That’s okay. I’m not interested in her, either. But Jackson knew better. He’d always been a sucker for strong, self-willed women, and the fact he’d run into one who was struggling for control made it all the more interesting and, yes, amusing. His ex, Maggie, had control down to a science, which in retrospect was a joke because she’d left him for being him too predictable.
A car passed, splashing rain water. It’d be predictable to brush Camille aside because of her unusual pastimes. Yes, it’d be predictable. He snapped his fingers. This time he’d show Maggie. Camille was attractive, with snappy, sporty hair that brought out the shape of her face. She had a slender body that looked like she was accustomed to exploring nature. Her style had an appeal, and he’d be a fool not to pursue her. Yes, a predictable fool.
Well, Maggie would see his unpredictability when she hunted him down to tell him whatever it was she’d called him about. Her rouge lips would form a slow cringe as realization of her mistake dawned. She’d panic and fight not to lose him. She would regret what she had lost. She would never guess he would forget her and go on with his career. She’d be withered when she found him hunting bears in Yellowstone and dating a very good-looking Camille. Now if only he could get Camille to go along with the plan for however long it took to get Maggie back.
* * *
Camille collapsed onto the living room couch when Jackson left. For some reason she couldn’t stop rattling on and on about superstition. It wasn’t healthy for her to keep focusing on it. She should stop. Why had she become so fixated on her fears lately? It being Halloween and her day having gone all wrong might be the reason.
Darlene walked into the room. “He’s sure a nice guy. I can’t believe he fixed our heater, made us a toasty hot fire, and now he’s on his way to change our flat tire in the dark and rain.”
“A full-fledged hero.” Camille rubbed the kink in her neck.
“You’ve survived Halloween. Congratulations.”
“Barely,” Camille said.
“Let’s see, you’re forty-seven and you’ll probably live to about eighty-five—”
“Eighty-five, heaven forbid—”
“So that means you have about thirty-eight more Halloweens and Friday the Thirteenths to go.”
“I’m not talking about it.”
And she didn’t. Instead Camille retired to bed and slept soundly until she heard a banging in her head.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Over and over the tugging noise echoed. She groaned and plopped her pillow over her face. The pounding continued. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she computed that the noise wasn’t a dream, but rather something outside. She sat up as the noise grew louder. She slipped off the bed, her feet gliding onto the chilled, wooden floor. Wrapping a robe around her, she guided her foot into the pine needle covered slippers. Silently she went down the stairs and flipped on the kitchen light. The sound stopped.
She poured herself a glass of milk and drank half the cup before the pounding resumed. Rummaging through the few boxes that remained packed, Camille found the miniature flashlight. Using the few glowing lights from the appliances to make her way through the darkness, she opened the door and walked outside. Almost immediately, her forehead smacked into something. “Ouch!” Rubbing her head, she twisted the base of the flashlight and pointed it at a ladder. Before she could think clearly, she heard someone singing, the banging drowning out the notes.
The noise came from the roof! To hear singing before breakfast was a sure sign of sorrow before nightfall. Plus, she’d walked under a ladder. Superstitious people would need to keep their fingers crossed until they saw a dog or three horses to undo the evil spell. No, I don’t believe it! With her fingers defiantly uncrossed, she lifted her nightgown and bathrobe and climbed the ladder. Her flashlight darted around until it caught a dark form half a yard away. The light lingered on the vague object in the middle of the black soup. It had eyes. Brown.
“Get that thing out of my eyes,” a voice boomed as an arm shot up over eyebrows for protection. “I can’t see.”
She lowered the light to focus on a long Roman nose. “Mind telling me what’s going on up there?”
“I’m fixing your roof as we agreed. Remember? If I fix your tire, your roof, and get you heat, you agreed to take me to Yellowstone so I can shoot some bears. The tire’s fixed, my truck’s no longer around your tree, and your cabin’s warm as promised. All that’s left is to plug this hole.”
“Couldn’t it have waited until it’s light?”
