The Last Resort

by R. S. Kovach

  “What’s wrong?” Ali found her friend on the verge of tears among a stack of suitcases.

  Sitting on a carry-on, the young woman ran her trembling fingers through her hair, disheveling the platinum bob. “That bloody cab.” She pointed through the glass door toward the front porch, where Dave was pacing with a cell phone to his ear. “It should have been here by now.”

  Ali patted her back in reassurance. “Maybe it’s stuck in traffic?”

  “What traffic?” Wylda looked up with wide eyes. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Well, I’m sure there’s a good—”

  Dave burst through the door. “They lost our reservation.”

  “What?” Wylda jumped up and rushed to his side. “What do you mean ‘lost’?”

  “Erased. Canceled. Deleted.” He rattled off synonyms in an increasingly agitated manner while adjusting his well-worn baseball cap. Finishing with a sigh, he placed his hands on his hips. “And if we don’t leave now, we’re going to miss our flight.”

  Wylda threw her hands up, but Ali had a thought. “Pete?”

  The blonde shook her head. “He went on a winery tour or some other posh shit. And before you ask: yes, he took his car.”

  There went that idea. Thinking through other possibilities, Ali anxiously tapped her nails on the reception counter before suddenly stopping. “Don’t move.” She held up a finger and rushed down the hallway. Turning the corner, she knocked on the door marked MANAGER. After a few seconds of silence, she began to worry and considered trying the handle.

  “Come in,” Liz finally called through the wooden panel.

  Bursting through the door, Ali came to a standstill just inside the office when she saw the woman wasn’t alone. While Liz was next to an open filing cabinet searching through a slew of folders, Hank was leaning against a wooden desk with his ankles and arms crossed. His blue button-down and dark jeans were clean and crisp, and even his boots were freshly polished. He must have just arrived for the afternoon shift.

  “Hey, Ali. Are you all right?” Liz stuck the papers in their place and shut the drawer.

  Glancing between the siblings, she momentarily forgot what she had come for. “Um . . . oh, right.” She bit her lip. “Can I borrow a car?”

  “A car?” Liz cocked her head before pushing away a lock of brown hair that had fallen into her eyes. “What for?”

  Ali wrung her hands, knowing what was at stake if she failed to make a convincing argument. “Dave and Wylda are going to miss their flight because their cab didn’t show. I swear I’m an excellent driver—”

  “I’ll take ’em.” Hank got to his feet. “But only if you come, too.”

  Liz glanced at her brother and then back at Ali. “Will that work?”

  Having Hank there would definitely make the trip to Denver International more awkward than it already promised to be, but even though it was a less than ideal solution, she couldn’t afford to seem ungrateful. “Sure, but can you spare him? The round trip will take a couple of hours.” It was the most passive-aggressive excuse she could think of on the fly, but judging by Liz’s grin, it wasn’t going to work.

  Walking to her brother, the woman lovingly patted him on the shoulder. “I think we’ll manage. Plus there’s still a lot of road construction up there, so I’ll feel better if he goes along.”

  “Great.” Ali forced a smile until she turned to Hank. “Ready?”

  He silently gestured toward the still-open door and followed her back out to reception. By then, Wylda and Dave were embroiled in a screaming match, each blaming the other for the situation. After Ali stepped between them and revealed the solution, they grabbed their bags and stomped outside.

  With the not-so-happy couple climbing into the backseat, she was stuck riding shotgun. While Dave’s social skills were usually awkward and his choice of conversation topics often tedious, Ali was glad when he finally spoke up. Of course, it had to be about sports, but at least it got the two men talking about a recent ball game, slowly easing the tension that surrounded them. Eventually, even Wylda turned her attention away from the passing scenery and back to the man beside her. By the time they arrived at the curbside drop-off, the young woman and her broker paramour had not only made up but also very conspicuously made out.

  Seeing her new friend happy brought an envious smile to Ali’s face, but saying good-bye got her a little choked up. She had tears in her eyes when the pair disappeared into the airport, and she glumly wondered whether she’d ever see them again.

  “If you’re not in a hurry to get back to the lodge, there’s something downtown I’d like to do first.” Hank pulled the truck away from the unloading zone and merged into traffic.

  He hadn’t addressed her directly since they’d left Pebble Creek, and it took Ali a few seconds to respond. “Sure,” she finally bumbled.

  When he stopped again a short time later, she was surprised to see the familiar location.

  “I thought you might like to go in here.” He threw the truck into park and nodded toward the angular, shiny building across the street.

  “The art museum?” Her eyes widened in surprise. It was the last place she had expected to end up on this outing. “Why did you think that?”

  If she didn’t know better, Ali would have sworn he was slightly blushing under his black Stetson. “I recognized the design on your bracelet from dinner.” He pointed to a banner flying on the nearby lamppost, displaying items associated with the museum. Sure enough, one of them was the ginkgo-shaped cuff she’d bought earlier. “I asked Pete if the two of you had been here on your infamous excursion, and he mentioned you only got as far as the gift shop.”

  Ali’s palms started sweating and her breathing became shallower. He’d obviously made an effort to bring her to a place he thought she’d enjoy, but why? Was this his way of making amends for the other day?

