Seven Nights with Her Ex

by Louisa Heaton

She looked at him, her brow creased with frustrated lines. ‘From you?’

  ‘Tent erection at your service.’

  He watched as she blushed deeply before looking at everyone else around the camp, who all seemed to be managing at a reasonable rate compared to her.

  ‘You know, I could have just let you get on with it. I’m being kind here. Offering a branch with pretty little olives on it.’

  She bit her lip. ‘Okay. But this is the only kind of erection I want from you.’

  He smiled. ‘Okay.’

  She nodded and crawled out, huffing and puffing, standing tall and then letting out a big sigh as the tent collapsed onto the ground beside her like a deflated balloon. ‘It was meant to do that.’

  He managed not to laugh. ‘Of course. Have you…erm…ever put a tent up before?’

  She pursed her lips before answering and he tried his hardest not to focus on the fact that she looked as if she was awaiting a kiss.

  ‘No. I’ve never camped before. But I read the instructions and it looked quite simple.’

  He held out his hand. ‘Give me the instructions.’

  Beau pulled them from her back pocket and handed them over. They were folded up and creased.

  Gray thanked her, pretended to look at them briefly and then threw them onto the campfire.

  ‘Gray!’ She stared after the instructions open-mouthed as they were eaten up by the orange flames. She turned back to him.

  ‘You don’t need the instructions. Tents are easy.’

  ‘Oh, really? Easy, huh?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Well, be my guest.’ She looked around for a seat but after finding none just sat on the ground with her arms and legs crossed. She looked smug, almost as if she expected him to fail and become as frustrated as she’d been when she’d tried.

  Gray grabbed the poles he needed, from where Beau had laid them out on the ground in logical order and size, and instantly began threading them through fabric tubes and forming the outer shell of the tent.

  He heard her curse and tried not to smile at his own smugness when he saw the look on her face. He picked up the pegs and pinned the tent to the ground. Within minutes he had it ready.

  Wiping his hands on his trousers, he turned to her with a happy smile. ‘There you go. The best erection in camp.’

  ‘How did you…? Where did you…?’ She sighed. ‘How…?’

  Gray shrugged. ‘A gentleman never tells.’

  She cocked her head to one side and smiled. ‘I’m not asking a gentleman.’

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Come on…how did you do that so fast?’

  He considered the tent briefly before he replied. ‘I’ve got one of these.’

  She looked at his tarp. ‘But not on this trip?’

  ‘I prefer the bivvy and tarp during the summer months.’

  ‘Okay. Well, thank you very much. I appreciate it.’

  He could tell that it had taken her a lot to thank him. He simply smiled and let her get her equipment into the tent, even helped her roll out her sleeping bag. Once they were done, they both stood there awkwardly, staring at each other.

  Gray felt so tempted to tell her everything there and then, but something inside told him that now was not the right time. Beau was still suspicious of him. Trying to show that she was indifferent to his presence. Which obviously meant she was still angry. Perhaps he would talk to her in a few days. Give the shock of them both being here a chance to pass away. Give her time to cool down and be receptive to what he had to say.

  Perhaps if he showed her during this course that he was a good guy—reliable, dependable, someone she could trust with her life—then maybe by the end of the week she’d be much more amenable to hearing what he had to say. And they could put the past to rest.

  Mack made his way over. ‘Hey, Gray, you’re rostered for cooking duties tonight. Feel like running up a culinary masterpiece with some beans?’

  Cooking? He didn’t feel confident about that. And not for other people! Not if they wanted to stay alive. He could perform heart transplants or bypass grafts or even transmyocardial laser revascularisation—but cook up something tasty? That was edible? That didn’t require its film to be pierced and to be shoved in a microwave?

  ‘Er…sure, Mack.’

  Beau stood watching him now, her arms crossed, one hip thrust to the side and a grin on her face.

  ‘Problem, Gray?’

