Chapter 11
eleven
PETER
I love watching Geneva when her walls are down. It’s worth every sore muscle to see her smile like that.
I took a chance on the Frito pies as she’s a strictly healthy eater. Nothing usually passes her lips that isn’t analyzed to death for its calorie count, carbohydrates, or protein content. Let’s face it, there’s nothing healthy about corn chips covered in chili.
“I’ve got the stuff for s’mores too,” I mention.
“Peter Winsloe,” she says with a cute little gasp. “Now I know you’re trying to seduce me. My panties are going to melt right off with all of that dirty talk.”
I grin. I can’t help it. What do you do with a woman this sassy? Never have I had anyone else tell me I’ll melt their panties off. Especially not just by offering toasted marshmallows and chocolate.
“In that case, let me get the marshmallows,” I tease back. I stand and take the bowl from her hands. Rusty left a sealed box to put the dirty dishes in. No washing for me. I love camping like this. Is this what they call glamping?
Pulling the s’mores ingredients from another box, I slide a marshmallow on one of the roasting sticks.
“Here.” I hand her the stick, and she holds it over the fire.
By the time she has her marshmallow toasted, I’ve assembled the rest of her s’more. She places the gooey mess on the graham cracker so I can squish it off the stick. She takes a bite of the concoction. I swear her eyes roll into the back of her head.
“Oh my god,” she croons, and my cock naturally stirs in my pants. At least it’s reliable. “What genius came up with these?”
“I think some Girl Scout leader.”
“Damn, I missed out on being one of those. All those cute uniforms. S’mores. Badges.” She winks at me.
“Yeah, I was pretty sexy in khaki,” I say. She grins. “You know Rand was in scouts also.”
“What?” She looks like I could knock her over with a marshmallow, she’s so in shock.
“Yep. He joined after we met at school. I was already in a troop when I transferred. He wanted to learn the outdoor skills I kept bragging about. Where do you think he learned to sail?”
“I had no idea. Why didn’t he mention it to me?”
“Do you really think Joseph Randolph would have suffered his son being a part of something he didn’t handpick?”
“No, I suppose not,” she admits. She’s silent for a few minutes. “What else have you been keeping from me? Did we have sex in Vegas and you’re just not telling me?”
“No, nothing like that happened,” I answer. I smile, trying to avoid explaining the topless kiss. She cocks an eyebrow at me. “Fine, you kissed me topless.” I’m a weak man when it comes to her. It doesn’t take much to pry my secrets out.
“Hmm.” She stares at the fire for a few more minutes. “Did my tits look good at least?”
“They looked amazing.” What? I’m not going to lie.
“I guess that’s something at least.” She smirks. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
I shrug and slide another marshmallow on her stick. She holds it over the fire. When it’s ready, I help her assemble her s’more again. She takes a bite and chews slowly. I can almost hear her mind spinning. What is she about to say this time?
Before I know what’s happening, she grabs the front of my shirt. She only hesitates a second before pulling me against her. Our lips meet, and I’m kissing my best friend’s sister. Again. This time with more than just my shirt between us. It barely lasts long enough for my mind to process it before she’s pushed me back in my chair.
“What the hell was that?” I ask.
“I’m pissed I missed our first grown-up kiss. I was curious if it was as good as I always imagined.” She’s imagined kissing me?
“Well, that hardly qualifies. I wasn’t ready.”
“What would you do differently? Because that was just okay.”
“Give me that.” I snatch the remaining s’more out of her hand and toss it on the ground. Pulling her from her chair, I slide my hands through her hair. Then my lips are pressed to hers again. This time, though, I’m prepared. My tongue traces where her lips meet and she opens with a gasp. I slide inside to explore every inch.
She tastes like chocolate and corn chips. It’s the best combination I’ve ever had.
This is nothing like the fumbled kiss in our teens. It’s not even like the topless one in Vegas. This is slow and deep. It reaches from the soles of my feet to the tips of my hair. Without a doubt, I was put on this earth to kiss Geneva. How will I survive after this? There’s no way I can go back to life the way it was.
“Wow,” she whispers, pulling back. “You definitely get high marks.”
“Geneva,” I beg. I don’t know if I’m begging for more or for her to force me away.
“I’m—” she begins and clears her throat. “I’m just going to get ready for bed.” She stumbles toward the tent.
“Jesus,” I mumble, dropping back into my chair. Now, what in the hell do I do? I won’t get past a kiss like that.
Geneva obviously doesn’t want anything to do with it or she wouldn’t have scurried into the tent for the night. I guess I could sleep out here so it’s not awkward. Although awkward seems like the one word that has defined this trip from the beginning.
I push myself out of the chair. The camp still needs to be secured for the night. It doesn’t take me long to clean up, pack everything away, and put the campfire out.
Now to enter the tent. Geneva is curled up on the far cot. She’s pulled the sleeping bag up to her hairline. I can’t tell if she’s fake sleeping so she doesn’t have to talk to me or not.
Folding my clothes neatly, I lay them next to my cot. I slide into my sleeping bag in my boxer briefs. We can decide what to do about tonight sometime tomorrow.
I’m exhausted, and tomorrow is already shaping up to be another long day. Hopefully one with no unplanned injuries. I’d settle for another toe-curling kiss, though. With a last look at Geneva’s back underneath her sleeping bag, I turn to the wall and drift off.