  “You really want to go in?” She searched his face for any hint of reservation or jest, but Hank’s expression remained serious as his large hazel eyes stared into hers. Inadvertently shifting her gaze to his lips, a tingle of anticipation ran through her before she caught herself. Looking away at her clenched fists resting in her lap, Ali focused for the first time on the striped T-shirt dress and white sneakers she’d thrown on expecting a casual afternoon at the lodge. Although the sun had briefly emerged from behind the earlier clouds, she suddenly felt more suited for the beach than an art museum. “I think I’m a bit underdressed.”

  She sheepishly glanced back at him, but Hank hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “You’re perfect.”

  Ali nervously scratched her nose. “If you say so. Let’s go, then.”

  They crossed the street and entered the building, stopping in the all-white atrium. Hank shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “What would you like to see?”

  “Oh, my goodness. I don’t even know where to start.” Ali opened up the visitor’s guide she’d picked up on the way in. “I suppose I should take advantage of their specialized collections. I heard they have exceptional Native American and Asian exhibits, but then again, I’ve always been partial to the European masters.”

  He stepped closer and glanced over her shoulder, peeking at the pamphlet’s map. “Classical or contemporary?”

  “Um, classical, for sure.” She could feel his chest touching her back and his breath tickled her earlobe. “Maybe it’s just me, but I just don’t get the appeal of modern art.”

  “Fair enough.” He laughed before stepping away again. “Second floor it is.”

  They scaled the winding stairs, and Ali took her time moving from room to room. She stopped long enough to admire each work, and at first Hank kept pace, standing behind her while inconspicuously following along. After a while he moved ahead, allowing Ali to occasionally sneak glances his way.

  On the surface, he
looked like any other museum patron stopping by for an hour or two on a Saturday afternoon to soak up a little visual culture. But was he even enjoying himself, or was he there only for her? She still knew so little about him, and as Ali watched him stand with his arms crossed a few feet away from an eighteenth-century pastoral landscape, she wondered if he would have rather been back on a horse himself in a meadow like the one he was studying.

  The line of thought reminded her of something she wanted to ask, and, leaving behind a battered man-of-war drifting on rough seas, she stepped next to him. “What were you doing out there, anyway? At the team-building challenge, I mean.”

  “One of the guys from the academy had a last-minute emergency,” he answered without moving his attention off the painting, as if he had been expecting the eventual query. “I’m friends with Jeffries, and I’ve done those challenges before, so when he asked me to fill in, I said yes.”

  “Did you know I’d be there?” she pressed on, studying his profile. The proportions of his smooth forehead, shapely nose, and strong jawline came together perfectly. Even his ear—often either too small or too large on an otherwise handsome man—was just the right size, and Ali sighed at how damn attractive he was.

  He shrugged. “I suppose I could’ve guessed, but I didn’t really even consider it at the time.”

  “So you didn’t plan on humiliating me like that?” she snapped.

  “Humiliating you?” He turned with a scowl to finally look at her. “Of course not, and I’m so sorry if that’s how I made you feel.”

  Ali pressed her lips together to keep from bursting into tears as she remembered what it was like to stand on top of a teetering pole thirty feet up in the air. Hank reached for her face, but she stepped away.

  “No, I’m okay.” She shook her head, pulling herself together quickly as she left his side. “I just needed to know. And you should know something, as well.”

  “What’s that?” He followed as she started walking toward the adjacent room.

  She looked over her shoulder and sniffled. “It worked. I’ve been out on the trails twice since. This morning I even went alone.”

  Hank grabbed her hand, forcing Ali to face him. “That’s amazing. I knew you could—” He broke off when an older woman tapped her cane against the marble floor, indicating they were blocking her way. Following an apologetic nod, he pulled Ali aside and gestured toward a low bench in the middle of the space. “Here. Let’s sit.”

  It was only after they sat down that she noticed the painting hanging on the wall directly in front of them. “Wow. I didn’t realize they had a Monet.” She leaned forward eagerly.

  Hank wasn’t as impressed by the find. Leaning back, he braced himself with his hands. “It’s a pond with a bunch of flowers.”

  Ali’s jaw dropped at the nonchalant statement, and she looked back at him. “Let’s pretend you did not just call one of the greatest nineteenth-century French painters’ depiction of water lilies ‘a pond with a bunch of flowers.’ ” She made air quotes with her fingers before she looked longingly back at the piece. “But can you at least appreciate—even just a little bit—the unmistakable impressionist style? The short brushstrokes, the colors, the use of light and dark?”

  When he didn’t immediately answer, she faced him again, but instead of focusing on the work she’d so passionately described, he was smiling at her. “Yes, now that you mention it, I can certainly appreciate all of those things.”

  Ali playfully swatted his upper arm. “You’re terrible.” Returning his smile, she cocked a brow. “All right, if Monet doesn’t catch your fancy, then tell me what you do like here.”

  He carefully looked around, scanning the art on the surrounding walls before settling on a painting behind them. “That one.” He pointed to a portrait of a young child with flowing blond hair. “That little girl is so lifelike.”

  Ali chuckled. “Yes, except she’s a boy. The artist’s younger brother, in fact.”

