Happy Campers

by Vanessa Hart

  "You're comparing me to Josh the Jerk. But Josh kept his misgivings a secret. Don't you see? I won't do that. Myra has a right to know now, not two weeks from now."

  "Myra has a right to know what, Gray? What exactly is it you think you must tell her?"

  He resumed walking. "That I have concerns about getting married."

  "Concerns?" Catching up with him, she matched his brisk pace. "You have pre-wedding anxiety. You'll do far more harm than good by making unnecessary confessions."

  "Pre-wedding anxiety." He clenched, then unclenched his hands, forcing them to relax at his side. "Everyone keeps talking about last minute jitters. But what if it isn't? I could be making a very serious mistake that could ruin both my life and Myra's."

  "Exactly. That's why I urge you to hold your tongue, at least until you've thought it through."

  He started to tell her he'd done nothing but think it through. Leslie seemed convinced, though, and she'd been the kiss-ee. "I'll sleep on it."

  As if by agreement, they turned around at the main park road and headed back toward their campsites. "Now, tell me about Kat. You said she wasn't feeling well."

  "I think she'd rather discuss it with you herself."

  "Oh. It's okay to talk about cramps, Gray. Might as well get used to it if you're getting married."

  "It wasn't cramps. It was nausea." He waited, then cleared his throat. "Morning nausea."

  Three steps later, Leslie stopped mid-stride, her mouth curving into a wide grin. "Morning sickness?"

  "Could be."

  The dimple deepened into her cheek, her dark eyes glistened with moisture. "A baby."

  "You aren't going to cry, are you?" He clamped his mouth shut, flooded with the memory of the last time he had said those words to her, right before he'd tasted her luscious mouth.

  "No," she squeaked, then cleared her throat. So she remembered, too.

  "How do you feel about aunt-hood?"

  "Thrilled. I just hope Kat's thrilled with motherhood."

  "I hear it grows on you."

  "No pun intended," she added with a grin.

  They passed the comfort station, then slowed their pace as the grade in the road increased. Conversation tapered off as they approached their campsites. Except for the scraping of their footsteps in gravel and the occasional trill of a mockingbird, nothing disturbed the peaceful silence of the wooded mountains.

  Leslie seemed lost in thought. He stole a glance at her pensive face, startled by the sadness in her eyes. I know how it feels to have your dreams ripped apart. He sensed she had dreamed of babies with Josh the Jerk. Had she abandoned her dreams of someday having a family? Wanting to reach out to her, he searched his mind for the right thing to say.

  A woman's cries for help ruptured the quiet of the woods.

  "Oh, my God!" Leslie tore across the gravel to the motorhome. "That's Kat!"

  Chapter Five

  Leslie raced up the step into the motorhome, her hiking boots squishing to a halt on the sodden floor.

  "What's wrong?"

  "The water won't drain. It's flooding."

  "Kat, turn off the shower."

  "But I'm still soapy..."

  "Now!"

  Shaking her head, Leslie listened for the shower to stop. Water spilled from beneath the raised bathroom door, spreading dark stains over the carpet.

  "What's the trouble?" Gray asked from the doorway. She sensed he meant to add "now," considering the number of rescues he'd performed for them.

  "I forgot to open the gray water tank valve after my shower last night. The tank must be backing up into the bathroom."

  "I'll get it." He disappeared to the other side of the coach.

  "I need to rinse," came Kat's muffled protest.

  "Soon." Leslie grabbed for paper towels to wipe up the water. The entire roll sprang from its holder, bounced off the counter, then landed in the puddle at her feet. Muttering a curse, she tore off a dozen of the dampened sheets. She sponged up most of the moisture after exhausting the remaining supply of paper towels.

  The water stopped dripping from the bathroom door frame. Gray returned, stepping up to the coach entry, avoiding the flooded carpet. "That should take care of it."

  Leslie leaned back on her heels and yelled, "Is it draining now?"

  "Yes," Kat called out. "Great!"

  "Rinse away, then." Leslie shook her head, then wiped water from the door frame. She smiled at Gray. "Thanks, again."

  "No problem." He offered her his hand to pull her up from the floor. "Let's sit outside."

