Page 87 of Rough and Rugged
I did extra Peloton rides to prep but realize as I pant there’s a difference between an indoor and outdoor cat. This hike is no joke. There’s three rental cabins and a caretaker here, who I think functions like a concierge. His cabin has a blue door, mine is yellow.
Grateful for my new boots as the snow crunches beneath them. They’re the boots of someone who knows where to put oil in a car or fix something with a hammer. I don’t own a car, but I’m going to get one after I’m done in the woods so I can live up to my boots.
I adjust my pack filled with jerky, some kind of goop pouch and dried soup. The guy said I needed it. I pause at a clearing because of the dinner plate sized eyes staring at me.
I panic scroll my brain. Bear or Moose. One you hide behind a tree; one you ring a bell at. If I do both, will it piss this thing off? No one tells you a fucking moose is the size of a city bus. His antlers take up most of my field of vision. I’m ill-equipped for this.
Instead of action, I choose inaction. I jerk my gaze toward a snapping sound. Shit, are they like those velociraptors in Jurassic Park? You keep your eye on one while the rest surround you to tear your flesh off your body.
I reach for the bell, but the city bus with horns runs like a fucking panther stopping ten feet from me. We share a look. He knows he could take me out.
“Hi. Easy, fella. Your woods. I’ll go.” He doesn’t blink because he’s a demon. “How’s your day? Call off your buddies. Signal the moosearaptors, I’m not a threat.” What the fuck does a moose eat? I dig through my bag to find the damn bell or soup. Maybe it’s hungry. I make myself as big as possible, fling my bag and the thing finally blinks. Shit. Was that the bear thing?
To my right there’s more rustling, and an air horn blast has me running, flailing my arms, screaming like one of those fainting goats. I scramble behind a tree, looking to climb it. Can a moose climb? I’m sure one of the mooseraptors took my abandoned bag. Hope they enjoy my manuscript.
“Hey! I scared it away,” says a no-nonsense female voice that’s soothing and sexy. She’s a badass who faced down vicious dinosaur moose. I peek around the tree, and she pulls down her neck gaiter. I stand up. Her mouth is pink, sweet and damn those pouty lips are so fucking perfect that I’ve only –
Then she says, “Holy Shit.” She looks to the sky, removes her goggles and pastes on a sly grin, “Happy Birthday, Dax.”
Chapter Two
Monica
Myjawunhingeslikea snake. “No, suh.Nothappening.” I’m freaking the fuck out so much my Southie slipped out. “What the hell ahr ya doing here?”
I can’t imagine Zachary “Dax” Ladd out here. Jesus, help me. I know that delicious round, perfect booty and the exasperating ass of a man connected to it. My traitorous heart skips a beat.
My peaceful life full of splitting wood, hiking, fishing, snowshoeing and painting was Dax free. He was finally the last thing on my mind and now he’s standing in front of me.
“Did you lose a bet?” I yank my hood down. His dimple pops, and I almost faint.
His voice is loud but hoarse. “Monica! You saved my actual ass. Not just from a deadline I forgot. And you remembered it’s my birthday.” His voice lilts teasing me.
I shift my weight. “I was your and Hayden’s assistant for six years. Damn straight I saved your ass and I remember everything.”
I pretend I can catch my breath. Dax steals it and sizzles my skin ruining my safe space. “Muthafahking Dax Ladd.” He stares at me but says nothing. “Hayden’s the loud funny one. Still a man of few word? Got a good hmm-mmm for me?”
I see his big brain moving as he licks his lips. And now my mind drifts to what his tongue can do. Damn you, sexy tongue memories. “Let’s go before Morty comes back.” He grins, and it about slays me.
“Morty the Moose? You know that motherfucker?”
“He’s not coming to Sunday Supper, but sure, I know him.” I fling his heavy bag on my back. “Follow me.”
He utters, “Yellow door.”
“Of course, you’re ZFL. I’m blue door in case of emergency ranger.”
I tromp ahead while he pants. He’s all lean muscles from swimming or biking, not snow tromping. His blue eyes are almost aqua against the snow and it’s like they see through my bullshit. That’s his gift. He always sees through everyone’s bullshit.
“What the fuck are you doing out here? You’re an administrative assistant.”
“And you’re a silver spoon billionaire. Seems we’re both out of place. Step up your pace, Ladd. We can’t get caught out here in the NorEaster.”
He pulls me to him. “Hi.” Despite everything that’s happened, he was my best friend, and I gave it all up when I gaveitup. Doesn’t matter I freaking harbored a wicked crush forever. Dax holds me, kisses my forehead and I sink into his puffer jacket. He tips my chin up. “I’m really glad to see you and not just because you saved me from a rabid moose.”
I wink. “He’s harmless.”
“Not when I tell this story.” He adjusts my beanie, then slings his arm around me and says, “Lead on and tell me tales of these treacherous woods.” I laugh. He has zero survival skills unless you count witty puns for orange juice. He trips.