Angels Fall

different was it from setting the elliptical at the health club to a five-mile hill climb?
    "Worlds," she muttered. "Worlds different. But I can do this."
    The trail cut through the still sleeping meadows, switchbacked over the steeps. Along the sun-drenched slope where she paused again to catch her breath, she could see a small, marshy pond where out of the cattails a heron rose with a flopping fish in its beak.
    Though she cursed herself for reaching for her camera too late, she continued to huff her way along the switchback until she heard the first rumble that was the river. When the muddy trail forked again, she looked wistfully at the little signpost for Big Angel Trail. It would wind high up the canyon, and require not only endurance but some basic climbing skills.
    She didn't have either, and had to admit her leg muscles were in shock, and her feet were annoyed. She had to stop again, drink again, and debated whether she should simply content herself with the views of marshes and meadows on this first outing. She could sit on a rock here, soak in the sun, perhaps he lucky enough to see some wildlife. But that rumble called to her. She'd set out to hike Little Angel, and hiking it was what she would do.
    Her shoulders ached. Okay, she'd probably gone seriously overboard with the supplies in her backpack. But she reminded herself she'd made it halfway, and even at her meandering pace, she could make her goal before noon.
    She cut through the meadow, then up the muddy slope. When she made it up and around the next switchback, she had her first look at the long, brilliant ribbon of the river.
    It carved through the canyon with a steady murmur or power. Here and there buddies of rock and bouiders were stacked on its verge as it the river had simply flung them out. Still it was nearly placid here, almost dreamy curling through the steep, sheer walls on its way west.
    She got out her camera, already knowing a snapshot wouldn't capture the scope. A picture couldn't give her the sounds, the feel of the air, the staggering drops and wild rises of the rock.
    Then she saw a pair of bright blue kayaks, and delighted, framed them in to use for scale. She watched the kayakers paddle, circle, heard the dim sound of voices that must have been raised to shouts.
    Someone was getting a lesson, she decided, then pulled out her binoculars to get a closer look. A man and a boy—young teens, she decided. The boy's face was a study in concentration and excitement. She saw him grin, nod, and his mouth moved as he called out something to his companion. Teacher?
    They continued to paddle, moving side by side, heading west down the river.
    On the trail above, Reece hung her binoculars around her neck and followed.
    The height was enthralling. As her body pushed itself forward she felt the burn or muscles, the giddiness of adventure, and no tingle of worry or anxiety. What she felt, she realized, was utterly human. Small and mortal and full of wonder. She had only to tip back her head, and the whole of the sky belonged to her. To her, she thought, and those mountains that shone blue in the sunlight.
    Even with the chill on her face, the sweat of effort dampened her hack. Next stop, she told herself, she was taking off her jacket and drinking a pint of water.
    She trudged up and up, panting.
    And stopped short, skidding a little, when she saw Brody perched on a wide, rocky ledge.
    He barely spared her a glance. "Should've known it was you. You make enough noise to start an avalanche." When she glanced up, warily, he shook his head. "Maybe not quite that much. Still, making noise on the trail usually wards off the predators. The four-legged ones, anyway."
    If she'd forgotten about the possibility of bear—and she had—she-sure as hell had forgotten the possibility of human. "What are you doing up here?"
    "Minding my own business." He took a slug out of his water bottle. "You? Other than tromping along singing 'Ain't No Mountain High Enough."
    "I was not." Oh, please, she was not.
    "Okay, you weren't singing it. It was more gasping it.
    "I'm hiking the trail. It's my day off."
    "Yippee." He picked up the notebook sitting on his lap.
    Since she'd stopped, she needed a minute to catch her breath before she started climbing again. She could cover the fact that she needed a minute or two to rest with conversation. "You're writing? Up here?"
    "Researching. I'm killing someone up here later. Fictionally." he added with some relish when the