  She followed him out to the lawn chairs. "Sorry I panicked like that. It's just that we were talking about her being sick, maybe being pregnant. Then I heard her scream..."

  "No need to apologize."

  An awkward silence stretched between them. Leslie's stomach gave a low rumble, reminding her she'd missed breakfast, although strange flutters in her chest seemed to protest eating just yet. Dampness penetrated her nylon hiking boots, reaching her socks. She unlaced each boot, pulled them off her feet, then unrolled and removed the socks. As she draped the socks over the picnic table to dry, she sensed Gray's gaze, watching her every move.

  She scooted her chair closer to the picnic table, then propped her bare feet on the bench. "Ahhh. That's better."

  "Feet sore from hiking?"

  "No. Just wet. But wet socks and shoes can lead to blisters." She met his gaze and smiled. "By the way, Gray, happy birthday."

  "Thanks."

  "Do you have special plans for the day?"

  He shook his head. "Myra and I plan to go out to dinner Friday when I get back."

  Leslie murmured a "hmmm," averting her eyes. Mention of Myra, the fiancée, recharged the tension in the air.

  "She has to work tonight, anyway," he added.

  Change the subject, Leslie. "I hope Kat's feeling better."

  "The tea seemed to help."

  "Tea?"

  He looked down, shrugging. "I made her mint tea for the nausea."

  "Was it decaffeinated?"

  "Yes. It's the same stuff I made Mom during her chemo. I hope that's okay."

  "Sure." You have to love a guy who makes his mother tea, she thought. She had no trouble picturing manly Gray tenderly serving tea to his sick mother. "I just hope Kat and Rob prepare themselves for the adjustments a baby will bring to their lives."

  "I'm sure they've talked about it."

  Had he and Myra discussed children? She wasn't about to ask him. The decision to start a family was a very private matter, although well-meaning family and friends seemed to think otherwise. She cringed, remembering Josh's mother's not-so-subtle hints for immediate grandmotherhood. Ironically, Leslie had wanted to have a baby right away. Josh had insisted they wait.

  "What is it?" He leaned toward her, then touching her chin with the tip of his finger, turned her to face him. "You look stricken."

  She resisted the urge to jerk away from his touch, disturbed by the unbidden heat flooding her face. Damn him, anyway. Why did she let him affect her so easily?

  "Just having a flashback."

  He smiled, moved his finger to give her nose a light tap, then settled back in the chair. "Josh the Jerk?"

  "More or less." She shrugged off the memory. "Nothing I need to talk about."

  "Okay."

  Gray wasn't one to intrude or push. She liked that in a man. She found more and more to like about him, especially his kindness to her sister. Too bad he was taken.

  She plopped her bare feet to the ground, then stood. "Have you had breakfast? I'm starved."

  "I had cereal. Can I get you some?"

  "No, thanks. If you'll excuse me a minute, though, I'll put on a pot of coffee and make some toast. Want coffee?"

  "Sounds great."

  Unaccustomed to going barefoot, Leslie picked her way across the dirt and an occasional weed to the motorhome. She stepped inside, pausing at the closed bathroom door. A full-length mirror covered most of the door, reflect
ing an image of a floppy-hatted woman with flushed face and neck. Mercy sakes alive! If Gray didn't notice her heated response to him, he was blind.

  Turning away from the disquieting vision, she pulled out the jug of bottled water and can of coffee from under the sink. By the time the coffee brewed and she berated herself for her foolishness, she should be able to face him again.

  * * * *

  Gray scrubbed his face with his hand and sighed. Recalling his earlier conversation with Leslie, he had to admit to the wisdom of her words. Of course, he was having second thoughts. Hadn't everyone warned him? A bachelor happy with living alone, answering to no one, free to head for the lake in his camper without a thought for anyone else's feelings or needs, must feel anxious about tying the knot.

  His own mother had warned him that, despite his reluctance to marry, someday his solitary lifestyle would leave him empty, aching for more. She had made him promise to marry, start a family, and share his life. It had been the only thing she'd asked of him, and it had been her dying wish. Of course he would marry Myra. They'd make beautiful children together. He tried to picture his children and Myra spending the weekend at Lake Lanier in the motorhome--the motorhome he would put up for sale next week.

