Chapter 16
Thanks to red wine, I sleep surprisingly well, especially considering Wes is in the bunk right above me, smelling like sexy man and campfire and making me ache to climb up and join him. But the wine works its magic and I’m out cold before I can find the courage to ask if he thinks Preston and Lady Gray should be lovers.
Of course, they shouldn’t!
Things feel good between us for the first time in ages. Having hot, carnal, pull-my-hair-and-talk-dirty-to-me sex is what got us into trouble the first time. We’re clearly better off as friends.
Last night was “just friends,” and it was lovely.
Right… Because you always hold hands with your guy friends and think about how gorgeous they look in the moonlight. You should back out of this role-playing nonsense and rent a solo cabin as soon as you get to the park.
“Oh, hush,” I mutter to the inner voice as Freya sniffs every square inch of the grass behind our camper, dooking urgent warnings about all the animals that were close to our home on wheels last night.
She glances over her shoulder as I speak with a look that asks “are you kidding me?”
“I wasn’t talking to you, love,” I assure her. “I was talking to myself. The voice of reason isn’t going to ruin the fun this time. I’m too excited about hunting Butch Cassidy’s treasure.”
Saying his name aloud is enough to send a delicious shiver of anticipation down my spine. Our research around the campfire last night revealed the suspected resting place of Butch Cassidy’s stash is only a little over an hour from the Arches National Park campground.
Another big bonus? It sounds like the treasure least likely to be cursed.
Butch Cassidy wasn’t a good guy by any stretch of the imagination, but his sins were of the common criminal variety, and he was famous for doing his best to avoid killing people during his robberies. The other treasures were far more problematic. Montezuma was said to have cursed his treasure before he died and the Spanish priest who enslaved the Native Mexicans, forcing them to forge crosses from his stolen gold before he buried it in the desert, surely left an ugly psychic stain on everything he touched.
I’m all about the adventure, but my luck is bad enough without adding a curse on top of it.
Though, I don’t feel unlucky this morning…
With the sun warm on my face, the breeze ruffling Freya’s fur as she explores, and the proud shadow of Buffalo Dick stretching nearly a mile across the prairie in the early morning light, I feel like a million bucks.
And like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
For some people, home is a place or a person. For me, it’s this feeling, of being out under the endless sky, connected to nature in all its peace and beauty.
I pull in a deep breath, holding it in my lungs as I send out a silent thank you to the planet for being so fantastic. In times when the world feels dark and hopeless, I try to look back on moments like this. Moments when I feel the deep, steady pulse of Mother Nature and know she’s going to be all right in the end, even if Homo sapiens end up destroying ourselves. Our planet will heal and foster new life, continuing to be glorious long after humans are fairy tales told around the campfire of whatever species rises to take our place.
“I’m voting for cockroaches,” I tell Freya as she leads the way back to the camper, picking up the pace as she spots Wes putting shredded chicken into her bowl atop the picnic table.
His smile widens as we approach. “What a gorgeous morning.”
“Perfect,” I agree.
He pulls in a deep breath. “I wish I could spend every day like this. Out in nature, away from screens and all the problems humanity creates for itself.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I murmur, resisting the urge to lean into his strong chest and give him a hug.
Promising myself we can hug if we find Butch Cassidy’s treasure—such a find would require a hug-level celebration—I ask, “Did you find a campsite for the night?”
“I did,” he says as I loop Freya’s leash around one leg of the table and set her on top to have her meal. “But we’re going to need our fleece jackets if we go out to dinner. It’s still cold near Aspen. The ski resorts are closed, but we’re looking at a high of forty-eight today and a low near thirty tonight.”
I clap my hands. “Yay! I love frosty evenings in the mountains. And I found an outdoor store just outside of Denver that has wide-brimmed fedoras in stock. It’s only ten minutes out of our way.”
Wes’s eyes light up. “Awesome. Do they sell bikes? I was thinking mountain bikes might be a good thing to have. I’m not sure how deep into the desert we’ll have to go on our hunt. Might be nice to have wheels.”
Collecting a banana from the plate of snacks Wes brought out for breakfast, I nod. “It sure would…if we could both ride bikes.”
His brows shoot up. “You can’t ride a bike?”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t tried it since I was a tiny kid. My parents moved to a house on a gravel road when I was seven and there was nowhere to ride. I almost tried again when I was on vacation in my twenties, but my boyfriend complained about the price of renting beach cruisers in Santa Monica, we got into a big fight, and ended up throwing sand at each other instead.”
