Chapter 11
BINX
O ur progress slows even more after our first aid session. I’m swimming in Seven’s pants, holding them up with one hand as I scuttle forward, doing my best not to disturb the bandages underneath.
The slower pace adds to the anxiety of watching the last sliver of sun sink behind the trees. There’s still a dusky glow in the air, but the temperature starts dropping fast. Soon, my fleece and rain shell don’t feel like they’re providing enough warmth, but there’s no way I’m asking to stop to grab my puffer vest from my pack.
Seven wouldn’t want me to be cold, but he’s already suffering. He’s the strongest man I know, but after a full day of carrying double gear, I can tell he’s about to reach his limit. When we stopped to grab granola bars half an hour ago, he groaned as he loaded the second pack onto his back.
Seven never groans. He never complains or shows any sign of weakness, and I hate that he’s starting to break because of me.
I want to break through his defenses; I don’t want to break the man himself.
I promise myself I’ll find some way to help him feel better as soon as we get to the cabin. I think I threw my stickable pain strips into my bag last night, just in case my lower back started acting up. I can offer to stick them where it hurts for him.
Buoyed by the thought, I waddle a little faster, counting my steps the way I used to do as a kid when forced out of our cozy house to hike with my family. I hated hiking back then—probably because I was one of the youngest, and the older kids never slowed their pace for me or Wendy Ann. Every time I was forced out into the woods, I would make up games to help the time go by faster.
If I counted to one thousand in my head without missing a number or saying anything aloud to my siblings, the hike would be over by the time I reached one thousand one. Or, if I walked backwards for one hundred steps, then forward, then backwards again, then skipped sideways, I’d find a shortcut and be able to sit on a bench and wait for everyone else to catch up.
I never “won” these games, but they served their purpose. They kept my mind from fixating on my discomfort.
Now, I’m up to six hundred and twenty-seven steps on my third count to one thousand, when Seven glances over his shoulder with a relieved smile. “We’re here. The cabin’s just over that ridge.”
I practically sag to the ground with relief. “Oh, thank God. I’m so tired. I didn’t want to admit it until I knew we’d made it, but I think I could sleep for a thousand years. And eat an entire buffet all by myself. But since food is in short supply, I’ll settle for the sleeping.”
“Same,” Seven says, starting forward with a bit more spring in his step, me finally beside him on the trail now that it’s wide enough for two. “Though I was thinking, I’d love a hot bath first, if you’d like one, too. If we can get a fire going, I might have enough pots and pans to heat up water for the old tub on the porch.”
I frown up at him. “On the porch?”
“The former owner, the one who bought it from the Boy Scouts originally, liked to bathe outside. Apparently, she was a bath influencer.”
I laugh. “A bath influencer? As in she…influenced people to bathe regularly? Is that really something we need persuasion from strangers on the internet to do?”
“I think she convinced people to take pretty baths? Or something?” He shakes his head, looking so adorably confused that I want to kiss him again. But that’s nothing new. I’ve wanted to kiss him again all day, even when he was being a big old grouch. “I don’t know,” he continues, “but there’s a giant, clawfoot tub on the back porch. Sprout went ‘swimming’ in it a few times before the weather got too cold. She thinks we should leave it there, but I don’t think a fancy bath is going to match the rustic design we’re going with for the rest of the buildings.”
I shrug. “Who cares? It sounds cool. Better to have cool quirky things than matching things.”
He makes a doubtful sound. “I don’t know. I don’t want to scare people away by being too quirky, and you can see the back of the cabin from several of the guest cottages.”
“How are bookings so far?” I ask. “You opened the website for reservations, right?”
He nods, some of the weariness fading from his expression. “Yeah, I already have three bookings for corporate retreats next summer. They booked the entire camp with the bonus adventure package.”
“That’s amazing! Congrats.”
He fights a grin. “Thanks, but don’t get too excited. I have to sell at least four more to break even for the year. Even with keeping most of the building and renovation in the family, this hasn’t been cheap.”
“But it’s smart. You’re building a business that’s going to be profitable for years to come. Once the initial investment is over, you’ll have a cash cow on your hands.”
“I hope so,” he says, “but don’t jinx it. This is Sprout’s college fund. The adventure tours pay for everything we need, but this is going to take my ability to save to the next level. I’m hoping to have enough stashed away that she won’t have to take out a single loan.”
