Page 10 of Valley Girls
He turned and lifted his hand in reply to a girl with long red hair, walking with her friends.
“Climbers?” Rilla asked.
“Hikers,” Walker said, digging through his pack. “Hang on. I swear I had one ...” He dug through the top. After another moment, he started pulling things out and setting them in the dirt. A balled-up sweatshirt. Some clinking metal bits that looked totally foreign. A big black notebook. Another book with a photo of a climber, mid-pose on the cover.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself. He shook the bag.
The wind stirred, sending dust spinning into the books. Without thinking, Rilla bent to retrieve them. One was a guide book full of photos. But it was the black notebook, which had fallen open to a detailed ink illustration of a mountain, that caught her eye.
The sketch included notes and lines showing a path to the top. It was beautifully drawn, and also made no sense. Rilla flipped to the next page. A half-finished charcoal of some people—mid-laugh around a fire—was on the next page, and the opposite page dated entries. “The weather fucking sucks,” began one. Too late, she realized Walker had drawn them. This was his notebook. His journal.
“Hey,” Walker snapped. “What are—”
She slammed the book shut, trying not to look guilty. “I didn’t realize ...”
“That’s mine.” He snatched the book back. Two spots of red rising on his cheeks. Anger? Embarrassment? She couldn’t tell.
“I didn’t realize it was personal,” she said, handing back the guide book as well. “They fell out of the bag, and I didn’t want them to get dusty.”
He glowered, taking the guide book and dumping both back into the pack. “Let’s just stick to climbing.” He pulled a long stretch of rope out of the coil, the muscles in his side flickering lightly under little folds of skin as he bent. “A figure-eight knot is the basic knot in rock climbing. It is essential to learn, as this is the main point of contact between you and anything that keeps you alive.”
The lack of a shirt hadn’t seemed unnerving when Walker had showed up at Thea’s doorstep—it hadn’t read as nakedness. But now that Rilla stood within touching distance and felt less like death, it was hard to ignore the grace of his movements and the substance to his body. That intensity seemed to simmer under his skin, and it was hard not to watch for it like the sun behind clouds, wanting to feel it directedather.
“Got it?” Walker asked, shaking a finished, intricate knot in front of her.
Shit.She’d been staring at him, not the rope. “Can I see it again?”
He started over.
At first, it was a relief to focus on the knot and the way his body was a welcome distraction from the rest of her feelings. But as he started through a second time, for no reason, the charm turned sour.
He shifted his weight in her direction to show the double overhand knot he said was her backup, and her heart raced at his closeness. But it felt like she had bitten into something sweet, and made her head throb. She tried to focus on his hands, but kept chasing after the origins of the sickening feeling.
Suddenly it hit her. He was humoring her. He was trying to be nice because he felt bad for her.
Her cheeks burned and mouth watered. Stepping back, she focused on his hands, on the slide of the rope—flexing her fingers as he went. She’d show him. She’d show them all. Starting with this dumb fucking knot.
After another moment, he held out the rope for her to try.
She took it—her brain suddenly unable to recall what he’d done, let alone connect it to her hands. The limp green coils twined in her fingers. She moved her hands, but the rope went the wrong way. The seconds ticked past. The wind waved the tops of the pines. All she wanted to do was one thing right. One thing. He’djustshown her. Her throat swelled with the threat of tears.
Walker pointed to the rope. “Around this way.” Taking her whole fist into the palm of his hand, he pulled her through the motions.
It didn’t help—his hands were warm and rough and utterly distracting. She wanted to do this on her own. She wanted to show herself she could. It was silly, but it mattered.
Walker let go, pointing out the places for her to push the rope back through. “Great job!” He congratulated her in the same overly cheery, supportive tone as she finished. Like a dog who’d finally shit outside.
Ripping the knot apart, she flexed her fingers and began again.
The third time, Rilla did it perfectly. Neat and elegant. Sweat beaded on her back and her head spun, but she pulled it apart and did it again. And again. And again. And—
“Okay.” Walker took the finished knot away. “I think you got it.” His tone had softened.
Which only made it worse. He could see her cracks.
She cleared her throat and put her hands on her hips. “What’s next?”
He pulled out a snarl of thick nylon webbing and hard plastic loops. “This is a harness. Waist. Leg loops. Gear clips to these, but you won’t need to worry about that.” He pointed out the pieces, but they didn’t look like anything but a snarl. “You tie in through these front parts and clip in to belay from this big front loop.” He hooked a big finger through the sturdy nylon loop in the front of the harness and swung it to her. “Put it on. Like pants.”
