Being that attracted meant she was vulnerable, that she was exposing herself to the pain of rejection, even if that rejection wasn’t personal. Her instinct for self-protection shrieked at her to turn around.
Duty kept her going.
She needed him, needed his help. Everyone in Wears Valley needed him. They needed his experience, his brain, his tactical thinking and expertise.
If Ted would listen to anyone, it was Ben. There was something about Ben that said “dangerous” to anyone with a lick of sense about them, or at least “this man can kick my ass seven ways from Sunday.” And even if Ted, or anyone else, didn’t want to listen they’d do so anyway, precisely because of that aura of danger.
She remembered about the big rock Mike had said was in the middle of Ben’s driveway, so she stopped short, well down the hill where there was a bit of a shoulder she could use to turn around. Doing so left her with a longer hike, but that was better than trying to drive in reverse down the narrow, winding private road.
Big, tall trees loomed around her on both sides, blocking out the sunlight and making it seem as if sundown was near. Living in the Great Smoky region she was always aware of the old, mysterious mountains, but actually being up in the mountains was always a different experience. She felt their age, the isolation, the sense that here humans were at the mercy of nature.
When she got out of her Honda the difference in temperature struck her, too; there was a good fifteen, maybe twenty degree difference between here under the big trees and down in the sunny valley. Cautiously she looked around, and listened for the sound of anything moving in the brush, but there was nothing alarming.
Even though there was no one around, no sign that a human other than Ben was anywhere near, she locked her car and stuck the keys in her pocket, and started up the steep road, which narrowed more and more and finally transitioned from asphalt to two parallel paths of gravel divided by weeds, testimony that even before the CME no one had come up here very often, if at all, and Ben had seldom driven down.
The way was steep, so steep that within fifty yards she was huffing and puffing, her legs aching. To ease the strain on her muscles she changed tactics and instead of tackling the mountain head-on she zigzagged her way up, like a boat tacking into the wind. Wind sighed through the big trees, the tops gently swaying, and the rich smell of the forest wrapped around her.
She stopped and just stood there for a minute, something in her connecting to the vibrant power of the mountains. She wished for more time. She wished for a camera, to record what her eyes were seeing, but what she felt wasn’t something that could be caught in a photograph.
Another hundred yards and she rounded a curve, came to the big rock Mike had mentioned. It was an effective security measure, one positioned exactly where no car could go around it on either side, and only a truck riding on a frame as high as Ben’s could clear it. The rock was mute testimony that she wasn’t making a mistake coming here. Ben would know what to do, how to give them a tactical advantage.
Finally she puffed around another curve and abruptly there was the house, sitting on a miraculously flat piece of ground, with Ben’s truck parked there on the side. The mountain continued rising on the left; on the right, the valley spread out before her. She slowed to a stop, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted as she stared in awe. A wide porch encircled the house, and she could see a rocking chair on the end of the house looking out over the valley. The view was breathtaking. He would sit there, she imagined, watching the world below him and not participating, alone in this aerie.
The house was one story, dark brown planks or siding running horizontally; from the valley it would be impossible to pick out, especially in the summer with the trees in full leaf. It wasn’t in the cabin style at all, but had a kind of . . . nautical style to it, because there was a round porthole window. Country midcentury nautical, maybe, which meant there was no real style to it. It was a functional house, period, and that