenex, it was always Izzy I’d imagined.

Or, more accurately, remembered.

That day in the hospital had been the best day of my life. I’d gone for a walk with her hoping to maybe get lucky, get a dirty quickie with her in the janitor’s closet. Push that hot little skirt of hers up and fuck her up against a wall or something. Get a little taste of all that strawberry blonde hotness, and be done with it. If I saw her again, I’d been convinced it’d be a polite nod at each other, in a distant sort of way. I really hadn’t expected Rome and Kitty to last, and I certainly hadn’t expected Rem to shack up with Juneau, or for them to last either.

But they’d both made what seemed to be lasting, monogamous, long-term commitments to those girls, thus leaving them to wonder why Izzy and I had never got together. Little did they know.

But, the thing was I had no interest in settling down. No interest in romance or commitment. I was a wanderer. An outdoorsman. My life was out here, on the trail, far from people.

Especially soft, spoiled city girls.

Except Izzy was proving she wasn’t soft at all. She’d hiked with me all damn day, carrying a pretty heavy pack, and hadn’t complained about it once. She kept up, too—albeit our pace was slow as we weren’t in a hurry.

Right now, for example, she was up ahead of me again, arms swinging, legs churning away on the trail, head on a swivel, taking in the incredible view all around us. The mountain was closer than ever, towering in snow-capped majesty over us, visible through the trees and above them. The creek chuckled noisily, birds chirped and cawed and screeched, squirrels chattered.

I caught a glimpse of something on the trail up ahead, a hint of brown fur, and I trotted to catch up with Izzy. I grabbed her arm and pulled her back, putting my finger to my lips.

Her eyes widened, those hazel-green pools betraying fear. “Another bear?” she whispered. “I thought we were supposed to be loud?”

I shook my head, finger over my lips, and crept forward. She followed, doing an admirable job at creeping as quietly as she could. We reached the end of the curve in the trail and, less than twenty feet away, standing head high in the center of the trail was massive bull elk with a spread of antlers at least six feet in diameter. It was munching on something; glancing around with bright, alert black eyes, jaw moving.

Izzy’s breath caught audibly, and I watched her hand cover her mouth in amazement. “Wow…” she whispered under her breath. “He’s….huge.”

“Bull elk,” I whispered. “Too bad it’s not hunting season.” I mimed raising a rifle to my shoulder and firing.

“You wouldn’t shoot him, would you?”

I just smirked. “Sure would…in season. Not for sport, though—for meat, for the fur, and for the antlers.”

She shook her head. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

He heard us, then, or smelled us. His head swiveled, and he spotted us, freezing. His tail twitched. His nose wrinkled, flared.

And then, with a single leap, he was gone, nearly a thousand pounds vanishing in near silence, barely a rustle of leaves to mark his passage.

“So beautiful,” Izzy murmured, still quiet even though he was gone. “I can’t believe you’d shoot something that majestic.”

“He was gorgeous, wasn’t he?”

It was late afternoon by this point, and I could tell Izzy was reaching the end of her day, as far as hiking was concerned. Her feet were dragging, her steps were slow, and she was constantly adjusting the pack, trying to find a way to make the weight more comfortable. I reminded myself that she’d never hiked before, so even though I could have kept going for a few more hours without any issue, it was time to stop for the day for her sake.

I checked the map of the trail, compared it to the coordinates on my GPS unit, and reckoned we were only another mile or so from a camping spot. While I was figuring our position, Izzy was rolling her shoulders and stretching her back and adjusting the straps. I showed her the map, pointing at one spot.

“We’re about here,” I said, and then pointed at the campground. “This is our first camping spot. Not far now. You gonna make it?”

She sighed. “Well, camping here isn’t an option, I don’t think, so yeah, I’ll make it.”

“You need a longer rest?”

She shook her head. “Nah. I’d rather just push on and get there.”

I smacked her gently on the ass. “Atta girl.”

She frowned at me. “Stop patting me on the butt. This isn’t football, and I’m not your girlfriend. It’s demeaning.”

“It’s not demeaning, it’s affectionate. Plus, I just like touching your butt.”

She rolled her eyes, shook her head, and sighed. “No kidding. But I’m telling you, no patting.”

I smacked harder. “How about if it’s too hard to be considered a pat?”

She shoved at me. “No, you dick. No touching the butt at all.”

I pouted, sticking out my lip. “No touching the butt? Not at all?”

She tried to stifle a laugh, but couldn’t. “God, you’re ridiculous.”

“Does that mean I can still touch the butt?”

“No, Ram. No touching the butt.”

I harrumphed. “Fine.” I crossed my arms over my chest trying to look dramatic. “But that’s a stupid rule and I hate it.”

