Chapter Thirteen
I had not intended to love him…he made me love him without looking at me.
River and the other members of the backpacking group scrape together some equipment for me to borrow, enough that I don’t need to buy anything. Not even boots. Turns out, Jocelynn’s the same size as me.
The first mile up Vallecito Creek Trail a gently rising path.
We traipse over red dust, roots, and the occasional stone.
The group strings itself out fast, stretching along the trail like a bead of water, each person hiking their own pace.
River and I drift toward the back, his stride lazy and his mood shifting from goofball to something more reverent.
“How do like backpacking so far?” he asks, not even out of breath from carrying his heavy pack.
Can’t say the same for myself. My shoulders are already starting to ache. “We’re only an hour in,” I tell him. “Ask me this evening.”
“Cool. Will do.”
He strides ahead, unbothered, and I take a deep breath.
Not that I don’t enjoy River’s company. But all I really want right now is take in the scenery, and enjoy the feeling that life is full of possibility.
Despite my heavy gear and the blisters already forming on my toes, I like that instead of reading Escape From the Springs, I’m living it.
But that night, it rains. And yet, somehow it’s still hot. Jocelynn (my tentmate) and I play twenty questions as we lie on top of our sleeping bags, hoping water won’t leak in through our nylon ceiling.
Spoiler alert: It does.
The next morning, we’re hiking back when River comes up to me. “Hey—with last’s night storm, I forgot to ask. What’s your verdict on backpacking?”
“Despite everything,” I tell him, “I think I’m in love.”
His grin is so wide, it’s like I just declared my love for him instead of for hiking. But that’s arrogant of me. If I actually told River that I love him, he’d probably run right back up Vallecito Creek Trail.
It’s late evening when I return to Resilience Ranch. Chet is by his firepit again, just like on the night of our first real conversation. I pull up in my car, park near my trailer, and do my best at pretending that I don’t notice him sitting there.
But he sees right through me.
“Jane!” Chet calls, as I’m retrieving stuff from my car’s trunk. “Come join me. I’ve got bourbon. You’re from Kentucky,” he slurs. “So you gotta like bourbon.”
I stroll over. “How much of that have you had?”
He shrugs. Rather than answering, he passes me the bottle.
This time, there’s a chair already set up, right next to him. I sit and take a swig of bourbon. It burns going down.
“How was backpacking?” Chet asks.
“Great,” I answer. “The trail was beautiful. Even though we got rained on, it was totally worth it.”
“Can be romantic,” Chet says, “camping in the rain.”
“I suppose,” I answer. “But it wasn’t that sort of trip.”
His dark eyes do this sexy, interrogation thing, practically burning two holes into my skull. “Really? River seems like the lover boy type.”
“I wouldn’t know.” I chuckle nervously. “There was a group of us. My tentmate was a woman in her mid-thirties.”
Chet’s head tilts to the side. “Then why’d you make it sound otherwise?”
“What do you mean?”
He sighs. “When you asked for time off, you said, and I quote, ‘River wants to take me backpacking.’ Then you made sure to point out how handsome River is, how ‘amazing’ his eyes are.”
Now it’s my turn to sigh. “Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” Chet says, scratching his chin. “But you’re an enigma, Jane.” He takes another swig of bourbon. “And I’m gonna add that to the list.”
“You’ve got a list?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He taps his finger to the side of his head. “It’s in here.” Chet’s whisper is dramatic, like he’s sharing some huge secret. “All the reasons I should stay away from you.”
On the inside, I’m reeling. On the outside, I’m determined to stay impassive. “Come again?”
“You want to hear the list?” He gives me a wolfish grin. “Of course you do; here we go. Number one—you’re an enigma.”
“Hold on. Shouldn’t that be the last reason, since you just came up with it?”
“Nah. I sent it straight to the top.” He sniffs. “Number two—you have an ex-fiance?.”
“How do you know that I—”
“In the blue barn,” he states. “You said you’re afraid of ex-fiance?s.”
“Kudos to your inference skills,” I say. “But why is having an ex-fiance? a bad thing?”
“It’s not,” Chet answers. “Except, it means you’re looking to get married, which makes you bad for me.”
“But I’m not looking to get married.” Reaching out, I grab the bourbon bottle from Chet.
I practically chug it. “Maybe I was before,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, “but once I found the ex-fiance? in question screwing my sister-in-law, I lost all my childish, romantic notions.” The liquor is already melting me from the inside out.
To my horror, I let out a belch. “Marriage is the last thing on my mind.”
“You can say that,” Chet responds. “And you probably even believe it. But you’re the marriage type, Jane. And once you settle down, you’ll expect total honesty from your husband. Because you never lie, isn’t that right? So you can’t conceive of it others. That’s number three on my list—too honest.”
“Sure. Whatever.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Tell me why you feel the need for a list.”
“Because,” he says. “You’re attracted to me.
I can tell.” He laughs, not unkindly, but still.
“Usually, I wouldn’t hesitate to—you know.
‘Indulge in your charms.’ But that leads me back to my list. Not every reason is about you.
In fact, most of them,” he points a finger to his chest, “are about me. Like, I’m your boss.
We practically live together. And then there’s reason number .
. .” He pauses, blinking. “What number was I on?”
“Let’s see.” I start counting off on my fingers. “Enigma, marrying type, too honest, my boss, live together—that’s five.”
He nods. “Thank you. So. Number six—you’re way too good for me.”
I burst out laughing. “No reason to let me down easy, Chet. It’s not like I was propositioning you.”
“Not yet.” He leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. And, damn. Desire pings inside me.
But come on. Am I going to let him control this narrative? Maybe Jane Wreck would have, but the new and improved Jane Adkins has other ideas. “Okay, Chet. Since we’re not holding back with hard truths tonight, what about Birdy?”
His face falls. “What about her?”
“Why isn’t she on your list of reasons to stay away from me?”
He sucks in a breath. “We broke up. You already knew that, right? Everyone on social media’s seen it.”
“Normally, I don’t go on social media,” I tell him. “It’s not my thing. But yeah, I made an exception and read all about you and Birdy on Instagram. How you dumped her while she’s battling cancer. Is that true?”
He leans toward me. Our knees touch and neither of us pulls away. “If it’s on Instagram, then it must be true.”
We’re both silent. The only sound is our breathing and the crackling flames. I place my hand against his thigh. “What if I don’t want you to stay away from me?”
He looks down at where I’m so boldly touching him. Then he looks back up; his eyes are like two hot coals, making me breathless. “That leads me to reason number seven,” he says, voice thick and ragged. “I’m a bastard who doesn’t care about what other people want.”
“Well . . .” I refuse to blink or look away. “What about what you want?”
For a long moment, it’s like a game of chicken—we’re both waiting to see who will blink first. Then, suddenly, Chet grabs my hand from his thigh.
But rather than letting me go, he pulls me up and onto his lap so that I’m straddling him.
He grips the back of my neck, drawing me forward.
I can smell his bourbon breath. I’m inching down his lap, aware that he’s already hard.
But then, his phone—which was sitting on the wide armrest of his Adirondack chair—lights up and vibrates. Our heads both turn, seeing the name on the screen: Birdy.
He swallows roughly. “Should probably get this.”
I bolt off his lap. “Of course.”
Chet gets up. He walks toward his house, speaking softly into his phone. “Hey. Thanks for me calling me back.”
I look down. The bourbon bottle fell to the ground. So I pick it up; there’s probably two shots-worth left. And I head to my trailer, where I finish off that bourbon.