11. Caden
CHAPTER 11
Caden
“Camilla Adams?” I call the name for a second time, tapping my pen against the clipboard in front of me. No matter how many times we ask guests to arrive fifteen minutes before departure, there’s always one who thinks the rules don’t apply to them.
If it was up to me, I’d have left already. But Maura is always at my neck, telling me that good customer service requires a ‘sprinkling of flexibility.’
Camilla Adams . I mull the name over in my head, realizing it sounds suspiciously close to Millie Adams. The same Millie Adams I have been successfully avoiding ever since I picked her up. I glance up at Maura, who’s hanging towels over the reception porch to dry, adjusting each one as she goes. Her smug look is all the confirmation I need – my run of good luck is about to come to an end.
“I’m coming!” An out of breath screech rounds the corner of the lodge. “I’m h… I’m here.” Millie bursts into th e group, bending over at the waist, hands on her knees as she catches her breath.
I have no choice but to take her in.
She’s dressed in the most obnoxious matching pink workout set. An inch of soft skin separating her sports bra from tight, high-waisted leggings. Her chestnut waves are wrangled into a loose braid, hanging over one shoulder.
I’m doing everything in my power not to imagine my fist wrapped around it.
I can almost guarantee the boots on her feet are brand new. They haven’t seen a day’s work in their life – not a single scuff.
She looks ridiculous, like my worst nightmare and best wet dream all rolled into one.
This is the last thing I need.
“Nobody told me I’d be transporting a flamingo out to the trail head,” I snark. “Would’ve brought my Exotic Birds carrier if I’d known.”
Continuing to play the dickhead seems like safer territory than letting the unchecked side of my brain take the lead.
“Funny.” There’s a deflated edge to her voice. She pulls a thick black sweater over her head, gesturing up and down her torso with her hands. “Better now?”
I nod, even though I’m not so sure.
There’s something off about her this morning and I don’t like it. I’m typically not in the business of caring about the woes of the staff, but for some reason worry eats at my gut as I notice the slight difference in her. We hardly got off on the best foot, but she had a little fight in her then and it seems to be missing now.
The minibus door slides open with a thunk as I signal for the guests to climb in and find a seat. I’ve been driving this hunk of shit around all week. The lingering smell of damp boots, coupled with the thick air from this early heatwave we’ve been having, means that I don’t want to be stuck in here for a minute longer than necessary.
I’ll be glad to get back to normal tomorrow morning. Back to my truck, back to Doug, and back to minding my own business. Fixing shit instead of carting people around like a chauffeur. Given that I’m under a family agreement, I don’t have a signed contract or a formal job description. Maura just tells me what to do and I do it – that’s how I make my money. That said, driving around all day in a four-wheeled Brussels sprout certainly isn’t what I signed up for when I came back here.
I don’t think the roads out here in Braggan Valley have seen a cop in years, but I take the drive slow anyway. It’s too close to dawn for me to be careering around corners and chancing a run in with an animal. The elk herd have been grazing not far from here, and the bears haven’t been shy about making themselves known so far this season either. We lose enough wildlife to careless drivers every summer. I’m not going to be the one to add to that list.
I’ve spent the best part of the last few weeks trying to avoid the girl at the back of the bus, but now my eyes are having to put in the work to stay away from her. She’s distracting me without uttering a single word.
I allow myself a single glance in the rear-view mirror as we pull up on a turn. Her eyes are trained on the forest as we move through it. She’s huddled up against the window, both hands tucked under her ear. A few stilted breaths are enough to tell me she’s still wrapped up in whatever sadness she showed up with this morning. For some odd reason, I’m hell bent on changing that – even if it means sacrificing myself in the process.
I don’t think it’s possible for me to make her smile, but I’m certain I can fill her with rage, and that’s got to be better than her looking like a sad Bambi.
I can’t imagine Maura will be too thrilled to hear I’m on a personal mission to wind up her latest recruit, but I’ll deal with the consequences later.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve felt Maura’s hand clip the back of my ear for my behaviour, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
The potholes in this parking lot are usually my ultimate bugbear, but today they’ll be acting as accomplices in my master plan.
I decide on a crater deep enough to make the moon envious. Pulling a hard right on the steering wheel, the tires of the minibus drop into the hole with a thunk before I hit the gas.
I ignore the exclamations of the regular passengers, my attention trained on Millie as her head lolls from side to side, smacking against the window hard enough to pull her out of her trance.
If looks could kill, I’d be six foot under already.
I hadn’t intended for her to hit her head quite that hard, but it seems I've succeeded in unlocking the rage I was hoping for.
“Sorry, hikers!” I puff out, putting my amateur acting skills to the test. “That pothole took me by surprise. ”
Millie’s arms are folded tightly across her chest, her amber flecked eyes drilling into my skull, burning with a heat that feels something like hatred.