Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders #11)(102)

The road up the Big Horns was long and flat—to a point. Then it became a twisty maze of switchbacks as the road ascended. When they finally reached Sand Turn, he found a spot in the parking lot, which was crowded, most vehicles with out-of-state license plates.
“We’re there already?” she asked.
“Nope. Greybull is on the other side, but this is a cool spot. The view is great, so grab your cameras.”

Heat beat down, but being so high up, a constant breeze stirred the air, bringing the scent of sun warmed pine and chalky dust. Amazing didn’t begin to describe the view; you could see for two hundred miles. The sky was a watered-down blue, causing the thin clouds floating by to disappear into the endless horizon like ghostly vapors.
Once they stood by the rock ledge, Ava grabbed his arm. “This is magnificent.”

“Thought you’d appreciate it.”

He leaned against the wall and alternated between watching people and watching Ava. They’d stopped frequently over the last few weeks so she could film scenery that struck her fancy. Ava behind a camera lens was a different Ava. Focused. Patient. Intent. Her voice even had a more authoritative tone, not the usual soft lilt reminiscent of a Southern belle.
She shot a lot of footage, but she never showed him the results of her hours of labor or asked his opinion on her next subject. She could spend hours marveling at tiny pink flowers blooming alongside a mud puddle. Or an animal track. One afternoon she even taped a beetle climbing a yucca spike for an hour before he forced her away.
Her reaction boggled him. He’d expected a privileged woman like Ava to become bored quickly. When in fact, he’d gotten bored a helluva lot sooner than she had.
She’d become so intent on zooming in on the variance in colors of the canyon walls she nearly missed the big launch. “Ava, there’s a hang glider about to take off on your far right side.”

Immediately she spun and refocused. Holding on to the bars of the metal cage, the guy raced to the edge of the cliff until he ran out of ground. A collective gasp echoed as he successfully cleared the first group of pine trees. It was bizarre, seeing a hang glider from the top, not from beneath. The glider caught a thermal and began to climb.
Ava’s tendency to film reaction to events, rather than just the event itself, amused him. While she had the camera pointed at the sky, he also knew the spectators on the ledge were within her view.
He braced himself for when she aimed her lens at him.
“So, ever had a desire to hang glide? Skydive?”

“Are you kiddin’ me? That kinda dangerous stuff can kill ya.”

“Says the man who makes his living climbing on the back of two thousand pounds of pissed-off bull.”

Chase grinned. “Danger is all in the perspective, ain’t it?”

Ava shut off her camera and they walked to the truck. “I suppose so. But you’d never catch me doing either.”

“And here I thought you’d be the daredevil type.”

“Ha. I’m more the Chicken Little type.”

“I disagree. It is daring to leave the comforts of your cushy lifestyle. Hit the road with a guy you barely knew. Immerse yourself in way of life you didn’t know existed. Few women would start this journey, let alone embrace it fully, let alone enjoy it without restriction. I find that amazing. I find you amazing.”

And for once, he’d stunned her into total silence.
Following slow-moving campers down the narrow, twisting road into the valley put them behind schedule, so Chase’s anxiety was high when they finally reached the Greybull rodeo grounds. “I called yesterday and made reservations at Sleepy Time cabins.” He pointed. “Right over there.”