His lips quirked. “Exactly. Stay here for a second while I check it out.”
He took off his pack and stepped into the river with only the slightest hesitation. He slowly waded across, occasionally altering his course a fraction. At its deepest point, the water came no higher than the middle of his thighs. But it was moving pretty rapidly, and he stumbled once.
He reached the opposite bank and climbed out, then began to make a pile of stones, one atop the other. What was he doing? He finished the pile when it was maybe six inches high and waded back over.
“What are the stones for?”
“It’s called a cairn. It’ll give us something to aim for as we cross. With the exception of that one spot, about ten steps in, the water came no higher than mid-thigh on me. I’ll take our packs over and then come back for you.”
“Okay,” I said, glad to defer to his expertise and confidence.
He took his pack across without incident, then returned for mine, attaching the poles to it first. And then it was my turn.
He took my upper arm, and I held his forearm, the way we had earlier. “Slowly, now. The worst that will happen is you’ll get soaked. I can carry you, if you want.”
I wasn’t opposed to being swept up in his arms and held close to his chest, but… “No, thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I can do this. Like you said, the worst that’ll happen is that I’ll get wet—wetter.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
Rory was considerably taller than me, so while the water had only come up to his thighs, it came up nearly to my waist. It made for slow going, but we got across without any extra excitement.
On the other side, the path all but vanished, requiring us to move slowly and carefully.
We crossed the second river as we had the first one, going as far to the left as we could to where it was the shallowest.
A little farther, and we crossed through a campsite, then came out onto the road. And then the Sligachan Hotel loomed before us, as glorious and welcoming as any fairy-tale castle.
Heat. Shower. Real food. Bed.
Heaven.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rory
When we arrived at the bunkhouse, the proprietress, Mrs. Anderson, told us there was no availability. A large group of trekkers, who’d planned to camp out that night, decided to treat themselves to four walls, a roof, and real beds after the soaking they got on the trail that day. We could pay to use the showers, but there were no beds.
Amelia made a small sound, and when I looked over at her, she looked like she was about to sob. The whole day, she’d been so strong, bravely pushing through the pain and the cold and the wet with determination and a sense of humor, and now, when we finally reached the end of this day, she was going to be undone because of this?
Not if I could help it. “Mrs. Anderson, can you call over to the hotel and see if they have a vacancy?” The rooms there were expensive, but it would be worth it.
“Aye, of course, lovey,” she said. She knew me well after all this time.
She dialed a number and spoke for a moment, then covered the mouthpiece and looked up at us. “There’s one double room available.” She quoted a price that was high, but not as high as if it were a Saturday night. It didn’t matter—I’d pay anything for Amelia to have a bed.
“We’ll take it,” I said without hesitation. “Cheers, thanks.”
The look of relief in Amelia’s eyes was worth every pound I’d spend on the room. “I’ll shower at the bunkhouse and meet you for dinner at the hotel,” I said.
Her brow crinkled. “Shower at the bunkhouse? What are you talking about?”
“You can pay a few pounds to shower there even if you’re camping.”
“No, I mean, I know that—I read the sign. Why would you camp? We have a room.”
“No, you have a room.”
“You’re not going to share it with me?”
“Amelia, a double room means one double bed, not two beds.”
“I know what it means. And I’m not going to spend a nice cozy night in a real bed while you shiver in your tent on the hard ground!”
“I’ve camped in far worse conditions—and my sleeping bag is warm.” All true.
“Why are you being so difficult about this?”
“Excuse us a moment,” I said to Mrs. Anderson, who was watching us avidly, and led Amelia to the corner of the room. “I can’t share a bed with you. You’re a paying client, and it’s not appropriate.” Also true.
She scoffed at that. “First of all, who would even know? Second of all, barely an hour ago, you had your hands all over me, or have you forgotten? I think we left behind ‘appropriate’ two miles and a few rivers back.”
How could I forget? I could still taste her lips, still feel the shape of her breast against my hand, remember the way my body had fit against hers. But as much as I’d wanted to give in to the chemistry between us and make love to her in that cozy tent, I couldn’t. Amelia had been half-frozen, practically delirious. And though she had initiated the kiss, and seemed more than willing to take it wherever it might have gone, I couldn’t be sure she was truly of sound mind in that moment. It had taken every ounce of strength I had to tear myself away from her, and it had taken being submerged waist-deep in a river to finally quench the heat in my body.
“That won’t happen again,” I muttered. My focus had to be on getting her the rest of the way without further injury, not getting entangled with a lass who would be gone in a few days.
Her cheeks turned pink. “Whether or not that happens again also has nothing to do with you sharing the room with me,” she said.
“Amelia, I’m sorry, but we just can’t—”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “Rory, for God’s sake. I’m not going to force myself on you! I can take a hint, okay? Since you don’t want anything to do with me, it should make it easy for you to share the damn bed. But if you can’t handle it, then by all means, sleep in your goddamn tent.”
She turned and stalk-limped back to the desk. I stepped outside and walked a few feet away. I stared at the mountains and concentrated on my breathing, trying to calm my inner turmoil.