* * *
I wake the next morning to the soft tinkling of laughter from outside. The laugh I would recognize anywhere. The male voice that answers it, however, is not as familiar.
I bolt out of bed. Every muscle screams in protest. I ignore the pain as I jerk on my pants. Stomping out from behind the tent flap, I find Geneva standing at a fresh campfire. Rusty is helping her stir something.
“Good morning,” she calls.
I spear Rusty with a glare. He takes a step away from her.
“Rusty is helping me learn to make gravy for our biscuits.” Rusty had better back the fuck off before I render him into gravy. “Get dressed, it’s almost ready.” I reluctantly step back inside the tent. I layer back up before leaving the tent again.
“We have fresh horses,” Geneva singsongs as she ladles passable-looking gravy over two dishes of biscuits. “Meet Bocephus,” she says, pointing at a bay.
“He’s named after Hank, Jr.,” Rusty says.
“You’ll be riding Widow Maker.” She smirks.
“Widow Maker was Pecos Bill’s horse,” Rusty adds.
“Why would I want to ride a horse named that?” This doesn’t bode well.
“We just call him Willie.”
I don’t know what to say to that. How does a horse go from a killer of men to Willie? I just grunt. It seems safer to eat rather than continue questioning the animal that has to haul my ass out of here. I fork a dripping bite of biscuit into my mouth. It’s not half bad.
“See, I told you I can cook,” Geneva says. She’s smiling at me.
“Nice job.” I nod. This is the only thing I’ve eaten that she’s made that didn’t try to poison me. She looks so proud, though, that I finish every bite on my plate. Rusty takes my empty plate to add to the stuff he’s packing up.
“Today’s ride isn’t that far,” he says. “I’ll pack this up and see you there.”
I leave the campfire to meet Geneva at the horses. She’s as anxious to get on the trail as she was yesterday. Why do I feel like I’m dying and she appears no worse for wear? I cup my hands to help her on the horse.
Taking Willie (I refuse to call him that other name), I swing into the saddle. There are two bones in my ass I didn’t know I possessed until this moment. If I just stand in the stirrups all day, I should be okay.
“Sore?” she asks me.
“How are you not?”
“I just fake it better than you,” she says with a laugh. Turning her horse, we start down the trail. “Your face always tells me everything I need to know. Right now, it’s begging for me to kill you and put you out of your misery. I guess my question is this: Why did you agree to the ride if you don’t enjoy it?”
“Because I knew it was something you’d want to do.”
“That’s stupid. We could have picked something you wanted to do too.”
“I don’t hate this,” I answer. “I’m just not in horse-riding shape. Besides, I got to spend two days with you uninterrupted by the outside world. That’s worth all the pain my ass has gone through.”
“Damn it, Peter. When you say things like that, I want to kiss you all over again.”
“I won’t say no to that.” I can’t stop grinning. We’re having “that” conversation, and it’s not as painful as I thought it would be. I like that she doesn’t seem to regret kissing me. There’s no doubt I’d like to continue.
“What are we going to do about this?” she asks, reining her horse to stop so she can face me.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “There’s too much at stake. We’d still have to work together if it’s short-lived. A breakup would hurt us all.”
“But what if we don’t break up? What if we stay together and build something amazing? Don’t we owe it to ourselves to find out?” She stares at me for a beat before pushing her horse back down the trail.
She’s some distance away when I finally follow. Have I been thinking about all of this wrong? Have I been so focused on an ending that I didn’t even consider a future together?
We travel down the trail without speaking. My mind is too jumbled to contemplate intelligent conversation. Geneva doesn’t act very inclined to talk anyway.
I think about us together. A house, kids, a thriving business? Could we really find that kind of happiness together? Do I need to just tell her brother to fuck off and go for it?
It’s an easy morning ride to the trailhead. Good to his word, Rusty and his brother are there to meet us. It figures that my ass is finally acclimating to that saddle. Maybe when we get settled in Austin, we can ride more. I can’t believe I’m even considering that.
I swing off of Willie, and Geneva waits this time for me to get her. We hand the reins to Rusty.
“How was it?” he asks.
“Beautiful,” Geneva answers. “This has been wonderful. Thank you.”
“Our pleasure, ma’am.” Is Rusty flirting? I’ll murder him. They’ll never find his body. “Rhett is going to take you back to your car,” he adds. “Thank you for your business.” He holds his hand out for me to shake. Then he hugs Geneva. A growl bubbles up in my chest. Great. One real kiss, and I’m turning into a possessive alpha male asshole.
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll get you on the road again,” Rhett pipes up. He leads us to an SUV. Geneva is offered the front passenger seat. That relegates me to the back. That’s fine, I have a feeling I need to keep an eye on this wrangler-turned-Romeo also. I shouldn’t have worried. Geneva falls asleep in the seat from the moment we hit the pavement.
“Thanks,” I say, shaking his hand when we reach my car. I pull a sleepy Geneva out of the front seat of his SUV.
“Anytime, man.” With a wave, he’s gone.
“How far until we stop again?” she asks.
“Not far. You’ll have just enough time to finish your nap.” I settle her in the passenger seat. When I slide into the driver’s side, she lays her head on my lap. My hands brush her hair behind her ear. Do I have what it takes to make this my life? House, kids, and a business?
I start the SUV and pull out of the parking lot. Maybe the Grand Canyon will hold all of the answers. I guess we’ll find out.