by L. B. Dunbar
“I told you, I don’t want the money.” He scoffs. “I’m talking about dirt under your toes. Wind in your face. Stars in your eyes.” His eyes nearly dance as though he has undisclosed information he’s waiting to share with me, and strangely, I want to know his secret. And though dirt under my toes doesn’t sound pleasant, it doesn’t sound terrible either.
Still.
Tell me. Tell me all your wisdom and woes. I swallow with the intensity of his glare and rub a hand down the thigh of my jeans.
“Okay, so I’m not Pocahontas. How would I learn?” My voice cracks, sounding meek. Teach me, Yoda.
“From the land.” He pauses. His crossed arms bulge before me and lift with the heave of his frustrated inhale. What would those arms feel like around me?
“And your land will just teach me?” Oh God. Did my voice just drop? Did I exaggerate your land, implying something other than the greenery around us? Damn Marcus and his damnable innuendos, but if this man means I can hike his landscape, I volunteer as tribute. “How?”
“Camping.”
“What?” I stammer. My mouth falls open.
“Camping. Three nights of roughing it and then I’ll think about your proposition. You break before that and no deal.”
My proposition? Did I proposition him? Can he see the images racing through my mind? I want to do all kinds of things to him, starting with the body part closest to me. My heart races, and my sweaty palms…sweat more. My breath catches.
Anything whispers through my mind along with the song “Colors of the Wind.”
My eyes narrow. My heart thuds to a screeching halt.
This is crazy.
But I slowly rise, pressing up on my thigh as I stand. I come to my full height, which doesn’t quite match his, but with the help of the two step difference, I’m close. My gaze meets his fiery eyes. There’s one thing this man needs to learn about me. I like nothing more than to prove others wrong.
“Challenge accepted.”
4
To camp or not to camp.
[Giant]
“Reporting for camping, sir.”
She salutes me, and I’m reminded of how not one of my soldier friends looked like her. She looks as if an L.L. Bean magazine spit her off their pages, but judging by the newness of the clothing, I’d say she didn’t happen to have these things on hand.
“Are those new?” I nod to the Timberland lookalikes on her feet that don’t boast a scratch, dent, or smudge. Her jeans hug her body, and the flannel shirt open a few extra buttons exposes a tank top underneath, hinting at the swell of her breasts. Her chestnut colored hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and each time I see her, she looks different. Fresher. Younger. She can’t be more than forty.
She peers down at her footwear and twists her ankle. “Do you like them? I got them at Duncan’s.” Duncan’s Hardware is the local shop for everything as the closest Walmart is a good half hour away.
“Those are gonna hurt, Cricket,” I warn her. “You can’t wear new boots for a lengthy hike. You’ll have blisters for days.”
“I’m tough,” she tells me, holding herself upright and facing off with me as best as she can despite our height difference. She props her hands on her hips, and it’s almost comical how her expression turns hard. Her face doesn’t allow her to be stern. It’s the curve of her lips, her pert nose, and those bright blue eyes. “Besides, it’s Letty.”
I stare at her in confusion.
“My name. Olivet,” she emphasizes. “Considering we’re going to spend a few days together, you can call me Letty, my nickname.”
I stare more.
“People typically wonder, how do you get Letty from Olivet? I should be Livvy, or Vette, or even Olive, but I’m not really an Olive and—”
“I’ll just keep to Cricket,” I interrupt her rambling.
Her lips twist, but she doesn’t say anything more. However, she has more to say. I already know this about her—she’ll have more to say.
“Spit it out,” I snark, trying not to let my eyes roam to the hint of cleavage popping out of the tank top under her open flannel.
“Well, I…” She wraps her hand around her ponytail and smooths down the length. An image of my hand curling the tail to wrap around my fist and yank her head back to take her yammering mouth fills my vision. I’m blinded by the thought. She clears her throat, and I return to the quandary.
“And…?” I prompt.
“I just wondered if your wife is okay with this. Maybe she should come with us or…?”
