by Kara Isaac
“So when did you realize you like me?” He wasn’t sure where the words even came from, but they hit the room with the force of a ballistic missile.
Allie staggered back. “What!”
He managed a feeble shrug. “No one gets this worked up over someone they’re indifferent to. So I was just wondering when you fell for me?”
“Argh!” If eyes could flash fire, he would have been so incinerated it would have required dental records to identify him.
He steeled himself for the slap he could sense coming. That should take care of the one remaining part of his body that wasn’t hurting.
Instead there was no resounding pain against his cheek. Worse. Her hand froze in the air and she stared at him, shaking her head. “He’s not worth it, Allie. Not worth it.” The words were muttered under her breath; she might not have even been aware she was saying them out loud, but they slashed through him like they’d been boomed across the universe. She’d finally worked out the one thing everyone else already knew.
* * *
Allie shoved the door to Jackson’s room open and stormed into the hospital corridor. A power-walking nurse wheeling some medical machinery swerved to avoid her, a wheel just missing Allie’s toe.
“Sorry!”
The woman was out of hearing before the word was even out of her mouth.
What was wrong with her? Not even with the rudest, most chauvinistic, sleazeball clients had she ever come close to indulging in her desire to give them a good slap. And some of the situations they’d put her in had been a lot more deserving of one. Lecherous smiles, wandering hands, outright solicitations for services not listed in the company brochures. She’d managed to extricate herself from all of them without ruffling any expensive feathers.
Instead she’d lost it over what? Some meaningless goading from a guy trussed up in a hospital bed who couldn’t even move?
He was right, though. If it had been any other client, she would have been oozing sympathy. To come on the tour, people had to sign the world’s longest and most exhaustive waiver imaginable, and broken limbs were nothing new. Plus they paid through the nose to be coddled and made to feel okay in events such as this—even if they’d come about their injury in the most ridiculous way imaginable.
Sagging against the hallway wall, she blew out a breath. What was it that made Jackson Gregory get under her skin like nothing else? He was wrong, so wrong. She didn’t fancy him, couldn’t fancy him, but she was far from indifferent.
When had she fallen for him? The question kept repeating in her head. Haunting her every breath. She could try and rationalize things in her head until the Second Coming, but there was no denying the way her emotions had gone into meltdown when she’d realized he was having a severe anaphylactic reaction. Or the desperation in her prayers during the moments after she’d stabbed him with the EpiPen and waited for the epinephrine to kick in.
Desperation that went far deeper than if it had been any other person from the group crumpled on the ground.
Allie breathed in the universal hospital scent of antiseptic and body odor. She had to find her way back to the cool, professional exterior she’d maintained at the beginning. That had worked. She was a guide; he was just another client.
Except at some point along the line he had turned into anything but.
She hoped he hadn’t broken anything. Despite what she’d said, having to deal with someone with a broken limb was a nightmare at this point on the tour. The paperwork would be horrible. The incident reports, the re-litigating of hazards, the write-up for the head office. Hours on top of hours of extra work. And that was before she even started dealing with unraveling his travel insurance if he couldn’t fly home when he was supposed to.
Sirens sounded and trolleys rushed past her. People shouted orders across the beds. A few hours ago that had been Jackson.
Why couldn’t he have just said he was allergic? There was no shame in it. It would’ve been a bit of a boring day for him while the others went off to ride, but it would have been better than this.
The last guy who had made her this mad was Derek. Not that she’d stuck around long enough to show it. No, she’d called the lawyers, changed the locks, packed her bags, and moved out before he’d even gotten home.
Running away. That she was good at, which made the possibility of Oxford even more tempting. Except she’d promised herself she wasn’t going to run again—not until she reclaimed her life.
Twenty-Two
FIVE HOURS LATER, ALLIE TRUDGED into the hotel lobby. Unbelievable. The man was unbelievable. It had taken all of her willpower not to leave him at the hospital and let him find his own way back. Instead, she’d had to put up with his insufferable smirking during the entire cab ride.
“You still mad?” He spoke from where he hobbled beside her on a pair of crutches. Nothing broken, thank goodness. Just a badly sprained ankle and a lot of bruising.
She slid a glare to her side. Even almost more infuriating than his aura of smug calm was the fact that he didn’t look even the slightest bit ruffled, let alone like someone who had taken a tumble off a horse and spent the better part of the day in Accident & Emergency.
Meanwhile, she was caked in mud down one side from where she’d taken a slide across the field in her haste to get to her first-aid kit. To make it worse, the quick glimpse she’d had in the hospital bathroom mirror had revealed a dirt-smeared face to match hair that looked like it had taken a roll on the forest floor.
“I’m not mad. Just tired.” That much was true. The only good thing about this day was that it was over. Done. Finished. Kat had left a voice mail to say she would be fine taking the others for dinner solo, and in a few minutes, Allie would be in her room, listening to the sound of glorious hot water filling up her very large bath. Where she intended to soak until she was as wrinkled as a piece of fruit left in the sun for too long, followed by room service and some terrible TV.
