“I’ll do it,” he said.
She blinked. Had he just said yes?
“I’m not promising greatness or mediocrity or even that I won’t pass out on the stage, but I can tell it matters to you. So I’ll try.”
Her hands came together in a surprised clap. “Are you serious? I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you so much!”
A simple thanks barely covered it. She wanted to grin and twirl him around the room and plant the biggest, longest kiss of her life right on his lips. Admirably, she restrained herself.
“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to butter me up,” she said. “Everyone knows the best way to get in a girl’s pants is to impress her employer.”
At her words, Fletcher stiffened and sat up, his smile tight. She thought for a moment that she’d offended him somehow, that her fervor had once again ruined the moment, but she caught sight of Sean emerging from the hallway and chalked it up to that.
Fletcher wouldn’t be upset with her just because she’d crossed the line into flirtation for once. Would he?
# # #
“You can borrow that tie, but I still think you should go with the green. It’ll match your bewitching eyes.” Sean sat across the living room, nonchalantly swiveling on a barstool as though Fletcher wasn’t facing the biggest crisis of his life.
Naturally, Sean found this entire thing hilarious. Sean found everything hilarious. It was his gift, right up there with the same personable charm that came so naturally to all the Sinclairs.
“I was told to wear the blue,” Fletcher explained, straightening the slate-colored silk noose. That was what it felt like, wrapped around his throat—which was already so dry he felt each breath rasp his flesh raw as it worked its way down.
Sean snorted and finally stopped spinning, his hands coming to rest on the bartop. The bar wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded, just a kitchen counter Fletcher had repurposed and put in his living room. It was the only real sign of his confirmed bachelorhood. The rest of his house was neat, clean, and sparse. Exactly the way he liked it—though the emptiness had a way of feeling oppressive, especially around the holidays.
“You don’t have to do this, you know. No matter how much Lexie whines.” Sean ran a quick glance over Fletcher and nodded. “She’s dragged me to this luncheon three times over the years. It’s nothing but wilted salad, rich women, and men who would rather be skiing. Most of the guests only come because they’re looking to pay down on their guilt complexes.”
Fletcher looked at his reflection and aimed for a smile. He missed. “It’s not so bad.”
Sean released a scoffing sound. “You only say that because you’ve never gone before. Lexie has a way of making people do things against their will. Donating their life savings. Rescuing the world’s children.” He paused and added pointedly, “Speaking at benefit luncheons.”
“Of those three things, I think my sacrifice is the smallest.”
“Shouldn’t you go out with one of the many women who’s slipped you her number instead? Some of them seemed pretty . . . you know. Girly.” As Sean’s tastes ran the exact opposite, that was a generous compliment.
Fletcher was saved from having to respond by the sound of Lexie’s car pulling up. His own vehicle had decided the winter freeze was too much and finally went under, making him the only car salesman in the world who had to bum a ride to charity functions.
The horn beeped loudly.
“She’s not even going to come to the door? I swear, she’s the laziest person I know.” Sean paused on the threshold, his hand on the door as Fletcher shrugged into his coat. “You’ll be careful?”
“It’s just a few people and overcooked chicken,” Fletcher said. “How bad could it be?”
“I’m not talking about that,” Sean said.
Fletcher shifted uncomfortably, the necktie closing even tighter around his throat. Don’t say it. Please, don’t say it. Words had a way of making things painfully real.
“I know you like to keep things close, Fletch, and I’m the last man on earth who will ask questions you’d rather not answer. But Lexie flits through her own cotton-candy-colored world, where rainbows shit puppies and her actions don’t have consequences.” Sean paused, letting the words settle. “She can be really thoughtless about things like this. She can be really thoughtless about a lot of things where you’re concerned.”
For the first time in their long friendship, Fletcher felt a burst of anger directed at Sean. It started in the pit of his stomach and spread outward, hot where it hit his nerve endings. There was no confusing Sean’s words, and as much as he might hate doing anything to jeopardize the safety of his friend zone barricade, he couldn’t stay silent. Not about this.
“No.”
“No?” A smirk lifted Sean’s lips as he waited for the rest. “That’s it?”
“You’re wrong about her.” The whole world was wrong about her—that was the only explanation for why it kept revolving, why anyone passed her by without falling hopelessly at her feet. “You’ve always taken Lexie for granted. You’ve always underestimated her.”
“She’s my sister.”
“She’s also a lot more than that—including a human being worthy of respect. She feels things just as deeply as the rest of us, you know. Deeper, actually.”
Sean’s smile was still firmly in place, but something had shifted—something subtle and small but pressed up against the most sensitive part of their friendship like a stubborn pebble. This was why Fletcher didn’t want to talk about his feelings for Lexie. This was why he would continue taking cautious steps, never too close but never too far. There was so much more than his emotions at stake here.
“No one feels things deeper than you do, Fletcher,” Sean said, shaking his head sadly. “No one.”
Fletcher swallowed heavily as the horn sounded again and he had no choice but to trade one sibling for the other.
That statement was truer than he cared to admit.
Chapter Six
Lexie was in her element.
