Chapter 22
The rescue crew got back to the camp after dark. They were all exhausted, but so full of adrenaline that they couldn’t sleep. Neither could the folks who had stayed at the camp. They’d all stayed up in case a search party had to be sent after the first group.
Everyone except Lincoln, who was unconscious again, and Philip Phelps, who had left that afternoon, gathered around the lava ring fire pit to “talk story,” as Hawaiians called it.
Mathilda fed guava wood into the fire as Rory told them about the helicopter crash. He had deep shadows under his eyes and his shoulders drooped from fatigue.
“My theory is that they lost power and oxygen, and the crew passed out.”
“How does something like that happen?” Sasha wanted to know. Her hoodie was pulled over her silver hair to fend off the occasional sprinkles.
“It shouldn’t. I don’t know without a closer inspection and we didn’t have time for that. Mechanical failure, sabotage. Hard to say.”
“So there’s four dead bodies out there in the jungle?” Cody pulled out a flask of his favorite vodka and took a shot.
“Yup. I plan to hike out tomorrow and notify the authorities.” Rory accepted the flask Cody passed him. “I still don’t know if we’re all safe here. We should probably post a guard. Take shifts, all that.”
They all exchanged glances, then Mathilda spoke for the group. “We decided to close down the camp for a week. We’re low on supplies anyway. We’ll take a break, do some shopping, check in with our departments. Let things settle down a bit.”
Rory nodded slowly. “I can understand that. I’m really sorry about all this.”
“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Diane said softly.
“Your plane crashed. None of this is on you.” She put a hand on Rory’s knee.
Mathilda felt every muscle in her body go tense.
Diane didn’t warm up to just anyone. She was a sensitive person who needed time to adjust to new people’s energy—or that was how she put it.
She’d kept her distance from Lincoln/Rory until now.
You’re being ridiculous, she scolded herself. She and Rory weren’t real, or exclusive, or official in any way. But still, that hand…she didn’t relax until Diane removed it so she could drink from the flask.
“What will you do?” Robert asked Rory. “Not sure old Lincoln Log will be able to walk with us.”
They all burst into laughter at that nickname—even Rory, who laughed until his eyes teared up.
“Oh man,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I needed that. I’m going to see how he is in the morning. With any luck, he’ll be coherent enough to help me make a decision. If not—” he shrugged. “I’ll let tomorrow’s wind blow tomorrow. It’s something my grandmother says,” he added.
“We’ll help you carry him out of here if need be,” Robert said. “You’re ohana now.”
“Ohana?”
“Kind of like family,” Mathilda whispered to him. “Part of the crew. Didn’t you ever watch Lilo and Stitch?”
“Uh, no.” He didn’t look like he’d ever even heard of it. “Kids movie?”
“So much more. Anyway, he just means that you’re part of our group and we’re not going to just abandon you and Lincoln.”
The others had launched into a heated conversation about whether or not to shut down the solar system while they were gone. She used the opportunity to scoot her lawn chair farther from the circle so she and Rory could talk privately. He followed suit, and she leaned close to whisper to him.
“What about the you-know-what? Do you know anything more?”
“Bjorn told me the Kerrs were fighting about some of Lincoln’s new investments in alternative energy. Maybe the you-know-what has something to do with that?”
“Interesting.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “I have a friend who works at a geothermal plant in Puna. We could pick his brain about energy systems involving weird crystals.”
“We?” He looked at her askance. “Explain this ‘we.’”
“I told you I was coming with you, remember?”
“Yes, but now we’re talking about more than finding a cell signal.
I’ll have Lincoln to manage, and he keeps saying we’re not safe, and that he doesn’t want a hospital.
I don’t want you in danger, Mathilda. Besides, what about…
where’s…” He scanned the group, then came back to her. “Where’s Philip Phelps?”
“He left.”
“He did? What…what did you tell him? About Duncan?” He watched her closely with those gorgeous dark eyes of his.
“I sent a message. I suggested that we do a Zoom call once I’m back in cell phone range.”
“So that’s a…maybe? It doesn’t sound like a no.”
“It’s not a no.” She ran her tongue across her suddenly dry mouth. Was Rory going to walk away from her already? She was resigned to it happening eventually, but she wasn’t ready for it yet. “It’s a ‘let’s talk over Zoom so we can get a feel for each other before we make any decisions.’”
