Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We’re five miles into our hike for the day, and I’m already dreaming of settling down tonight on my horrible sleeping pad. Those dreams may also involve more snuggling against a certain hot body, but I can’t exactly help myself.
I squint my eyes at the sun, wondering if it’s angry that it gets the blame for the stifling heat when the canyon and its greedy hoarding of the sun’s rays are really to blame, like a warted witch cackling over her cauldron of salted, slow-roasted humans.
“Hey, Rash Girl!”
Just when I start to think I’m winning at this hiking thing, I hear those words. It’s not easy holding back every whiny thought about the heat and pretending like I’m unfazed while I resemble someone who’s been in a sauna for ten hours. It takes concentration. And that voice just busted my bubble.
The desire to shush Brandon with a hand over his mouth is strong.
For some reason, having him utter that ridiculous nickname in these ancient corridors makes me cringe, like my reputation is on the line, and I can’t have the canyon thinking ill of me.
There’s also the small fact that Brandon and Chad are most likely at the top of Jack’s suspect list, and they probably should be, considering our weird interactions.
Jack bristles as Brandon and Chad get closer. It’s the first time we’ve seen them since I spotted Brandon sneaking around last night.
Chad quickens his steps, trying to fall into stride beside me even though I’m already walking next to Jack and the four-foot-wide path is supposed to be more of an unspoken single-file thing.
“I’m feeling a little jealous,” he says with a smug purse of his lips.
“You’re clearly no longer on a solo trip. ”
Jack has slowed to place a hand on my hip and motions for me to walk ahead of him. My lips roll in as I follow his intentions. Chad tries to overtake him, too, but Jack steps in his way, staring him down.
“She’s still got that rash.”
Oh, for flip’s sake!
This rash bit is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
Meanwhile, the three men have stopped walking and are currently in some sort of standoff. Jack’s jaw muscles pulse as he looks down at the other two, taller than Chad by a good few inches.
“Hey, man, we were just making a joke. No need to go all Hulk smash on us.” Chad laughs, patting Jack on the arm.
The second his hand makes contact, Jack tenses even more, and I see it in the slightest lift of his shoulders.
But then I do a double take once I realize he’s actually smiling at Chad.
How the hell does Chad get a smile, yet I have to fill out an application and provide a blood sample for one?
But the longer I stare, I realize this isn’t the type of smile I’d want to be the recipient of.
It’s a scary smile, filled with promises of pain.
The heat must be acting like an accelerant, feeding the tension crackling around us. This is definitely one of those I know, you know, I know situations, and everyone is on edge, waiting to see who will make the first move.
“Enjoy your hike, gentlemen. There are Park Rangers roaming around if you need anything.” Then Jack turns, guiding me to do the same, and we resume walking, leaving the others to consider his subtle warning.
I’m a little disappointed, since Jack went into Rambo mode before I could suggest we use this meet up as an opportunity to get closer to Chad and Brandon.
It’s not exactly a use-me-as-bait approach, because all I’d be doing is talking.
And possibly telling Jack to peek into their bags while I distracted them.
But still, I’d like to contribute and pull my weight when I can, especially when I can’t even carry my own bag without panting like an asthmatic pug by the time we finally stop for a break off the path.
“I didn’t know this part of the hike was a sprint.” I lean forward, hands on my knees, but Marigold is still a heavy girl, and I begin to topple. Jack pounces forward, barely saving me from faceplanting into an angry looking cactus.
He pulls me upright, but I’m still out of breath, so my nostrils end up flaring unflatteringly with my heavy breathing. The picture of feminine grace right here.
“You’ve carried things on your back before, right?” Jack asks, head tilted and eyes narrowed.
“The only thing I’ve been carrying on these shoulders for the past decade is a Disney Princess mini-backpack and years of emotional trauma.”
“What about at school?” He frowns, not removing his hands from my arms.
“Messenger bag.” I shrug. “I’m not usually in this much of a rush. Why are we practically running, anyway?”
He steps back, shaking his head like he’s snapping out of a daydream. A gritty throat clear follows. “I wanna put some space between us and your fan club. If they pass, I can approach them at their campsite from behind. Plus, I didn’t like having them at my back.”
“Maybe we should have been a bit more friendly though…”
“Why?” He scowls like this is the most distasteful thing imaginable.
“You know…to get close to them. Find stuff out.”
He nods, jaw jutting to the side as he folds his arms. “And how do you see that happening, exactly?”
He’s setting me up for something, but I humor him, letting him think he’s going to come out of this on top. “I’m not saying it was a good one, but it was a plan, and we could’ve workshopped it. You know, if you’d have stopped Hulking out and let me have any input back there.”
My arms cross too. For added sass.
He stifles a huff. “Please, share this master plan of yours with me.”
I grin. “Well…there’s always the classic decoy tactic. I could distract them while you take a peek into their bags.”
He nods, lips pursed, pretending to consider it like he doesn’t think this is a dumb plan. “Distract them how?” The added frown is a nice touch.
“With my feminine wiles, of course.”
