“Excuse me.”

Her voice was filled with New York City, but I couldn’t pin down the borough. When I looked up, there was an hourglass figure in a polka dot halter-top, not quite doing the task it had been assigned.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Where does that trail go?”

“That’ll take you down to where the North Ridge meets up with the South Ridge. You can take either one down to the Visitor Center.”

“Do you mind if I share the bench with you?”

“Believe it’ll accommodate both of us.”

“What’s so funny?” she asked as she wiggled out of her pack and let it plunk down onto decaying oak leaves strewn around the bench.

“Ma’am?”

“What? You think your shit eating grin is invisible? And what’s with this ‘ma’am stuff? I’m not any older than you are.”

Now I was chuckling. “I apologize. I’m not laughing at you. But back home the women our age are …”

“What?”

“Less entertaining?”

“Really? Where are you from?”

“Western North Carolina.”

“What do you do there?”

“Most of the time I run our county’s sheriff’s department.”

“Is that interesting?”

“Depends. For the most part it is. By the way …”

“Yes?”

“I figured out what got my shit eating grin going.”

“And that would be?”

“You remind me of Rhonda. She works in our office. Place’d fall apart without her.”

“Would it?”

“Yup. She’s got an accent different from yours and she’s twenty years older. Otherwise, you and her are twins.”

She nodded as some of the bravado melted off her face.

“Wasn’t for her husband, two sons, and five grand kids, I’d propose. Maybe I should anyway.”

She popped up from the bench and slung on the pack as I averted my eyes from the halter top.

“Show me down to the Visitor Center.”

“Okay.”

If she’d known the trail, I would have let her go in front of me. As we worked our way down through the rocks and roots, she never got more than five feet off my butt. The questions about me had stopped. At a staccato clip she was now filling me in about how she was Jewish, an elementary schoolteacher in lower Manhattan, and how she’d gotten hooked on camping by a boyfriend who’d drifted out of the picture.

I listened to the details, but mostly I soaked in the rhythm. It made me think of Bertha’s purring. She was a big old kitty I had when I was little. The purring was a bit bothersome when she first fired it up, then it got soothing and relaxing. It had lulled me to sleep more than a few times.

As we got close to a bench that marked the join up of the North Ridge with the South Ridge, I could hear the whine of a pickup in reverse.

“What’s that?”

“Let’s have a look.”

After we turned right at the bench, we saw a big Ford backing up the last little incline of the South Ridge.

“Who are those people?”

She was pointing at seven guys in the truck bed. Somewhere in their twenties. They had on tan fatigues and baseball caps and were leaning over the panels scanning the ground as the truck creeped toward us.

One looked up. When he saw her, his face froze for an instant. When he recovered, he hollered, “Y’all seen a canteen back up there?”

“Sure haven’t.”

By then the truck had stopped and the driver side door had opened. A big fellow in a uniform got out and gave me a wave. I waved back and winked at him as I swaggered up to the closest guy in the truck bed. I looked right at him and said, “How much time you got left, bud?” His eyes widened for a second; then he got it.

“Twenty-nine and a wake up.”

“Not that you’re counting.”

“Didn’t know he could count.”

“Shut up, fool,” he said as he turned to the wise ass.

Now some smiles and chuckles were sneaking out. I asked each of the rest of them the same question, and each answered crisply. The last one said, “Four days.”

“Shit, you’re so short you could dangle your legs off an ashtray.”

All of them looked confused, except the driver. He was doubled over. “I come back in six months, I gonna see an y’all again?”

“Nope.”

“No sir.”

“No way.”

“That’s the spirit.” Then I waved and took halter-top’s hand as I whispered, “Best we head down the North Ridge.”

And so it went until the last guy said, “Guarantee ya this, sir. I will not get apprehended again.”

After we’d gotten out of their sight, she yanked on my hand. I stopped as she came up close and said, “I’m Susan. Susan Goldman.”

“I’m Jake Thompson, Susan.”

“You going to tell me what that was all about?”

“Smart girl like you? Thought you’da had it all figured out.”

That produced a two-handed shove into my sternum.

“Okay. Okay. Those gentlemen are guests of the Virginia State Department of Corrections.”

“And you know that how?”

“The driver had a shoulder patch that said …”

“Virginia State Department of Corrections.”

“He did. I don’t know for sure, but we’ll ask Bruce if we see him. I suspect they’re using ‘em for trail maintenance.”

“Who’s Bruce?”

“Met him about a week ago when I got up here my first day of vacation. He’s the park ranger. Country boy cop like me. ‘Cept better spoken. Maybe we’ll meet up with him. Think you’d like him. Know he’d like you.”

“And how about you, Jake? Do you like me?”

“Nah.” This time the shove to my sternum was hard enough to knock me on my ass. Took some breath out of me, too.

The North Ridge at Sky Meadows State Park is steep in places and demands concentration. Otherwise you can trip on roots or loose stones and end up with a bad sprain or worse. Susan seemed to sense this as she followed me down because she didn’t talk much. I wished she had because I could feel her lighting something up in me. If it had just been sexual attraction, I could have put a lid on that. Not easily, but I could have, just like I do every day around good looking women. Was more than that. She was roping me in. If she’d been yakking away, I could have focused on that and not the tug of her charms.

