Amethyst (26 page)

I tapped the
leather seat and said, “Sounds like you’re pretty familiar with the mansion. I
suppose you’ve been there a lot with Madison?” I asked with a slight hitch in
my voice.

“Actually, my
mom and Madison’s mom have always been close friends. So growing up, our
families spent a lot of time together boating, camping, and spending time at
their island retreat. I’ve always felt like Max was just another brother and
Madison and Jessica were sisters.”

“Hmm,” I said.
“But Madison doesn’t feel that way; she’s very possessive of you. Not to
mention, I’m at the top of her hate list.”

“What makes you
say that?” He turned his head and looked me square in the eyes.

I blushed. To
come clean, or not to come clean? I decided there were far too many secrets
already. Taking a deep breath, I said in a squeaky voice, “I have a confession
to make.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” I nodded
and tucked my hands under my legs. “I umm, well I kind of overheard you and
Madison talking in the break room. But,” I continued hastily, “it wasn’t on
purpose. I had to use the bathroom, and you guys were so loud. When I heard my
name—”

“Alex,” he
interrupted, “it’s okay. I understand. And you know what?” I shook my head, and
he said, “I had my suspicions you’d overheard our conversation.”

My jaw dropped,
and I turned beat red. “Why?” I managed to say.

He looked at me
and smiled. “I thought I could smell you.”

“What?”

“You always smell
like vanilla. When I walked out of the break room after arguing with Madison,
remnants of vanilla lingered in the air. I even walked around the backroom
looking for you.”

“Great,” I
mumbled. So much for being sneaky.

“Yes, you do
smell great,” he said. “And I appreciate you fessin’ up.” He changed the
subject, and for the next hour we listened to music and talked mostly about our
childhoods. Before I knew it we’d arrived at Nooksack Falls. Absolutely
magnificent and extremely loud, the falls broke into three separate segments –
waters plunging almost a hundred feet. Even though it was still early, a fair
number of people wandered around snapping pictures.

“The Falls are
fed from the headwaters of the North Fork of the Nooksack River, but the
glacial runoff originates on the slopes of Mt. Shuksan,” Jason said in a raised
voice, so his words weren’t lost in the roar. He studied his watch and made
several indecisive noises before saying, “I think we still have a good couple
hours before they make it up here. It’s probably another 12 miles of rough,
gravel roads before we get to the trailhead, but about halfway up I know a
place we could take a short hike to a hidden waterfall. What do ya think?” He
spoke with the enthusiasm of an eight year old boy who’d just walked into
Legoland. His eyes sparkled with excitement; he was definitely in his element,
and I was enjoying this side of him. “I’d really like to show it to you, if
you’re up for it,” he added.

Out here in the
wilderness with the falls crashing behind him and the sun shining on his face,
he was incredibly handsome; my heartbeat quickened. I reveled in the fresh
scent of Evergreen trees, which reminded me of how he always smelled, naturally
outdoorsy. I grinned. “Let’s do it.” Playfully, I added, “Race ya back to the
car.” I took off, but it wasn’t long before his laughter and footsteps overtook
me.

After driving
several miles on the bumpy, gravel road Jason pulled over to the left side and
pointed out his window. “That’s Wells Creek Falls, offering you great views
from the front seat of your car. Nice part is that it’s easily accessible for
anyone who can only manage a short walk or for families with small children.” I
gave him a funny look, and he said, “Hey, no age is too young to start exploring
Mother Nature.”

We started up
the road again. Rolling around, I grasped the support bar above my head as we
crashed over some monster potholes. “What’s the name of our waterfall?” I
asked.

“Sholes Creek
Falls.” He glanced over at me and bounced in his seat, almost hitting his head
on the ceiling. “Our waterfall is much bigger then Well’s Creek Falls. It’s
considered two-tiered; the first drop careens about 60 feet and the second
plunges about 100 feet. Standing at the base of the falls, we’ll only be able to
see the second tier, though. You’ll love it. It’s stunning.”

I looked at him
in amazement. “How do you know so much about the waterfalls?”

He grinned and
pulled a Waterfall Finders Guide Booklet out of his door pocket. “Besides this,
my parents took me hiking all over Mount Baker National Forest when I was a
kid. After I was old enough to explore on my own, I spent my free time studying
maps and tromping through most of these mountains. I’ve seen some of nature’s
incredible hidden treasures and encountered some awesome wildlife.”

