He glanced both directions, sick of limitations. Oh, shut up. I’m already taking it easy.
Blue spread into the sky, and the land shifted from easy gray to glaring tan.
Perhaps he should cut this camping trip short. But splitting would be accepting defeat and disappoint his friends. Damned either way apparently. Time to get a grip. He was sick of his foul mood shadowing his friends’ vacation. If he couldn’t pull his act together for himself, he must for his friends’ sakes.
How many times had Nate and Lloyd and the others dropped their own lives to stay by his side at the hospital and the rehab during the worst of his recovery? Countless times, sometimes together, sometimes taking turns. If he’d ever doubted their depth of friendship, which he hadn’t, those doubts would have been swept away by his friends’ pure dedication. He had to repay them by forging on, by regaining the man he used to be.
And Olivia? Is she included in that repayment?
He still owed her the apology for that so-wrong encounter. Shame still haunted him but didn’t remotely cure the craving for the bliss of her in his arms or the sweet heat of her kiss.
Enough. He dragged his concentration onto identifying plants along the trail and found an awkward rhythm to his gimpy strides, the irregular gravelly crunch of his boots enough to keep any wildlife in hiding, the hated utilitarian cane and bum left leg tethering him to this frustrating pace.
Oh, shut up, you could be stuck in a wheelchair. You could be a paraplegic or amputee. You’re fucking lucky to be alive, it’s a miracle you’re walking at all, and you’re bitching about being tethered? Get a grip.
Right.
Focus on the hike, whiner. Focus on the workout you can have.
And this hike was proving a workout. The morning steadily heated, his long shadow shrinking as the glare grew. Sweat pricked his temples. Even his good leg ached. He’d been exercising regularly, but obviously with too much upper body focus and too much babying the legs. He paused for a long drink of water, staring at the lake, the cool blue stretch tempting him to return, for breakfast, for a swim, and his friends’ warm companionship.
The swimming’s good, right? Driving the boat for skiing’s good. The fishing’s good. You’ve relaxed doing all that. Isn’t that better than humping your ass over this lonely trail to prove something nobody but you cares about?
He drank more water and turned his back on the lake. Problem was, he cared.
Maybe if he’d brought his guitar…made himself play. Maybe just holding it while Lloyd’s CDs played would bring some peace. But his guitars were at home, left behind in a fit of self-pity, left behind because the music had left him after the crash.
He pushed onwards. Abruptly, pain seized his damaged thigh, tumbling him to the trail, and only the hated cane fended off face-planting into a cholla. He sprawled on the rough, stony ground, fighting to breathe through the sick shakes set off by the damned fall and stretch through the cramp’s pain.
The spasming muscles gradually relented, and he caught his breath and brushed off the ground-in sand and gravel from his good knee.
A few yards off, a rattlesnake slithered across the trail, ignoring his presence, and disappeared into a clump of burro bush. A wren landed on the nearby creosote bush, flicked its tail, and flew off. An antelope squirrel skittered between bushes.
Really quiet here.
What if you’d really hurt yourself and were stuck out here? Yeah, you kept to the trail and you’re close to the shore, but how long would it be before someone came looking for you? Put them through more stress and worry?
A jackrabbit bounded by, giving him a wary eye, long ears swiveling.
Dave scowled at the trail and struggled to his feet, strained left leg bitching and his bruised and scraped right knee chiming in. End of the trail for today.
The cramp’s strain lingered, making for a long, miserable walk to camp, and the slippery scree of the hillside trail into camp dumped him on his ass. Dusting off, he headed to the kitchen. Breakfast was long over and the coffee pot stood clean and empty. He poured some iced tea and fixed a bowl of cereal.
“Everything okay?” Nate asked, eying him warily.
Dave forced a grin. “Yeah. Just pushed a little hard on the hike.”
Just proved no matter how he pretended, nothing was the same.
Give in. Give up. Face it.
He set his smile and ate, but the innocuous banana slices and oat cereal lay like lead in his stomach.
