Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I’m all about the adventure, but my luck is bad enough without adding a curse on top of it.
Though, I don’t feel unlucky this morning…
With the sun warm on my face, the breeze ruffling Freya’s fur as she explores, and the proud shadow of Buffalo Dick stretching nearly a mile across the prairie in the early morning light, I feel like a million bucks.
And like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
For some people, home is a place or a person. For me, it’s this feeling, of being out under the endless sky, connected to nature in all its peace and beauty.
I pull in a deep breath, holding it in my lungs as I send out a silent thank you to the planet for being so fantastic. In times when the world feels dark and hopeless, I try to look back on moments like this. Moments when I feel the deep, steady pulse of Mother Nature and know she’s going to be all right in the end, even if Homo sapiens end up destroying ourselves. Our planet will heal and foster new life, continuing to be glorious long after humans are fairy tales told around the campfire of whatever species rises to take our place.
“I’m voting for cockroaches,” I tell Freya as she leads the way back to the camper, picking up the pace as she spots Wes putting shredded chicken into her bowl atop the picnic table.
His smile widens as we approach. “What a gorgeous morning.”
“Perfect,” I agree.
He pulls in a deep breath. “I wish I could spend every day like this. Out in nature, away from screens and all the problems humanity creates for itself.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I murmur, resisting the urge to lean into his strong chest and give him a hug.
Promising myself we can hug if we find Butch Cassidy’s treasure—such a find would require a hug-level celebration—I ask, “Did you find a campsite for the night?”
“I did,” he says as I loop Freya’s leash around one leg of the table and set her on top to have her meal. “But we’re going to need our fleece jackets if we go out to dinner. It’s still cold near Aspen. The ski resorts are closed, but we’re looking at a high of forty-eight today and a low near thirty tonight.”
I clap my hands. “Yay! I love frosty evenings in the mountains. And I found an outdoor store just outside of Denver that has wide-brimmed fedoras in stock. It’s only ten minutes out of our way.”
Wes’s eyes light up. “Awesome. Do they sell bikes? I was thinking mountain bikes might be a good thing to have. I’m not sure how deep into the desert we’ll have to go on our hunt. Might be nice to have wheels.”
Collecting a banana from the plate of snacks Wes brought out for breakfast, I nod. “It sure would…if we could both ride bikes.”
His brows shoot up. “You can’t ride a bike?”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t tried it since I was a tiny kid. My parents moved to a house on a gravel road when I was seven and there was nowhere to ride. I almost tried again when I was on vacation in my twenties, but my boyfriend complained about the price of renting beach cruisers in Santa Monica, we got into a big fight, and ended up throwing sand at each other instead.”
“Jerk. A bike rental is always a worthwhile expense,” he says. “And I’ve been wanting to buy a dirt bike for a couple years now. I’ll get one for me and one for you. If you don’t like it, we can always give it to Binx when we get home. She’s a big bike rider.”
I nod, frowning. “Right, but did you miss the part about me not being able to ride this bike?”
“You’ll be fine,” he says, biting into his apple and grinning as he chews. “That’s why the phrase is ‘just like riding a bike’ not ‘just like factoring a quadratic equation.’ It’ll come back to you like that.” He snaps his fingers, earning a clucking sound from Freya that sounds way too much like a laugh.
“I think Freya’s amused,” I say dryly, as Wes chuckles along with my traitorous pet. “Or looking forward to how stupid I’m going to look before I go flying over the handlebars.”
“Never. You’re going to do great.” He glances back my way, grinning. “But we’ll get you a good helmet, just in case.”
A little over nine hours later, after eating our sandwiches on the road to save time, and only stopping once for gas, we’re pulling into Trout World, an outdoor store so enormous we might need mountain bikes to get all the way around it in the thirty minutes we’ve allotted for the stop.
I tell Wes as much and he laughs. “Nah, I know my way around a Trout World. If you’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all.”