Chapter Twenty-ThreeGoing Off the Grid
Six days after our culinary debacle at the Callahan ranch, Jo and I demanded some time off from the craziness.
Three days, that's all we want. Three days without cameras, reporters, or even our families around us.
Miranda, our producer, tried to argue, of course.
She babbled on and on about "momentum" and "viewer engagement metrics" until Jo threatened to walk away from the whole show.
I've never seen Miranda backpedal so fast.
It took me ten minutes to settle Jo down. Only then did Miranda finally consent to our little vacation---with no one watching us.
So now we're heading to a little cabin that belongs to one of Jo's cousins. It's tucked away in the Montana Mountains where cell service is spotty at best and the nearest neighbor is five miles down a dirt road. Sounds like paradise to me.
"Turn left up here," Jo says, pointing to a barely visible path between the pines. Her hair is loose today, flowing over her shoulders instead of in its usual practical ponytail. It's a good look on her.
She's also in charge of the map her cousin gave us.
Following Jo's instructions, I guide our truck onto what can only generously be called a road. "You're sure this is right? Looks like we're driving straight into the wilderness."
"That's the point, McKendrick." She leans back in her seat with a contented sigh. "No cameras, no microphones, no Daphne asking us about our 'relationship journey.' Just trees, mountains, and blessed silence."
The truck bounces over a particularly nasty rut, and Jo grabs the dash to steady herself. I can't help but grin at her momentary look of alarm.
"Careful there, Rodeo Queen. I thought you mountain folk were used to rough terrain."
"I'm used to it on horseback, not in your ancient truck that apparently has no suspension whatsoever." She spears me with a dirty look. "Seriously, when was the last time you had this thing serviced?"
"Don't insult Betsy. She's sensitive."
"You named your truck Betsy?" Jo tries to look annoyed but only manages to half stifle her smile. "How original, Clay."
"Hey, she's gotten me through years of rodeos and ranch work. Show some respect."
"Betsy hasn't earned my respect yet," Jo fires back, then grabs the overhead handle as we hit another bump. "At this rate, we'll both need back surgery before we reach the cabin."
I ease off the gas pedal, trying to navigate the worst of the ruts.
The forest thickens around us, and the sunlight filters through the pine branches in dappled patterns that splash across the windshield.
It's peaceful out here, the kind of quiet that makes you realize how much noise you've been living with.
"So, three days of just us," I remind her, trying to sound casual. "Any big plans, or are we winging it all the way?"
Jo stays quiet for a moment as she stares out the side window. "I was thinking about our plan---doing absolutely nothing for at least twenty-four hours. No schedule, no makeup, no pretending to be something I'm not."
"Sounds perfect." I steal a glance at her profile.
The tension she's been carrying for weeks is already starting to ease, as evidenced by her shoulders.
They aren't bunched up anymore. "Though I have to ask---when you say 'pretending to be something you're not,' what exactly have you been pretending to be? "
"Happy," she says without hesitation, then catches herself.
"I mean, not that I'm miserable or anything.
It's just..." She trails off, fidgeting with the rolled-down window.
"This whole engagement thing is exhausting.
Smiling on cue, going overboard with acting like we're madly in love, pretending that having cameras follow us around is totally normal. "
"Yeah, well, you're not the only one feeling the strain." I navigate around a fallen branch, and Betsy's engine grumbles in protest. "Yesterday I caught myself checking my reflection in store windows, wondering if I looked 'engaged' enough."
Jo snorts. "What exactly does 'engaged enough' look like?" She makes air quotes with her fingers. "Are you supposed to have a certain glow or something?"
"According to Miranda, yes. Remember that coaching session she gave us? 'Clay, darling, you need to look at Jo like she's the only woman on earth.' As if I need instructions on how to look at you."
Jo's cheeks color slightly, and she turns back to the window.
"At least you didn't have your mother shoving bridal magazines into your suitcase.
I already have a dress, but Mom wants me to pick out ten outfits for before and after the nuptials.
Oh, and don't get me started on the honeymoon options she came up with. "
"My mom's the same way. She's already planning where to hang our wedding photos at the ranch house so they'll be ready when we get back from the honeymoon."