“Quite the
adventurer, aren’t you?” I said.

“Absolutely,” he
replied.

He parked the
truck on the side of the road and pointed to the water running under a bridge.
“Okay, we’re here. That’s Bar Creek, and just upstream a ways on the left it
meets up with Sholes Creek. As you can see, there’s nothing but thick brush
between us and our destination, so we’ll be hiking a short distance through the
woods. Then we’ll drop down to Sholes creek. Any problem with getting your feet
wet?”

Lifting my feet
in the air, I shook my head and pointed at my new sandals. “Nope, these babies
are waterproof and supposedly have great traction.”

“Good,” he said
and grabbed his backpack off the floor. “Once we reach the creek, we’ll hike
through the waters and up to the base of our waterfall.”

We set off, and
he told me to follow close, because it would be easier to walk in his
footsteps. He was right. We pushed our way through what looked like a dense
jungle of vines. Sticker bushes scraped my legs, and branches smacked my face a
couple times. From high above, the sun was generating comfortable warmth, but
in a couple more hours the heat would be extreme. Some sort of tall, wispy weed
in the high scrub was putting off a pungent odor, like decaying meat. I was
delighted when we stepped out of the thicket and into the open canopy.

Jason stopped
and pointed at an orange flag painted on a mighty hemlock tree. “We could take
an easier route through the trees and stay dry. Up to you.” He gauged my
response.

“Hiking through
the creek works for me. I trust you not to let me wash down stream.”

He smiled and
said, “Good. I promise to keep my eye on ya. Besides, it’s more of a rush.” He
motioned for me to follow, and we set off through the forest again.

The ground was
covered with pinecones, needles, and a funny layer of mustard green moss. He
pointed out small blueberry plants covered in blossoms and said it was too
early for the fruit. We weaved in and out of monstrous evergreen trees, and I paid
close attention to my footing, because occasionally exposed tree roots crossed
the path. Rushing water resonated in the distance, and a chipmunk chirped in
alarm from a nearby tree top. The woods were soothingly peaceful. We walked in
comfortable silence for some time. Eventually, we stopped at a flat opening
alongside the trail that overlooked a canyon.

He pointed at
the base of a tree just off to our right. “See how the ground is sort of
smoothed away and there’s a slight impression in the earth, as if the forest
floor has been disturbed?” I nodded, and he said, “That’s a deer bed.”

“Really?” I said
in awe.

“Yes,” he spoke
quietly. “Deer quite often use the same beds; it’s possible one was here just
now but heard us coming and quickly left the area. They like to bed down
alongside a trail, in a place they can easily spot danger. This ridge above the
creek here offers a perfect vantage point.”

“Do you see a
lot of deer while you’re out hiking in the woods?” I asked curiously.

He nodded. “More
often than you’d think.” He unzipped his backpack and opened a water bottle,
offering me first drink. I had my own in my pack, but his looked inviting, so I
accepted. After handing it back to him, I watched him gulp down half the bottle
before he said, “I’ve seen a lot of Black-tail deer in the area.”

“What other
animals have you seen around here?”

Giving me a
subdued expression, he said, “Before I answer, you have to promise not to go
ballistic,” he shook his finger at me, “and remember, I’ve traveled far off the
beaten path.”

“Oh Crap! Not
mountain lions, I hope,” I blurted out, suddenly on alert.

He nodded and
put his arms through his backpack straps, “Yes, I ran across a cougar a couple
years ago, but I have no big story to tell. He just turned and went the other
way.” I must have looked ready to run for the car, because he said, “No
worries, very unlikely we’ll see anything like that in the middle of the day,
especially with all the noise we’re making.”

Changing the
subject, he talked about mountain goats he’d spotted on ridges and then
excitedly described a black bear he’d once seen plowing through a blueberry
patch. I listened and tried to calm my nerves. There was no way my snapshots
were pointing to this day. I felt no sense of danger, and I wasn’t alone in the
woods. Also, there had been no creek or waterfall in my snapshots. Reassured, I
took a deep breath and said, “Let’s find this waterfall.”

