At that moment, Fleur pulled up in her British-flag MINI Cooper and clambered out. Like Muriel, she was wearing normal hiking clothes (I was the only one in skintight anything). Like Muriel, Fleur looked athletic and competent. She’d said she was bringing a guest…what were her words? Someone “with potential.” And here he was. I did a double take. It was Ian McFarland.

“Oy, mates!” Fleur said, her British having unraveled from upper crust to Cockney.

“Hi!” I called as they approached. Fleur made the introductions. As Ian shook Mark’s hand, he glanced over at me. That’s right, Ian. Me, emotional diarrhea, DMV. Yep, that’s him.

Five minutes later, we were off, down the trail and into the woods. The line was clearly ranked. First went Mark, Muriel and Charles, followed by Anna and Bill. Then came the rest of us in a somewhat tangled knot…Fred, Damien, Pete, Leila, Fleur, Ian and yours truly. Karen had been excused, claiming to have sprained her ankle while watching television last night.

“So, Fleur, how do you know the good doctor here?” I asked, glancing over at her.

“We met through Tony Blair,” she said, referring to her foul-tempered and obese Jack Russell terrier. “He ate something a bit off, yeah, and wasn’t his chippy self.”

“Huh,” I said, shooting Ian a look. Dang. I really, really wished I’d thought of something other than “The dog ate my paper.” Ah, well. Water under the bridge.

The trail began as a fairly wide and lovely path through the woods. Little stencils of a deer falling from an incline were painted on a tree every fifty feet or so to mark the path. As the trail grew steeper, it also became more narrow. Our group began to string out.

It was then that my stomach emitted the most astonishing gurgle. Squeerrrllllerrrggghhh… I jumped at the sound. What the heck? I’d eaten lunch…well, I had a couple of carrots, not wanting to feed the food baby anything fatty when Dr. Duncan’s Cleanse ’n Purge had worked so… Squeerrrllllerrrggghh.

Oh, dear. A slight cramp bit into my left side, and I flinched. Oh, no.

“Hungry?” Freddie asked.

“Um…no,” I said. Not a lie. “I’m fine.” Gluuuurrrrggggghhh. I tried to clamp my stomach muscles down on the sound. It didn’t work. Goooorrrrggghhh. God, it was loud! Ian gave me a look, but said nothing.

Just then, Charles deVeers decided he had to have more time with me. “Callie!” he called, turning around to wave. “Join us up front and chat a bit!”

“Would love to!” I called back. Gluuuurrrrggggghhh. “Excuse me, guys. Duty calls.”

Great. Not only was my stomach making Exorcist- type noises, but I had to trot up the path thirty feet or so to join the big guns, Bowie leaping at my side. And my biking shorts were making themselves known to me. The thing about clothes made from plastic bags…they don’t breathe that well, as you might imagine. They smother, and right now, they were asphyxiating my thighs. Swatting at the gnats that danced around my head, I tried not to inhale any as I panted.

“How’s everyone up here?” I gasped when I reached the front of our line. “Aren’t these woods gorgeous, Mr. deVeers?”

“I told you to call me Charles,” he reminded me, grinning. He might’ve been seventy or so, but the man hadn’t broken a sweat. Neither had his daughter, but then again, I suspected she was half reptile. “By the way,” he added, “I loved your idea for the new logo.” Goodbye, long silly name with floating plastic bag, hello simple, stylish initials.

“I’m so glad,” I said, not daring to look at Muriel.

“Callie, I was telling Charles about the ad campaign we put together for that ski resort last year,” Mark said. He gave me a little grimace, which I read clearly. He needed help buttering up the client, and no one could pitch woo the way I could.

I smiled at Charles. “Oh, that was a great time, let me tell you, Charles.” Wwwweeerrrrrggghhh. I quickly burst into laughter to cover the gurgling slosh of my stomach. Was that one over? Apparently not. Boooorrr… I talked over it, hoping no one else noticed as our feet crunched along. “Well, we like to know our products, of course, so Mark and I went up there to get the lay of the land. Now, Mark here, he grew up on skis. Me? No.”

“Uh-oh,” Charles said.

