Lucky Harbor: At Last Part 3

"You give good marshmallow," she said.

He gave good other things, too, but he kept that to himself.

When they were high on sugar, they balanced it out with the beef jerky. Amy unzipped her backpack, and he unabashedly peered inside, catching her drawing pad, colored pencils, a hiking guide, lip gloss, and a pocketknife before she pulled out an apple and zipped the pack closed.

She was a puzzle, he thought. All tough girl on the outside, girlie-girl on the inside, and a whole bunch of other things he couldn't quite put a finger on yet.

She handed him the apple. He took a bite, then handed it back. They shared it down to the core, drank their waters, and then Amy yawned wide.

"I'm sorry," she said, and yawned again. "I had the morning s.h.i.+ft at the diner. I'm exhausted."

"Bedtime then." He stoked the fire, then rose and pulled her up as well, turning her toward the tent.

She stared inside at the still rolled-up sleeping bag. "This is yours. I can sleep in your truck."

"The bucket seats suck, and the truck bed's ridged and cold as h.e.l.l. You've had a long day and need some sleep. Take the tent."

She bit her lower lip, her eyes suspicious again. "And you?"

"I'll be by the fire. I have an emergency blanket, I'll be fine."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I can't let you do that. You'll get cold."

"Are you offering to share the tent?"

Her gaze dropped down to his chest, and she chewed on her lower lip again-which was driving him insane. He wanted to chew on that lower lip and then soothe the ache with his tongue.

"Sharing is a bad idea," she finally said. "A really, really bad idea." But she gave him another slow sweep. His chest, his abs, lower... Her pupils dilated, giving her away.

Either she had a head injury he didn't know about or looking him over had aroused her. "Sometimes," he said, "bad ideas become good ideas."

"No, they don't."

He didn't like to disagree with a woman, especially a pretty, s.e.xy woman whom he'd been dreaming about getting naked and licking every inch of her body. But he absolutely disagreed on this.

Vehemently.

Instead of voicing that, he gave her a nudge into the tent. "Zip up behind you."

When she did, he let out a long breath and stood there in the dark between the fire and the tent for a long beat. You're an idiot, he told himself, and shaking his head, he moved closer to the flames. Leaning back, getting comfortable, or as comfortable as he could without a sweats.h.i.+rt or his sleeping bag, he stared at the sky. Normally, this never failed to relax him, but tonight it took a long time.

A very long time.

It was his body's fault, he decided. He definitely had a few parts at odds with each other, but in the end, it was his brain that reminded him of the bottom line. He'd come here to Lucky Harbor for some peace and quiet, to be alone.

To forget the h.e.l.l his life in Chicago had turned into.

And it had been complete h.e.l.l, having to turn in his own partner for being on the take, then facing the censure of his fellow cops.

And then there'd been his marriage.

Sh.e.l.ly had never liked his hours or the danger he'd faced every day. In return, he'd never liked that she hadn't taken her own safety seriously enough. And when it had all gone bad and she'd gotten hurt... well, that had been another sort of h.e.l.l entirely.

And his fault. He 100 percent blamed himself.

That had made two of them. Sh.e.l.ly had told him in her parting shot that he was better off alone, and he honestly believed that to be true. All this time he'd thought it...

At some point during this annoying inner reflection, he must have finally fallen asleep because he woke up instantly at the sound of Amy's scream.

Chapter 4.

A day without chocolate is like a day without suns.h.i.+ne.

Breathless, heart pounding, Amy lay flat on her back in the pitch dark. s.h.i.+t. Okay, so that was the last time she ever tiptoed into the woods by herself to find a nice, big tree to pee behind. Her downfall had been the walk back to camp. It'd been so dark, and her flashlight had given enough light for exactly nothing.

And she'd slipped on something and slid.

Down.

And down.

She'd lost her flashlight on the descent, and now she couldn't see much except the vague black outline of the canopy of trees far above her. Or at least she hoped those were trees. Claustrophobic from the all-encompa.s.sing blackness, and more than a little worried about creepy crawlies, she sat up and winced. Her left wrist was on fire. So was her b.u.t.t. Great, she'd broken her b.u.t.t. She could see the headline on Facebook now-Amy Michaels cracks her crack during a potty break on the mountain.

The worst part was that this was all her own fault. She was street smart and had been c.o.c.ky enough to believe she could handle herself. Her mistake, because she should have known better-bad things could happen anywhere. They'd always happened to her, from back as far as when her grandma had died. Back then, a twelve-year-old Amy had gone to live with her mother for the first time, and oh how she'd hated that. Her mother had hated it, too, and Amy had grossly misbehaved, acting out in grief and teenage hatred. She'd sought attention, bad attention, in the form of inappropriate s.e.x, using it as a way to manipulate boys. Then the game had been turned on her, and she hadn't liked it much. It'd taken her far too long to realize she was destroying herself, but eventually she'd given up dangerous s.e.x. h.e.l.l, she'd pretty much given up men, no matter how gorgeous and s.e.xy they were.