It didn’t take long to get down to the fence that surrounds the grazing land that Virginia leases out to beef companies. So hikers can get over the fence but cattle can’t, the park had built a short set of wooden steps on both sides of the fence. Once you go over the fence, you can quit worrying about tripping on rocks and roots. Now you have to worry about ripe pasture paddies. And sometimes you have to weave your way through a goodly number of cows and steers. Because I had grown up around critters, I liked that. But today the cattle were somewhere else. That was good. I don’t believe Susan would have enjoyed standing eye to eye with a Texas Longhorn or watching a turd tumble out of a tall cow’s ass.

As I was about to climb over the fence with Susan right behind me, I saw Bruce get out of his truck and start marching towards us with a radio up to his ear.

“Hey, Bruce, how we doing?”

He nodded and waved but looked down at the ground as he strained to hear the voice squawking out of the Motorola. Then he lowered it from his ear and said, “Hey, Jake.” When he caught a glimpse of Susan, he said, “Hello” in that tone cops use when they’re all business.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s a lady back up there, maybe a quarter of a mile. Got a couple of kids with her and a dog that broke his leg or got snake bit on it. There’s an older guy with them. Dog’s too big for them to carry him out.”

“How ‘bout we walk back up there with you?”

“Be good. Could use the help.” Then he turned to Susan and stuck out his hand.

“Bruce Wolinski. Please excuse my bad manners. These radios we got issued when you were in second grade can put me in a sour mood.”

“Hi Bruce. I’m Susan Goldman. And I think you have excellent manners.”

With a sheepish grin he said, “How about if we lock your pack in the cab of my truck? Save you lugging it back up there.”

“That’s okay. I could use the exercise,” she said as she smacked her rump.

I chuckled as I saw the blush seep through his deep tan. “I believe Bruce agrees with me; you look fine just the way you are.”

“Pay him no mind, Susan.”

After she went over and patted him on the cheek, we started trudging back up the trail.

Bruce was right. After about a quarter of a mile where the trail turns down towards a stream, there they were. Mommy was maybe 40, petite, and looked fit. Two boys, maybe seven and nine, and a white haired gentleman about 70. They were huddled around a not quite full grown black lab lying down with a “Woe is me” look on his handsome face.

“Somebody have a little bit of an accident,” asked Bruce with more warmth and tenderness than I had him figured for.

« Yes,” said Mommy. She stretched the word out the way nurturing women do in such circumstances.

“We’re not sure what happened. But it’s his right rear leg. None of us feels up to picking him up and carrying him down.”

“What’s his name?” I asked as I squatted down and massaged the back of his thick neck.

“This is Beaufort, and he’s a sweetie pie.”

“Well, of course he is. Bruce, I’m all sweaty and ripe. You’re all neat and pressed in your uniform. I can walk him down to the truck if you can help get him up onto my shoulders.”

“That should work.”

“Mommy. Kids. When I pick Beaufort up, he’s gonna squeal some, and he’s gonna bite me. But he really won’t mean it. Okay?”

The two boys looked a little scared; Mommy and the older gentleman smiled and nodded.

“Okay, Beaufort, you ready to do this?” I said as I bent down and scooched my hands under him. His coat had that smooth, oily feel dogs bred for the water have. Underneath, he was all muscle and sinew. When I started to lift him, he did squeal and he did snap at me, but it was even more half-hearted than I’d expected.

With a chorus of “Good boy, good boy” I hefted all 85 pounds of him up with my biceps and cradled him like the big baby he was. I could have lugged him in that position all the way back to Bruce’s truck. But he and I knew it would be smarter and safer if I carried him on my shoulders, with his legs straddling my neck.

After the two of us got him up there, I marched my way up the short incline before the gradual descent down to the truck. Mommy and Susan and Bruce huddled around me as I plodded along. The two boys and the older guy trailed behind us. Out of the corner of my eye I could see them holding their hands as if ready to catch the dog should I take a spill. That was amusing, but what put me on the verge of guffawing was Beaufort’s fidgeting to take full advantage of the view. Hell, if I was a ten month old pup who’d never got carried six feet off the ground, I would have done the same thing.

“Beaufort, buddy,” I said, “You keep wiggling around up there, I’m liable to drop you. That wouldn’t be a good thing, now would it?” Right or wrong, I’m of the opinion that most dogs (and all cats) understand every word we humans utter to them. Of course, whether they heed what we say depends on factors far too numerous to list. Anyway, about thirty seconds after I said what I said the fidgeting stopped and he settled into a panting cadence that matched my steps. My worries about his falling had drifted away. Truthfully, I was so enjoying the warmth of his tummy against the back of my neck that I wished Bruce and I didn’t have to hoist him off me and set him down in the truck bed.

When we did put him down, I figured Beaufort would lie right down. He didn’t. He stood up huff-puffing away and smacking his tail against the panels and looking at the bunch of us like he wanted to be petted and rubbed and generally made a fuss over.