She cackled. “You’re such a twelve-year-old.” She flounced back into motion, heading down the trail. “Touching the butt is a privilege you haven’t earned yet.”

“How do I earn it?”

“You’ll know when you do.”

“I will? How?”

She just shot me a sizzling, sarcastic smirk. “Oh, you’ll just know. Trust me on that.”

I followed her, hungrily watching that which I was not yet allowed to touch. Despite having touched it more than once already…and having eaten her pussy till she screamed.

But, no. No touching the perfect ass.

Fine. Whatever.

I was being ridiculous and I knew it, but it made her laugh, and hearing her laugh was worth it.

Plus, her phrasing indicated that I would earn that privilege, not that I merely could.

Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker—I’mma touch the butt.

She eyed me. “What the hell are you grinning about?”

I shrugged, pulling an innocent face. “Nothing.”

“Ram.”

“What?”

“What are you grinning about?”

I gestured around us. “Being out here in this beautiful world, on a gorgeous day, with a sexy, funny woman who at the very least doesn’t hate me…what else do I need to be happy?”

She had no response to that, which I took as a victory.

At long last, we reached the campsite, which was, to my happiness, empty. We might possibly get company later in the evening, but most folks used this trail as a day trip, whether biking or hiking, so I was hopeful we’d have it to ourselves. I chose the best site, tucked back under the canopy of trees and well off the trail with a nice fire ring. There was a soft bed of pine needles on the ground, which would make for great sleeping, too. I shucked my pack and immediately began setting up the tent. I gave Izzy a few minutes to rest and stretch, and then gestured her over.

“Ever set up a tent?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “What do you think?”

I laughed. “I know, I’m teasing.” I gestured at the woods. “Can you collect some wood for our campfire? Stay close to the campsite, within shouting distance of me.”

“What kind of wood?”

I stared, confused. “Um…any kind. It doesn’t matter, it all burns the same.”

She huffed. “No, I meant how big? Like, how big should the sticks be?”

I laughed. “Oh. Doesn’t matter. Whatever you can carry in your arms. I mean, don’t collect, like tiny little twigs or giant branches. Just kindling.”

“I don’t know what kindling is.”

“You’ve never had a bonfire? Never watched anyone build a fire?”

She shrugged. “I mean, sure. I’ve been around bonfires a few times, but I’ve never paid attention to how it was built.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “City girls, man.” I set down the poles I was sorting and assembling and found a two-foot long, thumb-thick piece of deadfall. “About like this. Bigger is fine, smaller is fine. Like I said, just don’t bother with tiny or huge. And don’t stray too far.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t stray? What am I, a dog?”

I gazed at her levelly. “Izzy, do you remember the bear?” I gestured at the bear lockers in a line to one side of the campground. “What do you think those are for?”

“So no one steals your stuff?”

“It’s a bear locker,” I said. “You put your food in there so bears don’t tear your shit apart looking for snacks.”

“They’ll do that?”

I laughed. “God, you’ve really never been camping, have you? Yes, bears are notorious for getting into food and garbage. They’re basically huge raccoons. They’ll climb into dumpsters and eat garbage, and they’ll tear entire campgrounds to shreds if they catch a whiff of anything remotely edible.”

“Oh.”

“Just because this is a place designated as a campsite for people doesn’t mean bears won’t come here. They don’t know it’s a campground. It’s in the middle of their forest. There’s no magical bear-proof forcefield.” I grabbed my bear spray out of my bag and handed it to her. “Bear spray. Just in case.”

“Now I’m scared.”

I laughed. “It’ll be fine. You’ll make enough noise tromping around looking for wood that any bears within a mile will hear you coming and run off before you even know they’re there. But, sometimes, they’ll surprise you, so I just want you to be, you know…alert and aware.”

She hesitated. “If a bear eats me, I’m going to haunt you forever. I hope you know that.”

“It wouldn’t eat you, most likely,” I said. “It would just rip you up a bit and run off.”

“Wow. You’re really making me feel a lot better about this, Ram, thanks.”

I laughed. “You’ll be fine. Sing a song.”

She sighed. “Fine. But don’t laugh at my singing.”

I held up my hands. “Hey, I can’t carry a tune in a bucket even if you carried the bucket for me, so I’m not one to judge, trust me.”

She headed off into the woods behind our campsite, and I heard her singing—I recognized a Lady Gaga tune, one of those ubiquitous songs you can’t get away from that end up stuck in your head for days. She had a sweet voice, high and clear, and despite telling me not to laugh, I thought she sounded great.

