“They really like you.”
As if in confirmation, Bailey lunged and nailed him right on the mouth, and he fell backward, laughing.
“You have to watch her. Fastest tongue in the West. Western North Carolina, anyway.”
He ruffled the fur on her back. “I like puppy kisses, just not on the mouth.”
Both dogs stayed on his heels as he followed Jami into the house. Another pang of loneliness shot through him. After Bethany had taken Allegro, he hadn’t wanted another dog. But maybe it was time to rethink his decision. Once he finished his sabbatical and settled into a routine, he should consider checking out the local rescues. He could pay a neighbor for lunchtime walks. And he could get home at a reasonable time in the afternoon. He didn’t have to work the hours he did.
For so many years, he’d driven himself to get where he wanted to be. Now that he was there, he was still driving himself, trying to stay a step ahead of the emptiness threatening to engulf him. And he’d burned himself out in the process.
That was why he needed his upcoming trip. The break from structure would pull him out of the funk he’d been in for the past two years. Each new experience would infuse him with excitement and help renew his long-lost zest for life. Two months from now, he’d return home a changed man.
At least that was what he’d been telling himself since he first got this crazy idea. And he would keep telling himself that until it was time to go back home to his regular life. Because always in the back of his mind was a seed of doubt, the niggling suspicion there was no cure for the malaise that had taken over his mind, that he would roam the country for two months, then return home no better off than when he’d left.
While Jami loaded the dishwasher, Grant put away the cream and leftover food. Several colorful sticky notes, like the one he’d seen in the living room, decorated the refrigerator door. A dispenser of them sat in easy reach on the kitchen table, between the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers. And based on the script filling the small, colorful sheets, she’d rescheduled a dentist appointment, was low on yogurt and tomato sauce and needed to locate a book for Holly.
He moved from the fridge to look out the window over the sink. A six-pointed star hung from a piece of monofilament line in front of it, each ray a different color of the rainbow.
Jami glanced over at him. “I made that during my stained glass phase. You’ll probably notice a few other pieces around.”
“Stained glass phase? You don’t do it anymore?”
“I just finished school, so everything I’ve done lately has been left-brained.” She closed the dishwasher door, then rinsed and dried her hands. “When my mom got sick the last time, I did a lot of stained glass, along with several other creative endeavors. It was how I survived. That and lots of long walks in your woods.”
She motioned toward the insulated backpack sitting on the counter behind him. “Lunch. You never know how long these things are going to take, so I packed us some sandwiches, fruit and chips.” She flashed him a smile that still held a trace of lingering sadness. “Are you ready for your very first geocache?”
“Lead the way.”
He had no idea what geocaching entailed, but as long as Jami was involved, he’d be up for it. Something was awakening inside, something that had been asleep for a long time—excitement, enthusiasm, the desire to experience life.
Maybe his upcoming trip around the country wasn’t the remedy to his problems. Maybe all he needed was right here, in the form of one spunky newspaper reporter and the faith that was so much a part of who she was. A little more time spent with Jami, and maybe he would get his head back on straight.
Or maybe he’d lose it altogether.
EIGHT
Jami stepped around a fallen tree and stopped to study her handheld GPS. Grant moved up beside her, the pack strapped to his back and her fold-up camping shovel in one hand. He’d insisted on carrying both.
“This way.” She held up an index finger and started walking again.
“So what are we looking for?”
“Usually an ammo box or some other waterproof container.”
“And the treasure is inside.”
She smiled back at him. “It is. Most caches don’t have themes, but this one does. It was buried on Valentine’s Day, so everything inside will be related to love or romance.”
Not a wise choice where Grant was concerned. She was having a hard enough time steering her thoughts away from romance when he was around. But it was an interesting cache that guaranteed some pretty scenery ending at a waterfall. And that was what she was trying to sell Grant on: the beauty of Murphy and the surrounding area.
“So what do we do with it if we find it?”
“We open it up, sign the log inside and rebury it.”
“Is that all? What’s the point?”
Though Grant was behind her, she could easily imagine his arched brows. Robert never got into geocaching, either. Said it was a waste of time.
She stopped walking and turned to face him. “There isn’t one. It’s the fun of the search, seeing who else has found the cache and where they’re from. You get to explore lots of neat places you wouldn’t otherwise go.”
“I can’t argue with that. Even if we don’t find the cache, the trek is worth it just for the view.”
Her heart wobbled, knowing that he noticed and, even more, that he appreciated it. And he was right. The narrow trail they followed was awash with color. Rhododendrons and mountain laurel in full bloom painted the mountainside with splashes of pink and white, and wildflowers sprang up all along the path. Maples, pines and oaks towered overhead, their boughs blocking the late-morning sun.
“If you do take anything, you replace it with something else.” She pulled a heart-shaped key chain from her pocket. It was made of some kind of clear resin around a photo of rhododendron blooms. North Carolina was painted across the surface in fancy black script. “I picked this up at the Curiosity Shop yesterday to add to the cache. Maybe I’ll take something else. Maybe I won’t.” She slid the item back into her pocket, then circled behind him to pull two water bottles from the backpack.
