Lumbersexual (Novella) Read online

  So my two weaknesses at once—plants and Court’s voice.

  I wasn’t going to survive this hike unscathed, I could tell.

  “Giant sequoias need fire to survive. While people are scared of fires, in reality they are helpful. They clear away dead leaves and debris on the ground, creating a bed for the seeds to plant. Everything needs clearing out, every once in awhile.”

  He held out his big hand. Tiny, dark brown seeds, smaller than a flattened grain of rice, rested in his palm.

  “Can you believe that these tiny seeds become as big as they do?”

  Everyone shook their heads. The same way that Court’s charisma had commanded the attention at the party, he commanded the group of tourists he was leading. The group hung on to his descriptions of the life cycle of the trees. And he was totally speaking my botany nerd language.

  He got it. Nature. Growing things. What I liked.

  I stared wide-eyed, rapt, listening to what he said. Some of it I knew from class, but a lot of the giant sequoia-specific information was new to me.

  An elderly man pointed to black scar tissue at the base of the tree. “Is that from a fire?”

  “Yes, sir. The burns need to happen periodically, or else the forest can’t survive. And you can see the bark growing over it. Things heal, even if it takes time.”

  When we got to the Grizzly Giant, one of the famous named trees, I gasped. “It’s just so big!”

  He laughed. “I know.”

  “We don’t grow them like that in Iowa.”

  “Seems you grow ‘em just fine in Iowa,” he said, looking over at me and ignoring the rest of the tourists.

  Um, what?

  Well, maybe I’d change my mind again. I wanted to be kissing him. Even if it was just for this summer.

  Could I fling-zone him?

  When we ended the tour at a monument midway up the hill, Court told everyone that they could continue the rest of the way up to the top, or walk back down to the parking lot. He thanked the tourists, answered a few questions, and set them free.

  Then he turned to me. “Want to see more?”

  I nodded, eager to get hiking—and to spend more time with him. But after ten more minutes of my first hike of the summer, I was panting and my feet hurt. I’d hiked a lot near my college campus, but that was at sea level and this was at 4,000 feet elevation. I struggled to catch my breath. I figured it was more than just the altitude—I was in pretty good shape—since I kept looking over and watching his strong legs move in those uniform pants.

  I also realized that the soreness on my foot meant trouble.

  “I think I’m getting a blister,” I said. “I tried to break my boots in before I came.”

  “New shoes. It happens. Here.”

  He pulled a first aid kit out of his daypack and faster than I would have imagined, dropped to one knee before me and started unlacing my shoe.

  “I can do it,” I laughed. But damn, if I didn’t like him kneeling before me.

  He glanced up at me. “It’s no trouble. I’ll take care of it.” He pulled off my shoe and sock and held my heel firmly. Now while I could be grossed out that he was holding my foot, thank heavens I’d had a pedicure before the summer started and my tootsies were in good shape. I still needed a manicure, but since I was doing field work, it seemed pointless. He turned my foot over and gently ran his finger along the bottom of it until he got to my heel. God, that felt good. “This your hot spot?”

  “Yeah.”

  He stripped the paper off of a Band-Aid. “Like your flower tat, Maggie.” He traced the purple coneflower with his finger, lingering on the butterfly. “Got any more?”

  I shook my head no, but I really wished I did. Then he could explore more of my body.

  My foot bandaged, he still held my ankle, looking at both sides of it. Then as if coming out of a trance, he shook his head and grabbed my sock. Scrunching it back on for me, I felt like I was Cinderella, but with a burly uniformed man for my Prince Charming. He slid my hiking boot back on and grinned. “All set?” I nodded. “We get a lot of hot spots up here. Best to take care of them before they become blisters.”

  He got up and dusted off his knees. I wished I could keep looking at the view of the top of his hat, his broad shoulders and biceps below me. I liked bringing a ranger to his knees.

  We continued on the path, and my foot felt better. He pointed out new growth and the way a sequoia might be hollowed out inside, but could still stand.