“That’s smart. My loans are a pain in my ass, and I won’t even be using my degree once I start tattooing.” I smile. “You’re a good dad. Sprout’s lucky to have you.”
He grunts, his smile fading. “I try.”
“You succeed.”
He presses his lips together, his brow furrowing. For a moment, I think he’s going to argue with me, but then the cabin appears over the next rise, and he heaves a giant sigh of relief. “Fuck. I’ve never been so happy to see this place.”
I echo his sigh, relief making my knees wobbly. “Me, too. I would race you to the porch, but I’m injured and your spine is probably never going to be the same again as it is.”
He laughs. “My spine is fine, but that bath is sounding better and better. There’s the tub. Fancy, right?”
I glance in the direction of his nod, spotting a dark green clawfoot tub that blends in with the peeling green paint on the porch. But it’s white on the inside and looks gorgeous. “I bet that bath lady sold a lot of bath bombs. Or salts or soap or whatever she was peddling on social media.”
“Bath potions,” he says. “That’s what Sprout told me, anyway. She looked the woman up online. She’s now moved into a bigger, nicer cabin, with two outdoor bathtubs to choose from.”
My brows lift. “Wow. Maybe I’ve picked the wrong job. I mean, I love tattooing, but full-time taker of baths sounds like an amazing gig.”
“I’m usually a shower guy, but right now, I’d be on board.” He laugh-groans as we climb the steps onto the porch. “I could call my account Cranky Old Man in a Tub.”
I hum beneath my breath. “Yeah, no. We can think of a better name for your account than that. I’ll work on it while you’re relaxing. Point me toward the fireplace, I’m a whiz with a fire. It’s always my job at family functions. I get the firepits roaring while Melissa sets up the fire snacks station.”
“Speaking of, I have s’mores supplies in the kitchen,” he says, pausing to punch a code into the keypad on the back door. I didn’t expect something so technological on an “off the grid” cabin, but it appears to be powered by a small solar cell on top of the device.
“Heck, yes,” I say, my mouth watering at the thought. “Oh my God, toasted marshmallows sound so good right now. The only thing better would be a glass of wine.”
As I follow him past a small, but simple dining table by the back door, into the partially renovated kitchen, it’s like my words magically summon my wish into existence.
“What the…” Seven stops by the island at the end of the kitchen, staring at the large wicker basket on the coffee table in the small living room. It’s filled with all sorts of treats, including a loaf of freshly baked bread from my favorite bakery in town, salami, popcorn, apples, oranges, bananas, and two bottles of wine—one white and one red.
“Looks like our kidnappers were worried about us going hungry,” I say, still holding up my pants as I circle around Seven to pluck a card with our names on it from between two especially juicy-looking apples. I glance up at him with the envelope between two fingers. “Mind if I open this?”
He shakes his head. “No. But fair warning, this is making me even madder.”
I arch a brow as I take in his stormy expression. “Noted. Maybe if you put down the bags, you’ll feel less like punching something.”
“Good point.” He unburdens himself with stiff jerks of his arms before sagging to the ground and stretching out on the worn hardwood beside the coffee table. “My back needs a moment on a hard, flat surface. Traction would probably also be good.”
I shake my head as I open the note. “You’re definitely getting that bath. And a glass of wine while you’re in there. You deserve it. Thank you, again, for carrying my pack.”
“Never thank me for shit like that,” he says, his eyes sliding closed. “You would have done the same thing.”
I’m not certain I would have been capable of doing the same thing, but he’s right—I would have tried. I may be a pint-sized hero compared to him, but I’ve always tried to be someone other people can count on in times of trouble.
I’m sure that’s part of the reason Bettie did this. She was so grateful for what I did to help raise money for Sprout’s surgery, and she knows I have a crush on her son. I’ve tried to hide it, but I’m not great with concealing my feelings, and Bettie reads people with the accuracy of a woman who’s been a bartender-therapist for thirty years. She probably felt she had no choice but to help play matchmaker.
But when I open the card, the note inside isn’t from Bettie.
It’s from the other two members of this conspiracy…
“What’s it say?” Seven asks, still stretched out on the floor with his eyes closed. Which is probably good. He should definitely be sitting down for this.
