by Jill Shalvis
that simple.
“Like a Hallmark card,” he confirmed.
“Is that why you keep telling me it’s going to be okay?”
“No, I keep telling you it’s going to be okay because it is going to be okay.”
“What about last night?” she asked. “Was that a way to reframe my thoughts into something positive?”
He laughed softly and shook his head. “Don’t confuse being positive with hot-as-hell sex.”
She couldn’t believe it, but she laughed, too. “Well, you can see how I got mixed up, right? Because as it turns out, hot-as-hell sex is pretty damn positive, at least in the moment.” Some of her smile faded as she realized that’s exactly what he meant. In the moment. What they’d shared last night was a moment in time.
Nothing more. She pulled free.
“Holly—”
“Let’s just go.” It didn’t help that he had to practically lead her out of the woods.
But at least she found her glasses in her pack and could see again. They ate breakfast, and when she was done, she looked up and found Adam watching her, expression hooded. “What?” she asked.
“Anyone ever tell you that with your hair up and those glasses on, you’re a walking hot-librarian fantasy?”
Something low in her belly quivered. “I’m going to forget you said that.”
He flashed her a small smile, and of course she didn’t forget it at all.
They walked in silence back to the ATV. Halfway there, her cell beeped with an incoming text from Kate. One word.
Well?
Holly rolled her eyes and was typing LATER when Adam read over her shoulder. “Hey!” she said, trying to hide the phone.
He leveled her with a look. “You kissing and telling, Holly?”
She felt herself flush. “No!”
He just looked at her.
“I’m not! Kate’s just butting her nose in. It’s what friends do.”
“And brothers,” she thought he muttered.
At the ATV, Adam got their gear stowed and Milo settled before sliding behind the wheel. He handed Holly the binoculars. “Watch for signs while I drive.”
She brought the binoculars to her eyes. “Signs of what?”
“Smoke, a newly made trail. Anything.”
That was all well and good but looking through the binoculars while the vehicle was moving made her feel nauseous. “Let’s switch,” she said after a while. “I’ll drive, you keep a watch out.”
He shook his head and kept driving.
“Why?” she asked. “Because I’m a girl?”
“No, because you drive like a girl. No, scratch that. That’s insulting.”
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you. It is insulting.”
“Because you drive like a granny.”
“What? I drive perfectly fine.”
“Yes, for an eighty-year-old granny,” he said.
She choked. “And how do you know that?”
“I’ve been behind you on the highway with an entire lineup of other people all stuck because you were going like fifty-five.”
“Which is the speed limit!”
“Sixty-five on state highways,” he said. “Seventy-five on interstate highways, which is where you were.” He paused. “Driving like a granny.”
“I do not drive like a…Oh, forget it.” She went back to the binoculars, but she found she couldn’t let it go. “I’ll have you know, I actually got a speeding ticket last year.”
“For driving under the speed limit?” he asked.
“No!” She might have smacked him, but she saw the twitch around his mouth. She was amusing him. She hated being amusing. At least in this context. “I want to drive, Adam.”
He grimaced.
And kept driving.
“I’ve been driving since I was fourteen,” she said. “That’s how old I was when I stole my dad’s Bronco and took it for a joyride.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard this story from Grif.” He slid her a glance. “You had it in low instead of drive, and you dropped the engine out on Highway 47.”
“One tiny little mistake,” she said.
He grimaced again.
“Seriously.” She held out the binoculars. “You’re the tracker. Pull over.”
“Christ.” But to her utter shock, he pulled over. “You’ve got to baby it in the turns,” he said, not moving from the driver’s seat. “Don’t slide into the ditch.”
“I’m not going to slide into the ditch.”
“And the clutch is a little sticky, so you have to—”
“I know how to do it.” She slid over the console against him. Refusing to give any thought to how her body loved the contact with his big, warm, strong one, she gave him a shove out the driver’s door.