The day’s casual routines played out: swimming, talking, lunch, and water skiing. Snacking and drinking rolled into supper, supper rolled into dessert, and dessert into cleanup, which led to more singing, talking, and dancing as evening fell. Watching Mike, Mark, and Rich enjoy dancing with Olivia proved unbearable.
He stood casually. “Hey, Sam and Ryan, want to see if we can get some catfish?”
The twins shrieked their “Yays!” and bolted to fetch their fishing poles.
Dave grabbed his fishing gear and the bait, two juice boxes, a beer, and a bag of cookies. “I’ll take them to the point, Patti. Holler when you want them to head to bed.”
He settled the boys on the gravel shore. “Now, the thing to remember about catfish is they’re bottom feeders, and they sniff around for their supper. So we need to offer them the smelly stuff they like.” He attached their hooks and added the pungent bait.
The boys sniffed the bait, of course, with dramatic grimaces and gagging noises.
“Who remembers Fish Rule Number One?”
They bounced, waving their hands. “Me! Me!”
“The first one quiet gets to answer.”
Sam clapped his hand over his mouth. Ryan did too, but groaned impatiently.
“Sam wins. Okay, Sam, Rule One?”
“Don’t scare the fish.”
“And how do we not scare the fish?”
“By being super, super quiet.”
“Can you do that tonight?”
“Yep!”
“Sure!”
“Now, we’ll cast one at a time, like you practiced. Then we’ll sit, good and quiet. Okay?” The boys had been practicing with casting plugs and doing well.
“Okay!”
“Ryan, you first. Remember what Dad told you. Right?”
Ryan bit his lip, drew back his pole, and cast. Bait and sinker sailed and plopped.
“Good job. Ready, Sam?”
Sam had his fishing pole cocked and ready. He squinted at the dark water, wiggled, and let fly. His cast hit a yard past Ryan’s bobber.
“Perfect, Sam. Okay, boys, grab a patch of sand.”
Dave cast and lowered himself to sit on the dry gravel. “Now remember, the catfish have to smell the bait, so we have to be patient.”
Dave put straws in the juice boxes for the boys and popped his beer.
Sam sighed.
“What’s the matter, Sam?”
“I’ve got all sorts of noises in me wanting out. I don’t want to play the quiet game.”
“We can talk, but real quiet, okay?”
“Okay.”
The boys chattered softly to each other as they sipped their juice and watched the lines. Laughter, conversation, and music continued over in the circle of lamplight. Patti danced with Scott, the two moving together slow and romantic. Helping them have some couple time left Dave content.
Faint twitches jiggled his line, but they felt more like bumps from the current than an inquisitive catfish mouthing his bait.
“How come it’s taking so long?” Sam whined, fidgeting beside Dave.
“Sometimes it does. That’s fishing.”
“Waiting’s hard.”
He sighed. That kind of summed up his life lately. He’d been stuck waiting in life’s quiet game for nearly a year. He took a draw on his beer. What was he going to do to win? Keep smashing against the same old walls of “no” and “wait” and alienate his worried friends, or pull his act together, stop whining, and find a new way and a new future?
He handed out cookies, and they settled into munching and more waiting.
Yeah, Sam had it right. This was hard.
****
Olivia woke to a bright dawn painting the lake in gorgeous pastels, and she felt rested enough to even face Dave.
Heaven have mercy! Did the damned prideful man have to be her first thought before she even was out of bed? He was as bad as that cholla cactus on the hillside: prickly, irritating, and he stuck to her mind despite every effort to shake him loose.
She rolled from her cot, and slipped into her sandals. At home, she’d wander into the kitchen for the fresh coffee calling her name. Here, she needed to hike to Spider Camp. Tiptoeing around camp, she washed up and dressed in her bikini, T-shirt, and shorts. Using the camp’s portable toilet under the open sky was still unsettling; however, she’d become adept at discreetly changing clothes in mixed company.
Mark woke in time to save her from facing the always early-rising Dave alone. Why couldn’t she be interested in Mark? He was her age, funny, cheerful, smart, and a good guy all around…but he was only a friend.
Dave had apparently woken on the right side of the cot today, because while he avoided meeting eyes, he said good morning without a surly growl when he poured their coffees. This morning, no one argued when Dave took up the spatula, and their pancake breakfast proceeded in a far more serene mood.