I had the tent set up within a few minutes, and made sure the rain shelter was stowed where I could get to it easily in case of a sudden rain shower. I checked the fire ring, making sure there wasn’t any trash or debris in it, and then grabbed my hatchet and followed the sound of Izzy’s voice. I found her not far away, with an armload of kindling, singing “Once Upon A Dream” from Sleeping Beauty.

With her long, shimmery strawberry blonde hair gleaming in the afternoon sun, she could’ve been Aurora. I surprised her by joining in the song, just like in the Disney classic.

She startled, gasping. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” I smiled at her. “I’m not sure why you told me not to laugh—you have a beautiful voice.”

She shrugged. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a Disney songs sorta chick, though.”

She resumed her hunt for kindling while I found a long, thick piece of deadfall and started hacking the smaller branches off it.

“My mom used to sing songs from the old classics all the time. She’d float around the house, cleaning or cooking or whatever, just singing. She had the most beautiful voice.” She was quiet, almost reverent.

I’d noticed, just then and before, her use of the past tense in regard to her mother, but I didn’t ask. Instead, I just nodded. “Well, your voice is just as beautiful as I imagine hers must have been.”

She looked at me, surprised, probably expecting the question I hadn’t asked. “You never cease to surprise me, Ram.”

I set the smaller branches aside in a pile and started chopping the branch into manageable, burnable sections. When I was done, I wiped a bead of sweat off my forehead with a forearm and glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “I always expect you to ask about stuff, but you never do.”

I flipped the hatchet in the air and caught it by the handle. “I don’t appreciate being pressed to talk about shit I don’t wanna talk about, so it’d be kinda hypocritical to push you to do it, you know?” I shoved the hatchet into my belt and gathered the wood in my arms. “I figure if you want me to know, you’ll talk about it. And if you do, I’ll listen, and I’ll be glad as hell that you chose to trust me on it. If not, that’s your business.”

She followed me back to camp, and we set our loads of wood near the fire ring.

Brushing off her hands and shirt, Izzy glanced at me, as if weighing what to say next. “She died when I was thirteen.” A hesitation. “My mom, I mean.”

“Shit, that sucks. I’m sorry that happened.”

She nodded. “It was…awful. She got into a car accident on the way to pick me up after school. She just…never showed up. Dad was at work and was unreachable, and I just…I sat alone outside the school for hours, just waiting, but she…she never showed up. Eventually I walked home, but no one was there. Dad was head of the neurology department, so he worked crazy hours. A police officer showed up at my house an hour after I got there and asked for my dad. I told him he was at work still and wasn’t really reachable, and he said there’d…there’d been an accident, and that it was important I reach him.”

“Good lord.”

“Yeah. So, I paged him. The rule was no using his pager number unless it was an actual life-or-death emergency because, being a neurosurgeon, his work was, literally, life or death. He called me back a few minutes later, and I gave the policeman the phone to talk to Dad. The officer wouldn’t tell me what had happened, only that there’d been an accident involving my mom, and that it was best to wait for Dad. But…I knew. The way he was acting, that he wouldn’t tell me…I knew.”

I had no idea what to say to that. “Shit, Izzy. I…” I shrugged. “I have no idea what to say, honestly.”

She shrugged. “Nothing to say. It happened a long time ago.” She gestured at the pile of kindling. “Do we need more?”

I shook my head. “Nah. That’s plenty. I’m gonna go chop up another branch, and I’ll be right back. Just chill for a minute.”

I found another good-sized branch not far from the campsite, chopped it up, and brought it back, piling it near the fire ring. Izzy was sitting on a section of tree trunk, near the ring, that had been placed there long ago as a seat; she was eying the tent with an odd expression on her face.

“So, um…that’s the tent?” she asked.

I nodded. “That’s the tent.”

It had been a splurge for me, being one of the nicest and most expensive two-person tents available—being a pretty big guy, I liked having a tent large enough to sprawl out in, and I didn’t mind the extra weight which, as expensive as it was, was negligible. But, from the perspective of a city girl who’d never even been glamping in an RV before, I could see how the size of it would be disconcerting. It was big enough by far for one person, but for two? It would be…cozy.

“It’s kind of…small.”

I grinned. “Well, considering I typically hike and camp alone, it’s actually big.”

“When you said we’d just share a tent, I thought you meant a tent like…” She gestured vaguely with her hands, indicating a tent large enough to house six people plus possibly a horse. “Something bigger.”

I shrugged. “Name of the game when hiking is to carry only what you need and no more. This is more tent than I strictly need, but I’m a pretty big fella, so I like a big tent.” I gestured at it. “Climb in—we’ll both fit, I promise.”

She knelt in front of the opening, unzipped it, and peered in, and then turned to look at me over her shoulder. “Yeah, we’ll fit…on top of each other.”

I just winked.