  Here, under the shady trees, in the presence of ancient living things, it made me believe that I really was a mountain girl at heart, even though my feet and lungs weren’t used to it and I was scared of heights. The soft pine needles and pretty underbrush felt like home in a way I’d never felt before. We turned and headed back down the hill.

  “It’d be kinda cool to stay here permanently,” I said as we reached the parking lot.

  He cocked his head. “That’s the trouble. People come work here. Then they leave. This place is always changing. Only the trees stay.” He grinned. “And me.”

  Then I saw Amanda standing at the base of the trail, leading another tour, and I remembered what I’d decided this morning. No stupid girl around hot guy. No fling-zone. We were going to be friends. “That’s good,” I said lamely and opened my car door. “Thanks for the tour.”

  “Anytime.”

  I drove off, with him standing in the lot, looking at me.

  “I don’t wanna!”

  “It’s no big deal. You can do it,” Ian shouted.

  “I hate heights!”

  “You’re not up that high.”

  My body shook. Okay. I was going to face this. This was the summer that I’d get over my fear of heights.

  Don’t look down. Just jump.

  “Cannonball!”

  I hurtled off the house-sized pale granite boulder, grabbed my knees, and splashed into a deep swimming hole of the mighty South Fork, and then my breath was knocked out of me by the frigid water. I came up sputtering.

  “Oh my fucking God it’s cold!”

  From off to the side in a shallower part of the river, Ian crowed and splashed water toward me, a Lord of the Rings leaf brooch tattoo on display, his red trunks showing off another tattoo winding on his hip. “That’s ‘cause it’s snow melt.”

  “You could have warned me!” Where I came from, the rivers weren’t so cold. Goosebumps spread all over my skin and my teeth chattered even though it was a blazing hot day.

  “Then I wouldn’t get to see your brights.”

  I dog paddled, then waded over to him. “What are you talking about?”

  He pointed to my nipples. “Your full-beam headlights.”

  “Oh my Gawd,” I shrieked, and splashed him with water.

  He returned it in kind, until I slipped on a mossy rock and fell on my ass. “Enough! Uncle!”

  Taking pity on me, he stopped splashing, waded over to me, and grabbed my hand, pulling me up.

  Summer swimming hole.

  That afternoon after my grove walk, we’d decided to cool down before dinner, so we all put our bathing suits on under our clothes, and hiked to the river.

  But damn, it was cold.

  Katie sat on a flat boulder overlooking the river, sketchpad in hand, drawing Yazmin dipping her toes in the water. Emma splashed and squealed, making a racket as usual. Matt stood in the middle of the river, after stripping down to a Speedo that somehow didn’t look bad on him.

  “So what’s up with you and Lumbersexual?” asked Ian.

  I stopped and stared at him, the river eddying around my shins, shivering and hot at the same time. “What?” I asked. “Who?”

  “You know. Court Thompson.”

  I shook my head. “Nothing is up with him.”

  He held my hand still, even though I’d found my balance, and I looked at it pointedly. He dropped my hand. “It didn’t look like that at the party.”

  “You’re imagining things.”

  Whatev
er feelings I had for Court, I certainly wasn’t going to discuss them with Ian.

  “Yeah, right,” he said, but he dropped the subject.

  Wading across the river, I scrambled up to some rocks close to the road. They’d caught the last of the warm sun’s rays for the evening. I wanted to dry off, so I lay down, put my forearm over my eyes, and tried to warm up on the sun-soaked granite.

  The crackle of leaves right next to my ear startled me, and I heard a low male voice. “Hey.”

  I moved my arm and opened my eyes. Court stood over me, looking down at me splayed out in my two-piece navy blue bathing suit. Years of swimming and track and field had kept my body in shape. My thighs were strong and powerful, my waist toned, my boobs smallish. But I’d never thought of myself as sexy. Always just Maggie. I propped myself up on my elbows and took a good look at him.

  He looked scrumptious. He’d changed out of his ranger uniform and now wore a gray thermal shirt, tight around his chest, and shorts with boots. “How did you get down here without me hearing?”