“Isn’t that the damnedest thing,” Bruce said.

“Sure as hell is,” I said. “Maybe it was just a sprain and he needed some recovery time.”

By then Mommy and the two boys were up in the truck and hugging and kissing Beaufort and telling him he was the best dog in the whole wide world. Sensing that the crisis had passed, the old fellow waved goodbye and headed down towards the Visitor Center.

After Mommy and the boys got down out of the truck, the two ladies and Bruce and I had a confab.

“I used my cell to call our vet in Marshall. He thinks we should bring Beaufort in and have him looked at.”

Bruce’s forehead was scrunched up as he nodded and said, “I agree. Good chance he’s fine, but that’s what I’d do.”

Before Bruce drove Mommy and the kids and Beaufort down to the car, I handed Mommy the number of the guest house I was staying at up the road in Paris.

“Mommy, if you could …”

“I’m sorry, with all the excitement, I never introduced myself. I’m Anne Hagerty.”

“Hey, Anne,” I said as I shook her outstretched hand.

“I’m Jake Thompson. I was gonna ask you to give me a call at that number when you get a chance. I’d like to make sure Beaufort is okay.”

After I introduced her to Susan, she thanked me profusely and scurried off with Bruce and her brood with a promise to call as soon as she had a read from the vet.

All of a sudden it was just Susan and me standing there looking out to the west at a chunk of Appalachia not much different from what we had back home. Just a tad more built up.

“Well, Jake Thompson, is that enough excitement for one day? Or do you have something else planned for us?”

I giggled and plopped myself down onto a clump of grass. I lay back with my arms stretched over my head. “Don’t know about you, sweetheart, but the needle on my tank is bouncing on empty. Believe I’ll take me a little siesta.”

“Am I invited?”

I patted the spot right next to me as I closed my eyes. I heard her pack thud to the ground. Then I felt her snuggle up next to me as a warm breeze wafted over us. I was just about out as I thought, “This could be worse.”

The ringing wrenched me out of a deep sleep. Took a few seconds to figure out where I was as I dragged myself up off the couch and headed for the phone.

“Shit!”

“What was that?” Her voice came from the four-poster in the opposite corner of the room.

“Sorry, I knocked my shin on the coffee table. Let me answer that. Go back to sleep.”

Hobbling and in some pain I got to it on the third ring.

“Jake?”

“Hey, Anne,” I whispered with some hoarseness in my voice.

“Is this a bad time? Am I calling too early?”

“No, no. This is fine. Ah … give me your number, will ya. I’m gonna go outside and call you on my cell.”

She did. Then I threw on a t-shirt and tried to open and close the warped old door as soundlessly as I could. Since it was a Monday morning and all the weekend guests had left, Annabel and I had the patio all to ourselves. She was a tiny Calico who thought she was the owner-operator of the establishment. I hadn’t been in the Adirondack more than a couple of seconds before she was up in my lap with purring that put Bertha’s to shame. Then the sharp clawed kneading started.

“Honey, could you tone it down a bit and draw in those fingernails some so Uncle Jake can call Mrs. Hagerty without yelping in pain?”

She stared at me with wide eyes that opened and closed in slow motion. The volume stayed turned up and the claws stayed full out.

“Guess that’s a no.”

I tapped in Anne’s number and she picked up on the first ring

“Hi Jake. Beaufort’s fine now, but he’d probably be dead if we’d gotten him to the vet much later than we did.”

“Whoa!”

“Yep. Dr. Gilliam said he had more venom in him than any dog he’s ever treated.”

“So it was a copperhead or timber rattler, not a sprain.”

“I called Bruce a little earlier. He’s pretty sure it was a copperhead. Timber rattlers usually hang out at higher elevations,”

“Sounds right.”

“Funny thing, though. The vet couldn’t find any fang marks.”

“Hmm … well as long as he’s okay. Give him a scratch for me.”

“Will do. And Jake …?

“Thank you so much,” she said as I heard her voice crack. “I don’t know what the boys and I would do without him …”

“I know, Mommy. I’m afraid I know how bad it can hurt. You take care.”

About an hour later Susan and Annabel and I were out on the same patio putting away eggs and bacon that tasted too good to come from a supermarket. And the biscuits? I wouldn’t be telling Mamma she had a cooking rival up here so close to the Mason Dixon Line.

“Why do you think Beaufort wasn’t showing the effects of the venom when you got him back to Bruce’s truck? Not that I know much about snakes, poisonous or otherwise.”

“Not sure. I’ll ask around when I get back home. Anyway …”

“Yes-s-s-s?”

“We gonna have a second date?”

“One where you don’t have to sleep on the couch?”

Trying to ignore the mirth in her eyes and voice I said, “Look, you know I’m attracted to you. If I wasn’t, I’d be playing for the other team. Not that …”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

I reached over and pinched her nose. “Girl, I’m trying to express some tender feelings here and you keep messing with me.”

She gently pulled me by the neck and gave me a wonderfully long kiss while Annabel jumped on the table and wedged herself between us. The purring was turned up loud enough to blow out the speakers.