“Dear Binx and Seven,” I read aloud, “Sorry we lied and went to extremes, but you didn’t give us a choice. Anyone with eyes can see that you’re…” I clear my throat, a little embarrassed to read the next part, but muscling through. “Can see that you’re perfect for each other. Hopefully three romantic days sharing a cabin in the woods will bring you to your senses. We’ve left all the supplies you’ll need. There are snacks here in the basket, more food in the refrigerator, and clothes and toiletries in the drawers in the bedroom.”
“I hate them,” Seven rumbles from the floor, “but I’m not sad about a clean pair of clothes.”
“Me either,” I say, with a pointed look at my borrowed pants, which are currently rolled up on one side and tucked into my underwear to keep them from sliding down. Turning back to the card, I read on, “We put fresh sheets on the bed and left a speaker on the mantel with an old iPad loaded with songs, so you can play music. There’s a charger in the basket, too. You should have everything you need, so please don’t be stubborn goofballs and try to walk all the way back to Bad Dog or anything stupid like that.”
Seven grunts.
“They know us, that’s for sure,” I reply before reading on, “Wendy Ann will be here to pick you up Friday morning. If you haven’t realized you belong together by then, we promise we’ll leave you alone to ruin your lives in peace. Love, Wendy Ann and Sprout (But mostly Sprout because this is my life you’re trying to ruin, too. I love you guys, and I know you love each other. Please just kiss and live happily ever after already.)”
By the time I’m finished, my throat is tight, and I’m even sadder than I was before.
I wonder what Sprout would think if she knew we’d already kissed and all it had done was make Seven even more determined to push me away?
“Well, that’s going to be a fun conversation,” Seven mutters, his eyes closed again.
I don’t ask him what he’s talking about. I already know.
He’s planning what to say to Sprout once he’s home on Friday, how to tell her that her plan failed and there isn’t going to be a happily ever after.
“At least we have food and shelter and don’t have to walk the rest of the way home,” I say, trying to look on the bright side. “I’m not sure my thighs could take two more days of hiking right now.”
“And I can get some work done around here,” he says. “It won’t be a complete waste of time. I have everything I need to stain the new cabinets and get them hung above the sink.”
His tone implies that it will be a partial waste of time, however, and about as much fun as getting his colon flushed.
I pride myself on my thick skin, but his tone gets to me for some reason. Maybe it’s the exhaustion of the day or the pain from my wounds or just the fact that I’m madly in love with a man who acts like I’m a plague he’s determined not to catch, but before I know it tears are stinging into my eyes.
I tuck the card back into the basket and circle quickly around Seven’s prone form, hurrying toward the door before he gets a look at my face. “I’ll go grab some kindling before it gets too dark and start the fire for bath water. Be back in a few.”
I burst through the door without waiting for a response.
I head off the porch and into the woods a few dozen feet away, taking deep breaths and fighting to get control of myself. I shouldn’t take any of this personally. Seven is a stubborn, independent man whose free will has been taken away. That’s why he’s cranky, not because he’s repulsed by the thought of spending a few days alone with me.
He proved he wasn’t repulsed by me with that kiss this morning and again when he was treating my wounds. I know I wasn’t the only one affected by his hands on my thighs. Even when my skin was stinging with agony, the longing to get closer to him was still there.
In different circumstances, the tender way he caressed my leg before the bandages were in place would have been enough to make my panties wet.
Speaking of panties…
I can’t wait to get a fresh pair on. Say what you will about our meddling family members, but at least they had the forethought to leave us extra clothes, just in case. I don’t care if I have to take an ice-cold shower, I fully intend to be clean by the time Seven emerges from his bath.
I finish gathering a pile of small sticks to use as kindling, hitch my borrowed pants up with one hand, then scoop the pile up under my other arm. When I turn back toward the cabin, both of my hands are occupied.
Still, I usually would have been able to drop the sticks and lift my arms in time to fend off the beast hurling itself at my midsection.
I blame the twenty-mile hike for my slow reflexes and Seven’s oversized pants for the fact that I trip on loose fabric as I step backwards and end up flat on my back in the fall leaves, making me easy prey for the fur potato leaping onto my chest.