She thought I didn’t want her, but it was the complete opposite. I wanted her so much that I needed to keep my distance. She made me feel more than I’d felt in so long—whether we were fighting or trading stories, whether I was holding her against me in the icy water or curled around her in a sleeping bag, kissing her till the world outside faded away.
She had made my heart beat again, and she had the power to destroy it.
The door slammed behind me, and Amelia headed for the hotel, her back straight, her head held high, like the brave, feisty woman she was.
And though I knew I should stick with my original plan and camp outside, I couldn’t help but follow her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Amelia
When we got to the room, I immediately plugged in my phone to charge. Rory hadn’t said a word since the lobby, but he had followed me to the room, so I guessed the lure of a warm bed outweighed his fear that I would throw myself at him again.
I had never felt so humiliated in my life, and it was my own fault. What was I thinking, starting an argument like that in a public place? When Rory had left the bunkhouse and I’d returned to the counter to retrieve my pack, the other people milling around in the lobby had blatantly stared. I’d thrown them my best New York glare and hefted my backpack, slinging my arms through the straps.
Mrs. Anderson had looked at me sympathetically. When I’d thanked her for her help, she’d smiled kindly. “Of course, dearie. Just go to the front desk at the hotel. They’re expecting you.” She’d hesitated for a moment, then added in a low voice, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re wrong about young Rory.”
I was pretty sure she was right. Rory’s response to me in the tent had been pretty damn real. The question was, why was he fighting it? I needed to think—but first I needed to get clean.
I turned to him. He looked disturbed, miserable. Well, that made two of us. “Do you mind if I shower first?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. I’ll go to the bar and give you your privacy. But we need to talk about something.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t assault you in your sleep.”
He sighed. “That’s not what I was going to say. Look, today was really hard for you, and it’s likely to be worse as we go on, especially if the rain continues. I think you should consider stopping here in Sligachan. It’ll be easy enough for us to get a ride from here.”
I was shaking my head before he even finished the sentence. “No. I’m not quitting.”
“Amelia, please. If you keep pushing your knee, you could do permanent damage to it. If you quit now and take care of yourself, you can come back another time and do the trail.”
He was right—I knew he was right. But I couldn’t quit now. “I can’t. I need to do it now. I know you must think I’m ridiculous, but I just…I’m so afraid that if I don’t finish the hike, Carrie will never wake up.”
I sank down on the edge of the chair, utterly drained from the fight in the lobby and now this.
Rory knelt before me. “I don’t think you’re ridiculous. Determined, brave, and stubborn as hell, but not ridiculous. Never that.”
I forced myself to look away from those eyes, like bottomless pools of seawater after the rain. He spoke so sincerely, but all the pretty words in the world didn’t matter if he was refusing to help me. I had to finish. If he backed out on me now, I’d have to find someone else to guide me. It wouldn’t be the same, but I couldn’t let him derail me. Maybe Mrs. Anderson would know of someone that I could hire.
He laid his hand on top of mine. “Look, I promised I’d help you, and I won’t go back on my word.”
I snapped my gaze back to his, hope rising within me. “Really?”
His lips curved. “Especially since you’ll just do it anyway.” I felt my face grow warm. Was I that transparent? “At least this way I won’t have to worry about you hiring some feckless jackass to help you finish. But I had to ask.”
I nodded. “I appreciate you looking out for me.” Even if he was the most frustrating man on the entire island, and likely the entire country.
He got to his feet. “Do you need help with anything before I go?”
I wondered what he’d say if I asked him to help me get undressed. He’d probably do it out of obligation, but I didn’t want that. If he undressed me again, I wanted it to be because we were about to give in to the attraction between us. “No. I’ve got it. Thanks.”
“Look, I’m sorry about before—”
“I really need that hot shower, Rory,” I said, not wanting his apologies. If he couldn’t admit to himself that he wanted me, then there was nothing to say.
He just nodded and left the room.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rory
I left Amelia to her shower and headed for the bar. I didn’t think she’d agree to turn back, but I’d had to ask. It was the responsible thing to do. Yeah, because you’ve been so responsible up until now.
I lowered my weary body to the barstool and waited for Gavin to notice me. When he did, a big grin broke out on his face. “Sutherland!” He came around the bar, clasping my hand and pulling me into a hard hug.
“Good to see you, man,” I said, hugging him back. Gav was Tommy’s age and had been tending bar here for as long as I’d been guiding on Skye. He’d even come with us for some day treks a time or two.
“I was hoping you’d show up. Tommy said you’d stayed behind to help a lass who got injured? That was surprising to hear—until he mentioned she was pretty.”
“Pretty” was too ordinary a word to describe Amelia. I pictured the sleepy look in her eyes before she kissed me, the curve of her lips, the rosy flush on her cheeks, the rise of her breasts above the navy fabric of her bra. No, pretty was too mundane a word for her.
“Rory?”
Gav was looking at me questioningly, and I realized I needed to answer him. I rolled my eyes and pretended a nonchalance I didn’t feel. “She had an important reason to finish, and I told her I’d help her. The fact that she’s pretty has nothing to do with it.”