My arms cross, and my glare stops her chirping.
“Are you worried about your safety?”
Her brows pinch for a second, but without much thought, she responds. “No. I trust you.” Her words surprise us both. Her forehead furrows, and my eyes widen. “I know I don’t know you, but I’m not afraid of you.”
I want to warn her to be afraid, be very afraid, but then again, I don’t want to frighten her away. We haven’t even started this adventure, and strangely, I’ve been looking forward to the possibility over the past twenty-four hours. I wasn’t even certain she’d show.
“Does someone know where you’ll be?” I ask. Does she have a husband? A boyfriend? Someone who will worry about her.
“Marcus knows.”
I nod with a scowl as if my stomach hasn’t just roiled. Of course, she has a man. She’s too pretty to be alone. Suddenly, she laughs.
“He’s my friend. Friend-friend, not a boyfriend,” she clarifies. “He’s gay. I’m single as a Pringle,” she admits, then points at me. “You should see your face.” Her laughter is like a rain shower on a sunny day, unexpected and refreshing. As I stare at her, absorbing the sound, her chuckle subsides.
“Anyway, and your wife?”
“She’s dead.” I don’t mean it as harsh as it comes out, and I hate how my voice cracks despite the years since her death.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she whispers, and I hate the words on her lips even more.
“Cancer sucks,” I mutter, and she looks away with a pained look on her face.
“Yes, it does.” Her face drifts back for mine. We hold each other’s eyes for a moment, and I wonder what it would feel like to hold her. It’s been a long time since I’ve known the comfort of such things.
“So.” She claps. “Should we…?” She raises her hands and tips her hitched thumbs over her shoulder to the cabin.
“And you’re okay with being alone with me?” I’m suddenly second-guessing myself.
“I don’t have anything to worry about, right?”
There’s an unspoken question, but I don’t know what she’s implying. “Nope, not a worry in the world. I’m gay.” I wink, and her mouth pops open. The pink circle of her lips makes my dick flinch with thoughts of what she could do with such a mouth. I point back at her. “You should see your face.”
“Are you…teasing me? Is that actually a grin?” Her grin grows, and her eyes twinkle to match the day’s sky. Does she think I don’t smile? My lips twist, attempting to hold back the unnatural curl. “Are you laughing at me?”
“I never laugh,” I say, holding back the rumble in my throat. She makes me want to laugh a little.
“I didn’t think so,” she mutters, a smile still on her lips, and turns for the side of my cabin. “So, camping?”
I step up next to her and point upward. Her eyes follow the line of my finger. “Up there.”
The strip of land I own is narrow and long. Up an old miner’s trail about three miles is the place I plan for us to share our nights. Not together, of course. Just trying to break her of her idea that she wants this land.
“But I thought…” She hesitates. I eye her outfit again as she eyes my cabin.
“Nope. Outdoors. Tent. Campfire. Stars.” She’s going to back down before we even start, and I have to admit the disappointment niggles at me. She blinks in the sunshine, looking up the slope of the mountain behind the cabin.
“Okay,” she whispers
.
Okay? My feet want to do a happy dance, and I’m not a happy dance kind of guy. My chest swells with pride that she didn’t back down so quickly, and I worry I’m having a heart attack from the excitement. I can’t believe she agreed to this scheme.
“Got a bag?”
“Oh. Oh yes.” When she rushes back to the Jetta, a little city car, I wonder how she’s made it up and down the rutted ridges of the two-tire lane leading back to my cabin. Her vehicle isn’t made for such travel. I follow her to the trunk, and she pops it open. Inside is a large backpack.
“You gonna carry all that for three miles?” I whistle. I don’t believe she has the strength, and I’m ready for her to argue. She tilts her head around the vehicle and looks up the mountain rise behind the cabin one more time.
“I didn’t know what I’d need.”
