by Lisa Plumley
Helene laughed, shaking out her long blond hair. “I’m not asking you to go steady, Sullivan! I just thought we could have some fun together. But if you’re too tough for a little TLC—”
“I don’t like to be fussed over.” That much was true.
“—then you’re the one who’s missing out. Not me.”
Her seductive smile made him waver. They were both adults. What would be the harm in spending some time together?
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. You might be missing out too.” Seriously considering her invitation—now that Helene had made it clear she wasn’t expecting anything significant or long term between them—Reid let his gaze linger on her mouth. “I’ve been told I have some fairly talented hands myself.”
“Mmmm. Is that true?” Helene purred. “Tell me more.”
“Yeah,” Shane cracked from the campfire. He rounded its stone-edged circle. “Tell us all about it, Magic Fingers.”
Looking disappointed, Helene watched the camp’s owner approach. She leaned back on her heels, then got to her feet, offering Reid a final, tantalizing glimpse of cleavage.
Oblivious to Helene’s discontent, Shane sat heavily on the same peeled log that Reid occupied. His dark hair stood on end. His bristly jawline looked tight. He clenched a whiskey bottle in one hand. Irritably, he took a swig, then frowned.
“Don’t mind me, you two.” Shane gestured with the bottle. “Go ahead with planning your illicit little get-together. God knows, somebody ought to be getting laid around here.”
“It’s not going to be you, with that attitude.” Helene appeared to size up the situation. She sighed in apparent—and momentary—defeat, then turned to Reid. “I’ll be in my tent”—she pointed a few meters away—“if you find yourself with some energy to spare after you tuck in your girls for the night. They’re adorable, by the way. So are you. Especially with them.”
She winked, then glanced at Shane. “Have you thought about borrowing a baby? Even a hard case like you might get lucky if you were toting around a baby. Or maybe a puppy. A cute, tiny—”
He peered up at her. “Don’t you have bandages to roll?”
“If that’s a double entendre, you’re way out of practice, boss. No wonder you’re having trouble.” Grinning, Helene trailed her fingers across Reid’s knee, then sashayed away with a wave. “Night, boys. Try not to get too carried away with the whiskey.”
Regretfully, Reid watched her leave. He hadn’t wanted to mislead Helene into believing they might have a future together. They didn’t. Couldn’t. He’d never been able to stay put. With few exceptions, women had never been able to deal with that.
But a night of togetherness had sounded damn good. He could hardly remember what it felt like to sleep while holding close to a woman—a woman whose every feminine curve felt as familiar as his own fingerprints.
He missed it.
On the other hand, he also missed NFL football, unstale Oreos, and showers that reliably spit out odorless, colorless water. But Reid was getting by without those things. He could get by without nightly spooning, for fuck’s sake.
What was the matter with him?
Beside him, Shane snorted. “It’s too bad the Four Stooges didn’t want to sleep with you.” He pointed his whiskey bottle toward the row of camp visitor tents, where Binky, Booster, Asshat, and Topher had been assigned to sleep. “Maybe they would have tried harder on their pretrip fitness test if they’d thought there would be a meaningful reward at the end.” He waggled his considerable eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”
“Nuns in Brisbane know what you mean. And you make a lousy pimp, by the way. Remind me to look for new management before I hit the road again.” Reid grabbed the bottle. He took a swig, then winced while the liquor burned its way to his gut. Exhaling mightily, he examined the slender bottle and its contents. “This is half gone. How long have you been at this, anyway?”
“Not long enough.” Shane shrugged. He retrieved the bottle with the same zeal a child used to snatch a free balloon at the doctor’s office. “The fearsome foursome are leaving in the morning. I had to refund their nonrefundable deposits.”
Reid frowned. “I’ll cover your expenses.”
“No need.” Shane hugged the whiskey to his chest. He stared into the campfire. “It’s not your fault. You were right to boot them. Bunch of idiots, if you ask me.” He looked at Reid. “I wasn’t sure about your pretrip fitness test, but you sold me.”
Reid nodded, still eyeing the whiskey bottle. How long had Shane been drinking this heavily? He lifted his gaze to his friend.