  “What?” Hank got to his feet and rounded the bench, stopping on the other side to get a better view. “That can’t be right.”

  Ali joined him. “Look at the sign. Portrait of Edmond Renoir by Pierre Auguste Renoir. Edmond was his brother, and Auguste made several portraits of him at this age.”

  He leaned down and double-checked the description. “How’d you know that?”

  “I minored in art history.” When he turned and frowned dubiously, she continued. “What? Did you think I only picked Greece for my study-abroad semester to be stuck in a bank for five months?”

  He softened his expression, reached for her waist, and pulled her close. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t care less about that question even if it was meant to be rhetorical,” he rambled breathlessly before leaning in for a kiss.

  If Ali still had any reservations about letting go of her anger, they all disappeared the moment their lips touched. Her nose filled with the scent of aftershave mixed with fabric softener as she dug her fingers into the front of Hank’s shirt, eagerly opening her mouth to his determined tongue.

  “Ewww.” The sound of disgust came from right behind her, and when she looked back, a boy of around ten was grimacing at them.

  Burying her face in Hank’s chest, Ali first giggled and then cleared her throat. “I think we should get out of here.”

  “Good idea,” he agreed with a laugh, keeping an arm around her waist as they left the building and walked back to the truck.

  Ali secretly hoped they wouldn’t be returning to Pebble Creek just yet, but she also knew Hank had already given up a large part of his afternoon for her. Still, when he got onto Interstate 25 heading south toward Colorado Springs, she felt a twinge of disappointment. “You have to get back to work, huh?”

  “Probably, but I wasn’t planning on it.” He reached for her hand and kissed it before turning his attention back to the road.

  “Oh.” A chill ran through her and she rubbed her goose-pimpled arms.

  “Are you cold?” Hank fiddled with a knob on the dash before the vents began blowing warm air. “I was thinking we could grab dinner, but I can stop to let you get changed.”

  Although her reaction wasn’t directly related to the obvious drop in temperature, Ali didn’t mind a chance to make herself more presentable. “That would be great.”

  She was already mentally selecting her attire when a loud bang rang out. “Thunder?” Ali leaned forward and searched the sky for evidence of lightning among the dark clouds.

  Hank didn’t even have to look up from the road. “Sonic boom.”

  “Like from a jet?” She sat back again.

  “Yeah. NORAD and some other units use the air base a few miles from here. It was probably one of those guys showing off.” He frowned before continuing. “But it’s definitely going to rain soon.”

  The prediction was confirmed before they left the highway when big, fat drops of water began falling on the truck’s windshield. The heavy gusts made the precipitation even worse, and by the time they parked next to the stables, the rain was blowing horizontally.

  “Oh, shit.” Hank hit the steering wheel with his palm. “Some idiot left their tack out again. Can you go through the barn and open the far door for me from the inside?”

  “Sure.” Ali followed him out of the vehicle and into the escalating storm without hesitation. While he ran through the rain to collect the saddle draped over the paddock’s fence, she followed his instructions and took the shortcut through the building. By the time Hank returned the large leather saddle to its proper place in the tack room, he was soaked.

  “It looks like you’re not the only one who’ll need to change.” He shook the water out of his hair, letting it drip down his face.

  Reaching up, Ali gently wiped his wet cheek with her fingers. “Then we better get out of these clothes soon,” she whispered suggestively, resting her hand on his heaving
shoulder.

  Hank didn’t need any more encouragement. His breathing—already ragged from carrying the heavy saddle—sped up even more as his lips crushed against hers, and after slowly teasing her mouth open with his tongue, he let out a satisfied moan. Ali was just as anxious, curling her fingers around the cold fabric of his shirt and pulling until there was no excess space between them. She allowed him to take charge, positioning herself to give him access to whatever he desired.

  No matter how much they tried to maneuver though, standing upright still limited the possibilities. When her back hit the door of the nearest stall, Hank momentarily paused for air. “Do you want to do something crazy?”

  “Maybe.” She studied his features, intrigued by the offer. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, there’s a pretty cozy hayloft up there.” He nodded to the open space above a third of the building.

  “Are you suggesting a romp among the bales?” She giggled until he subtly licked his lips and tightened his grip on her torso. “You’re not kidding!”

  “Of course I’m not, but if you don’t want to . . .” He began to pull away, but Ali held him back.

  “I didn’t say that.” She stroked his chin with one finger before nibbling on his bottom lip. “I just thought . . . that was something . . . people only did . . . in cheesy romance novels,” she said between kisses. Holding her face just inches from his, she smiled. “But it actually sounds like an excellent idea.” But then her expression turned more serious. “Unless you’ve made a habit out of this sort of thing.”

  Hank drew his brows together and stared at her, unflinching. “If by ‘this sort of thing’ you mean attempting to seduce a gorgeous woman who is too good to be true by inviting her into a dusty attic full of dry livestock fodder, then no, I haven’t made a habit of it.”

  Ali attempted to remain serious as she nodded. “As long as we’re clear on that.”

  “Quite.” Hank smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now. Shall we?” He motioned toward a nearby ladder leading to the upper level.