“That was amazing,” she said. She turned abruptly toward him, surprising him, and she got the impression he’d been breathing her in. That made her smile. He liked how she smelled, too.
They climbed back into the Jeep and, after a few more miles, Rick turned onto a narrow dirt road.
“Are we close?” she asked.
“Getting there.”
This wasn’t so bad, even with the early hour. They’d had a nice companionable drive. Now they would walk a short distance, take some shots, eat lunch and head home. She was an indoor girl all the way—in her recreation as well as her photography.
The winding dirt road dwindled to nothing and Rick parked.
“We’re there?” she asked hopefully.
“Now we hike.” He lifted a backpack from behind his seat.
“How far?” She swallowed.
“Not too far.” He fished sunscreen from a pocket, opened the lid and squirted some onto her palm. “Don’t skimp and rub it in thoroughly.”
Two hours later, sweaty and miserable, Samantha took a gulp of the water bottle Rick thrust at her. “Are we even close?” she asked. So much for the quick jaunt to a shady spot she’d envisioned. Where the hell was Rick’s precious meadow?
“Soon,” Rick said. Again. He put a hand to her back in support. “Where’s the intrepid lady who wants to splash around in life?”
“That’s figuratively splashing around, pal,” she said and decided to buck up. Ignoring the blisters, the blackberry-thorn scrapes, the mosquito bites and the sting from her brush with a prickly pear, she pushed away from Rick’s support and marched faster, her mud-caked boots squishing with each step. Running from a bumblebee the size of a VW, she’d slipped off the creek rocks and gotten wet to her knees.
At least they’d gotten some good shots. Rick had spotted a small flock of wild turkeys and had insisted they wait silently in the itchy grass until the birds had gotten close enough for a full-frame shot of a tom, feathers spread in pride.
The secret to wildlife shots was patience. She’d heard that before, of course, but watching Rick work, she realized how true it was and how absolutely great Rick was at waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting.
That was not her style. She preferred to manage a photograph, arrange everything to happen her way on her time line, control every aspect of the light and shadow and angle and movement.
At least she didn’t need patience to get some great shots of the red cliffs rising around them or the variegated water of Oak Creek. But now she was tired and hot and hungry and Rick kept on like a buff and brawny Energizer Bunny with a backpack instead of a drum.
She shaded her eyes and watched him mount yet one more hill. God, he made it seem easy, moving with effortless grace. Her little digital felt like an anvil after all this walking. From the top, he leaned down to offer her a boost.
“Maybe you should just leave me here to die.”
“Come on. It’s worth it. Trust me.”
“Okay.” She grabbed a tree root and yanked herself up, her calves burning, her lungs screaming. Three more painful steps and she reached the top.
She looked down and caught her breath. Spread out before her was a clearing surrounded by ghostly white aspens, the ground covered with dusky grass. Red cliffs climbed straight up on either side of the creek that gurgled, blue-green with depth, to the left. The scene was so rich with color and calm and beauty, she could hardly take it all in. “It’s gorgeous,” she finally said.
Rick was looking at her as if this place were a gift he’d been dying to give her. “Worth muddy boots and a few scrapes?”
“Even mosquito bites and cactus rash.”
He smiled, then went still, pointing at something behind her. “Check it out.”
She turned and had to stare for a while until she realized there were two coyotes on the far side of the creek. This wasn’t the first time Rick had spotted an animal she’d had trouble distinguishing from the busy blur of rocks and trees. He had a great outdoor eye. “Oh,” she whispered.
Soundlessly, Rick lifted out the camera with the 500 mm lens and handed it to her. Through the big lens, she could see the streaks of brown and yellow in the gray fur, which was as wispy as feathers around the coyotes’ muzzles and their eyes were bright with intelligence.
She held her breath, focused, altered the f-stop to blur the background, shifted her angle a little for a better composition. If she moved a few feet closer, she’d like the shot more. She started to move.
“Take it now. They’re off,” Rick whispered, his other camera to his eye. He fired off several shots.
Sure enough, before she’d adjusted focus, the coyotes were gone. “Damn.”