After finishing his second helping, Dave kicked back in his seat, and sipped at his coffee. “I’m cruising up to Black Canyon today. Anyone want to join me? Mark?”
Olivia’s curiosity perked. What was Black Canyon?
“Nah, thanks. I plan to be a sunscreen-slathered slug today and catch up on some reading.”
Nate stole a strip of bacon from Kay’s plate. “Kay and I are working this morning.” They’d been collaborating on a joint photography and painting project for Nate’s next book.
Rich shook his head. “Uh, you know this is vacation right? You two have been working every day since we got here.”
Nate laughed, shooting Kay an intimate wink and a smile. “We relax just fine.”
Lloyd, Christopher, Rich, and Scott announced plans for fishing and Mike, Terry, and Karen were set to take their kayaks out.
“Pippa and I are heading down to Laughlin for the day.” Chuck snagged the last two pancakes. He waggled his brows. “She’s feeling lucky.”
Pippa rolled her eyes and giggled.
JoAnn shifted a squirming Daisy in her arms. “Patti and I have the kids to keep busy.”
“I’ll be helping.” Margie blushed and raised her chin. “And I need to write.”
“I’ll go. I’d like to see it,” Olivia blurted. She wanted to clap her hands over her mouth. Was she nuts? She’d meant to say she’d help with the kids. Open shock filled their friends’ faces, but they said nothing. Dave couldn’t have meant to include her in the invitation. Must be the full moon.
Dave locked eyes with her and spoke flatly. “Going to be a long day. You sure?”
They were both stuck. He couldn’t say no in front of his friends after the blanket invitation. She’d said yes, but spending the day alone with the man who totally rubbed her the wrong way was idiocy.
Abruptly, irritation rose. She was done with men making her submit. “I’m sure.”
“Okay, Florida. Get your life vest, hat, towel, and sunscreen. Camera, too.”
While she gathered her beach bag and life vest, he efficiently threw together two thick sandwiches and tossed them into a cooler with drinks and snacks. He dropped the cooler, his own bag, and two fishing poles into his flashy red and black ski boat, his shoulders rigid as iron. Maybe she needed to reconsider and let him go on alone.
Dave hauled himself on board and nailed her with an impatient scowl, his eyes hidden behind dark wraparound sunglasses. “Come on aboard, the day’s a wasting.” He slapped on his fishing hat and dealt with the anchor.
Olivia waded out, dropped her bag onto the bow seat, and hopped onto the bow. She swung her wet legs around to find him studying her with a peculiar expression.
He nodded. “Grab a seat.”
Nate tossed him the mooring line, Dave hit the ignition and, for better or worse, they were off, together.
Determined to enjoy the trip despite his attitude, she settled into the portside bow seat, facing forward. She wanted to ask what Black Canyon was, but she hesitated to reveal her ignorance. She glanced over her shoulder. His face was set like stone beneath his hat and sunglasses. Oh, well, she’d learn soon enough.
She’d assumed he’d race over the water, but he chose an unhurried speed. The further they cruised along north, subsequent peeks showed the tension easing from his set jaw and shoulders. She smiled. He couldn’t help enjoying himself on his boat, even if forced to bear her company.
She liked his boat. Flashy and fast, the sleek ski boat suited Dave, but the twenty-three-foot craft was also spacious and comfortable, with plenty of room for his friends to stretch out, relax, and enjoy the ride. He kept the white upholstery piped in red immaculate and every fiberglass, glass, and metal surface gleamed. After a quick refueling stop at the marina, they were off again.
Her nervous butterflies gradually settled under the distraction of sparkling water, vivid blue sky, and the stark, wild landscape rolling by. Rocky land rose around them and constrained the open lake to a narrowed channel cut through the magnificently carved cliffs. Here the water shimmered in luminous greens.
“If we went all the way up, we’d reach the base of the Hoover Dam. Can’t take the boat all the way, of course.”
