Firestorm - Ellie Masters Page 0,4
his voice.
“I promise, and tell Gracie not to worry about me, please.”
“Take care, Evie, and please check in more often.”
I end the call and climb the boulders, eager to take in the view.
I’m not disappointed.
Wine country extends as far as I can see. The vineyards pop with green. Beyond them, the Sierras rise out of the ground and wait for me. From here, there’s little to see of their majesty other than a faint purple haze on the horizon.
I intend to hike the length of the rugged Sierra’s, at least after I’m a bit more confident of my backpacking and survival skills. Mistakes can mean the difference between life and death in the wilderness, especially for a woman all alone.
Although, do I care?
I have all the time in the world to do nothing and no one to share it with. I continue on up the trail, headed to the primitive campsite which will be my home for the night.
Live in the moment. That insistent voice in my head reminds me of my new motto.
As for dealing with the past, I’m not doing so well with that.
I’m terribly and brutally…alone.
I climb up the last steep switchback and emerge onto the ridge where I plan to spend the night.
Except I’m not alone.
Movement near the primitive campsite draws my eye. In my very limited experience, hikers are social creatures. We may look like loners, especially those of us who hike solo, but I’ve spent many nights sharing a campsite with strangers where we gathered around the fire, traded stories, and laughed until sleep found us beneath a canopy of stars.
More often than not, they share their tips and tricks with me, the inquisitive newbie. Incredibly supportive and helpful, most of what I learn about backpacking comes from people on the trails. There’s no reason to think this man will be any different, but for some reason, I pull out my phone and snap a picture. I tuck my phone into one of my cargo pockets and take a breath.
In and of itself, running into someone isn’t unusual, but I’ve been alone all day. For some reason, I’m a little on edge. I blame this on Prescott. His intrusive phone call connected me to a past I’ve spent months running away from.
The man’s erratic movements bring me to a stop. Dressed in baggy clothing with a bushy beard and oily, shoulder-length hair, my first thought is he’s homeless.
Not usually this paranoid, I try to calm down.
The man stops at a bush at the edge of the campsite and fluffs it?
I don’t know what else to call it.
What is he doing?
There he goes and does it again. It’s weird.
He squats down—his back is to me—and the bush gives a little wiggle. Is he hugging it? Have I found some weird bush-hugging freak? Is that even a thing? Although, this is California. There’s lots of tree huggers around here. Why not a bush hugger as well?
There’s a revolver tucked into the pack at my waist. A knife strapped to my shin. And I have that super effective bear spray that might take out a house cat, if I’m lucky. It should work on a man, right?
I should be totally safe.
Which is a good thing because the man notices me. I lift my arm and wave. Best to present a friendly face and take it from there.
He stretches to his full height, hands pressed to the small of his back, and squints. There’s no friendly wave. No hello shouted in greeting.
Well, I’m pretty good in social situations. I can charm a rock with my smile. It doesn’t hurt that I have the looks to stop a man in his tracks, but this may not be the best time to play that card.
Carefully, I make my way down.
“Boy, it’s a hot one today.” Talking about the weather always kickstarts a conversation.
The man stares at me.
Okay, next.
“Are you from around here?” People love talking about themselves. I just need to open him up a crack. Do that, and he’ll be my best friend in less than an hour.
His eyes narrow.
Okay, next.
“My name’s Evelyn Thornton. My friends call me Evie.” I flash him my biggest, brightest smile. It’s one that comes with a ninety-nine percent success rate in winning over men.
The man is unimpressed. He returns a scowl.
A tough nut to crack, I step it up a notch and bring out my skills as a socialite.
Megawatt smile engaged.
Bouncing boobs on point.
A little flick of my lashes?
He checks me out.
I prop