Her spirits lifted at the thought.
“Allison.” Every neuron in her body jumped, like she was at the receiving end of a lightning strike.
It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. There was no way.
“Allison, over here.” The same voice, just a little louder. Though of course not loud enough to qualify as “raised.” Because Veronica James-Shire never so much as raised her voice, let alone yelled.
Allie turned, and sure enough, there was her mother, rising from a chair in the lobby like a wraith rising from the mist. If a wraith came with perfectly coiffed caramel highlights, clad in a custom-made black pantsuit.
It was at moments like this she knew there had to be a God. A neutral universe wouldn’t have such a warped sense of humor.
Her mother glided toward her like a model on a runway. She must’ve had a recent round of Botox, because the only sign of dismay her face could register at her daughter’s appearance was a slight flaring of her nostrils.
This was, after all, the woman who believed no occasion or outfit was complete without a set of pearls, including her biweekly yoga class.
“Mother.” Allie’s voice finally found itself. “What are you doing here?”
Her mother smoothed her tailored jacket needlessly with her perfectly manicured nails. “I was in town, so I thought I’d drop by and see if my daughter was free for dinner. Though”—she struggled to arch her eyebrows—“obviously not in that state.”
Obviously.
Her mother’s eyes flickered to Jackson. “Where are your manners, Allison? Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
A very unladylike phrase shot through Allie’s head. From the moment she had heard her mother’s voice, she had completely forgotten about Jackson standing beside her, observing this entire car wreck of a scene.
She forced her tone into neutral. “Mother, this is Jackson Gregory, one of my clients on this tour. Jackson, this
is my mother, Veronica James-Shire.”
“Lovely to meet you, Mrs. James-Shire.” Jackson moved with surprising grace for someone on crutches as he shook her mother’s hand, holding it a second longer than strictly necessary.
Her mother preened. “It’s actually just Ms. James now, but please, call me Veronica.”
Allie wanted to sink into the floor at her mother’s simpering. She was so busy being mortified by the way Veronica was sizing up Jackson like he was some kind of calorie-free, carb-free dessert, she almost missed her mother’s announcement.
“Wait, what? Just James? Does this mean . . .” Oh, please let it be so. Please, after years of public show and private dysfunction, let her parents finally be getting divorced.
Her mother flashed her left hand, which still held the very large diamond her father had been badgered into giving her for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. “Darling, Mr. Gregory doesn’t want to hear about our little family tiffs.”
Jackson shifted on his feet. “Well, I’ll let the two of you catch up.” The man was smart enough to take the chance for an exit when one presented itself. “Thanks for everything today, Allie.”
Turning, he hobbled toward the lift as fast as he could manage. Even though she knew her mother was watching her, Allie couldn’t stop her eyes from following him.
“Now, I’ve made a booking for us at Rata.” Her mother glanced at her diamond-studded watch. “It was for eight but obviously you won’t have enough time to clean up by then, so I’ll change it to eight-thirty.”
No way. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for dinner at Rata. In case you didn’t notice the crutches, I’ve got a ton of paperwork that needs to be sorted tonight.”
Her mother opened her mouth as if to argue, and then something indecipherable flickered across her face. “Okay, I can cancel Rata. How about somewhere quick? You have to eat.”
“I was planning to grab a burger from Ferg’s.” Unless it was a canapé ferried to her on a silver platter, her mother viewed any food requiring the involvement of hands as beneath her.
“Sounds great.”
Allie stared. Who was this woman? More importantly, what did she want?
Her mother shooed Allie away with her hands. “Go get changed. I’ll wait here for you.”
* * *
Jackson turned the scene he’d witnessed in the lobby over in his mind as he tried to maneuver down Shotover Street in search of some dinner.
It was crass of him to even think it, but Allie’s mother reeked of money, from the tips of her immaculately cut and colored golden-brown bob to the toes of her pointy stilettos.
Unfortunately, all the riches or cosmetic work in the world couldn’t change the brittle edge to her voice or the hard-edged expression on her face that told of someone who had spent a lot more time in her life frowning instead of laughing.
She was about as far from Jackson’s down-to-earth, fun-loving mom as you could get. His parents might never have had the kind of money Veronica wore on just one finger, but from the disapproving way she’d sized Allie up, he was sure he’d gotten the better end of the parenting deal.
Allie’s comment on the hike about not being anything special made more sense now. It was going to haunt him even more now that he hadn’t managed to say something, anything, to convince her otherwise.
Jackson eyed up the row of cafés and fast-food places lining the road. Set against a backdrop of towering snowcapped mountains, Queenstown was easily the most beautiful city he’d ever been to. It was nice to be able to absorb the majesty of it all at his own slow pace.
He hadn’t been able to get hold of his uncle, so the group must be out for dinner by now. Which suited him fine. After the ridiculous amount of effort it had taken to navigate showering and getting dressed with his dud foot, he was starving. As nice as all the fancy food was, after today what he really wanted was a huge burger. Or pizza. Something large and loaded with carbs.