He guided the boat along leisurely, leaving no wake, giving her ample time to take in the stark, gorgeous canyon and snap pictures and, despite the painful awkward silences between his low, terse nature tour and landmark sound-bites, she was glad he’d asked and she’d accepted.
“Keep your eyes open. You can see bighorn sheep around here. They’re cool…There’s some hot springs in this area. There’s an easy short hike up Goldstrike Canyon if you’d like a look at one. Arizona Hot Springs campsite has latrines, so we’ll make a stop there, too, but it’s a twenty-foot climb up a ladder to reach that spring…My favorite way to enjoy the river is paddling down from the dam by kayak on a Sunday or Monday when motorized craft are banned. The peace is incredible. Gives you a whole different perspective… Look up to your left—an osprey.”
After a while, Dave chose a tiny beach and eased the boat onto the shore. “We’ll take a break here, have lunch. Hop on out.”
Olivia dropped over the bow into unexpectedly chilly shallows and bit off a shriek. “Wow, the water’s cold!”
“Yeah, water temp here will be a steady fifty-four even at this time of year because of deep water releases from the dam, while it can warm up into the eighties by our camp.”
Helping him secure the boat against unexpected water level changes was a simple task with his terse, but patient instructions, and his “Good job, thanks,” gave her jump of triumph. She’d always been relegated to part of the decor on R.J.’s boat.
They ate their picnic in more silence, but the tension between them had eased into an interesting companionable quiet.
Finished repacking the cooler, Dave shot her a weighing look. Weariness pinched his face. “Mind if I catch a few z’s?”
“No problem. I’ll read.” She pulled the paperback from her bag.
He nodded and flopped onto the beach towel, tipping his hat low over his eyes. He sighed, stretched fitfully, and folded his arms under his head. Tension seeped from his body and shortly he dozed with soft, steady snores.
Three chapters in, she laid the romantic comedy aside, too distracted by the beautiful green water and rocky landscape.
After reapplying her sunscreen, she wandered about photographing plants and rocks, studied one of the odd red barrel cacti dotting the canyon, waded in the chilly water to catch photos of ducks, his boat, the crystal-clear shallows, and the water’s endlessly mesmerizing, shimmering g
reens, all the while soaking in the perfect peace between passing sightseers. A few waved. She waved back.
Dave slept on. His hat had slipped aside. The tense lines had smoothed from his face and his lips relaxed.
How well he could use them.
She fought her flush, but giving into temptation, she snapped his picture.
Dave opened his eyes. “What’re you doing?” His sleepy voice rolled out gravelly and gruff.
Her stomach snapped into a cold, quivering knot. Caught.
Chapter Five
Fighting panic, Olivia tucked the camera close to her belly, wishing she could disappear. “Taking pictures.”
“Of me.” Dave leaned up on one elbow.
“One.”
“Let me see.” He shifted to sit and held out his hand.
Her hand trembled as she pressed the preview button and snatched a glimpse. A decent picture. Thank you, thank you. Avoiding his gaze, she passed him the camera.
He paused before viewing his picture. He shook his head, his mouth twisting with concern, and spoke gently, “I’m not R.J. You don’t have to be afraid of me, Olivia. My attitude is total crap lately, yeah, but I’m not angry at you. I’ve never been angry at you.”
Too stunned to analyze his statement, she raised her chin. “I’m not afraid.”
Right. So, why’d your voice squeak and your heart’s pounding away like a frantic mouse?
“Okay, then.” He slipped off his sunglasses and studied his photo, a quirked smile curving his mouth, and he scrolled through the others. “Some great shots here.” He returned her camera. “Can I bug you to grab me a water since you’re up?”
“Sure.” An easy request. She selected two bottles and handed him one.
He patted the expanse of beach towel. “Sit. I don’t bite. Well, not hard.” A shadow of the missing wink and teasing smile from last year emerged.
She hesitated.
His eyes darkened, bitter and apologetic, and he sighed as he twisted off the bottle cap. “I’ve been that much of a prick this week, huh? Yeah, I guess so. Have a seat anyway. I don’t like drinking alone.” He chuckled sadly at his joke and took a swig from the bottle.
Love Burns Page 7