Roughing It

3. Hudson

CHAPTER THREE

hudson

I adjust the bill of the stiff baseball cap harder than necessary. I can’t get the damn crease right. Of course, this wouldn’t be an issue if my jackass middle brother hadn’t pilfered my favorite hat before leaving on a ten-day wilderness retreat.

Asshole.

I reread the sticky note he left me, then crumple it and toss it away. Needed one that’s already broken in with a goddamn smiley face as if that makes up for it. Fucking Gray.

Our business phone rings. I ignore it. The same number’s been calling off and on for the last couple of days, but seeing as I don’t know anyone in Austin, I let it ring. If it’s someone wanting to book a guided hunt or excursion, they’ll leave a message. Is it bad business to not answer? Too fucking bad. I have a shit ton of paperwork to do.

And a hat to break in.

In the fifteen years since my family moved to Trail Creek from the Panhandle, we’ve owned and operated a jack-of-all-outdoor-trades business. Fly-fishing, guided hunts, hikes, rafting—even skiing and snowboarding lessons in the winter—Peak Adventures does it all.

We’ve done well for ourselves, so much so that our parents took early retirement, leaving the business for my brothers and me—mostly me—to run five years ago. Since then, we’ve added ATV tours, cabin rentals, corporate wilderness retreats, and survival training.

Gray’s out on a combo corporate retreat and survival training with the bigwigs of some tech company from Albuquerque. Lucky bastard. I’d trade places with him in a heartbeat. Give me the quiet and beauty of the northern New Mexico landscape over spreadsheets and invoices any day of the week, but someone has to keep us in the black. And technically speaking, they requested anyone but me.

Apparently, I came off as rude while booking them. I’m not rude. I just don’t have time or patience for wishy-washy weekend warriors who can’t decide what to book. Yeah, I can be direct, but give me a straight shooter over a bullshitter. If I ruffle a few delicate feathers, so be it. No sweat off my sack.

With a grunt, I refocus on the blue-light glow of my multiple screens. Fucking paperwork. Did the font shrink when I wasn’t looking? I’m squinting at the tiny numbers when my youngest brother’s voice startles me, and I delete an entire row of data. Shit.

“Looking for your readers, old man?”

“Ha, you’re real funny asshole. I’m thirty-five, not seventy. Why are you here, anyway? Thought you took that bachelor party from Santa Fe fly-fishing.”

Bo shrugs and plops into the chair next to my desk, kicking his feet up. “Already met our limit.”

“And where are the paying clients now?” I can’t help but notice the twitch behind my eyelid coincides with Bo’s arrival.

He grins at me, the same one that gets him out of trouble with our parents and into trouble with the single women in Trail Creek and the surrounding areas. “Dropped ‘em off at Ava’s and told them to order the stuffed sopapillas. I’ll pick them up after I clean and bag their catches.”

“And then?”

“I’m taking them to the hot springs. It’s like a strip club without the cover charge.” He waggles his dark eyebrows at me.

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “That’s not true. It’s gonna be you and twelve other dicks in a giant pool of hot water.”

Bo’s easy laugh has my lips curving up in spite of myself. “You’re not lying, brother. It’ll be a sausage fest, but hell, they paid for two full days. Gotta keep our ratings up.”

Ratings. Reviews. Fucking social media. Another aspect of this job I hate. I stay as far away from all that as possible. Gray and Bo have better temperaments for it, anyway. They are the ones who reply to customers and post “thirst traps” with our brand in the shot. Hell, I didn’t know what a thirst trap was until I stumbled onto one of our socials and got a full view of my baby brother’s bare ass.

If I had my way, I’d do nothing but guide work, and the rest would sort itself out. Despite the entire world revolving around social media, you sure as shit won’t catch me on camera cheesing it up or bro-ing it out. What could you hope to gain from strangers on the internet fawning over you? Seems like a waste of time and energy and a vapid void for people who need their egos stroked.