“No,” she snapped. “Nope. Not happening.”

“No?” I grinned. “Sure about that?”

“Argh!” she howled. “No, Ramsey. We’re not sleeping—I’m not sleeping on top of you.”

“Other way around, babe. I’ll sleep on you. I get real warm at night, so I’ll be like a big, sexy blanket.”

“Ah, such humility,” she said. “Nope. That’s not gonna work.”

I laughed. “Well, that’s the only option. And babe, if you think I’m chivalrous enough to sleep on the ground outside while you take the tent, think again. I carried the fucker in and I’m carrying the fucker out, so I’m sleeping in it.”

“Nice.”

I shrugged. “Izz, honey, you need to relax.” I took my sleeping bag off my pack, knelt beside her at the opening, leaned in, and unrolled the sleeping bag to one side; I grabbed hers off her pack and did the same, laying them side by side, which left inches of room in between and on both sides. “See? Side by side, separate bags, plenty of room.”

She eyed the interior. “Huh. I didn’t think they’d fit.”

I laughed again. “It’s a two-person tent. Therefore, designed to fit two people.”

“Just barely.”

“Well, yeah. Did you think it was gonna have an espresso machine and a hot tub inside?”

“I wish,” she said, laughing. “Fine. It’ll work.”

I leaned back out of the tent and zipped it closed. “So. Ready to catch our dinner?”

She blinked at me. “Am I? Or are you?”

“We are, babe. You’re helping.”

She shook her head. “Oh hell no. I’m not fishing.”

“Then you don’t eat.” I shrugged, gesturing at her bag. “Or, at least nothing that’s not in there, and I only bought enough food to supplement the fish we’d catch tonight and tomorrow.”

“I don’t know how to fish.”

I clapped her on the shoulder. “Well, honeybuns, that’s what this trip is about, right? Learning new shit. How to hike, how to sleep in a tent, how to catch, clean, cook, and eat fish, how to build a fire.”

She glared at me. “Honeybuns?”

“Yup. Because those buns of yours are sweet as honey.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes with barely restrained laughter. “You are such an idiot.”

I collected my fishing gear—collapsible rods, line, bait, lures, hooks, and stringer. “Well, this idiot is your only chance of eating fresh fish tonight, so I’d get a move on, honeybuns. Fish are waiting!”

She went to her pack and bent to shrug into it with an air of resignation. “Fine. Jesus.”

“Uh, Izzy?”

She glanced at me. “Yes, Ramsey?”

I gestured at the pack. “You don’t need that.” I gestured at mine, leaning against a tree nearby. “I’m leaving mine, see?”

“Oh.” She eyed the packs. “Won’t someone steal them?”

“I mean, I suppose the possibility exists, but it’s unlikely. Stealing someone’s gear is…it’s basically the worst thing you can do. The majority of the people that use these trails tend to show respect for the others on it.” I shrugged. “Plus, we’re close enough to both ends of the trail that we’d be fine even without it. It’s not like we’re in the true wilderness a week’s hike from, like, Coldfoot or whatever the fuck. We’re a matter of hours from the trailhead and the terminus.”

She nodded. “Oh. Right.” She looked around as she followed me. “So, this is, like, not really even the true bush, is it?”

I shrugged. “I mean, I wouldn’t recommend getting lost off the trail, but no, not really.”

“You ever been out there?”

I shook my head. “Not like you’re thinking. To get to where you need your gear to literally survive, no. It’s on my list, but I haven’t gotten there yet. Most of my trips since moving up here have been day or weekend trips that I can access by car. To get to where I’d really like to be, you need a plane or a boat to drop you off and pick you up.”

I led her toward the creek, and then we strolled easily along it, following it upstream away from the trail and the campsite, where the fish were unlikely to have been recently disturbed. I found a beautiful little spot where the creek widened, with a big old tree near the edge throwing a nice big pool of shade across the water. It was calm but swift, stained with tannins but still clear enough to see the bottom, the water occasionally churning white around an outcropping of rock.

“This is a great spot,” I said. “Let’s try here.”

Izzy watched with interest as I set up both fishing rods, tied on hooks and bait, and then handed her one.

“I’m guessing you don’t know how to cast,” I said. “Safe assumption?”

“I know how to smartcast my phone to my TV,” she said, grinning, “but I’m guessing that’s not what you mean.”

“Uh, no.”

I lifted the rod and pointed out the various parts, showing her how to cast it. It took her a good half dozen tries, in which she only got the line snarled three times, but she started to get the hang of it.

I pointed at the pool of shade over the water. “Fish like to hang out in shady spots like that. What you wanna do is cast your line into the water upstream of the shade and let it ride downstream into it, and then slowly reel the line back in.”

