Page 3 of Let it Snow Queen
The following afternoon, I took my dad’s camera out. I managed to capture a few photos of a bobcat that I was sure would impress even my wilderness photographer of a dad. When I arrived back at the cabin, a note was taped to the door addressed to me. Unfolding it, I read the cursive scrawl.
Some city slickers surveying the woods. Don’t mind them if you come across them. Two seem alright, but one seems madder than a hornet.
“Which one is madder than a hornet?” I asked the yellow-lined paper. My shoulders sagged at the realization these were probably the men disappearing into the woods that the store clerk told me about. My papa’s voice rang in my ears.Thatdoesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous.“Okay, Papa, okay,” I answered. The silence was driving me batty; I was now officially talking to myself.
After another French press brew of coffee, my legs were restless. I’d already logged more than enough to get Hope Falls several years’ worth of grants. My work was done early. But I was bored and alone in the forest, so I explored a little more. I grabbed my rock-climbing gear and dabbed on some red lip gloss. If I ran into these guys, at least I’d look cute.They’re probably old and ugly,my mama’s voice said in my mind. Yeah, probably. I smiled to myself. I could be hundreds of miles away and still, my family was invading my privacy and inserting themselves into my business. I loved them for it, though.
I crunched through fallen, dry leaves, the air taking on a more crisp and bone-chilling cold. I glanced up at the gray and brooding sky. It couldn’t be snow. Dad and I checked the radar twenty times before I left. The last thing I wanted was to be stranded here alone in a blizzard. No, they were probably just rain clouds. My parents liked to dramatically tell the story of how I was born in a snowstorm. Thus, my middle name Snow. Declan had never seen the stuff. It hadn’t snowed in Georgia since the day I was born. I’d gone skiing as a teenager with my moms, but I’d never seen the real thing. It seemed like a scary, imposing sort of situation. I wouldn’t say I liked unexpected things. I wanted predictability, order, and plans to be followed. It was why I was good at cataloging plants and herbs. Researching was my favorite thing to do.
Living a week without Wi-Fi forced me to jot stuff down in a notebook that I wanted to search online when I got back home:Appalachian dialect, evergreens, wine berries.I’d walked off my regular path for half an hour before stopping at a rare and beautiful sight. Bright pink petals jutted around a rhododendron in full bloom. I unhooked the fingers of my mittens and pulledout my dad’s camera. He’d be amazed I found such a late and glorious bloomer. I crouched down under the long branches and clicked away, showcasing the bright pink against the white and gray sky. I turned and picked up my backpack. Then I was startled and jumped back with a scream . . . as a man dropped from the tree.
Chapter 2
Ididn’t have Marine reflexes like my dad. Or the precise hands of a surgeon like my papa. And I lied to my moms when I said I’d practiced with the bear mace. I tugged it lazily out of the side of my pack. It slipped and fell at my feet, rolling to a stop at the boots of the man. The shirtless . . . tattooed . . . long, black-haired . . . man.
He picked it up. “What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low. He looked me up and down, nothing but pure contempt on his features. I probably smelled bad, not that I cared. He was taller than me by at least three inches which . . . didn’t matter. What he looked like didn’t matter because clearly, he was batshit insane. He asked again, “What are you doing here?”
As if I were the ridiculous one.
I huffed. “Excuse me, you’re the naked man in the tree. I think you should tell me what you’re doing here first.”
My bear mace was gone but I still had a knife in my boot. If this guy tried anything, I’d slice him. He glanced at the tin canister and tossed it at me. Startled again, I caught it on mychest. My eyes lingered on his chiseled abs. An ornate tiger flanked one side of his body, seemingly fighting with the panther inked on the other side. I hated that this creep was hot.
“My eyes are up here,” he sneered. “And you should practice with that . . . obviously.”
Humiliation and anger roiled inside me. “You’re the hornet, aren’t you?” I asked, remembering the note from Fish Fry. Madder than a hornet. I should probably learn his name. Calling him Fish Fry would make my proper mother and mamaw faint with embarrassment at my disrespect.
“Are you well?” he asked with a raised and annoyed eyebrow. Maneuvering behind the tree, he pulled out a backpack and unzipped it, retrieving a navy-blue thermal shirt.
