“You were right about the wind.” Dan braced himself against the railing at the top of the slightly swaying metal observation tower as he smiled down at Kinley, his hair whipping around his face. “It’s pretty strong up here. But the view is spectacular.”
The Big Walker Lookout Tower soared a hundred feet high at an elevation of just over thirty-four hundred feet, so the air was thin but the view really was worth the strenuous climb. On a clear day like this one, mountain peaks in five different states were visible from their vantage point. Spreading below them to the north was a patchwork network of farmland. To the south, the dense Jefferson National Forest spread like a thick green blanket almost as far as they could see. A big hawk circled lazily nearby, riding the currents and keeping an eye out below for lunch. Kinley enjoyed watching birds, but she hadn’t yet taken time to learn to identify different types, so she had no idea what kind of hawk it was. Someday she was going to spend more free time birding and learning, she promised herself.
“You should visit in the fall,” she said, the stiff breeze whipping the words from her mouth. “The colors in the forest are breathtaking when viewed from here.”
“I’ll bet.” Like the few other tourists at the top with them, Dan lifted his camera to try to capture the magic in pixels. Having taken photos from there quite a few times herself, Kinley knew there was no way to really reduce the majesty of the scene to a snapshot. She’d seen some beautiful shots, but nothing compared to being up there surrounded by the beauty that was Virginia.
“I can see why you wanted to make your home here,” Dan said as if he’d read her thoughts. “It’s really beautiful countryside. Nice people. Lots of nature to enjoy.”
She nodded. “I love hiking the mountain trails when I have a few hours off work. There’s a whole network of excellent trails around this area.”
“And when’s the last time you made use of one of those trails?”
She cleared her throat, trying to remember the last time she’d taken a few hours just to enjoy a trail. She’d hardly even broken in the new hiking boots she’d bought on sale last fall. Perhaps she had needed this outing today. Though a list of work-related things she needed to attend to whispered at the back of her mind, she ignored them and allowed herself to savor the lovely view—not to mention the very nice companionship.
“It’s, um, been a while,” she admitted.
Dan shook his head and stroked a wind-whipped strand of hair from her face. “Life’s too short to spend it all working, Kinley. There are so many more interesting things to do.”
Feeling the sting of old wounds, she shrugged and replied with a somewhat brittle tone, “Not if I want to make a lasting success of an inn that was out of business for eighteen years.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Just you? I thought your brother and sister were equally invested in that goal.”
She didn’t really have a response to that comment. “Are you ready to head back down? You said you wanted to spend some time wandering through the general store.”
The look he gave her let her know he was aware of her prevarication, but he didn’t push it. “First, I’ll steal a kiss here at the top of the world,” he murmured with a smile.
She let him steal more than one, despite the few other people up there with them, none of whom seemed to be interested in her and Dan.
Releasing her before they embarrassed themselves, Dan took one final look around the perimeter of the tower, snapped a few more photos and then started down the winding stairs with her.
The original general store building had burned more than a decade earlier and had been rebuilt close to the old site. A long swinging bridge over the parking lot had once connected the tower to the old store. The bridge was still accessible for adventurous visitors, and Dan of course insisted on crossing it with her, laughing as the structure swayed in the wind.
A bluegrass trio played on the porch of the store, which was designed to look old and weathered. Inside, the shelves were lined with jams, jellies, relishes and other vintage food items, in addition to homemade candies, local craft items and a big assortment of souvenirs. Dan made a beeline for the ice cream parlor where he ordered a double scoop of mint-chocolate chip in a waffle cone. Kinley requested one scoop of peach ice cream in a paper cup.
“You can indulge more than that,” Dan teased her. “Especially after climbing the steps to the top of the tower.”
“No, this is plenty,” she assured him primly. Then added with a grin, “Besides, I’m buying half a pound of fudge on my way out.”
She would share the candy with her siblings. Maybe. But she wasn’t leaving this place without fudge.
They sat outside at a picnic table for a while to enjoy the music and watch tourists crossing the swinging bridge and climbing the tower. Having made short work of the ice cream, Dan sneaked bites of the fudge he’d bought for himself. “What can I say?” he asked when she teased him about it. “Climbing steps makes me hungry.”
Judging by how fit he was, he climbed enough steps to offset the calories, she thought with a wistful sigh.
He’d hardly touched her today other than those kisses at the top of the tower—and yet the physical awareness had sizzled between them all day, just beneath the surface of their smiles and conversation. She suspected it would always be this way for her when Dan was around. Which, she reminded herself firmly, would not be much longer.
“Where do you go next?” she asked somewhat abruptly. “Your next assignment, I mean?”
“I have a couple of options. A series of profiles of Southern beach resorts along the Atlantic and Gulf Coasts. Another about the best places that serve Southern fried pies. I have a fondness for chocolate fried pies, myself.”
“So, you have a choice of lolling on beaches or stuffing yourself with fried pies. Tough call.”
He chuckled. “Maybe I should do a series on the best fried pies to be found in beach resorts.”
Kinley rubbed her thumb over the case of her cell phone. She’d silenced the ringer and had only glanced at the screen when a vibration signaled an incoming call or text, just to make sure she wasn’t missing anything important by putting off her responses until later. Fortunately there hadn’t been many calls, since it was a Sunday. “What about your story idea? Your friend the producer who wants to see a treatment? Are you going to send him anything?”
“Maybe. Eventually.”