“If you say so.” He dodged the fist I aimed at his arm and went back around the bar. “So, where is this bonnie lass? I’d like to meet her.”
“She’s showering in our room—” Shit. Why the hell had I said that? As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them—especially when Gav’s face lit up.
“Our room, eh? Well done, you!”
“It’s not like that.” But it could be if you would only get out of your own way.
“So you’re not interested in her, then? Tommy seemed to think otherwise.”
“Tommy needs to get a hobby that doesn’t include me,” I muttered.
“Aye, he does, but we’re talking about you, not him. What’s the big deal, anyway? You’re both adults.”
“You know why I stay away from the lasses in the groups I’m guiding.”
“Rory, not every woman is going to be like Emma,” Gav said quietly.
Gav had met Emma a few times. He’d advised me to stay away from her, saying there was something off about her, which I’d ignored. And after all the shit went down with her—after she’d nearly cost me my job—he’d kept my glass topped off and just listened to me talk, then let me crash on his sofa. He was a good friend, never saying “I told you so” when that relationship had gone to hell.
“Sorry, Ror,” he continued. “I didn’t mean to butt in or to bring up Emma. I just know she did a number on you and that you haven’t really let anyone get close to you since then.”
“I haven’t been completely alone since Emma, you know.” I might not be like Tommy, with a lass in half the towns we passed through on our treks, but I wasn’t a total monk, either.
He nodded. “Aye, I know. You’ve been with a few lasses here and there. But you haven’t let anyone get close to you. As in the man, and not just the warm body,” he added with a waggle of his eyebrows.
I lunged for him, but he jumped back out of reach. “Seriously, man,” he said, all traces of humor gone. “You haven’t.”
I sighed. “Amelia has already gotten closer to me—the man—than anyone else has in…ever. She was also close to me—the warm body—when she nearly froze to death on the trail today.” And after. “But she’s not the kind of lass you walk away from after a few days. And I can’t have anything more than that, not with Amelia. She and I are just sharing a room for the night, and that’s it.”
And how in the hell is that going to go, exactly?
Gav pulled down two short glasses and poured a splash of Talisker Storm into each. “On me,” he said, sliding one my way and picking up the other.
“Slàinte,” I said, holding up the glass. He repeated the toast and we drank. The peaty whisky was like an old friend, its comforting warmth spreading through me.
The bar started to get busy, as it always did in the evenings. I ordered a Magner’s cider and nursed it, chatting with Gav every now and then when he had a quiet moment, but otherwise keeping to myself.
I texted Scarlet to let her know where we were and that Amelia was holding up okay. Then I texted Tommy.
At Sligachan. Amelia’s doing okay. BTW, Gav thinks I stayed behind “because of a pretty lass,” so thx for that. You know he’ll never drop it.
Tommy’s response came a few minutes later.
Hey man, I just said you’d stayed behind to help a lass who got injured. He asked if she was pretty—was I supposed to lie?
Whatever. All good with the group?
At Elgol now—about to meet for dinner. The cliffs were really shitty after that rain today, so be careful when you get there.
Thx. Will take it slow.
You staying at the bunkhouse?
Shit. I could lie and say yes, but there was no way Tommy wouldn’t find out from Gav.
The bunkhouse was booked. Got the last avail room at hotel.
You’re sharing with Amelia? Dude.
I told her I’d camp, but she insisted. We can handle it.
If we didn’t kill each other first.
Can’t wait to hear ALL about it.
Bugger off.
:) Take it easy, and maybe even try to have fun?
Bye, Tommy.
I set aside my phone and stared into my glass, my thoughts drifting back to Amelia. How could she think I wasn’t interested in her? How could she not know that I wanted her more than I wanted my next breath?
Tommy—and Gav, too—would tell me to stop overthinking, to just enjoy a short hookup with Amelia if she was up for it, and then say goodbye when the trek was over.
But honestly, I didn’t want that. Not with her. I’d already let her get closer to me than anyone had in a long time, and if we took it further, I’d be that much more wrecked when she left. And I couldn’t go through that again.
I glanced at my phone. It had been nearly an hour since I’d left Amelia in the room. I drained my cider and bumped fists with Gav. “See you in a few.” Even if Amelia was still mad at me, I didn’t think she’d pass on a hot meal that didn’t come out of a bag.
I reached the room and tapped lightly on the door. “Amelia, can I come in?”
“Yeah,” came her muffled voice.
I inserted my key in the slot and pushed open the door. Amelia sat on the edge of the bed in the jeans and black top she’d worn that first night. Her hair fell around her shoulders in loose waves, and she looked—utterly defeated, her phone dangling limply from her hand. Oh no. I closed the door behind me and strode to the bed. “Is it Carrie?”
She shook her head. “No.” Thank God. “But I thought—”
I hesitated a moment, then dropped down beside her and took her hand. “What did you think, love?”
The endearment just slipped out, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because I didn’t get a glare. Then she looked up at me, her chocolate-brown eyes shining with unshed tears, and all I could think was that I wished she’d glared at me, because her anger was better than the sadness that was there now.
Under a Storm-Swept Sky Page 15
