Chapter 3
3
T hey ended up at Boone’s—part tavern, part gas station, part general store, and just about the only thing on the road between Camp Firefly Falls and Briarsted, the nearest town. As it was a Sunday night and early at that, the place wasn’t too busy. A handful of patrons filled booths or stood around the pool tables. Kansas played on the jukebox in the corner, and as she watched a waitress sashay by with a slice of pie a la mode, Sarah half expected to see Dean Winchester waiting in a corner. But the star from Supernatural wasn’t hanging around with a cocky smile and a willingness to drive her away from her predicament in his ’67 Impala. She’d have to find her own way out of this.
Her actual companion wasn’t the friendly, easy-going guy she’d flirted with at the lake. Beckett’s blue-gray eyes had chilled to flint since inventory. Sarah couldn’t blame him. Nobody appreciated being lied to, and when it came down to it, he was the one responsible for the safety of both his staff and the campers those staff members would be working with. He had every right to be pissed.
Sarah didn’t hesitate to order a beer. She figured she’d need it to get through this mess and explain it in such a way that Taryn still had a job to come back to. They remained silent, studying the menu, until the waitress returned. In honor of Dean, she ordered a cheeseburger. Once the waitress left, Sarah tipped her longneck back for a healthy swig, then wrapped her hands around the bottle, as if it were some kind of anchor. “I did not lie on my application.”
“Really?” Beckett’s sarcasm thudded on the table between them like a stone.
Sarah held in a wince. How to get through this without throwing Taryn under the bus? “The truth is, it wasn’t my application.” She lifted her gaze to meet his and found him staring, his own beer halfway to his mouth.
“How’s that?”
Truth , she decided, insofar as possible. “I’m not Taryn Meadows.”
“You’re—” Evidently deciding he needed alcohol for the rest of this story, he drank deep. “Then who the hell are you?”
“Sarah. Her identical twin sister.”
Beckett only blinked. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.” To prove it, she pulled out her phone and found a recent picture of the pair of them. Taryn was a little leaner, definitely tanner, but otherwise, only someone who knew them could easily tell them apart.
He studied the picture for a long time, then turned that penetrating gaze on her. She wanted to squirm, but held still. He handed the phone back.
“Okay, so that’s one part of the mystery solved. Now you want to tell me exactly why you’re impersonating your sister?”
“Because she asked me to.” Even as the words fell from her lips, she realized how lame they sounded.
His brows winged up. “This is a thing y’all do for each other on a regular basis? Having some fun, screwing with people?”
“No. Well, not since we were about twelve, anyway. And this one time in college when she forgot to renew her driver’s license.” Shut up. You’re not helping your case.
“So why now?”
Why indeed?
To buy herself some time to think, Sarah took another pull on her beer. “She’s caught in a difficult situation in the job she’s leaving, one she’s obliged to try and accommodate because of an even more difficult situation in her personal life.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
Sarah told him the story of Jax and the untenable position Taryn was stuck in. Their food came somewhere in the middle of the tale, so they ate while she talked and he listened. Other than muttering a few choice curses about Taryn’s ex, Beckett stayed quiet until she’d finished.
“That sucks for her, it really does. Why didn’t she just call up Heather or Michael and talk to them about it?”
Sarah opened her mouth, closed it again. Because that would have been the responsible, adulting thing to do. “I didn’t ask. She came to me for help.” Because that’s what they did. Taryn fucked up, and Sarah helped her fix it.
“But you could’ve said ‘no.’” His tone implied she should have.
“I told myself the same thing. Right up until I said ‘yes.’ The thing is, I can never say ‘no’ to bailing Taryn out.” She had a lifetime of history testifying to that fact.
“Why not?”
“I’m the oldest.”
Beckett gave her a bland stare. “By how much?”
“Fifteen minutes, but sometimes it feels like fifteen years. I’m the responsible one who has her shit together. Kind of goes with the territory.” Sarah realized that made her sister sound like a flake. “Not that Taryn is irresponsible. When it comes to safety for climbing or rafting or any of the other things she does, she’s serious as a heart attack. It’s the money management and, I guess you’d say, interpersonal stuff, where she has trouble.”
He swiped his last French fry through ketchup and pointed it at her. “And yet you, with your shit together, are here doing certification training for something you’re not qualified for?”
Now she did wince. “The only part I’m not qualified for is the rock climbing. And I have actually done some climbs that weren’t in the gym. Taryn’s taken me a few times, but since I started grad school, there hasn’t been time. Look, she knows the handbook backward and forward. She’s certified in first aid, CPR, and a whole laundry list of other things you probably saw on her application. She absolutely is qualified to deal with the rock climbing, and she’ll be back in plenty of time to prove it. We’re supposed to meet in Briarsted to swap out a couple days before the certification test at the end of orientation.”
Beckett’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re asking what, exactly?”
“I’m asking you not to blow the whistle.”