I’ll leave that to the younger Brooks brothers. Of course, the town eats it up, too. Saul, Trail Creek’s daddy figure, scolds Bo and Gray for being “salacious,” but the old man loves the attention it brings. Their most recent post supposedly went viral. Peak Adventures collaborated with several other Trail Creek businesses, including the Great Dane, Flora and Fauna, and Davis Designs, for a cross-promotional series.

What a bar, a tattoo parlor, a custom home builder, and our company have in common besides being in Trail Creek and guys in their thirties willing to take their shirts off on camera is a mystery to me. Still, Bo and Gray assure me the post is business-minded and garnering positive attention. They also pointed out it wasn’t just men; the Davis women were involved as well—as if that makes it better.

My gut says my brothers use that crap to score dates rather than drive up business. But so long as they keep me out of it, they can do what they want. The socials are their domain.

The phone rings again—same Austin number. Again. Bo jerks his head towards the phone. “You gonna get that?”

“No.”

With a sigh, Bo snags the phone from its cradle. “Peak Adventures, the wild is waiting. Bo Brooks speaking.”

I’m at a disadvantage, only catching Bo’s side of the conversation, but my hackles rise when he cuts his eyes to me with a shit-eating grin.

“Yeah, man, I remember you. How goes it?… You saw that? What’d you think?... Ha, no, he’s usually not. And strictly speaking, he doesn’t know he’s in it.”

The twitch in my eye kicks up to double time. I frown at Bo, who has the sense to look away. I swear if he used me in that video without my permission, I’ll knock the laughter clean off his ugly mug. Bo knows damn well how I feel about that nonsense.

“He’s stubborn… Oh, trust me, I know who she is… Now that’s interesting… No, I agree. It’s a fan-fucking-tastic idea… You’ve called how many times?... Shit, I’m sorry… Yep. He’s standing right here giving me the evil eye.”

Pure mischief colors Bo’s features as he thrusts the phone into my hands. “It’s for you.”

Shit.

“Hudson Brooks. Who’s this?”

People aren’t my forte. But they especially aren’t my forte when I’ve overheard half a conversation that has my blood pressure doubling.

“Kirk James from KJ Media Management in Austin, Texas.”

“I don’t know what a media manager is, much less why you’d be so desperate to get ahold of me. Care to clear things up?”

When he doesn’t answer, I huff. “I’m a busy man. You want something. So lay it out or hang up.” Shit or get off the pot, buddy.

“Of course. How inconsiderate of me. I’ve attempted to contact you over the past few days.”

I snort. That’s an understatement. Seven calls in two days, not counting this one.

“Look Curt?—”

“It’s Kirk, actually.”

My eyes drift to the ceiling as if the recessed lights can grant me patience. “Kirk, let’s cut to the point. Why have you been chasing me like you’re a dog and I’m the tail?”

The mystery man, Kirk from Austin, laughs. “I spoke to both of your brothers. They were incredibly helpful and mentioned yesterday and today would be my best opportunities to get a hold of you as you’d be working alone in the office.”

What the hell? I grunt, the only indication I’m still on the line.

“If you don’t mind, let me start over. I’m Kirk James, and I manage Blakely Bradshaw. ”

He pauses. Like those words should mean something to me.

When I stay silent, he gets the hint. “If you aren’t familiar with her, Ms. Bradshaw is a well-known and popular social media infl?—”

“Let me stop you right there, Kirk. I’m not interested.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“Don’t need to. I have zero interest in anything to do with some city girl who makes her living off social media.”

Bo nudges me and mouths, “ Hear him out.”

I glare at him. Covering the mouth of the phone, I say, “I’m not doing this shit.”

“Listen to him, Hudson. You need?—”

“You’re lecturing me on what I need? When’s the last time you went to the dentist?”

My little brother waves my words away. “You need to get out of your rut, man. You’ve been stuck for six years. Plus, it’ll help the business.” Bo grins, knowing he’s said the magic words.