  Of course she would remember his fear of the kitchen. When they’d been together, Beau had done all the cooking after his one disastrous attempt at a beef stroganoff had resulted in a weird brown splodge on their plates that had tasted, somehow, of nothing.

  He’d never learnt from his mother. The kitchen had been her domain—the one place she’d been able to escape from the men in her family and know they wouldn’t disturb her. The mysteries of the kitchen and its processes had always eluded Gray, but that had always been fine with him. The hospital had a canteen, and when he wasn’t there, he ate out.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I thought you’d camped before? Whatever did you eat?’

  ‘I brought army ration packs. They were self-heating. I didn’t have to do anything.’

  ‘Okay…what ingredients do you have to work with?’

  Beau headed over to the bags Mack had pointed out and rummaged through the ingredients. There were butter beans, tomatoes, potatoes and a small can of sardines.

  ‘That’s not a lot for thirteen people,’ she said.

  Mack grinned. ‘Well, this is a survival course. Be thankful I’m not making you forage for ingredients. Yet.’

  Beau’s face lit up. ‘Of course!’ She disappeared into her tent and came back out holding her guidebook on Yellowstone. ‘This will tell you what we can eat. We could get some of the others to forage for foodstuffs and add them to the pan. You stay here and chop up the potatoes. Leave the skin on, Gray—the most nutritious part of the vegetable is just under the skin.’

  ‘Is that right?’ He was amused to see her so energised. It reminded him of the sweet Beau he’d used to know so well. ‘Are you chaining me to the kitchen sink?’

  She shrugged. ‘Stops you running away.’

  Then she headed off to clear her plan with Mack and gather some of the others to help find food.

  He watched her. Asking Mack for advice on foraging and safety. Organising people. Arranging them into teams. Showing them what they might be able to find. One pair was dispatched to gather more firewood. Another pair to collect water for purifying.

  She was in her element.

  Gray sighed, sat down by the potatoes and grabbed a small, short knife, ready to start chopping.

  Considering she hadn’t even been able to bring herself to even look at him earlier today, they had already taken huge steps towards bringing about a ceasefire. Maybe soon they could have those peace talks they so desperately needed.

  *

  While everyone waited for dinner to cook, Mack began teaching the recovery position.

  ‘If you come across a casualty who is unconscious and breathing, then you’ll need to put them into the recovery position. Anyone tell me why?’

  Beau’s hand shot into the air and Gray smiled.

  Mack looked for someone else to answer, but when everyone looked blank, he allowed her to. ‘Yes, Beau?’

  ‘Rolling a patient onto their side stops the tongue from blocking the airway and also helps prevent choking in case of vomiting.’

  ‘That’s right. Beau, perhaps you’d like to be our pretend patient?’

  She nodded and went over to the ranger and lay flat on her back on the pine-needle-covered ground.

  ‘Before we put the patient into the recovery position, what should we check for?’

  ‘Check breathing again?’ suggested Conrad.

  ‘You could. But let’s assume she’s still breathing. You’ll need to check to make sure there’s nothing in her pockets that will jab into her when we roll her ove
r. So, things like car keys, pens, pencils, sticks—things like that. We should also remove the patient’s glasses and turn any jewelled rings towards the palm.’

  He demonstrated by sliding a ring round on Beau’s hand.

  ‘There’s also a little poem you can remember to remind yourself of what you need to do here. “Say hello and raise my knee, then take my hand and roll to me.”’

  He placed Beau’s hand palm-up by her face, as if she was saying hi, and then grabbed her trouser leg and raised the knee of the opposite leg, so that her foot was downwards on the forest floor. Then he grabbed her other hand, put it by her face and, using the trouser leg of the raised knee, rolled Beau over onto her side, adjusting the hand under her face to open the airway.

  ‘Simple. Okay, tell me the poem.’

  ‘“Say hello and raise my knee, then take my hand and roll to me.”’

  ‘Good. You need to keep repeating that to yourself. It’ll stand you in good stead. Always remember to position yourself on the side you want the patient to roll onto. Now, what if your patient is pregnant?’