“That makes sense,” he said after a long moment, during which her heart nearly stopped beating.
“I need time. I feel like there’s so much riding on this and it feels so rushed, even though I’ve known this was coming since I was twenty-one. How could nine years go by so quickly?”
She felt her throat close up—another early warning sign of a panic attack. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
A strong arm settled on her shoulders. “Hey hey,” Rory said gently. “It’s going to be okay.”
She blurted out a laugh. “Why do people say that when they have no idea if it’s going to be okay?”
His fingers played with the ends of her hair. “I guess it depends on your definition of ‘okay’. My grandmother always says if you can open your heart to what is, you won’t get so disappointed by what isn’t.”
“It’s too late at night for cryptic words of wisdom,” she grumbled, making him laugh. And yet, the panic attack had receded. Either the words of wisdom had worked, or the way he was touching her hair had done the trick.
Her money was on the hair.
The late-night party was breaking up into stretches and yawns.
“Let’s talk about this tomorrow,” he said in a low voice. “I’m dead on my feet.”
But this could all end tomorrow. He was leaving, and they were packing up the camp, and…
She quelled the turmoil in her heart. “Sounds good. Sleep well. Don’t let the menehune bite.”
He stood up and stretched. “You know what, I’m not even going to ask. I need to check on Lincoln Log.”
She laughed and watched him stride across the camp, dark now because Robert was stomping out the remains of the fire.
In her dreamy way, Diane wandered over to Mathilda. “Quick question, woman to woman,” she said, taking both of Mathilda’s hands. “Is Mr. Tall Dark and Mysterious fair game? Do you two have something going on? I heard rumors. I never fish in someone else’s pond.”
How to answer that? “I wouldn’t say he’s my pond. But—”
“Are you in a relationship?”
“No.”
“A situationship?”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“You’d know it if you were in one. Friends with benefits, secret crush, anything like that?”
Did a one-night hookup with no commitment qualify as any of those things? She couldn’t lay any claim to Rory, especially when her own future was so unclear. “No.”
“Okay then. I’ve done my due diligence and my conscience is clear.” She smiled and dropped Mathilda’s hands.
“But he’s really tired,” Mathilda called softly after her, as she headed for the guest tent. “You should let him get some sleep.”
“Are you clam-jamming me?” Diane brushed her beads away from her face. “You just said you weren’t together.”
Clam-jamming? Mathilda had to guess what that meant. “We’re not together. I just think he could use some sleep. I don’t want to clam-jam you, if that means what I think it means.”
Yes, she did. Liar, liar. She didn’t want Diane slipping into Rory’s tent. She wanted to do that herself. She wanted Rory to be hers, and only hers.
But she’d just have to get over all that. Her fate might take her somewhere very different in the world.
She tucked herself into her own tent and tried to sleep. But sleep was one of those things for which “trying” never really worked. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, she grabbed her headlamp and dug out the letter from Duncan again.
Could you tell from a letter if you were going to be compatible with someone? Of course not. Could you tell if you were going to have chemistry? Of course not. What about parenting styles? Duncan wanted children. What kind of a father would he make?
She already knew exactly what kind of mother she’d be—or at least how she wanted to be.
She wanted her kids to feel safe enough to be adventurous.
She didn’t want them to have cell phones until they were teenagers.
She wanted to travel with them and show them how many different ways there were to be in this world.
The last thing she’d ever want was to raise her children in a cocoon woven of wealth and privilege.
Would all of that be possible as a marchioness?
Could she write that into the marriage contract?
At the very least, she and Duncan should discuss this sort of thing.
Maybe they should have a parenting contract as well.
What if his expectations were completely different from hers?
Maybe he wanted to raise perfect little lords and ladies who considered England the peak of the civilized world.
Eventually, she drifted off, only to wake at some point later because someone was whispering her name.
“Mathilda. Are you awake?”
“Rory?” She pushed open the mosquito net so he could climb onto the bed with her. “Are you okay? Is Lincoln okay?”
Instead of answering that question, he cupped his hands around her face. “I had to see you.”
“What’s wrong?” She drew in a breath. “Is it about Diane?”
“Diane? No. I told her I was taken. I know this can’t be anything beyond right now, but as long as we’re both here, I’m taken. Taken with you. Taken by you.”
Her heart swelled with electric happiness. She clutched him closer to her. This man set every one of her nerve endings on fire. Wild, irresistible fire.