Chapter 11
Mathilda squeezed the rain out of her hair and stormed into the guest tent.
The pittosporum reconnaissance mission had been a bust. Not only had she not seen Hector, but Diane had filled her in on some upsetting information about Lincoln Kerr.
On the way back, they’d been caught in a downpour about half a mile from the camp.
She’d gotten drenched, and the first thing she’d noticed when they’d gotten back was her laundry dripping on the clothesline.
She’d been looking forward to slipping into some cozy dry clothes.
Now they were all as sopping wet as she was.
Hadn’t she specifically warned Lincoln that rain squalls could come through at any moment, and he should grab her laundry at the first hint of a raindrop? Instead of tending to her laundry, as he’d promised, he was sitting on the floor next to his pilot’s cot, eyes closed, fondling his briefcase.
She cleared her throat and tapped her foot on the floor to get his attention.
Lincoln’s eyes flew open and focused on her. “Oh hey.” He gave her such a sweet smile that she almost forgot to be mad at him.
But not quite.
“Did you not hear the torrential downpour that just came through here?”
“No, I didn’t. I felt the wind, that was nice. Did it rain?” He peered past her, through the bug screen, with a bewildered expression.
“It poured. On the bright side, our water tanks are probably full again. On the other hand—”
“Your laundry. Crap.” He climbed to his feet and shook cramps out of his legs. “I’m really sorry. I’ll go do it now.”
“There’s no point now.” She was so puzzled by his behavior that she set aside her irritation about her laundry. “What were you doing when I came in? It seemed like you were in some kind of trance, bonding with your briefcase. Are you going through business-deal withdrawal or something?”
“Oh, I uh…” He looked at the briefcase as if he’d never seen it before. “This. I finally managed to get it open. I’ve been going through my papers.”
For some reason, she didn’t quite believe him. Going through papers didn’t generally make people’s eyes close in what looked like meditation. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
“It was the easiest place. I wanted to stick close to Rory. He’s been making sounds now and then. It might be time to start placing bets on when he wakes up.”
She felt her mood brighten. She always enjoyed a good bet. “I’ll put five dollars on sometime tonight.”
“That’s too broad. I’m not taking that bet.”
“You won’t take a five-dollar bet? Is that too rich for your blood, Mister CEO?”
He shrugged his shoulders, letting her jab roll off his back. He never seemed to take her billionaire insults personally. “I’m just saying, it has to be within a certain time frame. Maybe an hour.”
Just then, Sasha unzipped the bug screen and ducked through. She pushed the hood of her rain jacket off her damp hair. “I’m here to check up on our patient. How’s he doing?”
“He’s going to wake up between nine and ten o’clock tonight,” Mathilda said confidently.
“Oh, he’ll be conscious before that.” Lincoln shot her a grin that was pure challenge. “Sometime between seven and eight, I say. Just in time for dinner. He’s probably sick of IV fluids by now and ready for some meat. Rory Baker loves to eat.”
“Does he love to cook as much as you do?” Mathilda asked. It seemed like a reasonable question, but for some reason it made Lincoln snort, then cover up the snort.
“I wouldn’t know,” he finally answered.
“Right. That checks out.” Lincoln probably had hundreds of employees, if not thousands. Why should he know their habits?
“You’re both wrong,” said Sasha from Rory’s bedside, where she was checking his pulse. “He’ll be awake in less than two hours. I’ll put twenty on that.”
Mathilda felt a little less guilty betting on a coma victim when his doctor was doing the same thing. She wagged a finger at her silver-haired friend. “Sorry, Sasha, we can’t accept any bets from you. You have inside information.”
“That’s right, it wouldn’t be fair,” Lincoln chimed in. For once, she and Lincoln agreed. “Less than two hours? You really think so?”
She wondered why he sounded so nervous about that timeline. Didn’t he want his pilot to wake up?
“Yes, but since no medical professional could possibly say with any accuracy when a coma patient will wake up, I have zero inside information. That’s my bet as Sasha, the botanical researcher.”
“If it’s going to be that soon, I’ll stay in here with Rory until it happens.” Lincoln rubbed the back of his neck, then shot a longing glance at the world outside the tent.
“We can take shifts,” Mathilda offered. “You’ve been stuck here all day, ignoring the laundry. You must be exhausted.”
He shot her a secret finger, which delighted her to no end. She really enjoyed teasing Lincoln. He always seemed to roll with the punches, and got some good jabs in himself.
“No, he’s my employee, my responsibility,” Lincoln said firmly. “I’ll stay with him. But if anyone happens to wander past my tent with a plate of food, they can feel free to toss it inside.”
“I’ll bring you some food.” Mathilda wasn’t entirely heartless, or even that angry about her laundry.