“Can’t. I told you we have to leave early if I have any prayer of spotting a bear.”
“How early?” She grabbed her robe tightly across her chest. She tried not to think how odd it was to be crouching on a leaky roof with a strange man.
“At three thirty. Sharp.”
“What?” She wobbled from the sudden jerking movement and extended her arms to steady herself.
“Yep. That’s cutting it close. And from what I know about you, things happen that gobble up time.”
She turned and descended the ladder. Let him take her car. A simple answer. Never mind the fact that she needed to go to Yellowstone for research for her winter courses. Not to mention the history, the views, and the wildlife that beckoned. Then again, it would be nice to go there with someone who knew the area. She charged into the cabin, headed straight for the kitchen, and glanced at the microwave to check the time: 2:46 a.m. She needed to find out if Jackson was a safe person to travel with, and the Westguards were the only people she knew to ask. It was a bad time to call. They, of course, would be asleep, but Jackson insisted they leave at three thirty, and he’d be a stickler.
Whispering a prayer that the Westguards wouldn’t be too upset, she dialed. A sleepy woman’s voice floated over the phone line. “I’m sorry to wake you, Phyllis,” Camille said, “but I really have an important question to ask.”
“Whose cabin’s on fire?”
“No one’s.”
“The Knowlands. Oh! Oh! Wake up, Bryson. The Knowland’s cabin is on fire. We gotta get there . . . I don’t know, let me ask. How high are the flames?”
“There’s no fire.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“This is Ms. Britain.”
“The fire’s quittin’?”
“No. Ms. Britain, the person who’s staying in the Clark’s cabin.”
“Oh, yes. The Skunk Lady.”
What a label.
“How do you know the Knowlands’ cabin is on fire? It’s clear across the island from yours. You can’t even see it from your place.”
“No, I called to ask a question.” Silence. Camille took a deep breath. “I need to know about Jackson Armstrong.”
“You called at two in the morning to find out about Jackson?” The woman’s voice reached a high pitch.
“You see, I’m supposed to leave with him for Yellowstone in an hour and my daughter’s coming with me and I wanted—”
“You two are already dating? That’s sweet. You make a lovely couple. He really needs to find a woman. I keep telling him, but he hasn’t listened to me.”
“It’s not a date,” Camille said, frustration seeping into her voice. “I want to know if Jackson’s a safe guy. Do you know him very well?”
“Jackson? Our Jackson?” Phyllis laughed. “Heavens, yes. He’d never hurt a fly. Not even so much as raised a hand to his wife and, heaven knows, most men would’ve.”
Like that would be okay, Camille thought.
“He might seem rough on the outside, but on the inside he’s as tender as a new baby bird. Is that all, dear?”
“Yeah, thanks. Sorry for calling so early.”
“You’re very welcome. Call any time, but keep it after seven in the morning. And you two have fun on your date. There couldn’t be a more romantic place than Yellowstone.”
“It’s not a date.”
“Yes, yes, goodbye.”
Camille frowned and hurried up the staircase. Darlene needed as
much warning about leaving as possible. It was a struggle waking her daughter, but finally she managed. She rushed downstairs to prepare breakfast. She’d poured some checked-for-weevils-oats in boiling water when Darlene hopped downstairs with her hair combed and makeup on.
“I’m tired.” Darlene sat at the table with a big yawn.
Camille set two bowls and spoons on the table. The banging picked up again.
“What’s that noise?” Darlene asked. “I’ve been hearing it for hours.”
“Jackson’s fixing the roof.”
“Cool. I’m going to invite him for breakfast.” Darlene stood.
“I’m sure he’s already eaten.” Camille opened the refrigerator and pulled stuff out to make lunch. Maybe Jackson knew of a nice place they could have a picnic.
“I’ll check.”
Jackson accepted the invitation, and before Camille knew it, her daughter’s nose was planted in a Yellowstone atlas. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and asked Jackson with a smile, “Are we really hunting bear?”