“I have all the provisions already.” Her wide eyes almost make me chuckle, but I bite the inside of my cheek, reminding myself I don’t want to like her. She wants my land. “It looks like you packed for a week.” I have no faith she’ll make it past one night, let alone three, but that swollen heart thing feels like hope that she’ll stick it out, and hope is dangerous.
“I didn’t know what I’d need,” she repeats, her voice lowering as she lugs the overstuffed hiking bag—also brand new—from her trunk. The effort almost knocks her over, and I reach for the thing.
“What’s in here?” I snap. The bag probably weighs more than her.
“I didn’t know—” she begins, but I hold a hand up to stop her from speaking. I tug the bag from her and unceremoniously unzip the pack. Rummaging through her clothing, I notice several with price tags and a few unmentionables that are nothing more than scraps of lace. I pull out one slim piece in black.
“You’re going camping, not to a fashion show.”
“Are you finished fondling my undies?” she snaps, reaching around me and pushing my hands from her bag. My dick does a dance as I consider her wearing only the lacy fabric and nothing more.
I snort and hand the flimsy strip back to her. “Suit yourself.” I stand, leaving her opened pack to head for the porch where I have my own bag to carry.
“You have a tent in there?” she asks, coming up behind me.
“I’ve already taken everything up.” I turn to face her, noticing her backpack is almost bigger than she is. She stares at me a moment, and I note again how much I like how she looks at me, even with the quizzical expressions and wrinkled nose. Then realization hits.
“You’ve already been up there and came back to get me. That’s like a ten-mile hike in a day.”
“It’s six but good to see you can do math.”
Her eyes narrow as I slip on my pack and tip my head toward the mountain.
One last chance to back out, lady.
But she follows me.
+ + +
To my surprise, she doesn’t complain, but she jabbers on as we climb.
“You’re not an ax murderer, right? Not leading me to a lair where you’ll cut me up and leave me to rot. Let the bears eat me. I already told you Marcus knows where I am. I have a tracking device on my phone.”
“Thanks for letting me know. Your phone will be the first thing I destroy.” I continue walking, but her sudden quiet gives me pause, and I turn to find she’s stopped following me.
“What?” I question. She has one hand resting on her cocked hip as she stares up at me. “You already told me you trust me.”
“I know, but…I don’t think that’s funny.” Her voice turns serious even though she had to be joking when she asked if I was an ax murderer. The thought hits me like a bullet to the chest, which I already suffered a few years back from my days in the service. In my defense, I have killed people, but I don’t think now is the time to tell her that. On second thought, there won’t ever be a time to explain my history to her. I don’t want her to know me.
“Well, you asked,” I remind her. Her hand drops, and the other hand lifts for her hip. She glares at me. “Look, here’s the rundown. My brother is the mayor of Blue Ridge. I don’t think I’d get away with murder even if I wanted to commit it, which I don’t. And even if I did, a prison term isn’t on my bucket list.”
“You have a brother?”
Jesus. “Do you know anything about the Harringtons? Aren’t you supposed to research a prospect before you hound someone for their personal property?”
“I don’t look into the personal lives of the owners, no. That would be an invasion of privacy. I only look at the property and the value for my client.”
Heartless. “What about the value to the current owner?”
“I already told you to name your price.” Incorrigible. Does she really believe everything has a dollar value? Then again, her new boots and the fresh backpack filled with clothing containing sales tags answer my question. Gold-digging, money-driven city woman. Ha.
I turn away from her and continue up the mountain, ignoring her suggestion.
“Tell me about your brother.” She sounds farther away, but I tell myself not to look back. If she can’t keep up, she’ll just have to find her way.
“Why, so you can exploit him as well?”
She ignores me and begins to talk about herself. “I have a sister. For a long time, it’s been just the three of us. My mother, my sister, and me. I lost my brother so long ago that I don’t remember what it was like to have one.”
The thought rips at my chest. I love my brothers and Mati, my sister. We’re a tight-knit family, but I don’t want to explain myself to her. Since she didn’t bother to research the Harringtons before she approached me, that’s her loss. She has no idea who she’s going up against.
