Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series

by Pogue, Lindsey

  Sam snorts softly this time in amusement. Good.

  “Why is the emergency kit out?”

  I glance up to find Mac standing at the edge of camp, taking in the scene before she rushes over to Sam. “What happened?” There’s a pitch of concern in Mac’s voice that puts me on edge, and I wonder why I’m on the receiving end of such a scathing glare.

  I don’t like her silent accusation, but I say nothing as I try to salvage the bacon.

  Sam shakes her head. “Nothing, I’m fine. I broke my coffee mug, and it cut me. I’ll live, ask Reilly.”

  Mac offers Sam a weak smile. “You know how I get with blood.”

  Sam smirks, then excuses herself to the bathrooms to clean up. “I’ll be right back.”

  Mac nods dumbly and watches Sam disappear through the trees. “Nick’s still down there primping if you need him!” Mac lets out a long, heavy sigh. “I guess I’ll get started making sandwiches for lunch.” She walks over to the ice chest.

  “What was that all about?” I ask, still trying to figure out exactly what just happened. Whatever it was seemed important.

  Mac waves my questions away as she digs through the ice chest. “Nothing, I just worry about her sometimes.”

  There’s a big something she’s not saying, I can tell by how frazzled she suddenly is, and it forms a knot in my stomach. “Why would you need to worry about her, Mac?”

  She digs through the ice, grumbling that it’s freezing her fingers, but it doesn’t dissuade her. “Dammit, aren’t there any beers left?” It’s more of an aggravated screech than a question.

  I point toward my ice chest on the other side of the table, not bothering to remind her it’s only eight in the morning. “There are some cold ones in there,” I say, and she darts over. “I thought you were making sandwiches.” I cross my arms over my chest as I watch her fumbling to open the can with frozen fingers.

  Mac ignores me for a minute. “In case you haven’t noticed,” she says, and curses again as she looks at her fingernail. “Sam’s . . . different.”

  I grab the can and crack it open for her.

  “Thanks.” She takes a gulp, then another, and squeezes her eyes shut. “That’s so cold.” Mac lets out a pained breath, then looks at me. She licks her lips, and after she settles down a bit more, she continues, “It’s just that sometimes there’s this look in her eyes that worries me. That’s all.”

  “What sort of look?”

  “The sort that makes me worry,” she says impatiently. “Look, I’ve known Sam most of her life, and she’s been different since you left, especially after the accident. Sure, she laughs and puts on a show for me and Nick, but the way she avoids me . . . she still talks to me, but she doesn’t really say anything, at least not anything that’s real.”

  Mac busies herself searching for sandwich fixings in the ice chests. “She’s having a hard time, and instead of dealing with life, she’s pushing it aside, medicating it and focusing on Alison and the ranch.”

  Even though Nick mentioned something similar, Mac’s concern is more urgent. “Medicating?”

  Mac continues pulling condiments out of the ice chest as if I’ve said nothing.

  “What does that mean, Mac?” My patience is thinning, and my mind is twisting its own unnerving story together. “You saw that med kit and freaked out . . . do you think she would hurt herself?” I think about the way Sam stared down at the blood.

  Mac straightens, butter knife in hand, and I can tell she’s trying to choose her words carefully. “I think that she’s broken and might do anything to make the pain go away,” she says quickly, quietly. “And the more I try to talk to her, the more distant she gets.”

  She finally looks at me, a frown etched on her features.

  “And?” I prompt. “I won’t let it go, Mac. You might as well tell me.”

  Her shoulders slump in surrender. She opens her mouth to answer when the sound of Nick and Sam bickering reaches us and we hear them coming through the trees. With a quick shake of her head, Mac commands me to leave it alone.

  I say no more, knowing it’s not the time or place to probe, but the conversation isn’t over.

  Nineteen

  Reilly

  My flip-flops crunch on the rocky shore as we walk to our canoe, Sam’s footsteps quicker and softer than mine. She carries her small ice chest in one hand, her petite arm straining, though she insisted on carrying her own stuff, and a beach bag is draped over her other shoulder. I bring an ice chest too, large enough to hold the lunch Mac tightly wrapped and double-bagged for me, and water and beer.

