Chapter 9 #2
“This is the part I need help with,” she told him after clothes, soap and water had all been added to the machine.
“I’m not quite heavy enough. The last time I did it on my own, I brought a big lava rock up with me.
It turned out to have a blue centipede living in it.
They’re the most painful of all the centipedes.
I jumped off so fast that I knocked the washing machine out of whack.
It still doesn’t work quite right. If I mess it up anymore I might get banned from the camp. ”
“I’ll do the honors.” He hoisted himself up in one smooth motion. He gripped the sides and braced his legs apart. “I held the record on the mechanical bull at my favorite bar for a whole year. I think I’m ready.”
“Okay, I’ll go plug it in. I have to turn off everything else first because this beast pulls so many watts. It’ll be a second. Brace yourself.”
For some reason, that phrase made his lips quirk. “I’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
How odd, she thought, as she went around the camp unplugging computers and lights. A billionaire with experience with mechanical bulls—strange in and of itself—was currently holding down their ancient relic of a washing machine. She ought to take a picture and sell it to the tabloids.
She dragged the end of the orange extension cord from the yurt, where the inverter was located. Just as she was about to plug in the cord of the washing machine, a sound from one of the tents caught her attention.
She paused to listen more closely, but heard nothing.
“What is it?” Lincoln called from his perch on the washing machine.
“I thought I heard something, that’s all. Ready?” She inserted the plug into the end of the cord and laughed as the first jerk of the machine nearly launched Lincoln into the dirt.
He adjusted immediately—the way only a fairly talented athlete could—and whooped loudly, like a lasso-slinging cowboy riding a bucking bronco.
She laughed as she watched this extremely unexpected man who had dropped into their camp.
There was something so…confusing about him.
It was almost like he was two people, the ruthless billionaire and the caring, goofy protector.
She never knew which one was going to surface.
Through the raucous drone of the washing machine, that other sound caught her attention again. It was voice, a human voice—a man’s. And it was coming from the tent where Lincoln and his pilot were staying.
“Rory might be waking up!” she yelled over the noise.
“What?”
She tried again, keeping it short. “Rory!”
“Yes, what is it?” He still didn’t seem to understand.
She flung up her hands and spun around, heading in the direction of the guest tent platform.
If poor Rory was waking up, someone needed to be there to explain what had happened and where he was.
Sasha had left strict instructions. He shouldn’t try to go anywhere or even sit up until she’d examined him.
Before she got even halfway across the camp, Lincoln had caught up to her, brushing right past her
“Hey!” she protested. “You’re supposed to be…crap.”
The washing machine, without the weight of a person holding it down, was dancing toward the edge of the platform. She ran toward the plug. Her only chance to stop disaster was to disconnect it before it tipped all the way over.
She flung herself on the plug and wrestled it away from the extension cord. Just in time; the machine stopped moving, though it was still teetering on the edge of a tumble. She raced over to it and used both arms to hug and heave it back onto the platform.
Then she stalked toward Lincoln’s tent. Hadn’t she just been thinking that he seemed like two different people? There was only one Lincoln after all, and it was the self-centered one.
“False alarm,” Lincoln said as she flung open the flap on the canopy tent. He stood over Rory’s cot, gazing through the filmy mosquito net. The pilot was muttering something in a low voice. “He’s still unconscious. But he’s getting more vocal. I think he might actually wake up soon.”
She ignored Lincoln the laundry-abandoner and bent over to listen to what the pilot was saying. “Promise,” he muttered. “Promise, Pilot Rory.”
“Why is he saying his own name?” Frowning, she drew back from the unconscious pilot. He stank of sour sweat. He desperately needed a sponge bath, but she wasn’t about to volunteer for that.
“Dreaming? Who knows?” Lincoln parted the folds of the mosquito net and put his hand on the pilot’s forehead.
“No fever.” He looked at her, finally noticing her irritation.
“Sorry I left your laundry. I didn’t want him to wake up alone.
If it helps, I’ll officially commit to purchasing a new unit for you guys. ”
“You think you can just buy me off after jeopardizing my laundry?” Realizing how ridiculous that sounded, she added, “Offer accepted. I’m sure the crew will appreciate it.”
“But not you?”
How could she explain this? She had so many thoughts on this topic, based on so many experiences. But Lincoln was himself a billionaire, and therefore without doubt had certain blind spots.
“That’s the problem with all that money. It makes you think it fixes everything and that you don’t have to be accountable for other people’s feelings. Just snap your fingers,” she demonstrated with a snap of her own fingers, “and poof, problem gone.”
He nodded thoughtfully, as if he’d actually heard her and agreed. “You’re not wrong. But it kind of sounds like you’re speaking from experience. Anything you’d like to share?”
“Nope.” Then she pretended to reconsider. “Unless you cough up for a new battery system, too. Ours is so out of date.”
His mouth opened, no doubt to buy her off again. This man was surprisingly easy to extort. He didn’t seem to care about his money at all.
“I’m just kidding,” she said quickly. “My thoughts are not for sale, especially to a self-proclaimed jerk who apparently has a million enemies.”
He winced, then turned to re-tuck his pilot’s mosquito net. “Fair enough.”
And…her heart went out to him again. Why did he have this effect on her? It was as if her libido wanted to ignore everything her brain knew about people like Lincoln Kerr.