Adam came around the front of the Ranger and gave her a long look as he slid into the passenger’s seat she’d just vacated. “Be careful,” he said.
“Be careful? Or drive the damn posted speed limit?”
He actually sighed and belted himself in. Then he reached into the backseat and buckled in a confused Milo as well.
She rolled her eyes and eased on the gas pedal and got them moving.
He was right, of course. She had to baby the thing in the turns, and the clutch was sticky. The road was slippery, the curves tight. She was concentrating on keeping them in the center of the one-lane road when she felt the weight of his stare. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s something, Adam. Spit it out.”
“I’m just wondering if you’re going to ever get out of second gear. Or if your plan is to drop this engine, too.”
She grated her teeth. How was it that everything always looked so easy when he did it? The fact was, it was lightly snowing again, and the road felt…narrow. She kept eyeing the ditches on either side, which were lower than the road and filled with a mix of snow and ice.
Total hazards. “Yes, I’m going to get out of second gear,” she said.
“In this century?”
She gave the ATV a little more gas and navigated into third gear, just as they came upon a tight hairpin turn. The Ranger slid. All four tires lost traction, sending them sideways.
Into the ditch.
Thirteen
The ATV didn’t flip. It didn’t do much of anything except tilt violently to the right and stop short enough that Holly nearly ate the steering wheel. She turned and quickly assessed Adam without meeting his eyes, then whipped around to look at Milo, who was okay but seeming a little confused as to how he’d ended up fighting the seat belt. “You okay?” she asked Adam.
“Are you?”
“Well, yes. But your steering doesn’t respond properly.”
Adam pulled off his sunglasses and stared at her, then whipped around to look at his dog, who’d resettled himself in his seat, utterly unconcerned at their predicament. He probably had a lot of experience with being in rough situations, this being barely a ripple.
“The steering doesn’t respond properly,” Adam repeated slowly, turning his gaze back to Holly.
“That’s right.” She tapped the steering wheel, as if she needed to demonstrate the piece of the Ranger she was talking about.
Adam shook his head and muttered something beneath his breath, which she missed. She didn’t ask him to repeat it.
He gave her another indeterminable look, then slid out of the vehicle and took in the situation, hands on hips.
She got out as well. The two right wheels were low in the ditch, sucked into the snow, mud, and ice. It wasn’t looking good. “Probably you need to have that steering looked at,” she said.
He let out another long breath and brushed past her, burying his head in the storage compartment in the back, muttering again, something about insane granny drivers.
“I can hear you,” she said.
“Good, because I was talking right to you.”
Snowflakes drifted down as he set to work with a shovel. “Do you need help?” she as
ked.
He raised his head and gave her a long look.
Right. She’d helped enough.
He began shoveling at the back wheel, the muscles of his arms and shoulders working like a finely oiled machine.
“Careful of your shoulder,” she said.
He didn’t respond. After a minute, he straightened again. “Okay, get behind the wheel and hit it. Steer into the slide.”
“Now?”
He shoved back his hood and hat to run his fingers through his hair. Coming from Adam, this was an extreme sign of agitation. “Well, I don’t mean next week.”
“Okay.” She started to get in but stopped and turned back to him. “I’m really sorry I put your baby in a ditch.”
“Uh-huh.” He put his hat back on. “Hit it,” he said again. “And steer—”
“Into the slide,” she finished for him with a nod. “Got it.” She settled herself in the driver’s seat and glanced at Milo, who was still sitting in the backseat, calm as you please. “We’re going into the slide,” she told him, and put the Ranger in gear to go for it.
The engine whined and revved, the wheels spun, and a combination of snow and ice and dirt spewed out the back.
Milo, who’d stuck his head out the side to watch the wheels spin, licked some snow and mud off his nose.
Adam straightened and met Holly’s gaze in the rearview mirror. A mixture of snow and mud dripped off his hat, ear, nose…
“Oh,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
He swiped his forearm over his face and gave her another narrow-eyed look. “Again.”