  Damn these bridegroom jitters.

  It would help if he could be with Myra now. This week at Lake Helen had been as much her idea as his. He suspected she'd needed him out of her way while she tended to last minute details. But at home with Myra, he hadn't had these misgivings. He hadn't been fascinated by another woman. He hadn't wanted to kiss another woman.

  He certainly hadn't thought about having sex with another woman!

  He'd just skip over to his campsite, grab his cellular and give Myra a quick call. He shouted to Leslie through the window screen that he'd be right back, then hurried to his motorhome.

  He heard Myra's voice answer on the first ring. "Happy Birthday, sugar!"

  "Thanks, beautiful. You must've been waiting for my call." Probably since last night. A pang of guilt rippled through him. He had forgotten to call.

  "I sure was. How's it going?"

  "I've caught a few bass, finished reading my book, and slept late. I think I'm getting the hang of this vacation stuff. But I really miss you."

  "Miss you, too. Just think. In less than two weeks, you can have me all to yourself, all of the time."

  "Hmm. I look forward to it." His thoughts drifted to Kat and her morning sickness. "I want to get started right away on getting you pregnant."

  Her sharp intake of breath made him chuckle. "Gray! You aren't serious."

  "Very. You told Mom you wanted kids."

  A long silence ensued. "I told a dying woman what she wanted to hear. I thought you understood that."

  A slow burn crept up his stomach, into the back of his throat. He swallowed. "Understood what?"

  "Gray, honey, I'm almost thirty. It's a little late for me to start a family. Besides, I hardly thought you'd mind."

  "Why would you think that?"

  "Well, you know. Men don't really want kids, do they? You said so yourself."

  She had him there. He had said as much, thinking about his own father and how he'd regarded his offspring as another of his wife's projects. "I mean, why would you think it's late for you to start a family at thirty?"

  "Because I'm already burned out. I'm around sick and old people all day, everyday, working in a place that smells like pee and puke. Why would I want to come home to the same thing?"

  He swallowed a gasp. "That's harsh, Myra. You've never complained about your patients before."

  "It's not the patients. They can't help it. But there's just so much helplessness. I don't think I could handle it twenty-four hours a day, which is what you have with a baby."

  "But not forever. Babies grow up."

  "And cost a fortune, Gray. I'd have to keep working to pay for their private schools, soccer uniforms, yada yada."

  "You're telling me you have no intention of honoring our promise to Mom to give her grandchildren?" He forced his voice to sound neutral, in spite of the ball of fire in his chest.

  "Sugar, please. Don't think I'm insensitive here, but she won't know."

  He choked back an angry retort, letting the static-filled silence serve as his response.

  Don't think I'm insensitive?

  "Look. Can't we discuss this later? Like after we get the wedding behind us?"

  Had she been standing in front of him at that moment, he would have taken her by the shoulders and shaken her. "No, Myra. We need to talk about this before the wedding. But not over the phone."

  Something in his voice must have alerted her to his anger. "I love you, Gray. If starting a family is really important to you, we will work it out. I promise. Obviously, I misread you on the baby issue."

  He reined in his temper. "Okay. I'm sorry if I upset you."

  "Didn't Daddy warn you about pre-wedding nerves? It's normal to have second thoughts. That's what you're feeling now."

  "Um."

  "You're still grieving, too, don't forget. It hasn't been that long since we lost your mom."

  "True. We'll talk more when I see you."

  "Sure. We have the rest of our lives to talk, sweetie."

  He ended the call, then pried the cell phone from his whitened fingers. He wasn't ready to return to Leslie's campsite. Coffee no longer held any appeal for him. The burn in his stomach had morphed into cramping, then worse. Spots danced before his eyes, forcing him to close the lids. Lowering himself onto the sofa, he wiped at the perspiration dripping from his forehead, then stretched out.

  Deep, calming breaths were a struggle for him. Worse than the previous day's attack, Gray had to wonder what was going on. Was he losing his health at thirty-four?