“I love to ski,” Muriel said. “Dad, we should go to Utah again.”

“That would be fun, honey. Go on, Callie,” Charles said to me. Muriel’s mouth tightened.

Wwwwweeerrrrrgggghhh.

“Are you hungry, dear?” Charles asked, striding manfully along.

“Oh, no! Well, I skipped lunch. Didn’t want to cramp up on this lovely hike. But I’m fine!” I said, beaming, trying to suck in enough oxygen at the same time. I reached down to pet my dog, hoping the motion would somehow assuage the alien life force in my belly. Another cramp lanced through my side, making me gasp. I coughed to cover. “Anyway, Mark told me not to worry, just go up the mountain with Skip, the owner of the resort. It wasn’t really about skiing.” I gave Mark a look. “So he said, right, Mark?”

“I’m still sorry,” Mark answered, smiling at me.

I’d worked with Mark long enough to understand his signals. He needed me to work the crowd, and work it I did. I continued with the story, which involved me, too terrified to get off the ski lift, clutching Skip so that he couldn’t get off, either, riding back down the hill, then up once more, finally tangling skis with Skip, causing him to fall about ten feet onto hard-packed snow. The ski patrol had to come not only for their fallen boss, but to give me a ride down, since I could neither ski nor walk in those boots.

“Did you get the account?” Charles asked, smiling at me.

“Of course we did!” I said. Berrrrrrroooo. “Hahahaha! Skip was so impressed that I’d gone six thousand feet up a mountain I couldn’t get down, he had to hire us.”

“So you’ll do anything for a client, is that it?” Charles winked.

“Anything within reason,” I confirmed. Unfortunately, my stomach was seriously cramping, and the trail was becoming steeper. Hopefully, my panting would cover the occasional bizarre noise coming from my intestinal tract. I felt a little dizzy.

“That’s a wonderful story, Callie. Mark, you have a gem here,” Charles said, slinging his arm around my shoulders.

“I sure do,” Mark answered, smiling at me. His dark eyes were grateful. For a second, it was like the old times. Mark and me, getting our job done. A great team.

Then Muriel said, “Well, I’m dying to get to the top. Shall we stop strolling and start making time? Dad, think you can keep up with me, old man?”

“Them’s fighting words,” Charles said, releasing me. “Mark? Callie? You in?”

“Absolutely,” Mark answered.

“Um, I’ll wait for my brother,” I said, glancing back at Fred and the rest of the gang, who were now maybe thirty yards behind. The stitch in my side was more like a quilt now.

“See you at the top, then,” Charles said, and with that, they forged ahead, long athletic strides. Bowie whined to go with the fast people, but the second they were a safe distance off, I staggered over to a relatively flat rock and collapsed, draping an arm over my eyes. These bike shorts were awful! Would that I could peel them off and jump into a shower right about now. Curl up in some clean pj’s, watch a little Deadliest Catch and have indoor plumbing ten feet away.

“You okay?” Pete and Leila asked in unison as they approached, Damien just behind them.

“I’m good. Just resting a little,” I lied, peeking at them. Just cleansing and purging, more like it.

“You look like death,” Damien said.

“And you look like a monkey in those clothes,” I returned halfheartedly.

“See you at the top. Don’t worry. We’re almost halfway there.” Leila slapped my knee and kept going.

Almost halfway there. God, take me now! And how could those pale computer dweebs be in such great shape, huh?

Bwihhhhheerrrrgggghhh. Ack! That one hurt! I pictured that notable scene from Alien all too clearly. If only the creature would just burst out and end my misery! Cleanse and purge, my God! Was childbirth like this? New sweat broke out on top of my old sweat, and I tried to breathe, Lamaze-like, through the pain. Too bad Hester wasn’t around to slip me an epidural. Bowie looked up at me and smiled his doggy smile, and I managed to smile back.

“Hey, Calorie.” It was Freddie this time. “You got a beer?”

“No, of course I don’t,” I said weakly. “I’m dying.” Bowie licked my face, attempting revival.

“I’ll call your car,” my brother said.

I struggled to sit up. “You’re such a sweet brother. If I die, everything goes to the nieces, okay? Nothing for you. Fleur, you’re a witness.”