“Jerk. A bike rental is always a worthwhile expense,” he says. “And I’ve been wanting to buy a dirt bike for a couple years now. I’ll get one for me and one for you. If you don’t like it, we can always give it to Binx when we get home. She’s a big bike rider.”
I nod, frowning. “Right, but did you miss the part about me not being able to ride this bike?”
“You’ll be fine,” he says, biting into his apple and grinning as he chews. “That’s why the phrase is ‘just like riding a bike’ not ‘just like factoring a quadratic equation.’ It’ll come back to you like that.” He snaps his fingers, earning a clucking sound from Freya that sounds way too much like a laugh.
“I think Freya’s amused,” I say dryly, as Wes chuckles along with my traitorous pet. “Or looking forward to how stupid I’m going to look before I go flying over the handlebars.”
“Never. You’re going to do great.” He glances back my way, grinning. “But we’ll get you a good helmet, just in case.”
* * *
Alittle over nine hours later, after eating our sandwiches on the road to save time, and only stopping once for gas, we’re pulling into Trout World, an outdoor store so enormous we might need mountain bikes to get all the way around it in the thirty minutes we’ve allotted for the stop.
I tell Wes as much and he laughs. “Nah, I know my way around a Trout World. If you’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all.”
“No way,” I say, sticking close as he sets off diagonally through the woman’s fashion department, bound for signs that read “snow and ski” and “water sports.” “There’s more than one of these?”
“It’s a chain,” he says. “There’s one not far from Minneapolis. Matty and I make a trip out there for fishing equipment before the big family party on the lake every summer.”
“That party is so fun,” I say, practically skipping past the snowboard display. “I get so sunburned every year, but it’s worth it. The pool noodle game Binx invented is my favorite.”
Wes grins at me over his shoulder. “I love that one, too. Hopefully, she’ll still want to play this year. What with my mom and dad giving her such a hard time.”
Some of my giddiness fading, I ask, “Can’t you say something to them on her behalf? I mean, she shaved her hair off to raise money for a little girl’s surgery. That’s the sweetest. They would be so proud if they knew.”
His grin fades. “Yeah, but…”
My brows shoot up. “What? You don’t you think it would make a difference? I mean, your mom is set in her ways, but she’d do anything for a kid in need. I would think she’d be proud that her daughter is doing the same.”
Wes sighs, pausing at the intersection between life jackets and inflatable water toys before turning right. “I’m sure she would, but Binx will kill me if I tell them. She doesn’t want them to accept that she shaved her head because she did it for a good cause. She just wants them to accept it, accept her, full stop.”
“Yeah, I get that,” I say. “Still, if it were me, I’d be tempted to tell them, just to smooth things over. Especially considering they’re probably too old and set in their ways to change at this point.”
He grunts. “Binx would say that kind of thinking is what allows assholes to keep being assholes and that age isn’t an excuse for acting like a bag full of dicks.”
I laugh. “She would say that. I love her. I wish I were that badass and firm in my beliefs, especially at her age.”
“I think it’s easier at her age,” Wes says. “When I was twenty-six, I thought I had a good handle on what was right and wrong. Now…” He shrugs. “The older I get, the more I realize life is…complex. Occasionally things are black and white, but most of the time they’re confusing shades of gray. Makes decision-making and standing firm in your convictions a lot harder.”
I want to ask him if the situation with Darcy was a shade of gray and to tell him that I understand if it was. I’ve obviously never had a partner tell me he was pregnant, but if one of my exes had dropped an emotional bombshell on me right as I was planning to end things, I probably would have hesitated, too. Whether a relationship is going to work long term or not, I wouldn’t want to hurt someone I cared about, or abandon them in a time of need.
Especially if their “time of need” was something I had contributed to creating, like a baby…
I was only weird about hearing his explanation because pregnancy is a triggering topic for me. Probably the most triggering. Being continuously rejected by potential partners for not being able to have babies, while also coming to terms with the fact that I can’t have biological children, has been one of the most painful disappointments in my life.
Which is one of the many reasons it would be a good idea to come clean with Wes about my infertility. That way he can stop flirting with me, embrace our destiny as “just friends,” and we can put that steamy night behind us, once and for all. There’s no chance that Wes doesn’t want children. He said he wanted them yesterday and having big, boisterous families is practically compulsory for the McGuires. It’s as much a part of them as their dark hair, bright eyes, and killer senses of humor.
My lips part, the words on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them down.
This isn’t the time. We’re on a mission for treasure-hunting supplies. We’re Preston and Lady Gray, and Preston and Lady Gray aren’t concerned about things like infertility or incompatibility. They just want to find the gold and become part of a Wild West legend.