  He lay there several minutes, trying to relax. His breathing still hadn't returned to normal when he heard rapping against the fiberglass exterior of the coach. Pushing himself away from the sofa, he staggered to the door.

  Leslie stood holding two steaming mugs. She lifted one toward him. "Since it's your birthday, I thought you deserved room service." When her gaze locked on his face, she wrinkled her forehead into a frown. "Gray? What's wrong? Are you ill?"

  Before he could answer, she had pushed her way into his motorhome. She set the coffee on the dinette table, then turned to face him. "Sit down," she ordered.

  "It's nothing." Sinking into the couch, he attempted a smile. "Really."

  She lay the back of her hand to his forehead. "You're white as milk, and your skin is clammy. Do you have any pain?"

  "Uh, just in my stomach. Must be indigestion."

  Her concerned expression became one of disbelief. "Indigestion? Try again. Do you have any symptoms of ulcers? Acid-y stomach? Burning?"

  "Uh, burning. But I think it was my temper. I was trying to hide my anger."

  She took a step back, then reached for her mug. If he hadn't been watching her face, he might have missed the brief hurt that flashed in her eyes. "Look. Whatever I did to make you mad, I'm sorry. I'll just be going..."

  "Wait!" He clutched his abdomen as another cramp hit his gut. "Not..." he struggled to speak "...you."

  All concern now, she dropped to her knees in front of him. "Gray? This is serious. You're suffering." She cradled his face in the palm of her hand. "I'm going to find Kat's antacids."

  His hand whipped out, grabbing her wrist as she tried to stand. "No. It'll pass." He didn't want to examine why he didn't want her to leave. "It always does."

  Her eyes widened. "Always does? You mean, this happens often?"

  "Lately." Since I met you. The implication of this admission didn't escape him. Since meeting Leslie, he'd been off-kilter, emotionally and physically. "I think it's psychosomatic."

  "At least let me get a cool wet cloth for your face."

  He nodded. "Thanks ... drawer in the bathroom."

  He stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes. By the time Leslie had returned with the dampened cloth, hi
s breathing had normalized. Selfishly, he welcomed her attention, allowing himself to accept her tender sponging of his forehead and temples. The coolness of the wet cloth mingled with the warm brush of her breath.

  He longed to grab her wrist, pull her into his arms on top of him. If only he could taste her again, feel her lips move over his. He immediately missed her scent, her warmth, as she stood.

  "Your color's better."

  He figured he probably flushed with sexual desire. Squeezing his eyes against the image of her, he tried to banish his wayward thoughts. No woman had ever affected him like that. Not even...

  "Gray? Don't fade on me again!"

  His eyes opened. Myra. That was the name. He just wasn't concentrating today. "Huh?"

  "You're getting pasty looking again."

  "No, I'm fine." He pushed himself to a sitting position, managing a smile. "Just old age setting in."

  She flashed her dimpled grin. "Yeah, right, you old geezer."

  The attack had passed, leaving him tired and a bit confused. "I'm okay now. Thanks for the coffee."

  "Sure." She picked up her mug again, then turned toward the door. "I'd better get back. I borrowed Kat's moccasins to walk over here and she'll be looking for them."

  "Okay. Thanks for being my nurse."

  He suppressed a groan as soon as the words left him. Poor choice of words. Myra was a nurse, Myra was his, the woman he needed to focus on. The woman he now questioned as his choice of bride. Geez! Her not wanting children, and her admission about making false promises to satisfy a dying patient--not just any patient, mind you, but his mother!--continued to gnaw at his gut.

  Or was he merely looking for faults and flaws to justify his attraction to Leslie? He could no longer ignore the strength of his desire for her. It had taken every ounce of his self control not to pull her into his arms when she had bent over him. But that was simply lust.

  Wasn't it?

  Exhausted by the turmoil of emotions, Gray drifted off to sleep. The midday sun slashed through his mini-blinds, spotlighting the kitchen counter and entry step when he opened his eyes. The now-familiar Hell fire shit from the neighboring campsite registered in his sleepy brain. Leslie's "ouch!" pulled him from the sofa, set his pulse into passing gear, and beckoned him to site thirteen. What calamity awaited him this time?