  ‘You’d need to roll them onto their left side,’ said Gray.

  Mack nodded. ‘Absolutely. Why?’

  ‘Less pressure on the inferior vena cava.’

  ‘Thank you, Gray. Now, I’d like you all to get into your buddy pairs and practise this. Take turns at being the patient. Off you go.’

  Gray stood over Beau and smiled. ‘Want to stay there?’

  ‘If I must.’

  He knelt beside her and awkwardly patted her pockets. He hadn’t expected to be touching Beau. Not like this. Not holding her hand in his and laying it by her face. It was too much, too soon.

  Talking to her he could handle. Joking with her and keeping the mood light he could handle. But this enforced closeness…? It reminded him too much of the past, when touching her had been easy and pleasurable and had made her eyes light up.

  Not now, though. Now she lay stiffened on the floor, uncomfortable and gritting her teeth. Was it that awful for her? Him being this close? Was she hating every second of it?

  Once she was in the recovery position, she leapt up and brushed herself down. ‘My turn.’

  Disarmed, he lay down and closed his eyes, not wanting to see the discomfort in her eyes, not wanting to make this any more difficult for her than it plainly already was.

  Beau got him into the recovery position quickly. ‘You’re all done.’

  He got up and brushed off the pine needles and they stood there awkwardly, staring at each other, not knowing what to say.

  Clearly the activity had been difficult for both of them and Gray couldn’t stand it.

  ‘I’ll just check on the food.’ He went over to the cooking pot and gave it a stir. It didn’t look great, but it did smell nice. Mack had shown Beau and the others where to find some small bulbs of wild garlic, and they’d added that to Gray’s dish.

  He glanced through the simmering steam at Beau and began to wonder just how the hell he was going to get through this week.

  Mack got everyone up. ‘Okay, folks, that’s it for today. The rest of the evening is your own. Gray is our chef this evening, so let’s all keep an ear out for him ringing the dinner bell.’

  Gray had no idea when it would be ready. Claire came over and asked, and when he shrugged, she stuck the small paring knife into the potatoes to check.

  ‘Seems good to me.’

  ‘Yeah? I’d better dish up, then.’

  Gray served them all a portion that was quite meagre, even with the additions. It actually tasted nice, which was a surprise. The others made satisfactory noises whilst eating it anyway, so he could only hope they weren’t just being polite.

  Afterwards Gray was ready for bed. His foot was starting to trouble him and he ached in places he hadn’t been expecting. Not to mention that his nerves were still on edge from the recovery scenario.

  He had to get around the way it felt when he touched her. He had to forget the softness of her skin, the smooth creaminess of it and the knowledge that he knew exactly how the rest of her felt.

  It would feel so good to caress her again.

  He sneaked a glance at her whilst she was talking to Dean and Toby. He saw the twinkle in her eyes, her joyous smile. Heard her infectious laughter. She looked relaxed, as if she was enjoying herself.

  I want her to be that way with me.

  *

  Later, Gray and Beau carried the pile of tin dishes down to the creek and laid them beside the shallow running water, trying to rinse them in the darkening light. Beau was struggling for the right thing to say. How could she start a conversation with the man she’d once thought she’d known inside out…?

  But he started it instead. ‘I’m glad we’re both making the effort to try and get along.’ He paused to glance at her. ‘It’s good.’

  ‘It’s easier than trying to ignore you.’

  He smirked. ‘I’m in joyous rapture about that.’

  The dishes rinsed well in the stream, and Beau figured the small particles of food that were getting rinsed off would hopefully feed some of the fish or wildlife further downstream.

  ‘Your cooking has improved.’

  A smile crept across his face. ‘A compliment? I’ll take it.’

  ‘No, really. It was a nice dinner. Considering.’

  ‘Considering it was cooked by me?’

  She nodded and laughed.

  He smiled at her, as if pleased to hear her laugh again. ‘Thank you. I’m just glad everyone was able to eat it without choking. No one’s been taught the Heimlich manoeuvre yet.’