  “Are we sure we’re not forgetting anything?” Mac asks the group as we stop at the canoes lined up at the water’s edge.

  Other than the hat on my head, my towel draped over my shoulder, and my sunglasses, I can’t think of anything else I might need. “I’m sure whatever Nick and I don’t have, you ladies do.” I nod to her overstuffed beach bag.

  “Ha. Ha. Reilly is such a jokester,” Mac says dryly as she plops the bag inside the canoe behind ours.

  I’m not surprised when Sam has no response whatsoever. We haven’t really spoken since the mishap at breakfast, and it’s clear that the incident triggered something. That or I’m being paranoid after Mac voiced her concerns and I just think she’s acting more withdrawn.

  “Do you want to row in the front or the back?” Sam asks, stopping beside our canoe.

  “Reilly wants the back,” Mac says as she gets inside her canoe. The aluminum frame rocked more with the weight of her stuff than it does as she steps inside. “That’s where the big strong men sit, anyway.” She winks at me, though I have no idea why.

  “Okay,” Sam says. She shrugs, then climbs into the canoe. It rocks as she steadies herself and situates her things, like she’s just going through the motions. I wonder if she’s looking forward to today, even a little bit.

  I sit down on the aluminum seat behind her.

  “Catch.” A sun-bleached, nylon life vest hits my lap.

  When I look up, Sam’s pulling another one out from the cubby in the stern. “Attach it,” she says, clipping her vest around the metal seat. “You’ll need the cushion later, I promise.”

  “A seasoned canoer?” I say, and lift an eyebrow.

  “You could say that.” As she straightens, her gaze lingers behind us, so I peer back. There’s a long line of people and a lot of commotion as everyone—probably in the whole campground—hurriedly piles into their rented canoes that line the beach and continue around the bend. Everyone’s anxious to get on the water, it seems.

  I spot Nick and Savannah halfway hidden in a thicket of redwoods. I hear giggling and can see arm movements, and I wonder how serious Nick is about this one.

  “Nick!” Mac shouts. “Hurry it up already. We gotta go!”

  “We have the whole day on the water,” he snips, and his head pokes out from behind the tree trunk. “Can I have two seconds with my girl? She only just got here.”

  Mac rolls her eyes, and Sam snickers in front of me. When I look over, she’s shaking her head with a fat smile on her face, applying sunblock on her arms and the back of her neck. “This is going to be an interesting day.”

  Agreed. I’m happy to see she’s finally enjoying herself, and I’m about to ask her if things are always this chaotic, but suddenly I don’t care. Sun shines directly on Sam’s bare, tanned skin, lotion-covered and almost glittering in the morning light. I can see the iridescent hairs on her arms, making her skin look velvety soft. I force myself to look away so I don’t do something stupid, like reach out and touch her.

  She reaches behind her, trying to lotion her shoulder blades. “You need help?” I ask against my better judgement. The fact that I want to is the exact reason why I know I shouldn’t. Things are complicated enough between us already.

  I assume I already know the answer, but she surprises me and turns around. “Sure.” She blinks at me, biting her lip. “If you could get my back, I’d appreciate it.”r />
  I nod like an idiot, and when we both stand up, I barely notice the shift in the canoe and step closer to her. When Sam hands me the tube of suntan lotion it’s impossible to ignore the sensation of her fingers brushing against mine, and there’s a voice somewhere inside my head telling me I’m getting too close to her again. I ignore the internal warning as she turns my palm over in her hand.

  “How’s your cut healing?” she asks.

  “Just about gone,” I say quietly as she stares at the fading wound. I glance up at her. “Thanks for asking.” There’s noise around us, but I don’t hear any of it. My gaze is locked on her so firmly I can’t bring myself to look away again until Sam pivots around, breaking the spell.