When I don’t answer, it feels as if only a few seconds pass before she starts chirping at me again. “How about a girlfriend? Got a lady friend?”
Not that I think that’s any of her business either, but I stop and turn back to her, finding she’s farther behind me than I thought. I briefly think of Alyce Wright, Mati’s friend, whom Mother invited to dinner. I’ve met her on several occasions. With curly blond hair to her chin and light eyes, she’s fine, but she just doesn’t do it for me. And I’m pretty certain I don’t do it for her either. Despite being the assistant volleyball coach at BRHS under my sister, she’s more like a cheerleader with her high-pitched voice and constant enthusiasm. She talks too much, which reminds me of a certain someone who’s too busy looking up at me to notice where she’s walking. Cricket trips and falls to her hands and knees.
Instantly, I race the few feet back to her.
“Are you okay?” I ask when she doesn’t look up, remaining on all fours. She nods slowly, and my heart pounds because she went down hard. Is she hurt? “Here.” I reach for her chin, intending to make her look up at me, but she tugs her face away. I’m squatting, and the rejection almost forces me to fall backward.
“Letty?” She shakes her head and slowly lifts one dirty hand. She brushes under her eye and peels the other hand from the dirt. Gingerly, she lifts her upper body and then twists to sit on her backside. Her hands cover her knees, and her forehead lowers to them.
“Let me look,” I offer, but she shakes her head again, dismissing me. She removes her hands, and I note how one knee of her jeans are torn and blood seeps through the opening. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m clumsy,” she mutters, her voice choked. “I hit a rock.” I search for the offending piece of nature and find the sharp edge of a long stone sticking up from the earth.
“Hang on. I have bandages.” I slip off my pack and search for some cleansing ointment and a large adhesive. “It might sting,” I warn as I rip the ointment package with my teeth and then tug at the opening in her jeans, making the rip larger.
“Darn. These were my favorite.” I bite the inside of my cheek, not wanting to chuckle at her expense, but it’s funny that she’s more worried about her ripped pants than her broken skin. Her liquid-filled eyes tell me her joke hides the pain, and my chest
pinches. She doesn’t flinch as I swipe the gel over the cut and then open the bandage. I blow on the damaged skin before working the bandage into her jeans as best as I can. Her voice is soft near my ear as she says, “Thank you.”
Slowly, my eyes lift, and I find her watching me. I swallow. Why is she looking at me like this? And why do I like it so much?
“Let me see your hands.” My command comes out a little too sharply, and her soft expression turns edgy.
“I’m fine.” She brushes her hands on her hips and tries to press off the ground. I don’t miss the wince.
“Here,” I mutter, reaching under her armpits and hoisting us both upward in one awkward movement. Her hands grip my biceps for support, and we stand. I’m hyperaware of her breasts brushing against my abs with our height difference. Her hands come to rest on my chest, and she gently presses off me.
“I’m fine,” she repeats softer, but I’m quick, and I circle her wrists, twisting them to expose her palms. Both are nicked and punctured from the gravel on the ground. I turn them back over and force her open hands to rub down my shirt. It isn’t the cleanest move, but she needs the bits and pieces scraped away.
“Does it feel like anything lingers? A sliver of something?”
“A sliver…of something.” Her voice is hardly more than a whisper. Her eyes remain on my chest while I remove her hands and blow over the broken skin like I did her cut knee. “That…that tingles.”
My gaze leap to hers, and suddenly, I tingle as well. In my heart. In my gut. And in my dick.
Dammit. I release her wrists and reach for her backpack, attempting to remove it from her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” she snaps.
“I can carry it for a while.”
Her head begins to shake. “Oh no. No, you aren’t going to make me feel like I can’t pull my weight and lose out on this place. I’ll manage.”
The mention of the land may as well be a slap in the face. Of course, she isn’t turned on by me like I’m suddenly worked up over her. She just wants my land.