  “Walked on the rocks.”

  “Sneak attack, huh? Sheesh.”

  He laughed, a throaty male chuckle. “You’ll see me coming next time, I promise.”

  God, I certainly hoped so.

  Mind out of the gutter, Maggie.

  Change the subject. “So are you really going to take me on a tour of the Valley?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Pop your cherry, babe. I’ll take you tonight after dinner.”

  “Tonight? So soon?” But the truth was that I was so excited I almost fell off the rock. And I couldn’t figure out what I was more excited about—seeing the whole reason why people came to the park and why it was protected, or having this sexy guy take me for my first time.

  Later, while we lounged on the old couches in the log cabin, Matt pulled out a dust-covered record player that had been hidden in a cabinet and started going through the records stacked next to it. He plugged in the player, selected an album, and dropped the needle.

  We only needed a unicycle and a coffee shop to officially be hipsters.

  The speakers popped and hissed, and then a low, rich female voice came on. I didn’t recognize the song or the singer, but it sounded like a folk song, talking about how she took her love and climbed a mountain until a landslide brought her down.

  “Who is this?” Yazmin asked, taking a sip of her beer from a bottle.

  “Fleetwood Mac,” said Matt, and he held up the record album.

  Emma let out a loud groan. “God, I hate old music.”

  “Up here, don’t have that much of a choice.” Matt showed her the choices. Barry Manilow, Frank Sinatra, Diana Ross and the Supremes, Led Zeppelin.

  Since none of us had internet access to Spotify, this was the soundtrack to our summer. Nothing after about 1983.

  “Want me to cook?” asked Ian. “I’ve got enough to make spaghetti and salad for everyone.”

  “Sounds good,” said Matt.

  “It’ll be better than roadkill.”

  Matt glared at him, and Ian responded with a waggish grin.

  “I’ll help,” I said, and followed him into the kitchen.

  Ian filled up the biggest pot he could find with water and placed it on the stove. I started tearing lettuce for the salad. He buttered garlic bread and heated up tomato sauce. “So what’chu think of the park?”

  “What I’ve seen so far is amazing. So many trees. Huge mountains. I can’t wait to go backpacking.”

  “Bring moleskin. You’ll get blisters otherwise.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I know, I already got them. I tried to break in my boots before I left, but I don’t know that they’ll be able to handle a really long hike. Big difference between thinking about something and actually doing it.” I started cutting up a cucumber. “And I wonder what it would be like out there in the wilderness. I kind of think it would creep me out. So much space, so few people. I’m just not used to it.”

  “Don’t think about it. Just look at how pretty it is.”

  “And what if I get lost?”

  “You use a map and compass. It’s not that hard. Just gotta have some sense of your surroundings and match up what things look like in the real world with what they look like on the map. You’ll get oriented easily enough. I’ll teach you.”

  “Thanks. I’d appreciate it.” I also appreciated how he was acting more like a friend than the constant come-ons from before. “Yosemite is the size of Rhode Island. Some of it is just right off the road, but other parts, judging by what’s on the map, you have to hike in ten or twenty miles to see.”

  “Those are the best parts, though.”

  Soon, we’d made dinner and ate around the communal table. While Matt and Emma washed up, I went outside with Yazmin and Katie to sit on the patio and listen to the river.

  And wait for Court.

  The sliding glass door opened, and Matt came out carrying a plastic tub of wet laundry, which he proceeded to hang up on the clothesline. His colored socks and underwear flapped on the line like flags in the forest. He finished and went inside the house. Then the sliding glass door opened again, but it was Ian this time.

  “Court’s here for you, Maggie.”

  Ian raised an eyebrow at me as I walked past him to go to the front door.

  Court leaned on the door frame, thermal shirt riding up to show a hint of his tan, toned belly, shorts riding low on his hips. Hint of muscles making a V on his abdomen.

  Hot as fuck.

  Eyes up, Maggie.

  “Ready?”

