Chapter 24 Emma
Emma
After Caleb had made a brief—and secret—stop at a store, we were cruising on Highway One, heading north. “So, what’s in the bag?” I asked for the tenth time.
He just smiled.
“If it’s condoms, I hope you kept the receipt.”
He just flashed me a grin. “It’s food, but good to know where you’re at.”
And if that was disappointment flowing in my veins instead of blood, I certainly didn’t have to admit it out loud. Nor would I admit that I had a condom buried in the depths of my bag. It had been there since the Ice Age, but no one had to know that either.
The narrow two-lane highway wound along steep, rocky bluffs, each turn revealing a more heart-stopping view of the Pacific Ocean than the previous one. “Where are you taking me?”
He slid me a brief look, eyes behind mirrored sunglasses, wind tousling his mussed-up hair, flashing a smile nearly as amazing as the view. And didn’t answer.
“You kidnapping me?”
“I don’t have to kidnap you, Enquiring Emma.”
Insinuating, of course, that I’d eagerly jumped into his truck because I’m incurably curious. Guilty as charged. He flashed another panty-melting smile, and I turned forward because looking right at him was like looking at the sun.
Dangerous.
Stupid.
Plus, I had goals that didn’t involve falling for a man, no matter how funny and hot he was. Especially this man, who wouldn’t fall for a woman if he tripped over her. “Is where we’re going a big secret or something?”
“Or something.”
At my huff of annoyance, a smile crossed that mouth I could still feel on my body and dreamed about feeling again. “Maybe I’m worried about whether I’m dressed for where we’re going.”
“You’re perfect as is.” He slid me another look. “Maybe you’re worried about something else.”
That was so close to the truth, I nearly grimaced. I’d—casually as I could—searched again for my necklace, with no luck. I was devastated. “Such as?”
“Such as falling for me.” He glanced over at me with a smile. “You falling for me, Em?”
The way he said my name… Gah. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever tried to surprise you with something nice?”
Not that I could remember. “I don’t like surprises.”
He chuckled. “You don’t like storms. You don’t like being told what to do. And you don’t like surprises. Where’s the fun in your life?”
“No one likes being told what to do,” I said. “Especially you.”
“There are…certain places where it can be fun.”
I glanced over at him, and he winked at me. I nearly swallowed my tongue. “Do you mean…in bed?” I squeaked.
He didn’t answer, just smiled that same very dirty, very naughty smile he’d shot me once before…from in between my legs. Feeling the heat in my face—and other parts—I glued my eyes to the windshield, refusing to look at him.
He pulled off the highway and turned away from the bluffs and ocean, and we began to wind our way through a canopy of emerald green, the Russian River meandering alongside us now.
Caleb made a series of turns, taking us deeper into the hills and away from civilization as the road narrowed, twisting and turning through dense forest. The river widened, its current losing momentum, the water spreading out and slowing its pace.
About five miles in, we stopped at a locked gate with a sign that read, NO TRESPASSERS—WE’RE TIRED OF BURYING THE BODIES. I gasped when I realized where we were.
The Cliff House, one of the most famous historical monuments in Star Falls. I’d bid $100 for the blueprints to the place at the auction.
They’d gone for $15,000.
I’d never been here; it hadn’t been open to the public in nearly a hundred years.
Stunned, I got out of the truck and stood there, soaking it all up: the secluded spot where the river widened into a deep tranquil pool; the towering redwoods reaching to the sky; the sweet scent of pine and the distant hum of insects that filled the air.
I felt a peace and solitude I hadn’t known I needed, and my foolish heart fluttered.
“How?” I breathed when Caleb came up to my side.
Caleb shrugged. “A friend of a friend of a friend did me a favor.”
I turned and gaped at him. “You did this for me?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I knew you were disappointed about not getting the blueprints; plus, I’ve been lucky enough to be here before. It’s incredible. I wanted you to have a chance to see it for yourself. There’s no one else here today, so I’m your private tour guide.”
I was stunned. Things like this didn’t happen to me, ever.
The old ranch house stood weathered and forlorn, a relic of a bygone era.
Its once-proud facade was now chipped and peeling, the paint faded to a ghostly white.
The sprawling porch was overgrown with vines, the windows dark and empty, holding their own secrets from a past long forgotten.
I loved every inch of it.
Caleb pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the gate and then the door.
As we stepped inside and onto the ancient wood floors, the house groaned, its air thick with dust and decay.
The staircase, famous for its gravity-defying spiral, was worn and creaky.
The shiplap walls were adorned with faded portraits, and a baby grand piano sat silent in a corner, its keys yellowed with age.
All of it was an eternally beautiful testament to the passage of time. We walked around, marveling at every nook and cranny, and when we stepped outside nearly two hours later, fresh air filled our lungs as I turned to him, shaking my head. “Thank you. That was…amazing.”
“There’s something else I want you to see. Something special.”
“Isn’t that what every guy thinks about his—”
“Not that, you perv.” He walked us back to the truck, where he pulled a backpack from behind his seat, and…a sleeping bag.
“If that’s your shag bag, no thank you,” I said.
“Noted. But I’ve never shared this sleeping bag with anyone except you.”
Because that was the same sleeping bag we’d used the night we’d gotten stuck in the storm. I looked into his amused but patient eyes, waiting for me to catch up. And damn. His flirty banter was always disarmingly charming, but what was even more charming was when he got past that and was just…real.
Something inside my chest shifted and warmed, but letting Caleb too close could only end in heartbreak, for so many reasons. For one, Ryder was against it, and two, if my employers found out, I’d be done for.
“Come on,” Caleb said, then took my hand, leading the way to the river, its crystalline waters gleaming in the late-afternoon light. The banks were canopied by drooping willows, its bed lined with large smooth stones.
