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weight of it anymore.
    “Jeez, what are you carrying around with you, running girl? Rocks?” He shakes his head as he continues on, stretching his hand out behind him every so often, almost like he senses when Sofie might be about to fall.
    His reactions are nothing if not impressive. That’s why I can’t stop staring at his strong, broad back, right? His question is a little too astute, so I’m just going to say nothing. I wonder how easy it’s going to be to come up with an excuse as to why I’m dressed this way—and in the middle of the woods in a thunderstorm, too.
    “Can I use your cell? I just want to let my friends know I’m okay.” Sofie has to raise her voice to be heard over the hammering rain.
    “No service in the canyon.” The response is short and to the point, and she wonders if she’s imagining that he sounds a little angry. She shuts her mouth, figuring that silence is sometimes the best recourse.
    They continue walking for a few more minutes until the woods clears and they’re on a trail, or more like a muddy pool in this weather. There’s a pickup truck that’s just visible under a heap of branches and leaves. Sofie’s rescuer walks over to it purposefully, lifting the heavy branches off of the car as if they weigh nothing. Why he would go to the trouble of camouflaging his own car? Perhaps he is an illegal poacher, she thinks fleetingly.
    “Are you going to stare at it or get in?” he asks, as he throws her pack into the back. She winces, wondering if any of her fragile equipment has been broken by his sheer brute force. Then, she remembers the Geiger counter that she’d kicked to pieces out in the woods and tells herself to chill out.
    Wordlessly, she slides into the passenger seat, grateful for the blast of heat that hits her as he turns the key in the ignition. As they rumble along the trail, she sneaks a peek at the man filling the driver’s seat next to her. He really is as gorgeous as she had first thought. His dark blonde hair is wet from the rain, and his plain white tee is plastered against his body, outlining the contours of his muscles. He turns his head, looking straight at her, catching her staring at him. She drops her eyes, knowing that she’s been caught.
    “What are those for?” she asks, her eyes settling on a pair of binoculars in the open glove compartment. The poacher hypothesis is starting to look like a winner.
    “Birdwatching,” he replies without missing a beat. He looks straight ahead, as he pulls out of the trail and onto the road, but Sofie’s sure she can see a smile creep onto his lips.
    “Birdwatching, right. I should have guessed. You do look like your typical ethnologist after all.” Sofie rolls her eyes as she stares out of the window, wondering if this rain is going to stop before they have to cover their next site the following day.
    Sitting quietly, Sofie thinks, All signs point towards the fact that this guy is a poacher, but there’s something about him that doesn’t quite fit with that idea. He has a hungry look, but not the hardness that I associate with guys who are killing animals for sport. It doesn’t seem honorable enough for him. But then, I really doesn’t know him well enough to make that call.
    “So what are you and your...friends doing here in Beaumont? You don’t look like the typical rock climber groupies that pass through here from time to time. And I’m sure that gear that you’re wearing looks pretty hi-tech when it’s not caked in mud.” There’s definitely a twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth when he says this, and it makes Sofie glance down at her clothes.
    I must look like the creature from the swamp , she thinks. She’d never liked being on the back foot, and this was no different. If anything, it was worse. She felt like the unpopular kid at school, who is being tormented by the star quarterback. But this isn’t school, Sofie , she reminds herself. Besides, what do I care what he thinks I look