The truck hits another particularly vicious rut, and Jo's body jolts upward before crashing back into the seat.
"Jesus, Clay! Are you finding these holes on purpose?"
"Nope, just lucky, I guess." I glance at Jo, who's scowling. "Didn't you do up your seatbelt, darlin'?"
Her scowl deepens. "Of course I did. But I think Betsy is trying to kill me, like the car in that Stephen King movie."
"Betsy loves you, Jo, trust me." I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to avoid the worst of the damage to what's left of this so-called road. "Look, there's the cabin."
Through a break in the trees, a small log structure comes into view, nestled against a backdrop of towering pines and jagged mountain peaks. It's rustic in the best possible way---the kind of place that promises wood-burning fireplaces and absolutely zero Wi-Fi.
"Thank goodness," Jo breathes, and I'm not sure if she's referring to our arrival or the end of Betsy's assault on her spine.
I pull up next to the cabin and kill the engine. The abrupt silence is almost overwhelming after weeks of constant noise and chatter. No cameras clicking, no producers shouting directions, no crowds cheering. Just the whisper of wind through pine needles and the distant call of a hawk.
"This is exactly what we needed, baby." I exhale a long breath I didn't know I was holding. "Listen to that."
Jo tilts her head, her hair falling in a cascade over one shoulder. "Listen to what?"
"Exactly." I grin at her. "Nothing. Just the sounds of wildlife and the wind."
We sit here for a moment, soaking in the silence. Jo's eyes close briefly, and I watch the tension visibly drain from her face. Her entire body slackens too. When she opens her eyes again, I note a softness there that I haven't seen in months.
"Come on," she finally says, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Let's check out our home for the next three days."
The cabin is everything the photos promised---rustic charm with just enough modern amenities to keep us from feeling like we've completely abandoned civilization.
The main room features a stone fireplace, worn leather furniture that's seen better days but looks plenty comfortable, and large windows that frame the spectacular mountain view.
The kitchen is small but functional, with a propane stove and a refrigerator that hums softly in the corner.
"Not bad," I say, dropping our bags by the door. "Your cousin has good taste."
Jo runs her hand along the rough-hewn dining table, her fingers tracing the knots in the wood. "He barely uses it anymore. Too busy with his law practice in Billings." She looks up at me with a hint of mischief. "His loss is our gain."
I wander to the back of the cabin where a narrow hallway leads to what I assume is the bedroom. One bed. Queen-size with a patchwork quilt and a horde of puffy pillows. For what I have in mind, all those pillows will come in handy.
"Clay!" Jo calls out. "You've got to see the open kitchen. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
I march over to the bar, sweep Jo up in my arms, and head straight to the bedroom. She keeps her arms around my neck until I toss her onto the plush bed. "We can admire the kitchen later. Now, it's time to get naked and do dirty things to each other."
Jo bounces on the bed and laughs, a rich, genuine sound I haven't heard in weeks. "So subtle, McKendrick. What happened to the romance?"
I lean against the doorframe, drinking in the sight of her sprawled across the quilt---and imagining her naked. "Romance? You want candlelight and rose petals? I thought we were here to be ourselves, no pretending."
She props herself up on her elbows. "And the real Clay McKendrick just tosses women onto beds and expects them to strip?"
"Only the ones who've been driving me crazy for months." I push away from the doorframe and saunter toward her. "Only the women who look at me like you're looking at me right now."
"And how exactly am I looking at you?" Her voice has dropped to that husky tone that makes my pulse quicken.
"Like you're imagining me fucking you."
Jo slithers across the bed, sliding off it to set her feet on the floor. "What should we do about that, honey?"
I take hold of her blouse and rip it open, buttons ticking on the floorboards.
"I formulated a plan before we got in the truck this morning.
" I shove my hand inside her jeans, feeling the slick heat of her folds that swiftly coat my hand.
"Step one, tear your clothes off. Step two, get on your knees in front of me.
Step three, follow all subsequent commands until I give you permission to stop. Understand?"
"Yes, Clay." She reaches down as if to stroke her wet flesh.
I seize her wrist. "Uh-uh-uh, Jo. I'm in command now."