Daylight was fading as we headed across a field of wild grass to a drop-off about three feet to the water’s edge. The river was wide here and so calm that it looked like a lake, shimmering as the sun began to set.
Not another soul in sight.
Caleb rolled open the sleeping bag, which he unzipped and spread out like a blanket.
I stared at him. “So, you really did bring me here to get lucky?”
Not answering, he unzipped his backpack and rifled through it, before coming up with a knife.
“Or,” I said, “you brought me out here to kill me.”
He pulled out apples, grapes, cheese, crackers, and a bottle of wine, after which he proceeded to use his knife with quick, expert precision on the apples and cheese. He opened the wine, then muttered, “Shit. I forgot glasses.”
“No problem.” I took a sip right from the bottle. “You really know how to use that knife. Either you’re some kind of secret fancy chef or a serial killer.”
“No other options, huh?”
“I guess you could be a competitive knife thrower.”
He grinned as he finished cutting everything up. I’d never had a hand kink, but seriously, this man’s hands could change my mind. Big, scarred, calloused, and as I knew firsthand they were always warm…
“Or,” he said, “I work with a lot of tools, and a knife is one of them.”
“Or that.” I took an apple slice and a hunk of cheese. “This feels a little…smooth of you.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re thinking too hard.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Neither of us ate much of the food you had at the jobsite, and I didn’t think you’d let me take you to a restaurant, what with how much you enjoy hating on me and all.”
“I told you, I’m not…hating on you.”
“Then what?” he asked, eyes on mine.
“I don’t know exactly,” I admitted. “We do have more in common than I thought. We’re both…adapters.”
He nodded. “Adapting is survival, and we’ve both had a lot of that.
” The sun was low in the sky now, the temperature dropping a little with it.
The moment felt…romantic. As did the way Caleb’s arm brushed against mine.
And the way he’d sprawled out, so comfortable in his own skin. And then there was how he looked at me.
“What are we doing here, Caleb?” I asked softly.
“Give it another minute. It’s going to happen.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“Patience.”
“I don’t have any.”
“No shit.” There was a smile in his voice. “Growing up, we Colburns didn’t have a lot, something I never realized until my mom was gone. She had a way of making us feel like we had everything we needed.”
He had tipped up his face to study the sky, bursting with color, every color.
“Looking back,” he said, a soft expression on his face, “I know now how hard holidays were on her. Especially Christmas. She’d bring us kids up here on Christmas Eve.
We’d sneak through a broken part of the fence just before the sun went down and sit on a blanket, all wrapped up.
Every sunset, downtown Star Falls does this thing that you can’t appreciate unless you see it from this spot.
It always stunned us into quiet.” He chuckled.
“My mom used to say it was the one minute a year she could hear herself think.”
“What thing?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
I almost strangled him, but just then, on the far western horizon, the sun touched down on the rocky bluffs lining the Sonoma coast. At the same time, between the bluffs and us, far below, downtown Star Falls suddenly lit itself up like a postcard, strings of fairy lights on every tree and post and storefront.
Caleb was right. I was stunned into a hushed quiet.
For a long few moments, neither of us spoke, just sat there while dividing our attention between the twinkling downtown and the sky in sheer wonder.
I sat with my legs out in front of me, my hands behind me, propping myself up on the sleeping bag.
Caleb was in the exact same pose, his arm and shoulder against mine.
I wasn’t quite sure what came over me, but I scooched on my butt closer to the edge of the drop-off, letting my legs hang over.
Then I cupped my hands around my mouth and…
screamed. I screamed for the frustrating week.
I screamed for the long-ago but present pain in my heart over my mom’s passing.
I screamed for the exasperating and humiliating way my life had gone lately.
When I was out of breath, I stopped. I was just about to turn and explain myself when I realized Caleb had scooted to the edge, too, sitting so close that our thighs touched.
And then he let loose a wordless yell. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was getting out of his system, but I knew enough. I let my pinkie touch his in solidarity.
When he fell silent, panting a little, I set my head on his shoulder. “Better?”
I felt him look down at me. “Yeah,” he said, voice husky and thick.
“Scream therapy always works.”
“It’s also the company.”
I stilled for a beat, then slowly turned my head to find him watching me, a bemused look on his face.
“You’re not who I expected,” he said quietly.
“Ditto.”
His mouth curved very slightly. “Thanks for coming out here with me. I was beginning to think I’d unknowingly had a one-night stand that time in the manor.”
I laughed. “We didn’t sleep together.”
“I beg to differ. We slept. You snored.”
My mouth fell open. “I did not.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Yes!” I nudged him with my shoulder. “I do not snore. I’ll bet you right here, right now.”
“What does the winner get?”
“I don’t know how you’re going to prove it, but…” I pointed to the water. “Loser has to go skinny-dipping.”
“You sure?” he asked in a low, sure voice that should’ve given me a clue.
But when backed into a corner or challenged, I always came out swinging. I’d never been able to control myself. “I’m one hundred percent sure that you’re about to go skinny-dipping in that very cold water.”
He smiled, pulled out his phone, and accessed something before turning the screen so I could see. It was a video. A completely dark video. He tapped the volume button a bunch of times, and then I heard it.
The sound of snoring.
I gaped at him. “That’s not me.”
“Oh, it’s you.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Prove it.”
He swiped up on the video, where the metadata was listed—date, time, location. In case that wasn’t enough, it was also mapped. The video had been taken at 1:00 a.m. the night of the storm, location: the Henderson project.
Damn it.
He gave me a slow smile and gestured to the water.
Damn it.
But I was no squelcher. Bolstered by the wine, I stood up and headed down the hill straight to the river without looking back.