  For anything.

  I grabbed my jacket and my bag. “I’ll be back later,” I called to my roommates, “I’m going to see the Valley! Woo-hoo!”

  “So cool!” said Emma.

  Ian made a rude gesture involving his finger on one hand and a circle with his thumb and middle finger on the other. I flipped him off and blew kisses to the others.

  We took off for the Valley.

  “Ohmigod, that’s a digger pine!” I pointed. “They only grow at lower elevations. I studied them in school.”

  “You’re good.” He caught my eye, but watched the road.

  “You know plants too?”

  “Five years in the park. You learn stuff.”

  I loved that he knew plants. “What was your degree?”

  “Recreation Administration.”

  I nodded. “Makes sense for what you’re doing now.” But then I teased. “How good are you at Latin?”

  He pulled out a pack of Big Red chewing gum and offered me a piece, but I didn’t take any. He popped one in his mouth. “Plant names?”

  “Yep.”

  He shrugged. “Know some.”

  “Time for a quiz. Manzanita?”

  “Arctostaphylos.”

  My eyes widened. “That’s an easy one, though.” We pulled to a stop near the Glacier Point Road. I pointed to a cluster of small plants that I couldn’t identify without a key, which were growing at the only stop sign we’d seen for miles. “What’s that?”

  “LBJ’s.”

  “LBJ’s?”

  “Little brown jobs.”

  I snorted. “I’d say that there are deficiencies in your botany education.”

  “Yep. Better fix it for me.” He smiled, scratched his beard, and kept driving.

  This trip was another example of life on paper not matching the experience. While Yosemite on the map appeared small, it took forever to get anywhere on these long, winding roads full of trees. You’d think you could see all of it in a day, but not even close.

  Finally, almost an hour later, I saw the bright yellow sign indicating that we were approaching a tunnel. He reached over, grabbed my hand, and looked at me.

  “This is it.”

  We drove through the tunnel in the mountains, Court holding my hand the entire time.

  And when we exited, my heart stopped and my body started shaking.

  Heights.

  Cliffs.
/>   Terror.

  But the view.

  I’d never seen anything like the view. I’d heard that the Mona Lisa in person was small and underwhelming, and the crown of the Holy Roman Emperor was crude and clunky. But this view?

  It was the most grandiose thing I’d ever seen.

  He parked in a small parking lot, almost full with people milling about and taking pictures.

  “This is the famous view of the Valley through Wawona tunnel,” he said. “C’mon.” Giving me a devilish look, he said, “Nothing like your first time.”

  “Court, I’m scared of heights. I didn’t realize it would be this high up.”

  “I’ll hold your hand.” And something about his comforting presence took me out of my head and into my body, and I walked with him toward the edge, not getting too close.

  Standing at a low wall overlooking a precipice, I saw Yosemite as has been recorded in hundreds of millions of photographs, paintings, etchings, works of art, and memories.

  But the view of it, at this second in time?

  This was mine.

  Even if I didn’t have a camera to take a picture of it. It would be my memory.

  The tall rectangular peak of El Capitan rose to our left, framing the view, with Half Dome in the back and a three-peaked mountain on the right. The late evening light warmed the cool granite peaks and the lush green of the leafy oak trees.

  It was astonishingly beautiful. Like you took the loveliest thing you ever saw and the most meaningful thing you ever experienced and put them together as one. It reminded me of that moment when a movie begins. Of fireflies and magic. Of getting a present you always wanted. Of all the good things at once.

  Court moved closer to me, and I realized he was studying my face.

  “Yeah,” I whispered, answering his unanswered question. “It’s unbelievable. I wish I had a camera. I turned off my phone for the summer—no service—but here you need something better than that.”

  He ran a finger down my cheek. “We can stay here as long as you like, but I want to take you down into the Valley floor so you can see the waterfalls. Drought years they’ll dry up earlier than others, but this time of year they’re flowing.”

  Even though activity buzzed around us—tour buses, cars, people, cameras—it still felt special. All ours.