Fletcher would have been hard-pressed to say why the ballroom done up in silver and gold suited her so well. The easy answer was how beautiful she looked dressed up, what with her blue dress standing out among all the rigid blacks and severely-cut suits, and her hair—a rich honey color that seemed to defy nature—swept elegantly to the side. Lexie would always stand out in a crowd, and not just because his eyes naturally followed her every movement.
Right here, right now, her brilliance had more to do with the way she interacted with people. She made it look so easy. A hand on an arm here. A laugh and a smile there. A genuine look of interest as she inquired after husbands, wives, kids, dogs.
He cleared his throat and straightened the notecards in his hand, doing his best to focus as she took a seat at their table near the back.
If you get nervous, find where I’m sitting and start talking, she’d said on the car ride over. But don’t picture me naked. That might make things worse.
He’d almost choked. She had no idea.
Pretend it’s the two of us instead, chatting about your work over lunch. You can do that, can’t you?
In theory, the answer was yes. He’d done exactly that last week at the car lot, had enjoyed spending some quality one-on-one time with her more than was good for him. But as the conversation stilled and a hundred pairs of eyes turned his way, Fletcher wasn’t so sure about the reality of this plan. He felt clammy and cold and likely to swallow his tongue. This was a stupid idea. He wasn’t doing Lexie a favor here. He was probably going to get her fired.
But then she flashed him a thumbs-up and a wide smile, and he realized he couldn’t back down now. Even if he screwed this up a thousand different ways, Lexie was the last person on the planet who would hold it against him.
She’d believed in him enough to ask. So he would believe in himself enough to try.
He had a list of statistics and the SAR
mission on his notecards—dry stuff, the only stuff he could think of to say—but in that moment, he realized he didn’t need them. If this was a date, a real date, the kind of date he’d never allow himself, he’d simply tell Lexie why this meant so much to him.
So that was what he did.
“The first rescue I ever went on was a mountain biking accident.” The words came out hoarse, his voice unaccustomed to this kind of use. He drank from the water bottle on the podium, thoughtfully provided by—who else?—Lexie, and willed his pulse to slow. It didn’t obey, so he tried again, hoping the words would calm him. “It happened out by the river. I don’t remember much about that day, to be honest, except that I’d never been so scared in my whole life. Growing up, I was never a very adventurous kid. I didn’t play sports. I didn’t take risks. I didn’t put myself in dangerous situations. I always told myself it was because I had a strong survival instinct, but the truth is that I was scared. I was scared of everything. You see, my dad died in an airplane accident when I was eight years old.”
Lexie’s hand flew to her mouth, his confession catching her off guard. He felt almost guilty, springing his confession on her like this. She could probably count the number of times he’d willingly mentioned his father on one hand, and here he was, opening his soul to a hundred people he’d never met before.
This time, it was his turn to flash her a reassuring smile. This was going to be okay. He could do this.
“At the time, I got it into my head that the reason he was gone was because he hadn’t been careful enough. Like maybe he didn’t research the airlines ahead of time or he’d picked a bad month to travel or even that his carry-on bag was too heavy and he tipped the whole plane off balance. But as I got older, I realized that these things just happen. His plane hit a patch of engine trouble and a bad storm at the same time. And bad luck, too. If there’s one thing I’ve learned doing Search and Rescue, it’s that luck—good and bad—plays a role in everything.”
A few nodding heads told him he was taking the correct approach. These people—wealthy yet generous, fortunate enough to succeed but aware of those who didn’t have the same opportunities—probably knew quite a bit about being in the right place at the right time.
“So for me to pull on a pair of hiking boots and venture twenty miles into the forest with a handful of other volunteers and a walkie-talkie was a big deal. I kept expecting bears to come barreling down the mountain for a snack, or for us to start falling, lemming-style, off a cliff.”
That got him a few laughs. Laughs. Him.
“But you know what? It all worked out fine. We knew the biker’s coordinates, we’d made contact with him via radio, and all we were there to do was extract him on a stretcher, since it sounded like he had a few smashed ribs. My Unit Leader told me later they broke me in with the mountain biker on purpose—a guaranteed win, he called it. We were never in any real danger at all. I knew then that I could trust these people with my life. They recognized that I was scared out of my mind, and that I was determined to go through with it anyway. They gave me an easy rescue to build my confidence. I’m still scared a lot of the time—about a lot of things—but it makes me feel good, knowing there are people out there who have my back, no matter what happens.”
He had to pause and take another drink of water, and he noticed as he did that his hands didn’t shake.
“Anyway, that’s about all I have to say. I remember hearing a quote once about war, about how you don’t fight for your government or for your cause, but for the guy next to you. That’s what Search and Rescue is about—and I guess that’s what Children’s Choice is about, too. We’re all just part of a team, holding each other up, working toward a common goal. Sometimes it’s flashy, like jumping into a lake—” more laughter that time, even a few cheers “—and sometimes it’s as simple as writing a check so kids have a better chance at a decent future. I figure it all counts in the end.”
