I took one last look at my parked F-150 and saw my I HEART ND license plate frame glinting gold in the fading daylight. It felt like a good omen.
I wondered again how I’d landed this job as a trail guide. I was just a country boy with a give-’em-hell attitude and a Bachelor of Science from Notre Dame’s top-rated School of Architecture. Sure, I’d mastered all two of the hills back in South Bend, but was I really qualified to shepherd clients up a treacherous mountain? Only time would tell.
- - -
My client, Rita, was a knockout—long brown hair, mesmerizing jade eyes, and a nose like Knute Rockne’s.
“Sorry I’m late. I was finishing some paperwork for a large donation to my alma mater,” she said, adding with a wink, “Go Fighting Irish.”
My heart skipped. We had gone to the same college.
“I’m Jake. I went there too.”
“Well then, Vita, Dulcedo, Spes,” she purred, her voice as smooth as the turf at Notre Dame Stadium.
It would be hard to keep my mind on the trail with a dame like her for company.