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The crackly response of “Ten-four” blares from the speaker as she returns the unit to her hip.
“You missed dinner,” Wild Wanda says.
“We brought dinner.” Colton holds up the brook trout.
“Good thing, since all that’s left is a bit of watery potato soup. Only had three tiny fish to work with tonight.” She shakes her head and leans over the net. “Well, that one there’s a beaut.”
“Riley caught it.”
Wild Wanda grins and slaps me on the shoulder, knocking me off balance. My hip bumps into Colton’s and his arm goes behind my back to steady me. Somehow, he’s warm and his clothes are not nearly as damp as mine, and I soak in the heat he’s emanating like a turtle on a log. He drops his arm but he doesn’t step back. We aren’t touching, but he’s still close enough that I can feel his warmth.
Before I do something stupid like lean back into him and sigh, Wild Wanda lifts the lantern to get another look at the fish. “You two have the makings of a fine meal there.”
My stomach grumbles in agreement.
After significantly downplaying the incident with my parents, I head off to clean up. Thankfully, there’s enough water in the solar shower for me to rinse off the mud. Unfortunately, it’s far from being warm and, at this point, I’m not sure I’ll ever stop shivering. Given my limited clothing options, my only hope at this point is bundling up in layers and standing as close to the fire as possible without charring myself like a marshmallow.
It’s almost nine by the time I hobble to the cook fire in my flip-flops, the skin at the back of my ankles and on the pads of my feet raw from blisters and pressure. I tried to squeeze them into my canvas sneakers, but that wasn’t happening. The camp is quiet now that most of the others are already in bed.
Colton’s got a cast-iron frying pan bubbling away on a grate over the coals, his freshly washed hair combed neatly back in barely tamed waves. He leans forward to poke at whatever’s in the pan and a lock of hair falls over his brow. The golden glow of the fire softens the lines on his face, making him appear more thoughtful than judgmental. My heart does a little backflip when he glances up and tosses the hair out of his face like a rugged movie star. I’m pinned to the spot when our eyes meet, the reflection of the flames dancing across his dark irises. Heat courses over my skin—not from the fire but from the intensity of his look.
“Wild Wanda was right. You caught a good one. It’ll fry up real nice.”
We break eye contact and he turns his attention back to the frying pan. I step closer to the fire and see he’s got the whole fish—head to tail—breaded and cooking in oil. Grandpa Bob used to cook our catches like this when we were camping, and a sharp pang slices through my chest. Another thing to miss about California. No more spur-of-the-moment camping trips with Grandpa Bob.
Suddenly weary, I look for a spot to sit but find that the only elevated option is to share a log with Colton. I ease down on the other end, as far away from him as possible, and tuck my hands under my legs to keep them warm.
“Were your parents worried when they saw you?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“Meh. They’re so used to seeing me in mud masks, they just assumed it was part of my daily facial care routine.”
“Uh?” Colton gives me side-eye.
“Kidding. They had questions but I managed to reassure them. What about your dad? Would he have really sent out a search party?”
“Not on my account.” Colton shakes his head and flips the fish with a wooden spatula. The oil pops and hisses as the other side begins to cook. “But maybe to ease your parents’ minds.”
“He wouldn’t worry about you?”
“He does, but I’m out here on my own so often, he trusts that I can take care of myself. Sometimes I’m off the grid a few days at a time, just me and my horse, Chance.”
“Sounds nice.”
As upset as I am about moving to Nebraska and being stuck out here on this Oregon Trail adventure, I can see how waking up alone in a wide-open space like this—with the birds and insects chirping their morning salutations, and the wind and sun kissing your face—can be good for the soul. Just thinking of it has my fingers twitching for a pencil and my sketchbook so I can get down a few quick sketches while the images are fresh in my mind.
“I thought you said this was the last place on earth you wanted to be,” Colton says.
“It is. It was.” I sigh. “Maybe not the last place on earth.”
“Just wait. Nebraska will grow on you,” he says with a smirk.
CHAPTER 16
Colton
I OFFER RILEY a metal fork. She accepts it with a small smile that makes my heart thump. I use the spatula to cut the brook trout she caught in half. The fish has a perfect golden crust and the meat inside appears flaky and moist.
I slide each piece onto a tin plate and hold them out to Riley to choose from. “Heads or tails?” I ask.
