Jake pulls away from the edge, and we keep going, still farther away from the house and deeper into the forest, and I look down, seeing his fingers wrapped around each strap of the reins, nearly resting on my thighs. His arms lock me in, and despite the chill of the morning, I’m not cold.
“You can’t take the truck up in here, but the horses and ATVs do well,” he tells me. “Have Noah show you the ropes with the four-wheelers before you use one, okay?”
I nod. I did a camp for extreme sports one summer, but he’ll probably want his son to show me the ropes anyway.
We keep going, and even though I’m a little hungry after not having eaten for so long and craving another coffee, because my eyelids are weighing heavy with the relaxing rocking of the ride, I stay quiet. I’m not thinking about anything out here, and it’s nice.
I close my eyes.
But after a few moments, the rush of water grows louder, and the horse stops. I open my eyes, seeing we’re at the edge of a cliff. I look into the distance.
The peak.
My heart thumps, and I stop breathing for a moment as I take in the now unobstructed view.
My God.
A narrow valley runs below us between two mountains, a long waterfall rushing over one of them and into the river. Between the two mountains, in the distance, stands the peak. Dark gray rock, skirted with greenery. It’s beautiful.
“Like it?” Jake asks.
I nod.
“Do you like it?” he asks again in a stern voice, and I know he wants me to use my words.
I just keep staring ahead, only able to whisper. “l love it.”
“You can come back as much as you want, now that you know the way.” I feel him move behind me and the saddle shifts a little. “But you need to carry protection with you when you leave the house, you understand?”
I nod again, barely listening as I gape at the view.
But he takes my chin and turns my head to face him.
“This is very important,” he insists. “Do you understand? This isn’t L.A. It’s not even Denver. We have black bears, mountain lions, coyotes, the occasional rattlesnake… You need to have your eyes open. You’re on their turf now.”
I pull away from his grasp and face forward again, but then I see him bring something up from behind me, and I tear my gaze away from the peak again to see that he holds a gun.
Or a rifle.
Sliding the chamber open, he shows me the long, sharp golden bullets and then yanks the bolt back, chambering a bullet and making sure I’m watching as he does it.
“Do you see the broken rope bridge hanging over there?”
I look across the river, seeing the remnants of a wooden rope bridge hanging down the rock wall.
Jesus. My heart skips a beat, taking in the drop below. Was that bridge actually a thing at one time?
He puts the rifle in my hands. “Aim for it.”
I grip the long firearm, the steel barrel tucked into a dark wood casing, and I’m kind of thankful. At least he’s not wanting to talk.
Did he shoot that deer with this?
I let out a breath.
Not likely. The mountain man probably has a whole cabinet of these things.
Hesitating a moment, I finally lift the rifle, positioning the butt against my shoulder and wrapping my hand around the guard with my finger on the trigger. I close my left eye and peer down the line of sight, toward the muzzle.
“Okay,” he tells me. “Now calm your breathing. The bullet is already chambered, so just look down the sight, and line up—”
I pull the trigger, the bullet firing out of the barrel, echoing into the air, and a pop hits the rock wall down the opposite side, kicking up rock dust and cutting the board in half. Both parts fall and dangle by their respective ropes against the cliff.
A breeze kicks up my hair a little, and I lower the rifle, opening both of my eyes as the thunder of the shot disappears in the distance and the peaceful sound of the waterfall fills the air again.
Jake sits behind me, still, and I hand the gun back to him and turn my attention back up to the peak, seeing some kind of a large bird breeze past my line of sight.
He clears his throat. “Well…I was going to suggest the boys empty some beer bottles for you tonight, but…looks like you don’t need the practice. I thought you said you couldn’t shoot.”
“I can’t shoot animals,” I tell him. “I thought that’s what you were asking.”
The peak is massive. But so close. Such a strange feeling, something so big, reminding you that you’re small, but also reminding you that you’re part of a world full of magnificent things. What a great thing to be able to see—and relearn—every day.