No point busting his chops about it, he decided. Shane was a big boy. He could handle himself. Besides, Reid didn’t like anyone poking into his private life—or offering him unwelcome “help.” Being on the receiving end of too much mollycoddling made him feel weak. He doubted Shane was any different.
“It works,” Reid said. “It works a hell of a lot better than believing what people tell me, that’s for sure. They claim they’ve read the pretrip materials, then they go batshit at the sight of a harmless wombat. They swear they can meet the minimal fitness requirements, then they punk out, red faced and gasping, the first time they have to climb a hill. They promise they can handle a fifty-pound pack, then they beg me to shoulder it.”
They promise to pay on time, then hop a plane to Yemin in the middle of the night instead. It had taken Reid a solid month to pull in enough work to make up for that particular unexpected shortfall. He hadn’t liked the feeling of putting his income—and his daughters’ well-being—at risk, even temporarily. He had some emergency cash stashed away, of course, but that incident had taught him that “some” didn’t necessarily equal “enough.”
Back in the day, Reid hadn’t worried about security. Now he did. For Alexis and Nicole, if not for himself. Also, to a lesser degree, for Amanda. The girl might have a freakish affection for frogs’ legs dipped in Dijon mustard and dukka, but he owed her.
He wasn’t the kind of guy who let loyalty fall away.
“In short,” Shane said, “your theory is that most people are lying motherfu—”
“To a dangerous degree,” Reid confirmed, cutting off the profanity before it could drift toward his daughters’ tent. “That’s why I don’t ever want to be responsible for anyone but myself. End of story. There’s no payoff in it for anybody.”
Shane mulled that over. He took another slug of whiskey, then poked at the fire with a stick. “I’ve got news for you, pal. You’re responsible for Alexis and Nicole.”
Reid nodded. His daughters were different. He didn’t feel responsible for them, exactly. Responsibility was burdensome. It was unwelcome. It was forced and compulsory. Responsibility trapped a man—especially a man who valued his freedom. What he felt for Nicole and Alexis was bigger than mere responsibility. Reid would kill or die to defend them, no questions asked.
But that protectiveness was a part of him. It wasn’t the same as being on the hook for a stranger. It wasn’t the same as allowing some numbnuts CEO on an adventure-travel high to ambush him with the sudden news of his deadly bee-sting allergy and then beg Reid to watch over him. It wasn’t the same as carrying someone else’s hopes and dreams on your shoulders and never being able to put down that Sisyphean burden, no matter what.
It wasn’t the same as breaking an innocent woman’s heart.
“Is that why you turned down the lovely Helene at first?” Shane swirled his whiskey, watching it gleam. “Because you don’t want to be responsible for anyone else, even for one night?”
One night could become two, Reid knew. Two could lead to expectations. Expectations could be shattered. Hearts could be broken, people disappointed, children separated from mothers….
Where was Gabby right now, anyway? Did she miss Alexis and Nicole the same way they missed her? Did she miss him?
Reid wasn’t nostalgic for his marriage. He’d moved on. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t replace the girls’ mom.
He might be a whiz at whipping up campfire paella while reading Dr. Seuss aloud to his daughters, but he didn’t know about braiding pigtails or being a confidante. He didn’t know about getting periods or liking boys. He didn’t know about a lot of things. Some nights that realization left him in a cold sweat.
But not tonight. He’d be damned if he’d give in to those maudlin thoughts. Instead, Reid grinned at his friend.
“Why the big interest in my love life all of a sudden?” he asked. “Exactly how long were you lurking over there in the shadows, Quasimodo? Do I need a restraining order?”
Shane laughed. He batted his eyelashes. “You’re dreamy, Reid. Please don’t leave me behind, you big, strong stud!”
Shaking his head, Reid laughed too. “If I had a dime for every time I’ve heard that line—”
“You’d be rich enough to buy half a gumball.”
“Or the whole damn bucket of gumballs, you mean.”
“Gumballs don’t come in buckets, moron.”
“Says the guy who’s been out here with Helene for six months and still hasn’t made a move. Who’s the moron now?”