In terms of the great speeches of the world, Fletcher knew he wasn’t going to win any awards. He’d stumbled over the words a few times and he didn’t think all his thoughts had been coherent, and he was fairly sure no one but Lexie could get him to ever do it again, but he’d seen the speech through to the end. And the applause that rose up to help usher him off the stage felt good. It felt earned—which was something all the attention for last week’s rescue hadn’t managed to accomplish.
He’d hoped to find Lexie waiting for him at the base of the stairs, but she wasn’t anywhere in sight. Instead, he had to shake hands with a few people, accept their congratulations without making a fool of himself.
“That was a hell of a speech, son.”
Fletcher turned to find a man waiting patiently for his turn to talk. The man was short and squat, with beads of sweat breaking from his over-red brow. He tried to mop them up using a silk handkerchief that matched his expensive suit, but a droplet lingered on the tip of his slightly bulbous nose.
Fletcher immediately understood how the man felt.
The drippy mess part. Not the ten-thousand-dollar-suit part.
“The name’s Barnes. Henry Barnes.” He shoved the handkerchief in his pocket and offered his hand instead. “I saw your picture the other day.”
Fletcher nodded. He still hadn’t quite worked out the appropriate response there. Was he supposed to thank him? Offer to sign an autograph?
“I liked what I saw, so I’ve been meaning to look into it,” Henry continued, relieving him of the agony of response. “Tell me—do you boys operate on a volunteer basis, or is it paid work you do?”
“Most of the men and women with the Spokane Search and Rescue are volunteers.” Fletcher corrected him. “Myself included.”
Henry nodded, the sweat droplet finally separating from his skin and splashing into his drink. “And the equipment you use—that’s all donated?”
“Well, sort of.” Most people assumed that small, local SAR groups like theirs were funded either from all public money or all private money. The truth was something a lot less clear-cut than that. “There aren’t any government funds earmarked for small-time search and rescue use, but the sheriff’s office will kick us a perk every now and then. And we certainly take donations when we can get them. But most of the equipment we use—from the ATVs to our packs—comes from our own pockets.”
“I didn’t know that.” Lexie appeared at his elbow, her hand warm on his arm. Her expression, however, was not. “I guess there are a lot of things we’ve never talked about.”
He thought maybe she was mad at him, but she brightened and moved to include Henry in the conversation. “Also, I see you’ve met Mr. Barnes. Henry here is the only reason we’ve been able to hire two full-time case managers this year. And he plays Santa every year at the kids’ party. He’s the perfect amount of jolly for the job. You should have seen him last week. There was a line an hour long to sit on his lap—the children adore him. We all do.”
“Oh, now, I don’t know about that.” Despite his modest words, the man flushed under Lexie’s praise.
“Well, I do,” Lexie said simply. She turned to Fletcher. “I wish you’d told me sooner that you take donations. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s putting people like you and Henry in touch.”
“You should probably talk to my Unit Leader.” Fletcher shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t come here to take advantage of Lexie’s contacts.
“But how much of your own money would you say you put in every year?” When Fletcher paused, Henry quickly added, “Percentage-wise?”
Fletcher glanced back and forth between Lexie and Henry, both of them turning expectant looks his way. “It’s hard to say.”
When it was clear more was required of him, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t put in money. It’s just not, uh, possible on my salary.” Great. Now he looked like a penniless loser—something Lexie obviously knew for herself, but still a terrible thing to have to admit out loud.
Henry didn’t blink. “What do y
ou put in then? Aside from your time?”
“And the risk to your life,” Lexie added, looking at him queerly. “I don’t think we should forget that part.”
Fletcher feigned an intense interest in the palms of his hands, still damp from his foray into public speaking. “Well, the thing is . . . ” He took a deep breath and forced himself to meet Henry’s eyes. He’d just admitted to a crowd of strangers that he was nothing more than a scared little boy who missed his daddy. Surely he could admit that SAR needed all the help it could get.
“The thing is,” he repeated, “we can always use money for better vehicles. We have a converted RV that serves as our outpost station and two snowmobiles I was able to get at cost from my boss at the car lot, but our storage trailer is decades old and I have my eye on a new transport truck. I’m partway to paying the truck off with my current hours, but it’s still a long ways away. I’m afraid someone else might get to it before I can.”
Henry nodded and his eyes shifted upward, as if he was doing calculations in his head.
Fletcher glanced at Lexie to see if he’d blown all his chances at ever being invited to another one of these benefits . . . and stopped.
“What?” He checked around him for signs of imminent danger—a river cracking open or a door crashing into her face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
She didn’t speak right away, which only increased the sensation of doom pressing on his chest. “I can’t believe it,” she said slowly. “It’s so obvious now. The trucks, the RV, the rescue stuff. That’s why you work at the car lot. You get a discount.”
As it was neither a question nor a statement, his only available response was a low-throated rumble.
“You hate that place, Fletcher, and you have since the day you started there. Sean and I could never understand why you insisted on staying somewhere you were obviously so ill-suited and . . . ”
“Miserable?” Fletcher supplied.
In the Clear Page 5