Ignoring the annoying voice in my head, assuring me I’m a coward living in a dream world, I point to the sign dangling from the ceiling not far ahead. “There! Hats!”
Dashing to the aisle, I breeze past the baseball caps, easily finding the Indiana Jones’-style fedoras and reverently plucking one from the shelf. I plop it on my head, turning to ask Wes, “How do I look?”
“Like a professional,” he says with an approving nod. “Though you might want a larger size.” He presses down on the top of the hat, only for it to pop right back up again. “Have to take the hair into account.”
I take the hat from my head, handing it to him. “You’re right. My brain is also very large, in addition to my hair. But this one will probably fit you.”
He snorts. “With my much smaller brain?”
I shoot him a grin as I sift through the remaining hats, looking for a larger one. “It’s okay. You probably use a lot more of it, percentagewise, than other small-brained people. I mean, you are a lawyer. That’s not easy. You have to hold laws and precedents and all the facts of a case in your head. All I have in mine is an endless supply of recipes and acid and fat combinations.”
He settles the hat low over his forehead, making me hum with appreciation. “Acid and fat?”
“It’s the secret to leveling up any dish,” I say as I finally find a size large. “Make sure you have a harmonious combination of acid and fat. They’re like the yin and yang of cooking. You need a blend of hard and soft for a well-balanced meal.”
“A well-balanced person, too,” he says, tipping his brim up, catching my gaze from underneath with a perfect Indiana Jones smirk. “I guess that’s why I am the way I am.”
“What way is that?” I murmur.
His eyes take on that piercing quality familiar from our first night in the woods. “You know.”
I know…
His meaning hits and my cheeks flush. I do know. I know that Wesley is a sweetheart on the street and a filthy beast in the sheets. I also know it’s probably one of my favorite things about him.
But it’s not something I should be thinking about.
Not something we should be talking about.
And definitely not a reason to beg him to kiss me senseless against the hat shelf.
Thankfully, Wes turns away before I can do something I’ll regret, announcing, “On to the bikes. We’re burning daylight, Lady Gray. If we want to be settled in our campsite before dark, we have to stay focused.”
Focused. It’s good advice, but as we reach the bike section and Wes helps me try out several models, hovering behind me as I take increasingly confident rides down the wide aisles, it’s easier said than done.
The feel of his hand on my back as he steadies me, the way he crouches beside my knee, his breath warm on my thigh as he adjusts my seat, all of it combines to leave me a tingling, aching mess by the time we’ve picked our bikes and rolled them toward the checkout.
I don’t want to resist this man or be one of the many people who only know one side of him. I want to tackle him in the sleeping bag aisle and bite his gorgeous, muscled bicep while he fucks me like a freight train.
“Does that work for you?” he asks, turning from the checkout to arch a brow my way.
Blushing again, I stammer, “S-sorry, I was…wrestling with mind squirrels. What did you say?”
“The ten-year extended warranty. It’s only thirty dollars extra per bike. Is that something you think you would use? It covers parts and labor and, like I said, there’s a Trout World not far from Bad Dog.”
I nod. “Sure, yeah, that sounds great. I can always borrow a friend’s truck if I need to take it in. I don’t think I’d be able to fit it in the back of the Jetta, even with the front wheel off and the seat down.”
“I’ll take it in for you,” he says, slipping his credit card into the machine. “Anytime. All you have to do is ask.”
All I have to do is ask…
I have a feeling the same could be said about the freight train fucking, but it would be such a bad idea. There’s no future for Wes and me beyond this week. Things are too complicated back home. And even if Daria and Darcy both magically disappeared, his family is basically my surrogate family. I can’t afford to lose them if Wes and I end badly.
Or just…end.
And we would end. All things end, especially romantic things. At least, for me. If my life thus far has taught me anything, it’s that.
The thought helps tamp down the ache between my thighs. By the time we reach the camper, I’ve nearly convinced myself the ache is just tenderness from being on a bike for the first time in decades.
Still, who knows what might have happened if Wes and I had made it to Aspen on time. If we’d ridden our bikes to a gorgeous lookout, gotten drunk on snowy mountain views, and forgotten all the reasons it’s best to keep our hands to ourselves.
But we don’t make it to Aspen on time.
Instead, Wes opens the storage area in the back to reveal a small clown curled up in a nest made of our sleeping bags and extra blankets, my ferret napping on her wig, and we suddenly have much bigger problems.