Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,14

landed in a stand on the pavement before her, pushing a mass of plastic into her hands before disappearing to start the ignition. Easing the helmet over her head, she gratefully accepted the hand he offered as she mounted the seat. Her arms slid around his waist as the ATV lurched forward.

The roar of Luke and Owen were quickly added at her back. Wind whipped her face as heat pooled at the back of her head. His laughter evaporated the stress as they jerked to each side turning corners or bounced with the rocky terrain.

The soft fabric of his hoodie was as inviting as the smell of cologne, or the way his body heat combatted the fierce wind. It grounded her to the bike as she watched the trees fly by. The experience was more rugged than observations from the passenger seat of a car. Even jolting against an uneven ground with her calves nearly burning against the engine, the trip was easier than a fiveminute drive with Greg.

As they stopped, the rush still pounded in her veins causing her face to flush. Her heart pounded from the embrace of arms tangled around Noah. Climbing down with a buoyant lift to her step, she ran a hand over her head to smooth the helmet’s dishevelment. The gentle breeze was a stark contrast to the propulsion of the quads. Despite the shield of the bright yellow helmet, her exposed cheeks tingled in the absence of wind.

“Man, Hunt told you not to try and kill her!” Luke said, ripping the helmet from his head like a BandAid. “If I were you, Miss Alyson Glass, I’d get another ride on the way back.”

“You’re not supposed to show off if she’s on the back, Locklear,” Owen teased, offering a wide smile encased by turquoise- banded braces. “Wipe outs can be nasty.”

“I bet,” she agreed, observing as they parked the ATVS next to a

lean-to.

“There’s a series of camp sites a little ways up the trail. They’re not going to be rented for another week, so it’s a first come, first serve type of thing.” Owen pulled the cords of a navy draw-string pack over his arms.

“I can’t imagine there are too many people up there now,” Noah said, staring at a steel gray cloud bank. It clung to the distant tree line, just above the visible slivers of the late-afternoon horizon.

“Man, just look for a fire pit.” Luke pulled a box of matches from his pocket, waving it like a splayed deck of cards.

Noah grabbed it from his hands as though Luke was about to set himself on fire. Common amusement dismissed his protests.

“It was only that one time. Come on, man.” Luke spread his hands in frustration, his expression both unoffended and annoyed at the mistrust. He seemed more bothered that it was mutually agreed on than the actual notion.

“Three times, Young. Three times. Two of which had the warden involved. No way,” Owen chastised.

Luke turned to Noah for back-up. He shook his head. “I think I’ve enabled one too many of your pyromaniac experiences.” He smacked the package against his palm like it reiterated the point.

“Hence the confiscation,” Owen added. “Young, you are a danger to yourself and others – besides, Noah has a guest. She almost died once today, you don’t need to set her ablaze.”

She glanced at Noah, looking for reassurance that the notion was a continued joke. Seeming to read her thoughts, he gave an understanding nod, rolling his warm eyes at their banter.

“What happened to forgive and forget, bro’? You’re killing me.” Luke continued, looking defeated.

“Better than you killing us,” Noah added. “I swear, you’re going to destroy the last frontier.”

Parting fingers over her lips like a curse slipped out, Aly laughed at the alarm on Noah’s face. She allowed him to loosely take her wrist, leading her down the rugged trail. Owen took the lead. A worn gas station map was unfolded in his hands as he pointed out numbers in red bubbles. Luke followed, lazily continuing to argue his futile case, refusing surrender.

They barely walked half a mile before stopping at a barren clearing. Logs sagging with age made a triangular seating area around a circle of blackened rocks, a few yards from the tree line. A cast-iron park grill was rooted in the center.

“I’ll get the kindling then,” Luke announced, darting into the trees. He seemed fixed on a particular spot, his gawky lope predatory, as if the wood could escape.

A yelp slipped from her lips