“You’re asking me to lie.” The hard tone told her she’d lost this battle, but she made one last effort.
“I’m asking you to wait. She needs this job. More, she desperately wants this job, and she’ll be great at it. And if, for whatever reason, she doesn’t pass the certification tests, then whatever the consequences are, they’re on her. I’m just asking you to give her a chance.”
Shoving the plate away, he sat back and studied her, finally shaking his head. “I won’t lie to Michael. I won’t pretend the person I’m working with is qualified, when she’s not.”
Sarah’s hope withered. This was what failure felt like. Utterly wretched. It was why she didn’t take risks in her own life. Why she always strove to be the best at everything she did. On top of all that, she hadn’t realized exactly how much she’d wished she had a partner in crime. Or a partner at all. After being half of a duo most of her life, she and Taryn had been on opposite paths for the past several years, and she missed being half of a whole. But it really had been too much to ask for someone else to participate in their crazy. She blew out a breath. “I understand. I had no right to ask you to cover for her. For us. I’ll find the Tullys when we get back to camp and explain.”
“No, you won’t. You’re going back to camp, and we’re going back to that equipment shed. And I’m not letting you leave it until you can name everything in there, piece-by-piece. Then tomorrow morning, you’ll be up with the sun to start all over again.”
She stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“I won’t lie. But I’ll get you certification-ready myself.”
For a long moment she simply sat in stunned silence. He was offering to certify her. To go above and beyond to help her, help Taryn. “Why would you do that?”
“Much as I disagree with what you’re doing, I appreciate the motivation behind it. I get what it means for somebody to give you a chance when the odds are stacked against you. Add to that, I like you.” His mouth snapped shut after the admission, a little like slamming the barn door after the horses had gotten out.
He liked her. The confession caused a flutter in her chest and a bloom of heat in her cheeks. It was foolish, silly, girlish reaction. One she hadn’t felt since… She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been flattered and flustered at a guy’s interest. Add to that, he truly was serving himself up to be her hero. It was a potent cocktail, one Sarah didn’t know what to do with. As soon as her sister showed up, she was going back to New York. Nothing between them could really go anywhere. But the fact of the matter was, she liked him, too. A helluva lot.
“Thank you. Truly. My sister and I will both owe you.”
Beckett waved that way. “Not worried about that. Now finish your burger. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Beckett was going to regret this. What the hell was he thinking, promising to certify an almost totally green climber so she could pass as someone more experienced? Irritation—with himself, with the situation, with her—made his movements jerky as he unlocked the equipment shed and let them inside.
You weren’t thinking with your big boy brain.
Which was also ridiculous. She’d be gone in less than two weeks. Before the certification test, she’d said. Where did he think this was gonna go? Hadn’t he said he was bored with casual hookups?
He blamed Michael and Heather and their absurdly infectious happiness. He blamed this place. Most of all, he blamed the fact that he couldn’t bet against the underdog. He’d been one too often in his life, so he had sympathy for the real Taryn. And a helluva lot of respect for the sister who was willing to put herself out there trying to help her.
“Sit,” he ordered.
She did, without complaint, waiting as he gathered up gear. That ready acceptance of whatever he was gonna dish out had his temper cooling. She was a woman who did what needed to be done. Period. And he found that way too appealing. Maybe because he understood the need to do the hard thing, regardless of personal consequences. He had a feeling Sarah knew a lot more about consequences than her sister did.
By the time he sat across from her at the work bench, he was calmer. “I’m not going to ask you what you already know. I’ll teach you as I’d teach any novice.”
“Okay.”
He slipped into instructor mode, repeating the lecture he’d given so often to beginner classes in the past. He went over components, explained their purpose, showed how each worked together. Through it all, Sarah listened, intent. And when he asked her to repeat the details back, she did, without error.
“You’re a good student.”
A flash of that humor he’d caught yesterday lit her eyes. “Ought to be. I’ve practically made a career of it.”
Oh, right. She’d mentioned she was in grad school.
Beckett picked up one of the harnesses. “Now we’re going to suit you up.” As he took in her expression of alarm, he added, “Not to climb tonight. Just to show you proper harness fit and begin introduction to the knots you’ll be using.” He held it out so she could step into it.
Hesitating only a moment, she laid her hand on his shoulder for balance and slipped one leg through, then the other. Beckett rose and worked the harness up, which pulled her nearly flush against his body. He’d been in this position countless times before, but his blood had never begun to pump like this. Her hand was still on his shoulder and her pupils dilated wide, those Bambi eyes tempting him to dive in and drown.
“Where are you in grad school?” he blurted, pulling his attention back to the harness and reaching for the waist strap, threading it through the buckle on the first side with as much business-like efficiency as possible.
Her hand fell away. “Columbia. This time.”
“This time?”
A little sheepish, Sarah shrugged. “Taryn and I share an inability to settle on a career. Her response has been to move from job to job, trying out this or that. Mine has been to collect degrees.”