“Just to shoot pictures. We’re not going to kill them.”
“What kind are we looking for?”
“Black bears. They’re the most common. I like going up to LeMar to search for them running between the trees.”
“Is it scary? I mean . . . aren’t you afraid of being attacked by one?”
Jackson flashed a large smile, apparently amused by Darlene’s questioning or maybe her attention. He better not be a dirty old man. “There’s a better chance of being struck by lightning,” Jackson said. Bear watching is perfectly safe.”
“Oh, sure, sounds like it.” Camille packed up the rest of the picnic lunch.
“Let’s get going.” He slapped his hands together and rubbed as if he was about to do something really exciting. “We’re meeting a bear expert at five.”
Darlene grabbed her purse off the table and threw on her jacket as she strode to the car. “Keys, Mom.”
“Why?” Camille asked, not feeling in the mood for this game.
“I’m driving.”
“Nope,” Camille said.
“Why not?”
“’Cause I’m driving.” Jackson approached them.
“I am,” Camille said, “and that’s final.” She tried to slide between Jackson and Darlene by the staircase. They scooted together. “Excuse me,” Camille said, “this is my car and I’m driving, thank you very much.”
“But it’s still dark. How about I drive so you two ladies can sleep?” Jackson asked.
She pushed herself past Jackson and her daughter and unlocked the door. “That’s a mighty nice offer, but you’re the one who didn’t sleep.” She slid into the driver’s seat. Darlene shrugged and climbed in the back.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” Jackson asked.
Camille started the car and shifted it into gear. Jackson grabbed his black bag off the ground as she inched forward. “Hey, wait a minute,” he yelled. “I’ve got expensive camera gear here.”
She waited until the front passenger door banged shut and then peeled out. She found she was crossing her fingers as she drove and forced herself to stop, noting that Jackson shot her hand a couple of odd glances before he wrinkled his nose. “I’m sorry, but it sure stinks in here.”
It did smell like skunk, something she hoped to live down. She didn’t say a thing. For some reason, having Jackson think of her as the stinky Skunk Lady bothered her. It shouldn’t, of course, but to have anyone think of her as a person who smelled was humiliating.
She should rise above worrying about what others thought, and she would, too, she decided as she cracked the window to let the stink out. Wind rushed into the vehicle, creating a huge, obnoxious noise. She rolled the window back up. A truck passed them, and the headlights flashed inside the car, allowing Camille to see Jackson’s face. His expression wasn’t disgust, which she expected, but curiosity. Camille flushed deeply, wishing he hadn’t looked at her like that. She felt as awkward as she had in her school days whenever a boy came near her. To her relief, Darlene changed the subject and kept the conversation bubbly, considering the time. “Where did you find a bear expert?” she asked Jackson.
“The Yellowstone Association can provide you with all sorts of neat stuff. You can even take classes. Some of them for college credit,” Jackson said.
“Cool,” Darlene said.
“Would you like to take that course?” Camille asked Darlene, trying not to act too hopeful.
“I don’t know.”
“There’s plenty of things you can study for college credit around here,” Jackson said. “My son takes all sorts of interesting classes.”
“How old is your son?” Darlene questioned.
“Twenty-one.”
“Does he look like you?”
“He’s a mixture of his mom and me. Poor boy should’ve gotten all his mom’s traits, then he’d be a looker.”
“Oh, come on,” Darlene said. “If he’s anything like you, he’s got to be hot.”
Was she flirting? Camille cleared her throat. “Is there a store near this bear-watching place?” She darted a glance in the rearview mirror, hoping her daughter would see her look and realize telling a man who was old enough to be her father that he was “hot” was completely out of line.
“This is a national forest, not a drive-by-zoo,” Jackson said.
Camille beamed red again. She was doing a great job making herself appear stupid in front of this cowboy. He must wonder how she ever got her doctorate degree. “What I meant was,” she muttered, “how far will I have to drive to go to one of those tourist trap stores after I drop you off?”
