6. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Blyth
T he sweet sounds of birdsong wake me from a deep slumber. Between the fresh air and the excitement of tormenting Murphy, I slept like a baby last night, but waking up is a different matter. Sleep has crusted my eyes, breathing in burns due to my dry nose, and a sharp rock is attempting to carve a hole in my back.
Lovely.
The chirping birds become impossibly loud, and I rub vigorously at my eyes to clear them. The world is a little blurry, but there’s no mistaking the flapping sounds. Shadows of dozens of birds surround my tent, flying, diving, and walking about, pecking at the ground.
What in the world?
Cautiously extricating myself from the warmth of my sleeping bag, I crawl forward until I can touch the cold zipper that opens the front flap. I slowly pull up, unzipping it and peeking out to see an array of damn birds. Freaking flying rodents.
A shiver runs down my back. Although I can appreciate birds at a distance, being surrounded by so many makes me uneasy. Between their beady little eyes and sharp beaks, I’ve had many a waking nightmare about the strange dive-bombing creatures.
My eyes narrow on the ground, noticing the seeds everywhere, and understanding slowly dawns on me. Murphy can’t possibly know about my bird aversion, but his desire to run me off the mountain has been made abundantly clear. This is just the next escalation.
Locking my jaw, I decide to show him that this is absolutely no big deal –even if the idea of stepping out into the mayhem has me breaking out in a cold sweat. Locating my shoes, I put them on and unzip the tent the rest of the way before stepping out into the sunshine.
With a deep breath, I close it back up even though every instinct makes me want to run through these disgusting animals screaming like a psycho. The need to make a scene is so strong, but I push it down and walk evenly through the cawing monsters. My heart pounds in my chest, and I keep my eyes trained forward, trying to get through the cluster without having a total meltdown. And I almost make it…
A whoosh of air flies by my ear. I swear a damn wing grazes my cheek—and it’s the last straw.
“Away, you devil birds,” I shriek, flinging my hands up around my head to bat at the phantom menaces. My leg muscles bunch as I run through them, panicked and unseeing, just trying to get away from them. A pounding in my temples accompanies the wailing in my head, and I’m heading into a full-blown panic attack until a deep chuckle breaks through the dark haze.
My eyes snap to the porch, landing right on Murphy, who’s relaxing against the railing, drinking coffee. The steam rises in the cold air, swirling until it disappears in little smoky tendrils. He’s fully dressed for a hike, wearing jeans and thick-soled boots with his hair pulled back. Even when he’s an asshole, he’s still hot.
“Thanks for the wake-up alarm, Man-Bun,” I call chipperly, trying my best to calm my racing heart. I could scream and yell about his behavior, but even knowing him for barely a day, I can tell he won’t give a shit. “Do you have a cup for me?”
“Nope. Only made the one. If you want coffee, there’s a great place down in town. Go check it out. Take the tent with you.”
With those words, he turns his back on me to fiddle with the door. I wonder what he’s doing for a moment, but when a lock snaps into place, I get the message.
“Really, Murphy? You won’t even let me use the bathroom?” My bladder decides at just that moment to alert me to our urgent need.
“Plenty of bathrooms in town.” He slings a moss-green backpack over his shoulders and heads off into the woods without a backward glance.
Shit. Shit. SHIT.
Indecision rolls in my belly. I’m not dressed for hiking, but Murphy is disappearing fast, and with only five more days to get him to the wedding, I can’t lose even a single second.
Glancing back at my bird-covered tent, I shudder and make the decision.
“You have something red on your cheek,” I chirp, causing Murphy to glance back at me—finally. So far, this hike has been the absolute worst. Living in Lustre Lake, I’m no stranger to the joys of wandering the trails and the beauty of the great outdoors, but this man hikes like the hounds of hell are nipping at his heels. The pace is almost impossible to keep up with and he hasn’t answered even half of my questions—not that talking is all that easy at his breakneck pace.
It’s beautiful—the stunning foliage lighting up the woods. And I don’t even have my damn camera.
Freaking man-bun.
My thighs burn, and sweat drips down my back as I pant. Thirst has become my constant companion, and if my dad were here, he would be so damn pissed I went out in unfamiliar terrain without a water bottle, bug spray, or proper footwear. Then again, if my dad were here, he wouldn’t be surprised at my impulsive decisions and would likely have everything I need carefully tucked away in his bag.
Murphy reaches up and rubs his face, the red streak breaking and making me realize it’s paint.
“Is that paint? Did you make the mosaic on your house? Ohhhh, did you paint all the pretty blues in your bedroom?” I ask, dying to know more about the mystery man Drew considers family—even if he seems like a pretty shitty brother to me.
“Yes, the artwork is mine.” I’m shocked that he answers, and a million more questions leap to my dry lips. They are becoming sore and chapped, but I say nothing because I don’t want him to think I’m foolish.
“Is that something you do for fun? Or…” I trail off, hoping he will fill the void.
With a deep sigh, he answers, “I sell some of my artwork. It’s not a job. Just the spare pieces I don’t want when my studio becomes too full.”
“Tortured artist is kind of a hot look on you,” I chime in, and he lets out a snort that is close enough to a laugh that I chalk it up as a win. The silence takes over again, and my throat gets drier and drier until even breathing becomes difficult.
Damnit. I’m going to need to ask.
“Do you have anything to drink?” I finally croak, and embarrassment floods my cheeks.
The big man stops so abruptly that I nearly bump into his back, but he twists to pull his pack from his shoulders just in time.
“Did you follow me out here without any water?” He grumbles, rifling through the bag. Now that we’re stopped, I realize that the world is a little bit spinny. Tiny dots float behind my eyes, and I scan the area for somewhere to sit for a second.
“Shit, are you okay?” Large hands come from nowhere, guiding me down onto a rock. A cool bottle of water presses against the back of my neck, and instant relief swamps me when another touches my lips. My hands shake when I reach for it, but Murphy helps me hold the bottle steady, tipping it up and pouring a few drops down my throat. They instantly soothe the burning pain, and the world gets a little brighter.
“I’m fine. I can keep up,” I slur, not wanting Murphy to leave me behind in the woods all by myself. It may be beautiful here, but I’m not familiar with the trail, and the thought of being left behind fills me with dread.
“I know you can, Trouble. When was the last time you ate?” My eyes blink before focusing on him crouched in front of me. For once, he’s looking at me with something other than contempt, but I can’t even enjoy it.
“I…I can’t remember.” And it’s the truth. With all the traveling yesterday, I didn’t get a chance, and I was so tired last night that I didn’t bother making anything. I had packed camping gear, thinking I might need it, but food had slipped my mind.
Great job, Blyth.
The crinkling of a wrapper distracts me, and he presses a snack into my hand.
“You need a damn keeper, huh?” he asks with a shake of his head, but there’s no malice in his words—just a gentle amusement that makes my belly flutter. Something passes between us, and my world shifts when he runs a hand over my hair.
The granola bar dissolves on my tongue and tastes like heaven, perking up my stomach, so I demolish it in a few bites before guzzling down the bottle of water. My energy returns rapidly, and relief spreads through my limbs.
“That’s a good girl. Feeling better?” Murphy’s face is so close to mine that I can count the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. His words of praise unlock something within me, and before I take a second to control myself, I close the gap, pressing our lips together.
Murphy lets out a strangled groan, but he doesn’t pull away like I would expect, instead palming my head to tilt my chin up. His touch turns possessive, the kiss flames brighter and I open myself to him, twisting our tongues together in a dance as old as time.
Now we’re getting somewhere.