“That’s it?”

I grinned. “That’s it. Fishing ain’t really the most complicated thing in the world, which I guess is why we dumb guys like doing it so much. Cast, reel, cast, reel. That’s it.” I waved a hand. “I mean, you can make it complicated. Lures and bait for specific kinds of fish, special rods and reels, various line test weights, all that. But, at its essence, fishing is really just putting bait a fish’ll eat on a hook, throwing it in the water, and hauling it back in.”

“I guess I expected it to be harder.”

“The hard part is the boredom. You may cast and reel a hundred times and never get a bite, but when you do feel that line tug, feel the fish hit, it all becomes worth it. You’ll see.” I gestured at the river. “Try it.”

I watched as she headed downstream closer to the shade of the tree, sorted out her hands on the rod and reel, worked the line release lever, and then, with an admirably smooth motion, cast the baited hook way out into the middle of the river.

“Nice!” I called. “Now let the line spool out a bit with the current until it’s pretty much clear of the shade, and then reel it in nice and slow.”

I figured she’d get a hit within the first few tries, so I kept an eye on her as I headed upstream a ways to a different spot, where I had to do a fancier bit of casting to get the hook where I wanted it. Cast, let it float, reel it in. I closed my eyes for a moment and just soaked in the moment. It was utterly peaceful. Just the sun on my face, breeze ruffling my clothes and cooling me off, an eagle screeching somewhere way overhead, the creek chuckling merrily. No cars, no buildings, no crowds, no bills, no saloon, no brothers—as much as I loved them. Just me and nature…and Izzy.

Which, oddly, was not as weird or uncomfortable as I’d thought it would be. I’d expected her to hold me back, drag me down, to complain and bitch about how heavy the bag was and, oh no I broke a nail, and the mosquitos are biting me. Instead, she proved to be an entertaining hiking partner, easy to talk to, fun to mess with, but quick to catch on to my weird sense of humor. Plus, hot as fuck.

I opened my eyes, reeled my line in, and glanced at Izzy. She was standing with her feet spread apart, head tipped back, eyes closed—like I’d just been—letting her line float.

She was just flat-out beautiful. Classically, breathtakingly beautiful. Hot, sure. But…beautiful. She could have been a pinup model, or a black-and-white era movie star, like Betty Page or Rita Hayworth. I watched her for a minute, watched her just enjoy the sun and the peacefulness.

And then the tip of her rod bent and tugged, and she shrieked. “Ram! What’s happening?”

I laughed. “You have a bite! Stay cool, babe! Just reel it in.”

I reeled my line in, set the pole on the bank, and jogged over to Izzy, who was wide-eyed with excitement. The reel was singing, the line bent nearly double.

“Dude, you’ve got a hell of a fish on there!” I said to her with a grin. “Just keep reeling. Angle the tip upward and reel it in, let the tip sag down a second, and then yank it up again and reel it in.”

She fought it, doing as I said—dragging the tip of the rod toward the sky and reeling like crazy, and then letting the tip settle downward again, only to yank it up and reel some more. “It’s so…heavy!”

I caught a glimpse of the fish—a massive river salmon. “Damn, girl! You hooked a monster!”

“I feel like it’s going to yank me into the river!” she said, leaning backward while reeling.

“Nah, babe, you’ve got it!”

“Can’t you take it?”

“Sure I could, but then you wouldn’t get the satisfaction of having brought that big bitch in on your own. This is your victory, not mine.”

She was silent, then, as she fought the salmon. I was honestly worried either the line or the rod itself was going to break, the way it was bending, but it continued to hold.

“It’s getting tired,” I told Izzy. “Let the line run for a few seconds, and then reel it in hard.”

She held the lever and let it float, the line sliding downstream as the tired salmon glided with the swift current, and then Izzy started reeling again, and now the fish started fighting again, but half-heartedly. Izzy slowly but surely brought the line closer and closer to the riverbank, and once it was within reach, I bent and grabbed the line, hauling the fish up out of the water.

“HOLY FUCK!” Izzy shouted, tossing the rod onto the bank and coming over to me. “That thing is a monster!”

It was easily two, almost three feet long and weighed several pounds.

“You hold it,” I told her.

She hefted the fish in both hands, and it gave a few exhausted wriggles, but it was too tired and out of air to fight anymore. I’d brought along a digital camera small enough to fit into my hip pocket, and I took it out, powered it on, and put Izzy and her giant fish in the frame.

Her smile was huge, exhilarated, and proud.

I put the salmon on a stringer. “You just caught dinner for both of us, babe,” I told her.

She was fairly vibrating. “I can’t believe I caught that!”

