27. Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
Jonathan
T he first thing Jonathan heard as he awoke from his nap was the metallic clanging of cookware. The second was the melodious lilt of Lucy’s voice, hurtling words that would make a sailor blush. Her quiet yet frustrated curses made him smile. He couldn’t see what was happening, but in the context of the waning sun and the smell of campfire, he assumed she was cooking dinner. Or at least attempting to.
Jonathan wished he could take over. Partly to make up for his outburst earlier that afternoon. All the memories of Cynthia’s accident had come rushing at him, and his temper broke under the swell of fear. He’d practically bit Lucy's head off and he desperately wanted to do something as penance for his behavior.
Aside from all that, there was something about Lucy that made him want to take care of her. When he looked into those dazzling eyes, he felt this inexplicable urge to give her everything she needed so she never had to worry or be inconvenienced.
A third part of him—the mischievous side, perhaps—thoroughly enjoyed her apparent struggle and accompanying string of expletives.
Reaching for the edge of the hammock, he tugged it down a bit to catch a glimpse. Huddled around the firepit, she mixed something in the titanium pot. Every few stirs, she’d lift the spork and eyeball the gloppy concoction that dripped off. The tilt of her head and scrunching of her nose tugged at something in Jonathan’s chest. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling, not wanting his reaction to cause her dismay. Also, he selfishly wanted the scene of this beautiful woman bustling around to continue playing out.
Lucy placed the cookware beside the fire. Standing, she brushed the dust off her pants and let out a sigh .
“How’s it going out there, chef?” Jonathan crooned.
Lucy startled slightly but grinned at him a moment later. “It’s going about as well as it’s going to, I suppose.” Her brows drew together as her smile fell. “Did I wake you?”
“You mean by banging pots and pans together and screaming obscenities? Nah.”
She strode over, wearing a smirk. “Har-dee-har-har.” She reached the side of the hammock. “How are you feeling?”
Jonathan took a deep breath, weighing her meaning, and slowly let it out. “Not bad. Better, actually. Still tender, but all things considered, I am doing all right.”
“Good. Do you need help getting out? You’ve been sleeping for hours.”
Jonathan hadn’t thought to look at his watch until just then. His eyes widened. “You let me sleep until six-thirty?!”
“How would I know what time it is? I don’t have a watch, and my phone was sacrificed to the mountain gods, remember?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Besides, what does it matter? Got a hot date planned?”
“Funny,” he said flatly. “I feel bad laying around while you do all the heavy lifting. Especially after yelling at you earlier. I am sorry for losing my temper.”
“Enough of that. You are forgiven. The most important thing you can do right now is recover. And if you really feel bad about it, you can credit some of the guiding fees back to me.” Lucy smiled. “Now come on. Let’s get you outta there. ”
A half-hour later, Jonathan sat on a log near the fire with a belly full of rehydrated mac ‘n’ cheese, Tylenol, and an evening dose of muscle relaxers. The sharp, radiating pain from his slipped disc had downgraded to a moderate ache. He was starting to feel more like himself.
Lucy stood and collected the dishes.
“We should conserve the water,” Jonathan commented. “Instead of washing the dishes, give them a good scrape and seal them up. We can handle them when we refill at the lake tomorrow.”
The sun hid below the peak, and while the sky remained alight with a twilight glow, the campsite was darkening by the minute. The fire Lucy had built crackled nicely as it provided illumination and warmth against the encroaching chill. Jonathan smiled as he thought about how she had cared for him today. She managed to seek out water, build a fire, and prepare dinner, all while playing nurse to his cantankerous ass. Throughout, she made barely a peep in complaint—aside from the multiple f-bombs dropped as she cooked—and Jonathan was yet again impressed.
She was one of a kind. Resilient, thoughtful, and sassy, and she could keep up with his horrific affinity for dad jokes. Plus, she was the most stunningly beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He watched her clean up from dinner, the flames setting her sun-pinked skin aglow. Her hair, recently freed from its braid, cascaded over one shoulder in glorious, thick waves. Jonathan’s fingers itched to slide through the silky strands. He imagined them falling like a curtain around his face as they kissed, draping down his chest then belly as she moved lower and lower until—
“Thirsty?”
“No!” Jonathan half-shouted with a start. He cleared his throat and found his mouth was as dry as a desert. “I mean, yes. ”
Lucy walked over and handed him a water bottle, a peculiar expression on her face.