“But—”
“Again. Less gas.”
She’d been trying to keep her cool, but at this she completely lost it. “Less gas! More gas! Don’t drive like a granny!” She tossed up her hands. “Which one?”
Adam stood there, looking as if he needed to practice his breathing technique. “Less gas,” he said again.
“Okay, but for the record, you’re the one who said hit it.” She eased onto the gas this time. The tires started to slide but Holly felt a surge, as if someone was giving the Ranger a push.
Someone was.
Adam.
He was behind the ATV, feet planted wide, putting his whole body into it as he muscled the Ranger out of the ditch. The wheels found purchase in the gravel and caught, and she drove back onto the road and stopped.
Adam strode up to the driver’s side door and opened it.
“Guess my turn is over,” she said.
He hauled her out.
Yeah. Her turn was over.
Then he backed her into the side of the Ranger, caging her in with his arms. He was covered in mud and snow, and she squished back as far as she could against the vehicle. “You’re dirty.”
“Very,” he said.
Something unfurled in her gut and she was pretty sure it was arousal. “And wet.”
“Uh-huh.” He was still looking serious, but Holly could see the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, and everything about her heated. His face was close to hers, but his sunglasses were back on, blocking his eyes.
“Are we playing?” she whispered.
“What did I tell you about playing?”
She wracked her brain. Hard to do with his big, hard body up against hers. And he was hard.
Everywhere.
And suddenly he wasn’t the only one…wet. She opened her mouth to say something, she had no idea what, but he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and trailed a fingertip down her cheek. Before she could finish processing that, he leaned down and kissed her. And not a warm little peck, either. A real long, wet, heated kiss that involved a lot of tongue and involuntary hard breathing on both their parts. When he broke the kiss and stepped back, she nearly slid to the ground. “What was that?”
“Not a damn clue,” he said, still holding her face. “You make me crazy.”
Okay. Good to know.
“Get in the Ranger, Holly.”
She nodded, locked her knees, walked around to the passenger’s side, and got into the Ranger.
He slid behind the wheel. He waited for her to get her seat belt on, and then drove in silence at a higher speed than she’d managed before, while keeping them perfectly in control. Of course. Because he was good at control. Real good.
And yet, she seemed to test that control. She had no idea why that thought made her feel better, but it did.
At the base of Kaniksu, they got out of the Ranger.
“We’re walking from here?” she asked.
“No.” He was looking down at the trail. There was a fine dusting of snow across it but nothing obvious that she could see. But his attention was definitely caught by something.
Milo was nose to the snow, snuffling.
Adam turned back to her. “Someone’s been through here, but that doesn’t mean it’s him—”
“It is.” Or so she hoped.
They got back into the ATV. The road was covered in a few inches of light, dusty snow, with thick ice beneath from the previous rain, making the going treacherously slippery. A quarter of a mile before the caves, they had to park and walk in. Halfway there, Holly felt dampness inside her right boot. “Crap.”
Adam looked over at her.
She sighed. “My boot. It’s leaking.”
“Your feet are wet?”
“Just one. But I’m not cold, we can keep moving.”
With a shake of his head, he dropped his pack, pushed her down on a snow-covered rock, and squatted before her. “Take it off.”
At those three words, uttered low and demanding, her nipples tightened as if he was talking directly to them. She pulled off her boot and he handed her a dry sock. While she wrestled that on, he pulled out a roll of something silver.
“Duct tape?” she asked.
“The magic fix-all.”
And indeed, he wrapped it around the loose seam on her boot, and it was good as new.
In the meantime, Milo had definitely gotten on someone’s trail. He was nose down, snuffling, completely focused. Holly followed his and Adam’s trail, leaving them to do their thing. Watching them was…She shook her head and rubbed her chest, where there was an odd ache. Nerves, certainly. But a sorrow, too. She’d have never gotten