Blowing a breath out of my nose, I count to ten. Through gritted teeth, I say, “My brother thinks I should let this ridiculous conversation continue. Enlighten me, Kirk.”

“My thanks to Bo, then.” He chuckles, clearly not intimidated or put off by my tone. Have to admit it earns him a point in my book.

“As I was saying, I manage Blakely Bradshaw, a social media influencer based out of Austin. She’s looking for a new adventure, one that would be lucrative for her but also for the person who’s at her side during this little experiment.”

“Experiment? Speak plainly. What are you asking for?”

“I want you to spend thirty days with Blakely in one of your most secluded cabins. Take her on hikes, teach her to fish—all the things you’d do with one of your wilderness or survival retreats, but on a one-on-one basis. And I want you to let her film portions of it for use on her social media channels.”

I sit without speaking, trying to process the layers of bullshit wrapped around this request. “One more time?”

“You and Blakely. One month. One cabin. You teach her survival skills and show her out in nature without the trappings and conveniences of the city around her. She films it.”

Damn. That’s a lot to take in.

“Why are you asking me to do this? Both my brothers would be more than happy to play lapdog for some socialite or whatever the hell this woman is. Me? I have no interest in this.”

“Which makes you perfect.”

Not the answer I expect.

Kirk somehow interprets my grunt of confusion. “Blakely has a reputation. It’s not bad, but she’s known for being this perfectly put-together pretty girl. She’s ready to shake things up. And she has some personal things to gain from an experience like this.”

“I’m supposed to take her on some kumbaya spiritual journey? Let her reconvene in nature? That’s not what I do. If I agree to this, and it’s a big fucking if, I’ll treat her the same way I would any other Joe off the streets. No special treatment.”

“That’s what she’s looking for. And if I may speak bluntly, it’s exactly what she needs.”

His words intrigue me more than I care to admit.

“Again, not saying yes, but bottom line, how does this ridiculous publicity stunt benefit me and my business?”

“Daily live spots and posts, plus sponsored posts along the way, will go out to her followers. She promotes Peak Adventures and you. Mr. Brooks—Hudson—I can all but guarantee your business will double from being connected to her. ”

I glance over at my brother, who holds up a sticky note that says, “ Say yes!” If I roll my eyes any harder, they might fall out of my head, but the idea of our business doubling intrigues me. Maybe I should cut back on the caffeine. Or get laid. Something’s gotta be affecting my ability to think rationally.

“And if this goes to hell in a handbasket?”

“If this doesn’t bring in the numbers I’m expecting, you’ll be fully compensated for your time. But I can already tell this is going to be huge.”

The words are out before I can stop them. “So, what’s the expected timeline?”

And with that, I find myself the reluctant leader of a one-on-one wilderness encounter with some social media princess. What the fuck am I thinking? The last time a city girl swept into Trail Creek, I ended up with a broken heart. Now I’m putting myself in close quarters with another one?

Fucking hell.

As we work out the details, Bo dances around the office. He’s already texted Gray, who is blowing up my phone, too. Fuckers. They’ve known this was coming for days.

Kirk clears his throat, catching my attention. “Good luck, man.”

I can’t stop my scoff. “Luck? I don’t need luck. I’m an experienced outdoorsman and she’s staying with me. If anyone needs luck, it’s the spoiled city girl. She has no idea what she’s in for. Like I said, no special treatment. This isn’t a day spa.”

He chokes back a laugh. “I wouldn’t lead with calling her spoiled.” He pauses, his voice thoughtful, when he finally speaks again. “She may surprise you. The moment I read the reviews on your business, and you in particular, I knew the two of you would make for a fascinating dynamic.”

“What is that supposed to mean? ”

“You’ll see. I’ve got a good feeling about you two, though. And my gut is rarely wrong.”

Kirk hangs up, leaving me staring at the phone and wondering what in the name of Johnnie Walker Blue I’ve gotten myself into.