“I tried.” Morosely, Shane took another drink. He gazed into the starry Outback night. “She said she doesn’t ‘do’ hard-luck cases.” He knocked back more whiskey. “Whatever.”
Again, warning bells went off in Reid’s head. If even happy-go-lucky Helene detected problems with the way Shane was handling himself these days…maybe something really was wrong.
But then Reid gave himself a mental shake. He and Shane had known one another for almost fifteen years now. They’d battled the elements, the landscape, and sometimes each other. They’d always come out strong in the end. His friend could cope with whatever was going on. And although Reid didn’t currently have a curvy, familiar woman to cuddle up to at night, he did have more than his share of close friends around the world, he remembered belatedly. That had to be worth something.
Even if, right now, it didn’t feel that way.
After all…most of his friends were very, very far away.
Automatically, Reid gazed toward his daughters’ tent. Looking at Nicole and Alexis always made him feel grounded. In a million small ways, they reminded him that his existence mattered. That what he did and who he was counted for something.
Unfortunately, tonight someone was blocking Reid’s comforting view of Alexis and Nicole. That someone was Topher.
“Take me. By myself,” Topher said. “I’ll pay you double.”
Reid shook his head. It was as though the man had a built-in piss-off-everyone meter, and he wasn’t happy unless it was constantly maxed out. “No. I’m not taking you out.”
“All right. I respect your ability to haggle.” Nervously, Topher hitched up his pants. “Triple. I’ll pay you triple.”
“There’s not enough money in the world,” Reid said.
“Quadruple!” Topher bargained, obviously not getting the point. He swore. “Look, dude. This team-building event is on my shoulders. It’s my responsibility. If I screw this up, management will have my ass in a winch, but quick.”
“Ouch.” Shane winced. “Corporate life must really suck.”
Reid agreed. There was a reason he’d never handcuffed himself to a desk. He couldn’t conceive of spending all day indoors, toiling under fluorescent lights, being totally motionless except for his typing fingers and his flapping jaw. He wasn’t a talker. He was a doer. He liked to do his doing outside, where he could feel the air on his skin—where he could draw in a deep breath. Anything else made him feel suffocated.
“Please!” Topher begged. “I need to make it look as though things went well out here. At least take a few snaps with me next to a koala or something.” He held up his iPhone. “Look. I’ve got my camera right here. It’ll only take a sec.”
Reid and Shane stared blandly up at him. “For a photo like that,” Shane said, “what you want is a trip to the zoo.”
“I won’t pretend I took you out when I didn’t,” Reid added.
He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a liar.
“Look, asshole.” Threateningly, Topher stepped forward. He balled his fists, still clutching his iPhone. “You’re making this harder than it has to be. Just cooperate, and I’ll—”
Reid stood, meeting him face-to-face. “The answer’s no.”
Topher swore again, his face reddening. “Come on! This is not a big deal! One or two photos, maybe a signed statement—”
“You’re wasting your time,” Amanda interrupted.
“He won’t say he took you out if he didn’t,” Alexis added.
“Yeah,” Nicole put in. “My dad is not a fibber!”
At the sound of his daughters’ voices, Reid wheeled around. He spotted them standing with their nanny/tutor just outside their shared tent, watching the standoff between him and Topher. He should have known the trio would be drawn to the commotion.
Amanda popped another Marmite-covered cracker into her mouth. She crunched it. “We’re right. Deal with it. Want a cracker?”
“Er, yes! Thank you.” Inexplicably, some of the fight seemed to go out of Topher. He tromped to Amanda’s side. “I’m sorry, Sullivan. I guess the answer’s no. I get it now.”
Startled by his speedy acquiescence, Reid shot Topher a disbelieving look. Then he decided there was no point belaboring the issue. He wasn’t a man who went looking for trouble.
Even if it did seem to find him pretty often.
Tearing his gaze from the surreal sight of Amanda sharing Marmite-smeared snacks with Topher, Reid crossed his arms. He gave his daughters his sternest look. “What are you girls doing out here? Shouldn’t you be doing your homework?”