He took a swig from his and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “How will we know where to look once we get there?”
“The GPS is good. It usually gets you within thirty or forty feet of where you need to be, but some of the coordinates come with clues.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “Here’s this one: ‘Step into the mist of the falls and enter Tolkien’s world. Therein lies gold.’”
He frowned down at the words she’d scrawled on the sheet of notebook paper. “That’s an obscure clue if there ever was one.”
“I know. Some of them are pretty hard to figure out.” She refolded the sheet and resumed walking. “But all the caches have ratings, and this one’s supposedly easy to moderate on both terrain and how difficult the cache is to find. So we should be okay.”
For the next few minutes, the hum of crickets accompanied their footsteps. Leaves rustled in a light breeze, and in the distance, a chickadee warbled out its song.
“What other excursions have you planned for me?”
“Whitewater rafting. Tomorrow afternoon, if you’re up for it. Samantha owns Wild River Outfitters and would take good care of us.”
“Hmm, whitewater rafting. Another new experience.”
“We’d only do class twos and threes, nothing too harrowing.” She stopped again to take a swig of water and consult the GPS. “In the morning, I’ll be at church. You’re welcome to join me.”
“I’ll pass on that.”
The adamant tone surprised her. “What do you have against church?”
He shrugged. “From what I’ve seen, most people’s religion is all for show. They get dressed up and go so everyone will see them and think what good people they are. Then they walk out the door and right past someone who needs help.” He crossed his arms and gave a wry laugh. “Christianity would probably be a good thi
ng if anybody ever practiced it.”
His words sliced through her. If anybody needed the healing and forgiveness Christ offered, it was Grant. “If you’re looking for perfect people, you’re not going to find them, in church or otherwise. Jesus was the only perfect man who ever lived. The rest of us are just doing the best we can with His help.”
“I’m not looking for perfect people, but there should at least be some difference. My grandmother—” He stopped, and one side of his mouth quirked up. “I guess I can’t use her as an example of a stingy Christian anymore. But I could name plenty of others.” He uncrossed his arms, letting his hands fall to his side. “How about if I say yes to whitewater rafting and ‘I’ll think about it’ to church?”
“Sounds good.” It was better than no.
“Next week I’m assuming our tour will have to wait till the weekend since you’ll be working during the day. I can’t imagine Murphy has a whole lot of nightlife.”
“You might be surprised. Thursday night is darts at the Grind, and Friday night is the Murphy Art Walk.”
He raised his brows. “Murphy Art Walk?”
“It’s the first Friday night of the month from May through October. A bunch of the stores downtown participate. Local artists display their crafts, and there’s live music and demonstrations.” She grinned. “See? We have all kinds of culture here.”
They began to move again, and before long, the shh of falling water sounded in the distance, barely audible over the rustle of leaves. During the next several minutes, it grew louder and closer until only a steep incline separated them from a raging river. A rope stretched from an oak at the top to a hemlock near the water’s edge. A few yards upriver, water roared down a sheer rock face.
She consulted the GPS once more, then frowned at the steep incline ahead of them. “This might be more adventure than you bargained for.”
“I’m game if you are. I’ll even go first.” He stepped forward, grasped the rope and gave it a couple of firm tugs. “If it handles my weight, it will definitely hold yours.” He pivoted on one foot, placing his back to the incline, then half stepped, half slid down the steep slope on the balls of his feet, supplemented by the shovel and the occasional knee.
When he reached the bottom, he turned to call up to her. “See? Handled like a native. Now it’s your turn.”
She clipped the GPS on one hip, then, taking her cue from him, turned her back and started her descent. But hers wasn’t as uneventful as his. Two-thirds of the way down, her feet slipped sideways, and she twisted and slammed her side into the slope. She was never able to regain her footing and slid the rest of the way down, hand over hand on the guide rope.
Grant pulled her to her feet. His touch was warm and firm, his hand big and protective over hers. He released her all too soon.
“That didn’t look like fun. Are you okay?”
“Nothing’s hurt but my pride. And that’s not even hurt too badly. I’ve always been a bit of a klutz. You should have seen me a few days after I got the dogs, when I stepped in a puddle of piddle. I think I went airborne.”
Grant grimaced. “Ouch.” He reached up to pull a twig from her ponytail. “So how close are we now?”
She unclipped the GPS from her hip, fortunately not the side she’d landed on when she’d fallen. “Really close.” She pointed toward the falls. “I’d say twenty or thirty feet that way.”
She moved that direction, then stepped onto a rock at the creek’s edge. A fine mist enveloped her, settling like a kiss of dew on her arms and face. “We’re on the right side of the creek. The other side is too high above the water to be hit with the mist.”
Grant stepped up to stand beside her, so close his arm rested against hers. The size of the rock didn’t leave him much choice, and soon the aroma of his cologne mingled with the scents of nature. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. He wore some kind of woodsy scent with underlying hints of spice, as natural as their surroundings.
“How about reading me the note again?”