I laughed. “What I can’t believe is that you caught that monster on that rod and line. It’s a small miracle the line didn’t snap, if not the pole itself. You typically need heavier duty rods and line for fish that heavy.”

I collapsed the rods, secured the lines and reels, set the fish on the bank, and hauled out my knife.

“Time to clean it,” I said, handing the knife to Izzy.

She just stared at me. “Um…no?”

I grinned. “Part of catching it, sweetheart. I’ll walk you through it, and I’ll do the tricky parts.”

And, once again, Izzy absolutely surprised me—she wasn’t squeamish at all. She lopped off the head like a pro, tossed it aside, and followed my directions on cleaning the fish without so much as a whimper of disgust. When the salmon had been reduced to manageable filets, and the guts tossed aside for scavengers, I wrapped it in the tinfoil I’d brought along for the purpose, giving it to Izzy to carry.

“And there’s dinner. Now we go make a fire and cook it up.” We washed our hands in the cold, clear water of the river and headed back toward camp; I caught Izzy glancing at me with an odd expression as we walked. “What?”

She shrugged. “If you’d told me even a week ago that I’d be out here, wearing this, hiking with you, catching a giant salmon, and getting ready to cook it over a fire, I’d have laughed my ass off.”

“What’s funny is that you include your outfit in the unusual aspect of all this.”

She shot me a side-eye. “I’m a fashion blogger, Ramsey. I don’t wear jeans and T-shirts even on laundry day.”

“Explain to me what a fashion blogger is,” I said.

“Sort of…a tastemaker, if you know what I mean? I keep up with the latest trends, watching what celebrities and celebrity designers and stylists are doing, and I try to make it accessible for the average person. So, like, if a Kardashian or Taylor Swift or whoever is photographed wearing something cool and interesting, it’s probably super expensive and out of reach for the average woman. What I do is find pieces and outfits that mimic that look in a price range a business professional or even a sale-savvy college girl can afford, and explain how to create a similar look. So I write about fashion trends, model the looks myself, and explain how to create the look at home.”

Judging by the look she gave me, I think she expected me to either give her a blank look, or laugh at her; I decided to surprise her with a question I doubted she’d be expecting.

“Is that a career for you?”

She frowned at me, as sideswiped by the question as I’d expected. “Um. What?”

“Fashion blogging. It sounds cool. Is that what you’re passionate about? Is that your future?”

She didn’t answer for quite a long time. “I…huh. You are the last person on earth I’d have expected to ask me that.”

“Why?”

A shrug. “I dunno.”

“It’s a question that’s been on my mind about myself lately, so I guess I’m just curious.”

“You’ve been asking yourself what your future is?”

I nodded. “Well, sure. Growing up, my brothers and I had one singular goal: get the fuck out of Oklahoma. We knew we weren’t cut out for, or interested in, sports, even though we’re all athletic enough we probably could’ve gone that route, and the military didn’t interest us. So, what could three big, strong, active, troublemaking young fellas get into that would put money in our pockets and get us the fuck out of the ass end of Redneckville, Oklahoma?” I shrugged. “Wildfire fighting ended up being the answer. At first we were just thinking regular old forest service fire crew, and we got into a hotshot crew, but we didn’t quite fit in. We met a couple of smokejumpers in a bar in Idaho, got to talking, and realized that was where we belonged—on a smokejumper crew. So we headed to Cali, joined up, and spent the next few years there, fighting wildfires with the smokejumpers.”

“I heard a little bit about what you do from Kitty, but that’s about it,” Izzy said, as we reached our campsite and began stacking the wood. I set about building a fire in the ring.

“So, you’ve got firefighter crews that work for the US Forest Service, right? But then you also have two sets of elite units that do different jobs. The hotshots are guys you hear about a lot, especially lately with all the wildfires in California. They make up the front lines of the worst wildfires. They’re true badasses, those guys. Tough as hell, fit, and ballsy. But they’re a tight unit, you know? Regimented, orderly, sort of quasi-military in a way. They drive as close to the fire as they can get, and then hike in the rest of the way, carrying whatever gear they need with them, and they attempt to contain the fire. Smokejumpers, on the other hand—we’re a wild, rowdy bunch. Cowboys, renegades. A little crazy, adrenaline-junkie types. Gotta be, because our job is to parachute into the middle of wildfires in places so remote that even the hotshots can’t get there. We jump in, and we fight the fire from the inside until the hotshots and forest service crews can get to us.”

“That sounds…insanely dangerous.”

I had the fire going by this time, and sat back to let it build up to a nice hot blaze. “Yup. About as dangerous as you’d think, and then some.”

“Did you like it?”