We started down
a mildly steep ravine. Bracing our feet and grabbing onto vine maple branches
for support, we half walked and half slid on our rear ends down the loose bank.
Once down, we had no solid ground to walk on, so we stepped into the crystal
clear water.

“Yikes! This is
cold,” I squealed.

“You’ll get used
to it.” He laughed and pointed up the creek. I stopped and stared in awe. Less
than a quarter mile upstream, reflecting a rainbow in the spraying mist, was
our waterfall. Only a small portion was visible, like a teaser beckoning us.
Between us and the waterfall, the creek flowed swiftly through an obstructed
canyon. Rapids dominated the ravine, surging over fallen trees, rotting logs,
huge boulders, and piles of debris. A natural obstacle course lay between us
and the waterfall. Our endurance and climbing abilities would soon be tested. If
we succeeded we’d be rewarded by reaching the base of the falls. Feeling
Jason’s gaze upon me, I turned his way with wide eyes.

“Awesome, huh?”
he beamed. “Think you can handle it?”

“I’m not turning
back now, are you kidding?” I said with rapture.

With a nod of
approval, he took the lead. From behind I admired his athletic body. As he
scrambled over slippery rocks and walked swiftly along moss-covered logs, he
did so with amazing agility and balance. I found myself grateful to be
following in his wake. Not only did he guide me on a safer route with his sure
feet, but with me bringing up the rear, he wasn’t able to witness my clumsy
ascent. Besides, I was enjoying two views: earth’s magnificent waterfall and
man’s magnificent body.

After a bit, he
stopped on a patchy gravel bar at the edge of the stream and waited while I
caught up. We were in a secluded area of the creek, and even though we could
hear the mighty waters crashing above us, a huge log jam blocked our view of
the falls. Directly behind Jason, a mass of spiny ferns protruded from the
bank, intermingling with the airy, delicate leaves of vine maples. As I stepped
even closer, my eyes widened in wonder at the plump orange berries hanging over
the bank’s edge. They just looked like they were begging to be plucked.

“Are they
edible?” I asked.

He gave me a
funny look. “Don’t you know a salmonberry when you see one?”

I reddened.
“Well yes, I mean no, but I’ve read about them,” I said with defeat. “They’re
huge. They look like over-sized raspberries. Well, they would if they were
red,” I amended, hardly containing my excitement as he reached above his head
and selected the largest ones.

Bringing down a
handful, he said, “Open your mouth.”

I parted my
lips, and he dropped one into my mouth. Slowly, I chewed the ripe fruit,
savoring the sweet, juicy sensations. He watched me intently, never breaking
eye contact. I was mesmerized by his close proximity and his bewitching eyes.
Even after I’d finished chewing and swallowed, I found I couldn’t look away
from him. His lips formed a slow smile, and he popped a couple berries into his
own mouth.

“We found these
at the peak of perfection,” he said hoarsely. “Sweet with only a touch of
tartness.” He emptied the rest into my hand and reached up to pick a few more.

“They’re soooo
good,” I said.

He turned around
and laughed. “Well, you have something in common with the hummingbirds; these
are a favorite of theirs as well.” He handed me a few more and said, “Okay,
let’s keep going.”

We scaled a few
more huge boulders and crawled over a couple wobbly logs. After several failed
attempts, we finally crawled up and over the biggest log jam of all. With the
waterfall uproariously loud, I knew we were almost there. As we made our way up
one monstrous slab of rock, I was unable to find a foothold and started sliding
backwards. Slapping the rock in frustration, I swore to myself. I thought I
heard Jason shouting my name, so I looked up.

Clinging
effortlessly to the side of the slippery rock, with the same dexterity
Spiderman uses when scaling skyscrapers, his expression was one of sheer
amusement. He looked like he’d been chuckling to himself, but he didn’t laugh
aloud. Graciously, he reached down and called out, “Grab my arm; I’ll pull you
up.”

A moment later
we found ourselves standing at the base of the thunderous Sholes Falls. We
looked at each other and exchanged huge grins before he pointed upwards. I
gasped and gazed with pure delight at the beautiful white water streaming down
over textured, brown rock cliffs. The cliffs were enhanced by vivid green moss,
growing in thick clumps throughout the crevices of the sheer surface. The
vibrant moss looked soft and spongy against the sheen precipice. The grace and
beauty of the showering white falls captured my soul.