He clicks his tongue, grimacing with feigned regret. “I don’t think that would work.”
“You don’t think my wiles would have any effect?” I ask, batting my lashes. Then I step closer, and he clears his throat, straightening as I approach.
“It’s too risky,” he says, his voice too even.
“You’re right.” My shoulders slump, and I drop my eyes, tucking my arms around myself. “It’s stupid. But I wanna feel helpful, you know? Like I’m not just baggage.”
Jack exhales, glancing to the side before his eyes dart back to me, his jaw tense. “You’re not baggage, Lo. But I need to keep you safe. This whole thing feels volatile.”
No one has ever given me that nickname before, and it steals my breath every time he says it.
We’re so close now, Jack having closed the remaining space between us.
I raise my hand, lightly touching my cheek while the other one slips into the side pouch of his pack, stealthily slipping his spare utility knife between my fingers.
“How’s your cheek feeling?” He questions, nudging my hand away from my face and replacing it with the pad of his thumb. “Does it still hurt?”
“It’s a bit tender and a little itchy.” I lift my lashes, meeting his steely gaze. “I have a question for you, though.”
He nods, eyes locked on mine, like I could ask anything of him and he’d be powerless to deny me.
“Do you think my feminine wiles are working now?” I lift my hand, displaying his knife in my palm. A smile spreads across my face while Jack frowns.
His lips roll in over his teeth as he looks away, nodding. “You’re good.”
“Why, thank you.” I bounce excitedly on my toes, tossing his knife to him before lowering myself to the biggest rock I can find. “I understand you feel this need to keep everyone safe, Jack. I won’t deny you that. But I had to prove a point, you know.”
Jack grunts in reply as he steps in to slide Marigold off my back, and I let a groan slip out as I stretch. He looks frozen in panic when I turn to him.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He swallows and blinks before seemingly thinking better of it and busies himself with digging snacks out of my bag.
We sit in silence while dragonflies buzz nearby, adding their humming to the midday soundtrack.
There’s a collective hissing and singing of bugs that sounds like a sizzling frying pan.
I feel like I’m in that pan, unable to escape the oppressive heat and looming sense of danger.
I will overcome this test, though. The canyon might be trying to push me to my limits, but I’m determined to prove myself.
I’m not a quitter.
“Do you have a place in mind to camp?” I ask, using precious trickles of water from my bottle to wet a bandana and tie it around my neck. Why did I not do this earlier?
“We’ll take it slower the next two miles till we get to Cottonwood Campground, and we can freshen up before finding somewhere out of the way to set up for the night.
I wanna see what Thing One and Thing Two are doing when we get there, if they’re setting up camp or waiting around to see what we do.
I have a feeling they’ll try to get close again.
” He pins me with a stern look. “But no feminine wiles.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I smile sweetly.
“There’s also no toilet where we’ll be camping, so we’ll be roughing it if you need to go once we’ve set up. I don’t wanna be too close to Cottonwood campground.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I flinch, and my smile straightens.
“You’ll be fine. I have a small shovel to dig a hole. You just gotta bag whatever T.P you use.”
“And carry it with me?” I gasp. I’m beginning to think Sue had the right idea with her pee-cloth. However that works.
“You’ve got this, Princess,” he says with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “You can do more than you think you can.”
I think I can stop drinking water right this minute and ensure I don’t have to dig a whole to pee in later.
I pout, hearing a chuckle, but by the time my gaze swings back to Jack, all traces of his laugh are gone and he’s standing, offering me a hand.
One of these days I’ll make him laugh, and it’ll be one of my most hard-earned achievements.
“You ready to get going?” He asks.
“Is piggybacking an option?”
“Not unless you’re greatly injured.”
“Do emotional wounds count?”
“Come on, Princess.” Jack stands, turning and holding out a hand to pull me up. “You have a canyon to conquer.”
Then his mouth erupts into the most beautiful grin I’ve ever seen, his perfect teeth on full display. The shock unhinges my jaw. He needs a sign around his neck warning unsuspecting women of the power of his smile. He offers me his hand again, which I robotically accept.
Once I’m upright and harnessed to good ‘ol Marigold, I turn my paper bag upside down.
The last snack, a cute little box of raisins, drops onto my palm, followed by a roughly torn piece of paper.
Jack has just buckled his backpack, turning to witness the yellow scrap flutter to the ground.
The rustle of it feels unnaturally loud, like the cliffs around us are holding their breath.
His gaze narrows, both our gazes bouncing between one another and the offending note on the ground.
“Did you have one of those with your lunch?” I pull my face into a wince.
“I did not,” Jack replies, controlled rage in his voice.
With slow movements, I bend, grunting as Marigold’s weight nearly topples me over again.
She’s looking more and more like a tortured kid’s toy with her stitched-up side and scuffs.
I’m sure she stumbled into all this the same way I did—very unintentionally.
Just a couple of gals with dreams of remaining stylish.
A sharp exhale escapes as I unfold the paper, my eyes silently reading each word.
This is your last chance before someone gets hurt.
Leave the bag behind the restroom.
“Well, crap.”