Nicole bit her lip—her longtime tell that she was about to spin up a supersize whopper. “Yes, Dad. And it’s so smart of you to notice that! But the thing is—”
Alexis held up his satellite phone. “The thing is, Great Grammy Sullivan called. It’s an emergency. She wants us to come home on the double.”
Chapter Four
December 16th
Eric’s Beachside Love Hut
San Diego, California
Mustering the last reserves of her self-possession, Karina stood in her ex-husband’s kitchen, trying hard to resist the urge to hug him. It wasn’t easy. With his “rock-star” eyeliner, flip-flop-clad feet, and skintight ultradistressed jeans, Eric appeared to be experiencing the mother of all midlife crises. For the first time ever, Karina felt sorry for him.
Maybe that was progress. At least she wasn’t feeling sorry for herself. Or the kids. On the other hand, Eric really was pitiable. She didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed that earlier.
Or how she hadn’t noticed that the overriding love she’d always felt for her ex-husband had morphed into something else altogether. Something subtle but appreciable. Something like…fondness. Mingled, of course, with the tiniest lingering urge to clap a wrench on his button fly and twist it. Hard.
She was only human, after all.
“Look, I didn’t have to come here,” she said, “but I did.”
“Shh!” Eric interrupted. “Listen. Do you hear that?”
From the other end of the condo, the sounds of a video game hurtled toward them. Electronic crowd noise boomed. Loud music roared. Eric nodded, then flashed her twin devil’s horns–style “rock on” hand signals, followed by a patented Billy Idol sneer.
“Hear what?” Karina cupped her ear. “All I’m picking up is the sound of your lost maturity making a run for it.”
“That’s Rock Band,” Eric whined. “Rock Band!”
“So?”
“So the kids are going to screw up my score if I don’t get in there, pronto!” In a parody of guitar-hero machismo, Eric treated her to a few air guitar licks. When Karina (apparently) appeared unimpressed, he leaned sideways instead, neck veins bulging above his skinny flannel shirt. “Kids, don’t mess up Daddy’s game!” he shouted. “Daddy worked hard on that level!”
&nbs
p; With visible reluctance, Eric’s gaze returned to her.
“I did come here,” Karina continued patiently, wondering when (and why) he’d paid good money for a studded black leather wristband, “so I could tell you—in person—that there’s been a change to our holiday plans. I thought it was only fair that you knew. We’re leaving first thing tomorrow, which means—”
“‘Our holiday plans’? Aww, Karina. Karina. Karina, baby.” Clucking with pity, Eric shook his head. “There’s no ‘us’ to have plans anymore, remember? We’re divorced now, so—” Eric broke off, head canted to the side like a wolf-hound’s as he listened anew to the guitar playing and drumming coming from the other room. “Not that song, kids!” A strangled exclamation came from him. He swore. “I just got past that level too.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure it will be fine.”
He eyed her with displeasure. “Are you comforting me?”
Whoops. She had been. “Relax. It’s nothing personal. It’s like a reflex for me.” Realizing that meant she’d inadvertently comforted him twice now, Karina inhaled deeply. She had to focus. “The point is, I thought you should know the kids and I are going away for Christmas this year. To Michigan. To a cute lakeside resort town called Kismet. It looks so amazing, Eric, with snowdrifts and holiday lights and Christmas caroling—”
“Fine.” Eric gave her a dismissive wave. “I know how much you’ve always liked Christmastime.”
Right. Which explained why he’d absconded with all their Christmas decorations for himself? Karina frowned.
“Besides, Chelsea and I are hitting the Bahamas with her ’rents this year anyway,” Eric continued, “so—”
“Her whats?”
“Her ’rents. Her parents? Get it? It’s slang. Man, are you out of touch or what?” He shook his head, making his newly gel-spiked hair catch the sunlight. “So we’ll be gone until past New Year’s Day anyway.” He examined his new forearm…tattoo? Where in the world had that come from? “God, Karina. It’s no wonder we didn’t make it.” Sorrowfully, Eric raised his gaze to her face. “I’m young at heart, and you’re…” Her ex-husband scrutinized her again, taking in her khaki Capri pants and logoed Marsden Elementary School Badgers T-shirt. “Well, you’re…not.”