“You won’t be dropping me off. I thought you two would also like to watch the bears.”
“Cool,” Darlene said.
“But I need to put my course outline together,” Camille said. “I have to find out if any of the stores around here sell obsidian.” She stared out her windshield as if the solution to her problem would be solved by the trees whipping by. The headlights of the car danced yellow on the black road.
“What’s obsidian?” Darlene asked.
“It’s glass volcanic rock the Indians used to make tools from,” Jackson said.
“How did you know that?” Camille glanced at him. He sat in the gray shadows of the car so she couldn’t get a good read of his face.
“What? Do you think I don’t know anything?”
Camille swallowed. “No.”
“Then why the surprise?”
“I—I—I don’t know. I guess you caught me off guard. I, ummm, thought that—” She had thought he wouldn’t know anything. After all, he was a cowboy.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jackson said.
They drove in silence. The sun rose quickly, its golden rays erasing the velvety darkness on the mountains peak by peak. Camille snatched another glimpse of Jackson. The early morning sunlight highlighted him in his snug-fitting Levis and royal blue shirt, complimenting the blond curls poking out of his cowboy hat. Large worn cowboy boots completed the ensemble. A man’s man, Camille thought: tough, strong, and protective. A lot different from Adam, who was more of a thinker than a woodsman. It must be a very different experience to be married to someone like Jackson. Before she could think about that idea further, Darlene broke the silence by asking, “What color is obsidian?”
“Black,” Camille answered.
“But there are some that are more unusual, tinted in red, brown, or green,” Jackson said. “They’re all over the stores. You shouldn’t worry about finding them. It’ll be no problem. On the way back, after I shoot my bear, we can stop.”
“I bet they look cool,” Darlene said.
They drove into another thick patch of pines. The slender, woody trees stood close together, forming prison-like bars on both sides of the road. Camille unbuttoned the top button on her flannel jacket, swallowing hard. “That’s too nice of you,” she said. “But we wouldn’t want to put you out, so how about
we drop you off at the bear place, and Darlene and I will dart over to Old Faithful? After we see the geyser spit and browse through the shops, we’ll pick you up for lunch.”
“But Mom, I want to see the bears,” Darlene whined.
“That plan won’t work,” Jackson said.
“Why not?” Camille asked.
Jackson jumped into lecture mode. “First off, you don’t drop people off and plan on picking them up later like it’s a shopping mall. We’re in a wilderness. And second, we’re going north to LaMar to hunt bears. Old Faithful is south . . . What’s the matter?” he asked her. “You city slickers scared of seeing bears?”
She refused to answer the jab, but to her dismay, Darlene continued the topic. “How scary is it?” She leaned up between Camille and Jackson.
“It’s nothing. We won’t even be getting close to them. You look in your binoculars or a spotting scope across a valley to another ledge.”
“Doesn’t sound so bad,” Camille said.
“But how do you know the bears are going to stay over on that side and not come over to the side we’re on?” Darlene asked.
“You don’t,” Jackson answered. “The bears like to eat pinenuts and white bark off the trees. You can often find a few searching for food in the early morning . . .”
He talked on about bears, but Camille no longer listened. Darlene’s question had spurred her into thought. How did a person know the bears, or potential danger of any kind, would stay over on the other side of the ravine? It was a question of safety. How did anyone truly know they were safe? Everyone wanted a guarantee. Camille knew she did when she had so trustingly given her heart to Adam. She had assumed that the instructions, “Handle with care,” would be a given. Adam was supposed to have seen her heart’s worth and not take it lightly. Maybe he had a glimpse of the gift at the beginning, but as time wore on, he grew complacent and thoughtless, and perhaps thought the danger wasn’t real. This idea startled Camille. Could Adam have been hurt and scarred from their break-up too? Did the danger only attack her heart or had Adam’s heart been hurt?
Darlene’s voice broke into her thoughts. “What causes bear attacks?” Camille refocused on their conversation, curious for the answer.
The Superstitious Romance Page 6