It'd been so long she felt like a virgin. At least an emotional virgin.

And now she was going to die as one.

A beam of light s.h.i.+ned down on her from above. Not G.o.d. Not a fairy G.o.dmother. Just Matt, calling her name, concern clear in his voice.

"Down here," she said. Where all the stupid girls end up on their broken b.u.t.ts. "I'm coming."

"Don't move."

"But-"

"I mean it, Amy. Not a muscle."

"Well jeez, if you mean it..."

No response to that. Seemed the laid-back forest ranger wasn't feeling so laid-back right now.

He got to her quickly and without falling, she noted with more than a little bitterness. And unlike her, he could apparently see in the dark. Crouched before her, he was nothing but a big, built shadow holding her down when she'd have gotten to her feet. "Stay," he said, voice firm.

"Stay?" she repeated with a disbelieving laugh. "What am I, a dog?"

"Where are you hurt?"

"Nowhere."

He flicked the light over her, eyes narrowing in on the wrist she was hugging to herself. "Hold this," he said, and put the light in her good hand so he could probe at her other wrist.

She hissed in a breath, and he slid his gaze to hers. "Can you move your fingers?"

She showed him just how much her middle finger could move.

"Nice," he said. "So nature call, huh?"

She didn't answer, distracting herself by s.h.i.+ning the light around them to make sure they weren't being circled by bears or mountain lions. What she did see stole her breath more than Matt's gentle maneuvering of her wrist.

They were at the base of a meadow. "Sierra Meadows?"

"Yeah, although this is the back way in." Matt glanced up at her face. "Why?"

"No reason."

"Why do you try to bulls.h.i.+t a bulls.h.i.+tter? You were looking for Sierra Meadows?"

"Yeah."

"It's not a very well-known place," Matt said. "Hard to get to-well, unless you fall into it."

"Ha ha." She wondered how hard it'd be to find this place again on her own.

"So why Sierra Meadows?"

"I read about the wall of diamond rocks. I wanted to see them."

"They're a couple of hundred yards across a very soggy meadow from here. But worth seeing-in the light of day." He took the flashlight back. "I don't think your wrist is broken but you've got a good sprain going. What else hurts?"

"Nothing."

He obviously didn't buy this since he gave her a rather impressive eye roll and began running a hand down her limbs with quick, impa.s.sive efficiency.

"Hey!" She pushed his hand away. "I already had my annual."

Finished with her arms, legs, and ribs, he merely tilted her head back and looked into her eyes. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"One," she said. "But as I already showed you, it's much more effective when it's the middle finger."

He smiled. "You're fine."

"I keep telling you that."

"Come on." Rising to his feet, he pulled her to hers.

At the movement, pain shot up her tailbone, but she controlled her wince and let him help her back up the hill.

"I've seen just about everything there is to see out here," he said at the top. "But I've never seen anyone fall down that ravine before."

"So glad to give you a first."

"You should have woken me up."

For a pee escort? h.e.l.l no. They were at their campsite now, and he gave her a little nudge toward the tent. She crawled inside and back into the sleeping bag, pulling it over her head, hoping to pretend that she was at home, in a warm bed. But at home, she never had worries about bears and mountain lions, and for all she knew also the big bad wolf. She certainly never s.h.i.+vered like this at home either.

When had it gotten so cold?

Her b.u.t.t suddenly vibrated, scaring her for a second until she realized it was the cell phone in her back pocket. With some maneuvering, she pulled it out and read the text from Mallory.

Good girl lesson #2: When your BFF sends you a gorgeous guy, you call her and thank her. That's good manners. Good girl lesson #3: Stop scowling. You'll scare away the aforementioned gorgeous guy.

Amy was definitely scowling and didn't plan to stop anytime soon. She considered hitting reply and telling Mallory exactly what she thought of the good girl lessons so far, but just then the sleeping bag was yanked off her head, and it wasn't the big, bad wolf. Actually, if she squinted, there were some similarities.

"Your arm," Matt said, on his knees, head ducked low to accommodate the tent ceiling. He had a first-aid kit and had pulled out an ACE bandage, which he used to wrap her wrist. Then he slapped an ice pack against his thigh to activate it and set her wrapped wrist on it. He pulled out a second ice pack and eyed her.

She narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"You going to let me look at it?" he asked.

Her free hand slid to her own behind. "How did you know?"

"Wild guess," he said dryly. "Let me see it."

"Over my dead body."

He let out a breath and dropped his chin to his chest for a moment. Either he was praying for patience or trying not to laugh. When he had himself together, he moved with his usual calm efficiency and unzipped her sleeping bag, yanking it from her before she could so much as squeak.

Which she did.

He ignored that and held her down effortlessly with one hand on her waist and one on her thigh. "Be still," he said.

Be still? Was he kidding? "Listen, I'm going to be still with my foot up your a.s.s-"

"You're bleeding."

"What?" She immediately stopped struggling and tried to see what he was seeing. "I am not. Where?"

"Your leg."