Again. I was the crazy one. This guy had some fucking nerve. “You’re here surveying, aren’t you? Well, I can tell you anything you need to know and you can be on your way. I’ve logged almost everything within a five-mile radius. I’m here cataloging plant species—”
“God, I can’t express to you how much I don’t fucking care.” He pulled on his shirt and shouldered his bag. My mouth dropped and I felt my cheeks turn red with indignance. “And the bear mace works better if you remove the safety seal first. Women.” He shook his head and turned on his heel, crunching his way through the woods as if he owned the place.
“Fucking asshole,” I muttered, unscrewing the lid of the mace. God damn. He was right. I tugged off the plastic safety seal that no doubt would have stalled the release of the spray, turning me into bear food if I’d indeed had a scary encounter. When I looked up, he was gone. Fine, good riddance.
I continuedmy trek north until a thunderous sound pulled me off course. Excitement replaced the visions of me reliving thatawkward encounter over and over again. Once I realized what I’d discovered, I giggled like a stupid little girl. I tugged out my camera and took several photos of the waterfalls. I stood at the top of a boulder, looking over the side as water raged down in white frothy spurts. It was then I noticed it. “No, it can’t be . . .” I dropped to my knees and inched closer to the ledge. “Holy shit.” Strapping my camera to my chest, I tugged my harness out of my bag. My fathers taught me everything about rock climbing and repelling. I was breaking a rule by doing it alone . . . but the risks were worth the rewards on this one. After tying my rope in a figure eight knot firmly to a tree, I looped and clicked it onto my harness. My heart galloped in my chest as I leaned back. The rope held firm. I inched down the side of the waterfall, mist spraying me on my way. Okay, my dads didn’t need to know about this little adventure. When I carefully reached the center of the falls, I leaned closer to inspect the plant. “Well, I’ll be damned,” I said in awe. “A Gray’s lily.” One of the rarest species of plants in the northern hemisphere. My shutter clicked four times. I was in the middle of a delighted giggle, zooming in on the speckled deep orange petals, when I slipped.
A shriek fled my throat as my slick palms frantically gripped at the rope.I tied it tight. I’ll be ok. I tied it tight.When I reached the end of my rope, literally, I jerked to a stop. My neck and abs pulled against the sudden, abrasive halt. Once my brain caught up, gratitude washed over me. I was still alive. And then I realized my feet were dangling.
I looked up to see a roof of sharp, dark rock. Panic replaced my gratitude in a flash. There was no side of the mountain, no rock face near enough. I was dangling in midair like bait on a string. “Fuck . . . fuck fuck fuck!” I yelled, and it echoed off the rocks but didn’t lift high enough above the raging inferno of the waterfall next to me. I could scream at the top of my lungs and no one would hear me.
No one hiked this late in the winter, and it wasn’t like this town housed tourists. The locals wouldn’t venture up here . . . not with it being so cold.
I tugged at the rope, trying to pull myself up by climbing it, but the water spraying me had even my gloved hands too slick. “Fuck!” I yelled again in frustration. My gaze dared to look down . . . hoping the fall wouldn’t be too great.
Oh, but it was. The falls went on for so long, I couldn’t see the bottom, only the cloud-like mist swirling below. There was no way to assess how far it was or if there was jagged rock or deep or even shallow water beneath. Unlatching or cutting the rope would be a death sentence.
I was out of options. My phone was in my pack by the tree with no service . . . .
Tears stung my eyes. I was going to die. My mind fluttered to my dad falling during rock climbing. He lost his leg, and almost lost his life, if it weren’t for my papa saving him. He would be absolutely traumatized to learn that I died this way. My papa would be too. And my moms . . . and my son. My son would grow up without me. Oh, my god . . . he would have to go live with his dad.
No, no, no, no…
Not him. Anyone but him. My family would fight for parental rights but they would lose. Who would let a polyamorous family adopt their daughter’s kid when the child’s father was still alive? They had a hard enough time even being allowed to foster Malcolm and Aurora.
Sobs shook my chest. I was going to die here . . . never feeling Declan’s little arms wrap around my neck again. Or his sweet baby curls on the back of his head. The wispy brown ringlets I couldn’t bring myself to cut off, even though he desperately needed a haircut. Would his dad cut his hair? He would. That jackass would probably buzz it right off.
Strange, the things you think when you’re about to die.