I nodded. “I loved it. It was challenging, and a constant thrill. If we weren’t fighting a fire, we were training, because for that job, you have to stay on top of your skills and at peak fitness, so there’s no downtime.”

“What brought you here to Alaska? You’re not fighting fires anymore.”

“Our dad had a heart attack, and he’s an alcoholic. He’s the only family we had left, so we had to go back down to Oklahoma to take care of him. We had enough money saved that we could take a few months off and just focus on him. But then Roman saw our cousin Xavier on TV or some shit, and got a wild hair up his ass about coming up here. He had this idea that we’d haul Dad up here, get to know all the Badd cousins we had never met, open a bar, and rake in the money while hooking up with all the hot tourists. Basically, he thought that’s what our cousins were doing and he wanted to give it a go. Only, Dad wouldn’t go. After we got him healthy and sober, we knew we needed to get on with our lives. Then Roman convinced Remington and me to come with him up here. Neither Rem nor I had any better ideas, so we went along with it.”

“If your dad was healthy and sober, why didn’t you go back to firefighting?”

I sighed. “We needed a break. We had a pretty bad experience. A fire got out of control and took an unexpected turn. A good friend of ours got killed—a friend of mine. It…um.” I poked at the fire, because this was one of those things I didn’t like talking about. “It was bad.”

“What happened?” Izzy asked, sitting on the log next to me.

I eyed her. “You really want to know?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

I’d set a big flat rock in the ring, outside of the fire but close enough to absorb the heat, and, after seasoning the salmon, I placed the packet of fish on the rock.

“We’d split up into three teams. Rem and Rome were together, working along the base of a ridge, and Jameson, Kevin, and I were on the opposite side of the ridge working toward the end of it, with the intent of connecting with Rem and Rome. Two other guys, Peterson and Mackie, were heading along the ridge from the north—the worst of the fire was on the top of the ridge heading north, and we were trying to stop it from spreading any further. What happened was just…a freak accident. In fires that intense, trees fall all the time. You hear it happening and know to get out of the way. It’s just part of the job. But sometimes, shit happens. Jameson, Kevin and I were working together heading south along the base of the ridge, establishing a perimeter. And, …this giant Jack pine just…toppled over. No warning, nothing. There was so much other noise around us we just didn’t hear it.”

I was silent again, remembering. I could almost feel the heat, see the flames all around us. Hear the crackle and roar. Jameson off to my right, Kevin in the middle, me on the left.

“It was just…wham. Forty tons of mature pine crashing down without a single goddamn warning. It clipped me, sent me flying. Left Jameson on the far side of it, and Kevin right underneath it.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Yeah.” I scrubbed my face. “Kevin was a fourth brother to the three of us. He was with us when we first joined the US Forest Service, went through training with us, and we all got into the same hotshot crew and ended up transferring together to the Redding smokejumper crew. Kevin was…he was a great man. A good friend.”

“I’m so sorry, Ram.”

I shrugged. “It was…bad. I went sorta crazy, I guess. Started attacking that tree with my fucking ax like I could somehow save Kevin. And I mean, I knew he was gone. When forty tons of wood hits you full force, you don’t survive. He was dead at first impact, but…I had to save him, had to get to him. All I could think at the time was I should’ve seen the tree falling, we should’ve taken a different route, and a million other things. Rome and Rem had to pull me off before the fire swallowed us. We’d gotten behind it trying to get to Kevin, and we almost didn’t make it out in time.”

She pulled her hat off and freed her hair from the ponytail, running her fingers through it. She was quiet for a few minutes.

“I wish I had some meaningful words for you,” she said. “I’m sorry you and your brothers went through that. I’ve never really thought about what it takes to fight a forest fire, and now I have a new respect for those guys.”

“Yep. I still think of Kevin every day. We all knew what we were getting into when we joined the Fire Service, but it was hard to lose a friend like that.”

“So…what are you going to do now, if you’re not going back to firefighting? Are you planning to continue with the saloon and work with your brothers?”

I flipped the packet of fish over with the tip of my knife. “This,” I said, gesturing around our campsite.

She laughed. “I didn’t know you could be a professional backpacker.”

“I meant taking care of places like this. Park ranger, I’m thinking.”

She set her hat on the log beside her hip, gathered her hair behind her head, and began plaiting it into a thick braid. “Seems to me you have perfect qualifications for a job like that. What’s stopping you?”

“Rome still needs my help at the saloon.”

“And that’s not your scene, I’m guessing?”

I snorted. “Ahhh, no. Not even a little. I hate bars with a passion. I hate drinking in them, eating in them, hanging out in them. I’m a man who belongs outside. I need the sky over my head, open air around me. I feel like I’m choking when I’m in the city.”

“It does feel different out here,” she said. “Open. Free.”