  She moves her braid off her back and over her shoulder, out of my way. I squeeze some of the lotion into my hand, take a deep breath, and rub my hands together. I tell myself it’s just fucking sunblock and I need to sack up. But then, and I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, her body tenses the moment I touch her and goosebumps cover her arms and the back of her neck.

  “Sorry if my hands are cold,” I say, more gravely than I expect.

  “They’re fine.” She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear with a slender finger, but I know her hands are rough from working outside. She’s real, and that’s what’s always attracted me to her. In her bikini top and go-to cutoffs, she’s beautiful. I’ve been telling myself we need to try to be friends while I’m here, but now that she’s right in front of me and I have nowhere to look but at her sun-kissed, freckled shoulders, I suddenly want more.

  I clear my throat. “Here.” I hand her the tube of lotion. “Done.”

  She turns her head, her eyes slowly drifting to mine. Her cheeks are rosy, her lips moist. “Thanks—”

  “Josh!” There’s a high-pitched coo of my name and I turn around. Bethany is in a canoe downriver, waving. Her friend behind her is struggling to push their canoe away from the shore.

  I raise my hand in a brief wave, silently cursing Bethany’s interruption.

  When Bethany’s gaze shifts to Nick and Savannah coming out of the trees together, something flashes across her face. Whether or not Nick’s still in love with her like he was in high school, I’m not sure, but I wonder if he realizes the way she looks at him now. After their moment together all those years back and her constant dismissal of him, I’m not sure he cares much anymore.

  “Shall we?” Sam says, almost growls, actually.

  “Come on, slowpokes!” Nick shouts. He kisses Savannah once more and jumps into his canoe. Savannah climbs into Mac’s, Mac tapping her finger on the lip of the canoe. Agitated doesn’t seem an adequate word.

  Nick starts paddling up the river like we’ve been holding him back. He’s in the zone—ready and determined to get this day going. He turns his stereo speaker up and electric guitar strums echo toward us.

  “And so it begins,” Mac says, and I hear Savannah’s laugh behind us. “Welcome to our annual canoeing trip, Savannah, where you’ll likely tip at least once, get sunburned in obscure, horrible places, and drink so much you’ll barely remember the canoe ride back.”

  “Like I said,” Sam utters. Her voice is distant. “This is going to be interesting.” She hands me my oar.

  Together, we push away from shore and begin paddling. Our timing’s off at first, but we quickly find our rhythm and paddle in unison. I can hear voices downstream, and others, like Mac and Savannah, pass us. Eventually, we’re on a stretch of the river by ourselves, and in our silence, I’m preoccupied by an unexpected wave of nostalgia.

  I take in the redwoods that jut out of the mountainside along the river, and a flood of incriminating images flash through my mind: the guys and me passed out on the shore after too many beers our junior and senior years of high school. Us jumping into the water at the crack of dawn to sober up and drive home before our parents find we’ve skipped town. My muddled thoughts clear as I think about my dad, backhanding me for forgetting my “responsibilities.”

  Distant memories taper away when I hear the sound of a can cracking open.

  “Want a beer?” Sam asks, looking back at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are bright and shimmering.

  Does she have any idea how sexy she is? The thought surprises me. “Not yet, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself,” she says and goes back to rowing.

  As we paddle upriver, I find our silence companionable, but I would rather be talking to her. I’m compelled to say something, but then that familiar voice returns, calling my name again from behind us.

  “Finally!” Bethany cries.

  Sam tenses up and her rowing falters.

  “I was hoping we’d catch up with you.”

  I pause mid-row and turn around, my gaze meeting Bethany’s before someone behind her catches my attention. Her friend.

  “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Bethany chirps, and I wonder if I’ve ever heard her talk without the seductive lilt that drips off of each spoken word.

  Sam groans in front of me, and we both lurch forward and grab for the sides of the canoe as Bethany’s rams into ours.

  “Jesus, do you mind?” Sam snarls.

  “Careful,” I say and help steady their canoe. Her friend scours the surface of the water, almost like she’s trying to peer through it.

  Bethany simpers and giggles. “Whoops, sorry.” Her friend is wearing her life jacket, like maybe she can’t swim.