His words jarred her from her daydreams, and she stepped down from the rock to reach into her pocket. This crazy attraction she felt was totally one-sided. He would finish his business in Murphy, then be off to parts unknown.
She pulled the paper from her pocket again. “Step into the mist of the falls and enter Tolkien’s world. Therein lies gold.”
Grant looked around him. “We’re in the mist. And Tolkien’s most famous works are The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. Do you think it’s something ring shaped?”
She brought a fist to her chin and tapped her cheek with her index finger. They were going with the most obvious interpretation and missing something. “I don’t think it’s a ring. The Lord of the Rings is a trilogy. What are the names of the individual books?”
“The first one is The Fellowship of the Ring.”
She struggled to visualize the set. All four books were in her library at home, but it had been years since she’d picked them up. She hadn’t even seen any of the movies recently.
“Towers,” he said. “The second one is something like Twin Towers.”
His guess wasn’t right, but it was enough to prod her memory. “The Two Towers.”
“So what looks like two towers?” He looked around him, eagerness in his gaze. Maybe there wasn’t any long-term purpose in what they were doing. But that didn’t seem to be dampening his enthusiasm.
“Trees.”
“There.” He pointed to twin birches growing about three feet apart near the base of the falls. “Therein lies gold.”
He closed the distance at a half jog. After shedding the backpack, he unfolded the shovel and drove it into the ground between the two trees. A couple minutes later, his efforts were met with the ting of metal hitting metal. Once he had the box fully exposed, he pulled it from the shallow hole and removed the lid. A small spiral-bound notebook lay on top, hiding whatever trinkets waited beneath.
Jami turned the notebook on end to reveal a variety of items—a silk rose, a heart-shaped picture frame, a refrigerator magnet with the word love. At the bottom of the box was a heavy pewter heart with a definite Celtic flair. A leather tie was strung through a loop on the top. She lifted it from the box and traced the intricate pattern with her thumb. “This is cool.”
“Are you going to keep it?”
“Definitely.” She reached into her pocket, then dropped the key chain into the box. “Now we have to sign and date the log.”
Once that was done and they’d returned the box to its hiding place, Grant shoveled the dirt back into the hole and packed it down with one boot-clad foot. “That was fun.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I think you should keep this as a souvenir.” She held up the pewter heart. “It’s heavy enough for a guy to wear.”
“You keep it. You’re the one who bought the item to replace it.”
“And I’m giving it to you. Don’t argue with me.” She stepped closer.
“A little bossy, aren’t we?”
“Only when we have to be.” She reached around his neck to tie the cord. “Every time you look at this, you’ll remember your first geocache.”
“The reminder won’t be necessary. I don’t think I’ll ever forget this day.”
His voice was soft and deep, with an underlying warmth. All coordination left her fingers, and she fumbled with the cord. She couldn’t have finished tying the knot if her life depended on it. When she lifted her gaze from the piece resting against his chest, her heart rolled over.
She’d been wrong. The attraction she felt wasn’t one-sided.
She needed to take her hands from his neck. Standing so close to him had been a mistake, because now he was thinking of kissing her. It was there in his eyes. She needed to back away. She wasn’t into short flings, and Grant wasn’t a permanent kind of guy. Anything more than friendship would be a huge mistake.
He drew in a tension-filled breath and lifted his arms. But instead of wrapping them around her, he sli
d his hands over hers and took both ends of the cord from her shaking fingers.
She spun away and strode to a nearby tree, where he’d left the backpack. “What do you say we have some lunch?”
“Lunch sounds good.”
She cast a glance over her shoulder. He’d finished tying the cord and stood with his hands in his pockets. Was his voice a little huskier than it had been a few minutes ago?
She unzipped the pack and removed their sandwiches and a bag of chips. Two weeks. That was what she’d asked for and what he’d promised. She could handle it. She was a tour guide, showing him the sights, letting him experience Murphy as a native. It was going to be fun. A piece of cake.
All she had to do was keep herself from doing something stupid.
Like falling in love.
Jami approached the front doors of MountainView Community Church a little earlier than her usual on-the-dot arrival time, but not by much. Music drifted from the sanctuary. Pastor Chris and the worship band were playing a well-known chorus in anticipation of the start of the service. Pastor Jeff would be seated in the front row, ready to step forward to give the opening prayer.
She’d arrived early and waited outside, just in case Grant showed up. As far as any commitment to attend church, he’d left her last night with a definite maybe. That had been after a Bojangles’ supper and a stroll through downtown. And a concentrated effort to keep thoughts from straying outside the bounds of friendship. At least on her end. And she’d almost been successful.
She reached for the door and swung it open. After standing in the parking lot for ten minutes, she’d given up hope of seeing Grant before noon. Church was a tougher sell than whitewater rafting. He’d experienced too many wrongs, whether intended or not, and had built up too many years of resentment. Unfortunately, he’d probably be gone before she could have any real impact on him. The thought left her with a heaviness in her chest.
Just inside the foyer doors, Dean Reinhardt stood ready with a vigorous handshake and the weekly bulletin. “Good morning, Jami. I heard congratulations are in order. I bet you’re excited.”
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