“An expensive thing to collect.” Even state colleges were hella expensive these days, and he knew well enough the cost of an Ivy League education. He was still paying his off.
“If you’re a good enough student, you can get scholarships or assistantships to pay for it. I like learning things, so as long as I could stay in school without going into debt, I picked that. It seemed less scary than the real world. My sister says I’m a terrible bookworm.”
She didn’t fit his mental image of a bookworm. Then again, he hadn’t been the typical MBA student either.
Beckett grabbed the other side of the waist strap and threaded it through the buckle, drawing it snug. “There shouldn’t be room to fit more than a couple of fingers in.” He demonstrated and immediately regretted it as his fingers pressed against the flat of her belly. Just a thin layer of cotton separated him from skin. Sarah hissed a breath. He started to apologize, but instead, his eyes tracked to her mouth. Her lips were pink and glossy. He wondered if she’d taste like the pale ale she’d been drinking at dinner.
“You’re supposed to…to double back the straps,” she said.
For a moment, his mind blanked because his hand was still on her, and he could feel her warmth against the backs of his fingers. What were they talking about?
“And tuck them in the sleeve.” Her throat worked as she swallowed.
The harness. He was fitting her for the harness.
Beckett cleared his throat. “Right. Good.”
Dropping his gaze, he finished adjusting the rest of the straps, which just put him in close proximity with those excellent legs of hers. His fingers itched to touch and stroke, to find out if her skin was as soft as it looked. Jesus, if he was this rattled by being close to adjust her harness, how was he going to teach her the rest of it? Straightening, he gave her harness a few tugs, checking the fit. It would just take one pull to haul her into him…
“This is a terrible idea.”
Beckett didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until she said, “Probably. But we’ve established I don’t run from terrible ideas.”
His eyes came back to hers, deep and dark and steady. Neither of them was talking about the climbing. The air between them snapped taut, shuddering like a rope under too much strain.
“Are we going to talk about this?’ he rasped.
“Do you want to talk?” There went her eyebrow, that little sign of the sass he liked so much.
“No.” If they talked about it, one or both of them would probably come to their senses, and this moment would disappear. Foolish as it was, he didn’t want that.
Sarah laid a hand on his chest. “Neither do I.”
To hell with it.
Beckett gave in, curling his hands around her harness and tugging her into him, until they softly collided, body-to-body. Her arms slid around his waist as she tipped her face up. Her mouth was soft, yielding beneath his on a sigh that fired his blood. Needing to touch her, he lifted a hand to cup her nape, stroking the silky skin there before angling her head so he could take the kiss a little deeper. On a sexy little moan, she rose up, opening for him. They hovered there at that delicious edge of thickening arousal, and then she dove.
She flooded his senses, the taste of her, the scent of her, wrapping around him, pulling him under, on a fast, reckless slide that burned through whatever sense remained. Blind and deaf to anything but her, Beckett shifted, backing her up until they bumped against the table. Mouth still fused with hers, he lifted her onto it. And Jesus, her legs were as smooth and toned as he imagined. She wrapped them around him, locking them at his back.
He skimmed his hands beneath her shirt, spanning the heated skin of her back. Hers followed suit, tunneling beneath his T-shirt to skate up his chest. Well, who was he to deny a lady? He yanked it off and found her lips again, glorying in the delighted purr she made as she explored his pecs and shoulders. When those fingers dug into his shoulders, he growled, and nudged up her tank top to find her pert breasts. She arched into his hands, against his hips, and he went half-mad, greedily swallowing down her whimpers of pleasure.
Before he could think—because thought had long since stopped—his hands went for the button of her shorts. And found straps instead.
Confused, Beckett hesitated, tearing his mouth away to see what the hell the impediment was. The harness. The damned climbing harness he’d just put on her himself.
“Call the locksmith,” Sarah gasped.
Her eyes were huge, dark, and devastatingly aroused.
“Did you just quote Men In Tights to me?”
Breath still heaving, the corner of that kiss-swollen mouth curved. “Seems I did.”
Beckett chuckled, dropping his brow to hers. The chuckle rolled into a full on whoop of laugher. “My God, you may be my perfect woman.” Finding a thread of control somewhere in the humor, he tugged down her shirt and skimmed a thumb over her cheek. “But this is not the perfect setting.”
Her smile was wry. “I suppose I got a little carried away.”
“I’m not complaining, as I was right there with you. But your chastity belt of webbing probably saved us from crossing a line that shouldn’t be crossed tonight.”
Sarah sucked in a breath and let it out on a long sigh. “You’re right. More’s the pity.”
“A pity indeed,” he murmured as she slid off the table. Because he didn’t care for the look of regret in her eyes, Beckett tipped her chin up and brushed a quick, soft kiss over her lips. “But hey, tomorrow’s another day.”