  Bethany’s hand lingers on my arm as I help her straighten in her seat. The moment her gaze lands on the back of Sam, her smile falls. “No wonder it’s so quiet up here,” she says.

  “Well, I’m already in hell,” I barely hear Sam say and she tosses her head back and chugs down the rest of her beer.

  Bethany reaches out with peach-painted fingernails and clutches my biceps, batting her gloopy eyelashes as her pale green eyes scan over me. “It’s been ages since you’ve been home. You’re, like, a real man now.” A sultry smile curves her lips, making me want to laugh. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can see Bethany’s attention for what it is, a way to piss Nick off—and Sam, apparently.

  I ignore it, more worried about her brunette friend, who looks like she might puke over the side of their canoe.

  “Are you alright?” I ask, though I’m not sure there’s much anyone can do for her at this point.

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll be fine,” she says with a shy smile. “I’m just not a huge water fan. I can swim though, don’t worry. There’s just something about not being able to see the bottom . . .”

  I can’t help but flash her a smile in return. “I get it.” I take a deep breath. “Well, ladies,” I say, wanting to spare Sam another moment of misery. “We should probably get going. We don’t want to get too far behind.” I let go of their canoe, smiling at the brunette a final time as they slowly float past us.

  “See you under the next bridge!” Bethany sings, waving goodbye.

  I pick my oar up off my lap and resume paddling. Taking my cue, Sam does too and we’re heading upriver, left in our thickening silence once more. This time it’s filled with tension, and I can almost feel the discomfort radiating off of Sam.

  Sam cracks open another beer and starts downing it.

  “You really hate her, don’t you?” I ask, not really expecting an answer. “I know you’re not a fan of Bethany’s, but . . . if looks could kill—”

  “I’d rather not talk about Bethany.” Sam rows once, then again, each motion clipped and rigid.

  “Okay . . .” Knowing I hit a nerve, I leave it alone. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I know the whole Mike situation—”

  Sam whirls around to face me. Her eyes are wide and her lips pursed. “What, you think you’re any better?” she grinds out.

  I blink because that’s all I can do. “Excuse me?”

  “Every time I turn around Bethany’s got her hands all over you. It’s disgusting.” Her chest heaves a little but the fire in her eyes fades after a moment. I’m still tryi
ng to process her anger—her words—when she lets out a breath. “Can we just not talk about her, please?” Sam asks, and she turns around to face the front.

  I frown, blood suddenly boiling, and I’m unwilling to drop the fact that she just compared me to Mike, of all people. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, confounded beyond words. “First of all, why the hell do you care if her hands are all over me? You and I are not together, so it really shouldn’t matter to you who flirts with me.”

  “Right, just like it shouldn’t have mattered who I was dating, but you stepped in anyway and ruined everything I had with Mi—”

  “Ruined everything?” I shake my head, anger and disbelief making it difficult to think straight. “Even now, when you know what a jackass that guy was, you’re blaming me? Why, because I cared enough to do something? Mike cheated on you—”

  “And you’re just a flirt, right, so it’s different? You’re just ‘polite’ and let girls hang all over you, even when you have a girlfriend.”

  “Wait, this is about four years ago?” My mind is reeling as I try to catch up to the conversation.

  Sam shakes her head like she can’t believe I even have to ask.

  “I’m pretty certain flirting is different.” I lean back in my seat. “And what are you even talking about? Where the hell is this coming from? You think I’m a flirt? That’s what you think of me?”

  Sam’s eyes narrow. “How would you have felt if I let Farris or someone else from the team touch me the way you let Bethany touch you, then and now?”

  And that renders me speechless, because it would kill me inside—then and now.

  “And don’t you dare act like I’m some evil villain who broke your heart, Josh.” Her voice is strained and her eyes are shimmering. “I know I made mistakes, God . . . do you think I don’t know that? But you’re the one who decided to leave. You’re the one who was never around, so I’m sorry if I broke up with you, but I was lonely. You were gone . . .” Her voice trembles and the auburn in her eyes is wild and burning, a kiln of emotion.