“Thanks,” he mumbled more coarsely than he wanted. This was ridiculous. In all his post-pubescent years, Jonathan had never been affected by a woman this way. He’d been awestruck by Cynthia’s beauty and had fallen for her adventurous spirit. And there was no doubt that she’d been smart as a whip, but even though he’d loved her, there always seemed to be this unattainable disconnect. A coldness about her that he could never seem to break through—despite years of his best efforts.
When cancer took his dad, Jonathan’s friends banded around his mom, Frankie, and him like a secondary wave of family providing support and comfort in every possible way. Zac handled Off the Beaten, canceling reservations and closing the place down to give everyone a moment to catch their breath and grieve. Miguel kept the town at bay. Jonathan’s dad had been a beloved figure in Leavenworth for decades, and it seemed there wasn’t an hour that went by without someone from the community showing up unannounced to pay their respects. Miguel would thank them, ensuring he’d pass on the kind words and send them on their way. He even led the charge in organizing the funeral and wake. Janet set up a meal train, tasking anyone she could get her hands on with preparing casseroles and grocery shopping so Jonathan and his family didn’t have to.
And then there was Cynthia.
Or rather, there wasn’t Cynthia. She checked out entirely and would all but disappear for a few days at a time. She’d show up to take stock of the situation, give the family a hug, then off she went. His mom and sister had barely noticed her absence, they were too wrapped up in grief, but Jonathan noticed. After her third return home, he confronted her.
“Why haven’t you been here? ”
“Oh, Johnny. You know I don’t handle this emotional stuff well.”
“I don’t need you to handle it. You just need to be here.”
“I’d only get in the way. This is best for everyone.”
Jonathan was only mildly surprised by her behavior. Cynthia was a classic avoider. When things got hard, she would shut down until everything blew over, and then she’d walk around like nothing had ever been amiss. The silent treatment was the only form of warfare in their home because the two never openly fought.
Except for once, four years ago.
Lucy walked back over to the firepit with a pot full of water, camping soap, and a tank top.
“It’s really not necessary to wash the dishes right now.”
“I’m not planning to wash the dishes.”
“Fine, but that”—he gestured to the pot—“is wasting water.”
“Hush,” she hissed playfully and carried on with whatever the hell she was up to.
Without much choice, Jonathan watched curiously as Lucy settled the pot over the fire. She added soap and swirled it around with the pink cloth before dropping the fabric in.
“Are you doing laundry ?”
He was met with a sidelong glower. “Yes. I’m washing a single shirt.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Then what in the hell—”
“You’ll see.” Her sing-song voice nearly brought a smile to his face until he remembered something very important.
Jonathan disliked surprises. He crossed his arms and indignantly held his tongue. A few years back, Frankie had planned a surprise party at his house for his thirtieth birthday. But when he’d pulled up in the driveway and spotted a figure moving in the front window, he’d grabbed the wooden bat he kept in the back of the Subaru. Ready to attack, he walked through the front door. The lights came on, and everyone yelled, “Surprise!” Jonathan swung, managing to destroy his side table lamp as Zac narrowly leapt out of the way.
Scratch that. Jonathan hated surprises. It didn’t matter if they were well-intentioned or not. Surprises often meant danger in his line of work: lost supplies, injury, or someone getting separated from the group.
Or worse. A shiver strummed up his spine.
Things going according to plan—that’s what Jonathan liked.
“Almost ready,” Lucy mumbled after dipping her fingers into the warming water. Using a thick hiking sock as a pot holder, she carried it over and placed it at Jonathan’s feet. She knelt down, glanced up, and smiled. “Shirt.”
“Huh?”
“Take off your shirt.”
Did she want him to take a sponge bath? He kept his arms crossed and covertly sniffed in the direction of his armpit. Ugh. He needed a good washing, but this was so low on the priority list. Why did she even care? His neck warmed with embarrassment and a bit of offense. “Just because you’re squeaky clean and don’t want to bunk with someone who isn’t doesn’t mean we should be wasting water like we’re on vacation.”
Lucy pulled back. Her eyebrows drew together for a moment, and then her expression relaxed in understanding. “Jonathan,” she said gently, shifting forward and placing a hand on his knee. “This has nothing to do with you smelling bad—though you and I both know you do—this is about making you feel better. After the lake, I felt like a million bucks. Then I got back to camp, and you were lying in the dirt, and I felt so guilty. Let me help you. I promise it will lift your spirits a little.” She winked and nibbled her bottom lip. “Let me make you feel good.”