Angels Fall

pounds. It was only about eight miles, up and back, but she thought it was better to be cautious and use the list for hikes over ten miles.
    She might decide to go farther, or she might take a detour. Or… whatever, she'd packed it now and wasn't unpacking it again. She reminded herself she could stop whenever she wanted, as often as she wanted, set the pack down and rest. It was a good, clear day—a free day—and she was going to take every advantage of it.
    She'd barely gotten ten feet when she was hailed.
    "Doing a little exploring this morning?" Mac asked her. He wore one of his favored flannel shirts tucked into jeans, and a watch cap pulled over his head.
    "I thought I'd hike a little bit of Little Angel Trail."
    His brows came together. "Going on your own? '
    "It's an easy trail, according to the guidebook. It's a nice day. and I want to see the river. I've got a map," she continued. "A compass, water, everything I need, according to the guide," she repeated with a smile. "Really, more than I could possibly need."
    " Trail's going to be muddy yet. And I bet that guide tells you it's better to hike in pairs—better yet, in groups."
    It did, true enough, but she wasn't good in groups. Alone was always better. "I'm not going very far. I've hiked a little bit in the Smokies, in the Black Hills. Don't worry about me, Mr. Drubber."
    "I'm taking some time off myselt today—got young Leon at the mercantile counter, and the grocery's covered, too. I could hike with you for an hour."
    "I'm fine, and that's not what you wanted to do with your day off. Really, don't worry. I won't be going far."
    "You're not back by six, I'm sending out a search party."
    "By six, I'll not only be back, I'll be soaking my tired feet. That's a promise."
    She shifted her pack, then set out to skirt the lake and take the trail through the woods toward the wall of the canyon.
    She kept her stride slow and easy, and enjoyed the dappled light through the canopy of trees. With the cool air on her face, the scent of pine and awakening earth, the dregs of the dream faded away.
    She'd do this more often, she promised herself. Choose a different trail and explore on her day off—or at least every other day off. At some point, she'd drive into the park and do the same, before the summer people flooded in and crowded it all. Good, healthy exercise would hone her appetite, and she'd get in shape again.
    And for mental health, she'd learn to identity the wildflowers the guide spoke of that would blanket forest and trailside, the sage flats and alpine meadows in the summer. It would be a good incentive to stay put, to see the blooming.
    When the trail forked, she rolled her shoulders to adjust her pack, and took the fork marked for Little Angel Canyon. The incline was slow, but it was steady through the damp air sheltered by the conifers where she saw nests high up in the trees. Huge boulders sat among the pools of melting snow and rivers of mud where her guidebook claimed an abundance of wildflowers would thrive in a few more weeks.
    But for now, Reece thought it was almost like another planet, all faded green and brown and silent.
    The trail rose, gently at first, up the moraine, tracking the slope through a stand of firs and dropping over the side to a deep, unexpected gulch. The mountains speared up, snow-breasted pinnacles shining in the strong sunlight, and as the trail angled up. more steeply now, she remembered to try to use the lock step, and briefly locked her knee with each step. Small steps, she remembered.
    No rush, no hurry.
    When she'd hiked the first mile, she stopped to rest, to drink and to absorb.
    She could still see the glint of Angel Lake to the southeast. There were no mists now as the strong sun in a clear sky had burned it away. The breakfast shift would be peaking now, she thought, with the diner full of clatter and conversation, the kitchen ripe with the smell of bacon and coffee. But here it was quiet and stunningly open with the air stinging with pine.
    And she was alone, completely, with no sound but the light wind swimming through the trees, carving through the grasses of a marsh where ducks minded their own business. And that, the distant and insistent drumming of a woodpecker having his own breakfast in the woods.
    She continued on, with the climb steep enough to have her quads complaining. Before she'd been hurt. Recce thought in disgust, she could have taken this trail at a jog.
    Not that she'd ever hiked, but how