Gritting his teeth, he tried to ignore the pain radiating up from his foot. He had to be able to find something close by. Surely. As if God himself had heard him, he stopped in front of a place with a steady stream of people entering and exiting with paper bags that emitted such amazing smells his stomach rumbled.
The people sitting outside were eating some of the most tantalizing-looking burgers he’d ever seen. Perfect.
Hobbling inside, he managed to navigate the crowd to order a burger, fries, and onion rings and find a spot by a window at one of the long tables.
Balancing his crutches beside him, he propped his throbbing foot up on the empty chair across from him. As much as he’d fought it at the time, thank goodness Allie had ignored his protests and gotten his prescription for painkillers filled. By the time he managed to limp back to the hotel, he was definitely going to be in serious need of some.
Unscrewing the top of his lemonade, he took a gulp and breathed in the smell of meat and grease. Heaven.
“Here you go.” The friendly girl who’d taken his order and noticed his crutches placed a tray down in front of him and disappeared before he could even say thanks, let alone give her a tip.
Selecting an onion ring, he crunched into the battered goodness. He closed his eyes in bliss, picked up the bag, and ate a second, then a third, barely pausing for breath in between.
Forcing himself to put them down, he unwrapped his burger and took a huge bite. Beef, bacon, and barbecue sauce joined together in the food version of Handel’s Messiah. He almost groaned with joy. Oh, this was so much better than some microscopic serving of fine dining.
Another bite and another, punctuated with a mouthful of salty, crunchy fries. By the time he paused for breath, his meal was half-gone.
“. . . being so difficult.” A cultured voice, so out of place in a burger joint, cut through his buzz.
“After everything we’ve done for you, all we ask is this one small thing.” The woman continued from somewhere to the left, her voice becoming increasingly familiar.
It couldn’t be. He snuck a glance sideways. It was. On the other side of the window, sitting at one of the outdoor tables: the same golden helmet of hair, ramrod-straight posture. Blinged-out finger tapping the tabletop. And Allie, a picture of misery as she sat slumped across from her mother, breaking a fry in half, then in half again.
He couldn’t help himself. He ducked even farther behind the folding window frame that partially obscured him from their view. Though all it would take would be for Allie to look up and slightly sideways and he’d be busted.
“This debacle has carried on too long, Allison. Does the reputation of the family not mean anything to you? How are we supposed to hold our heads up with this hanging over us? Derek’s assistance with campaign fund-raising has proved invaluable, so your pathetic attempt at smearing him to Susannah has proven to be completely off the mark. He also feels badly about this whole misunderstanding between the two of you.”
Derek. The name was familiar. Wasn’t that the guy who’d called the morning he was in her room?
Allie pushed her food away and said something he couldn’t quite hear. Picking up a sheaf of papers resting by her elbow, she tried to hand them to her mother.
Veronica pushed them back toward her, leaving Allie to put them down in the middle of the table, anchored by a bottle of soda. “I can’t believe I raised such a selfish daughter. You’ve never lived up to your sister, but I have to admit, I thought better of you than this. Are you truly so ungrateful after everything I’ve done for you?” Her lashing tongue whipped through him, and he didn’t even know the woman.
Allie opened her mouth, but nothing came out, a lone tear speaking louder than any words ever could as it traced a trail down her cheek.
Okay, he’d had enough. Compelled by a force he couldn’t deny, Jackson pushed up from the table, grabbed his crutches, and swung himself out the front door an
d around the corner to stand beside their table.
Allie looked up at him, face draining to the color of Cool Whip.
He captured her gaze for a second and then turned to her mother. “I’m sorry. I realize this is none of my business, but you obviously don’t know your daughter. I’ve spent every day of the last two weeks with her and I’m not sure who you’re talking about, but it isn’t Allie. She is kind and funny and smart. She manages eight of us with our quirks and demands and, yes”—he gestured to his ankle—“as you can see, occasional lapses into stupidity. She is about as selfish as I’m vegetarian. So whatever it is you’re asking her to do, there’s a good reason why she won’t.”
His own audacity stunned him, but he wasn’t sorry. He held his breath, hoping he hadn’t made everything worse.
Veronica stared at him, her expression brittle. “You’re right, Mr. Gregory.”
Had he actually made the woman see the truth? He glanced sideways to see her daughter’s chin lifted, a flicker of hope appearing in her eyes.
“This is none of your business.” She waved her manicured hand at him like he was a pesky fly.
Across the table, Allie’s whole body deflated like an old balloon. And the way it felt as if someone had ripped open his chest and clenched a fist around his heart told him loud and clear it was time to stop kidding himself about his feelings for her.
Twenty-Three
ALLIE SIGHED AS SHE POSITIONED herself on her couch, placed her bare feet on the coffee table, and clicked on her laptop to open up the incident report form she was going to have to file. The first thing in the trees’ worth of paperwork Jackson’s little tumble was going to generate.
Jackson. She couldn’t even process everything that had happened today. This morning, he hadn’t even been talking to her. Tonight, he’d been her most gallant defender. And in between, he’d managed to jam in a rescue chopper ride and a trip to the emergency department.