He probably had no way of knowing how fast those downpours could sweep through.
“Robert is cooking today, so I hope you like kalua pork. It’s the only thing he ever makes.
Sometimes it’s on rice, sometimes in a taco, sometimes a smoothie—don’t ask.
” She held up a hand before he could pose the expected question.
Robert’s pork smoothies were still a sore point; no one had ever fully recovered from that experience.
Sasha shuddered at the memory and made a quick exit. Mathilda followed after her; she still needed to get out of these wet clothes.
“Wait, before you go,” Lincoln called before she pushed open the flap. “Did you find Hector?”
“No.” Her mood darkened again at the reminder. “He’s either ghosting me or he couldn’t survive in the wild. It’s probably the latter, since that’s what has happened to the other crows we’ve tried to reintroduce. I’m going to head back to Hilo tomorrow and write up another sad report.”
“I’m sorry.” Lincoln’s absurdly good-looking face wore a look of genuine sympathy. “But if you ask me, there’s nothing sad about doing your best for a species that needs a little extra help.”
She felt the same way, of course, but her smile of gratitude dropped when she remembered the bombshell Diane had shared on their trip to the pittosporum patch. “You’re not fooling me, you know. Actions are what count, not empty words.”
“What are you talking about?” He had the nerve to look perplexed.
“Aina Building Supplies? Ring a bell?”
His blank expression made her even more irritated.
“Have you ruined so many companies that you can’t remember their names?
Aina Building Supplies donated most of the lumber used to build these tent platforms.” She waved her hand at the plywood beneath their feet.
“It was a Hawaiian-owned company with special kama’ina rates for locals, very involved with the community, really chill management.
Then you—or your umbrella corporation or whatever—bought it out and fired most of the staff!
Now no one shops there. I don’t even know how it’s still in business. ”
Lincoln was listening intently to her story, as if it was news to him, which was obviously ridiculous. “Where did you hear all that?”
“Diane filled me in just now. She knows someone who worked there. I knew that Aina stopped donating materials, but I never knew why. It was thanks to you. You’re lucky you don’t fall right through that floor.”
He showed a flash of amusement. “Is the plywood going to retract its woodiness when I’m around?”
“It should. I wouldn’t blame it.” But she couldn’t stop a reluctant smile at the whimsical way he’d phrased that.
“On behalf of the Kerr Group, deepest apologies. I’m sorry you lost your donor. I’ll see what I can do about that. There’s not much I can do about the RIF.”
Ooof, that term. She hated it. “Reduction in Force,” as if the bland language made it less painful for those being reduced out of a job.
“But sometimes that’s the price of progress,” he went on.
She glared at him, wishing she didn’t find this man so attractive. “That’s just a rationalization. You aren’t aiming for progress. You’re just trying to make even more money.”
“Okay, fair enough. You win.” He threw up his hands in surrender. “I’m the head of a company trying to turn a profit, you got me. Does it help that I sign a lot of paychecks?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “You actually sign people’s paychecks? Does anyone do that anymore? Don’t bother lying, because when Rory wakes up, I will absolutely ask him that question.”
He snorted “So the poor guy wakes up from a coma and the first thing you ask is whether I literally sign his paychecks?”
It did sound ridiculous, when he put it that way. Laughter welled in her chest. He thought it was funny too, judging by the light in his eyes. During their increasingly silly argument, he’d gotten closer to her without Mathilda even realizing it. Now they were practically eye to eye.
Was this a fight, or was it some kind of weird foreplay?
It kind of felt like the second option, because even though she meant every argument she made, that sparkling current kept running back and forth between them. As if the words weren’t important, just the energy underneath.
He took another step forward. Drawn like a moth, she did the same.
Sweet Mama, was he about to kiss her? It seemed so.
Her heart raced at that thought. What would those full lips feel like against hers?
His head lowered toward hers, ever so slightly.
She tilted her face up like a sunflower toward the sun.
Her eyes closed halfway, just enough to feel dreamy but not lose sight of Lincoln’s mouth coming close… closer…
The sound of a cough made them both jump. They stared at each other blankly for a moment before it clicked.
Rory was awake.
Lincoln whirled around and strode to the edge of the cot where his pilot lay.
“Rory. Rory, can you hear me? If you can hear me, repeat after me, Rory.”
“Rory?” the pilot murmured.
“I think he’s waking up.” Lincoln shot her an urgent glance. “Can you find Sasha?”
As she raced out of the tent, she heard him say, “You’re safe. The plane crashed, but you’re safe. Don’t try to talk yet. Take it nice and slow. A doctor’s coming and I’m right here with you.”
Despite everything, she had to give Lincoln credit. He really was an exceptionally kind and caring boss to his pilot.