  She laughed again, her gaze meeting his, and then suddenly she wasn’t laughing any more. She was caught by the deep mossy stare of his eyes, the longing she saw within them, and by her own fear as old feelings came bubbling to the surface.

  She stood up abruptly. ‘We ought to head back. It’s dark. Who knows what’s out here with us?’

  He stood, too. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’

  The deepening shadows around them just served to make his eyes more intense as he looked at her. She could feel old urges reasserting themselves, and memories of how easy it had once been to be with this man—how she’d loved him so much she hadn’t thought there was anything left of her own soul that was just her.

  Beau bent to gather the dishes. Gray helped, and both of them were careful not to touch each other before they headed back to camp. Walking a good metre apart.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SHE’D COME A long way since her arrival at the ranger station that morning. If anyone had told her that by the end of the day she’d be sharing a meal with her ex-fiancé and washing dishes by a stream with him—whilst smiling—she would have told them that they were crazy. No chance.

  But she had. And now she sat across from him, with the campfire crackling away between them as night fell, catching glimpses of his face in the firelight.

  He was still the same old Gray. Slightly more grizzled, slightly heavier set than before, but still with the same cheek, the same nerve. The other hikers all seemed to like him. But he’d always had that effect on people. Dean and Rick, the brothers from Seattle, were currently seated on either side of him, and beyond them everyone seemed to be listening to the story Gray was weaving.

  He was a born storyteller, enamoured of holding everyone’s attention. It was probably why he’d chosen cardiology, she thought. Heart surgeons always seemed to act as if they were the best. Because without the heart the body wouldn’t work at all.

  Well, Gray, without a brain the heart doesn’t stand a chance, either.

  That was the difference between them. She could see that now. Beau had always been the steady influence—the thinker. The planner. Everything meticulously detailed. Whereas Gray had always been the rash one, the passionate one, the spontaneous, carefree daredevil.

  Initially she’d been excited by those qualities in him. His indifference to planning the future, his studies, his life. She’d loved th
e way he could get excited about one thing and then develop a passion for something else entirely further down the line. How he could be thrilled by new technologies, new inventions, new medicines. Whereas she had always been cautious—researching new methods, new techniques, checking the statistics on their success, talking to the people involved about their experiences, making sure everything was safe before she considered using anything in her work.

  Beau did not like surprises. Especially unpleasant ones. And Gray had caused her the most unpleasant surprise in her life so far by not turning up to their wedding. A wedding could be planned in advance, carefully thought-out, with alternatives arranged, waiting in the wings, to prevent any last-minute hitches. You planned the day meticulously so that you didn’t have to worry about it running smoothly, so that it just did. And on the day itself you were meant to just turn up and go with the flow. Put on your dress, do your hair, do your make-up, smile for the camera and enjoy.

  And because she’d planned her wedding so well, she’d not expected anything to go wrong at all. She’d been naïvely blissful, secure about her feelings for her husband-to-be, anticipating the joy that their marriage would bring, knowing the happiness they already had was growing and growing with every day.

  So when he hadn’t shown up, it had felt as if she’d been punched in the gut! A blow that had come out of nowhere. And her heart…? It had been totally broken.

  And then the questions had flooded her mind. Why had he abandoned her? Had she been wrong? Had it all been one-sided?

  Looking at him now, adored by his fellow hikers, she still found it hard to tell herself that he had actually just left her there. Without a word. Without a hint of concern.

  Had there been signs in the days before the wedding that he’d planned to run out on her? She couldn’t recall. He had seemed a little distant occasionally, when she’d gone on about the arrangements, but weren’t all grooms-to-be like that? Surely it was the bride’s prerogative to go overboard when planning her perfect day?

  The pain had been incredible. It had made her doubt their love. Made her doubt herself. She’d spent weeks worrying that there was something wrong with her. That she was lacking something—that there was something Gray needed and couldn’t get it from her.