I nodded. “Exactly. So no, owning a bar, that’s definitely not my scene. It’s Roman’s for sure—he loves that shit. He thrives on the attention, the crowds, the energy, and the atmosphere. To me, I just feel hemmed in. Might as well put me in jail as stick me behind a bar. But …”

“But?”

“But Roman needs me. He’s my triplet, so I have to be there for him. I can’t just…up and leave right now. And if I were to do what I really want, I’d be out here more often than not, working in forest management. Hiking or riding these trails, maintaining them, watching the timberline, evaluating tree health, monitoring wildlife, all that. I’d basically have to leave Rome and Rem to run the place themselves, and I know Rem is pretty much done with it, too, now that he and Juneau are doing the tattoo thing, which leaves me…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t have any specific answers, it’s just what I’ve been chewing on for a while.”

She was quiet, then, tracing lines in the dirt with the toe of her boot. “I like blogging. I love clothes, and fashion.”

I caught a note of hesitation in her voice. “And?”

She didn’t look at me. “I don’t know.”

I pulled the foil packet off the rock, unfolded it, and checked the fish inside—it was done. I grabbed a few cans of fruit and a bag of trail mix, divided the filets in half, and handed her a set of utensils.

“Dig in,” I said.

For the next few minutes there was no conversation, just us eating. The fish was piping hot, almost too hot to eat at first, but then once it had cooled off, Izzy devoured it without pausing for breath.

I grinned at her. “So, fisherwoman. How does your first fresh-caught fish taste?”

“It’s amazing!” she said, around a mouthful. “It’s so good I can’t stand it.”

“How’s it feel knowing you caught it and cleaned it yourself?”

She licked the juices off her fingers, and there was something so stupidly erotic about the way she licked her fingers clean that I had to rip my eyes off of her and focus on my food.

“It’s…I don’t know how to put it,” she answered.

“A sense of accomplishment?”

“Yeah, sort of.” She shrugged. “I dunno. I guess I just…I feel…connected to nature, somehow. Like, I have this whole new appreciation for how people had to live before civilization made everything easy.”

I laughed, nodding. “Totally, I totally get what you’re saying. That’s part of why I love being out here. I have never fit in, anywhere or with anyone except Rome and Rem. It’s not about my size or the way I look, it’s just…I’ve always felt out of place around people.” I wadded the tinfoil up and took a handful of trail mix, tossing nuts and M&Ms into my mouth before handing Izzy the bag. “Out here, it’s just me. Nature was here before me; it’ll be here after me. The trees, the bears, the elk, the stars, the insects, the fish, the birds…none of that cares about me. I don’t have to fit in. I don’t have to have a college education, or be good at math or taking tests, or talking to people. I can hunt and fish for food. I can gather berries and wild roots and herbs. I can survive in the wild with not much more than my knife, some fishing line, and my own wits. I can be just me out here, and there’s no one to care. I find comfort in that.”

Izzy was eying me with curiosity and interest. “I think I understand that, actually.”

“So. What about you?”

She blinked. “I…I don’t know.”

“You said you like blogging, and that you love clothes and fashion.”

“I do.”

“You don’t sound convincing.”

“I wasn’t trying to convince you of anything.”

“I guess I was asking if it was your future, but it seemed like you were avoiding the question, so you got me talking about myself instead.” I watched her reaction carefully.

She closed down, her eyes hardening, her expression going distant, her body language shutting down and turning inward—arms crossing, legs pressing together, turning away from me, head lowering, chin going to her chest, a frown creasing her lovely features.

She didn’t answer.

“Izzy, you don’t have to talk about it,” I said. “I’m sorry if I’m pushing something you don’t want to share. Forget I asked.”

She gave a minute lift of one shoulder. “I…um. I’m gonna go for a walk down by the creek.”

“Make sure you’re paying attention to where you’re going and what’s around you. Be aware, and be present. If you need to be alone, fine, just maybe find somewhere out of sight but close by. I don’t want you wandering too far.”

She stood up, giving a mocking two-finger salute as she did so. “Yes sir, Mr. Ranger, sir.”

“I’m just trying to keep you safe,” I muttered, stung.

“Sorry, Ram. I just need to…” She shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

I watched her go, braid swinging, hands shoved in her back pockets, head down. For a lively, vivacious, spirited, opinionated, independent woman, she was suddenly subdued and withdrawn. Clearly, I’d accidentally stepped in something smelly.

Evening was falling, and I was worried Izzy would wander off, lost in her thoughts leading her to get lost in the woods, so I banked the fire, sheathed my knife, grabbed a rod and reel and bait, and followed her at a distance, making sure to stay out of sight and earshot, but able to keep an eye on her.