“Can do,” she said, sitting next to me. She was panting, which made me grateful. “I could murder a cuppa right now.”

Ian, however, seemed irritatingly unaffected by our little hike up the mountain. He ignored me (and I was grateful, as I didn’t want yet another person commenting on those god-awful noises). Instead, he put his hands in the pockets of his hiking shorts—L.L. Bean, not the sweaty plastic kind—and surveyed the view. I surveyed it as well…the view of Ian, that was. Nice legs. I’d guess soccer as a child. Excellent ass. Lovely broad shoulders.

“What a view,” he said quietly. For a second, I thought he was referring to himself, but no. In the fun of my melting intestines here, I’d almost forgotten the lookout. Our particular stopping place overlooked Heron Lake, two thousand feet below. The water glowed a deep, dark blue, and all around, pine and fir trees rose, the thick wall of green broken only by mighty falls of granite left by the glaciers thousands of years ago. The setting sun, though still strong, turned the towering cumulus clouds a rich, creamy gold against the paling sky. It was quite a sight indeed.

Gluuurrrreeeeggghhh. I folded my arms against my gut, trying to muffle the noise, hoping the birdsong would camouflage it.

“What the hell is going on in your stomach?” Freddie asked. Once, I loved him. Now, not so much.

“I’m a little sick,” I whispered, glancing at Ian. Wondered if he might euthanize me right about now, put me out of my misery. There was no way in hell I was going to make it up to the top of the trail, not with an alien chewing its way out of my abdomen.Squeeerrrrggh. Bowie whined in sympathy, his tail thumping the ground.

“Well, do you want me to stay? Or should I keep going?” my brother asked.

“Keep going, by all means,” I said, waving in the general direction of the peak. There was no point in having him stay…he tended to laugh when people were sick or grieving, that kind of unhelpful, irrepressible, inappropriate laughter. “Get a ride home, okay? I’ll meet everyone else at the restaurant for dinner.”

“Okay, sis. See you later.” Like a youthful mountain goat, Freddie practically skipped off the steepening trail. I should’ve brought Hester.

“Have fun,” I said, but he was already out of earshot. Bowie yipped twice, then began licking his front paw.

“So what were you chatting about with the BTR crew?” Fleur asked.

“Oh, nothing specific. We were just schmoozing,” I said, glancing at her. “We’ll have a real meeting soon, and I’m sure you’ll be in on it.”

“Right.” She gave me a tight smile. While Fleur was a pretty decent coworker, I knew she didn’t like that I was above her in the chain of command. She was five years older than I was, and there wasn’t much of a ladder to climb at Green Mountain.

“Well, Ian, luv, we should push off,” Fleur said. “Mark’ll get all humped up if all of us…” she paused, clearly unable to find a Britishism for her next phrase “…wimp out.” She glanced at me. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be a tosser.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Go on, have fun. Tell Mark I’ll meet you all at the restaurant, okay?”

“Cheerio.” She hopped to her feet. “Let’s go then, Ian, shall we?” she asked, extending her hand. Bowie leaped up, hoping to go as well, as he was more than capable of running up and down this mountain six or eight times without feeling the slightest twinge of fatigue.

Ian turned around from where he was still surveying the view. He looked at me for a long moment. “I’ll stay with Callie,” he said.

“No, no!” I barked. “Go! Off with you! I’m fine.”

Fleur shot me a sharp look. “We really need to catch up, Ian,” she said, her accent evaporating.

“Go on, you two. I’m fine,” I said, trying not to pant (or moan). Gooorrrreeeeccchhh.

“I’ll stay,” he repeated.

“I really, really don’t want you to,” I said firmly.

“I will anyway.” He didn’t move, just stood there, hands in his pockets.

“Please don’t.”

“I am.”

Fleur’s eyes darted back and forth between us. “Well, then, I’ll stay, too. Keep you company, Callie.”

“You go ahead,” Ian said. “It’s your company’s event, after all.”

My alien gave another squirm, and I flinched.

Fleur took a huffy breath. “Well, right-o,” she said. “See you at the base, then.”

“I may have to leave before then,” he said. “I’m on call at the animal hospital tonight.”