“Different reasons,” Jackson said. “The most common is they’re scared. The best way not to threaten them is to go limp and curl up in a ball to protect your soft spots. Make slow movements. Talk, using a calm, unrushed voice.”
So bears attack because they’re scared, Camille thought. Destruction most often came out of fear. That idea worked as a concept, but did it work for her situation? Could Adam have been scared with her heart and not known what to do with it? Could she have been scared too? Did they not learn how to protect their love in case of an attack? She was now protecting herself, coming out here, staying away from him and the pain. She had taken enough risks lately, surviving her metaphorical bear attack, and now would consider herself foolish if she took another unneeded chance.
“I bet another reason bears attack is to protect their young,” Darlene added. Her daughter sounded excited about this stuff. Jackson had mentioned his son took college courses around here. Maybe—just maybe—she could get her daughter into one of those classes.
“You’ve got a smart one here,” Jackson said.
Maybe he wasn’t so bad. Camille waited for him to gaze out the window before giving him another look. What was the appeal? He wasn’t a drop-dead gorgeous kind of guy, but he wasn’t ugly. Definitely all man. Hardy and rough—and something stirred in her when he was around.
“They become more aggressive,” Jackson was saying. He sure seemed knowledgeable about this area. That could become an asset in helping outline her course. She shook her head. No.
“What’s the superstition behind bears?” he asked.
Was he making fun of her? “What makes you think there is one?”
“There has to be. Out with it.”
Camille flinched, again wishing she didn’t have this overwhelming compulsion to always answer people’s questions. She’d have to overcome that hang-up, but for now, she gave in, too tired to stand up to him. “The English thought bears only bred once every seven years and when they did, there was trouble. It was a sign of bad luck to the other animals that were breeding. People would know when a bear had a cub because a baby cow would suddenly die or a cat litter would be found dead. There’s also a legend about a soldier who tried to kill a bear while guarding the Tower of London and the bayonet went right through the bear with no harm done to the animal, but the man fell down in a fit and died.”
“Are there any good superstitions?” Darlene asked, yawning.
“One. If a child rode on the back of a bear, it’d keep him from whooping cough, or if he caught it, he’d be cured.”
“We need to ride on the back of a bear,” Jackson said, “although bears normally breed every two to three years.”
“I never said I believed the superstition. I just said the English people used to believe it.” Up ahead, a large vehicle was parked off in the distance. The closer she came, the more it appeared to be a truck. Her headlights shone on the truck, and she could see there was something in the back. She eased her foot off the gas.
“A dog!” Darlene yelled. “Stop. Someone’s left that poor dog outside to starve.”
“I’m sure someone’s sleeping in the truck,” Camille said.
“Stop,” Jackson said.
“What? You too?” Camille asked.
“It looks like my son’s truck.”
Before the car came to a complete stop, both Jackson and Darlene bolted from the car.
She was traveling with two lunatics.
Chapter Six
Camille’s hand lingered on the keys before she turned off the ignition. The black sky lightened as faint golden rays migrated upwards. This time of day was the best hour for a child to be born. It meant the babe would have a better chance of reaching old age; the later in the day, the shorter the life. Darlene had come at high noon, Camille remembered, grabbing her purse. Peering through the dark mist and clenching her hands, she approached the truck. Two shadows leaned toward the driver’s side in a huddle—Jackson and Darlene. She picked up her pace, shoes clicking along the paved road. “What’s going on?”
Jackson gestured toward the passenger inside the car. “This is my boy, Austin. Austin, this is Ms. Britain and her daughter Darlene. They’re living in the Clark’s cabin.”
Camille nodded a hello as Jackson added, “I thought you were coming next week.”The boy looked up with big brown eyes so much like his father’s. “I decided to surprise ya and come earlier. Cool, huh?”
“The truth?” Jackson asked.
Austin smiled till his dimples indented. “A camping trip. It would’ve been awesome. We were going to hike the Fountain Point Pot Natural Trail in Geyser Country to see the mud pots and the waterfalls, but those wimps bagged out because of the rain.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t go anyway,” Jackson muttered. Then, as though giving it thought, he asked, “You didn’t, did you?”
“What’s wrong if he did?” Darlene asked.
“Ah, little honey—” Jackson said.
Darlene frowned. “I’m not little, and I’m not your honey.”
Jackson didn’t let this bother him but continued with what he was going to say. “Every year Search and Rescue has to look for lost hikers. A couple of years ago some teens fell into a geyser. The girl died, and the boys suffered third degree burns. It’s not something you mess with. The number one rule of survival is never go alone and always inform people where you’ll be, right son?”
“Um, yeah. Whatever.”
Jackson’s eyes bore into his son like mini lie detectors. After getting a reading on Austin, he said, “You went by yourself. How many times do I have to tell you?” He kept his voice even, as if the lecture was routine, something he engaged in more out of habit than with feeling.
Camille could identify. She experienced similar episodes with Darlene on a regular bases. It made her wonder why she and Jackson wasted their breath. Their children would do whatever stupid thing they wanted, no matter what their parents said.
“Dad, I don’t need lectures,” Austin said.
“You do if you keep making the same dumb mistakes.”
Austin ran his hand through his brown hair. “Chill. It was only one night, and I didn’t go very far. I didn’t even stay for more than a couple of hours ’cause your warning kept going through my head driving me crazy. So there. I hiked out, started driving home, got tired, and pulled over to the side of the road for sleep. Happy?”
“Yes,” Jackson said.
Camille was satisfied too. Kids actually did hear lectures—well, at least sometimes. She looked over at her daughter, who pretended not to pay attention to the scene as she petted a taffy-colored, long-haired dog in the bed of the truck. “What’s his name?” Darlene asked.
“Rusty.” Austin grabbed the dog’s thick jaw. The golden retriever lavished his face with his tongue.
“Um, Austin, we’re on our way to Lamar to shoot bears for my magazine job. Like to come?” Jackson asked.
“Sure. Already had my run-in with bears, but I’m brave enough to do it again.”
“Yeah, right,” Darlene said.
“I am.”
“What about Rusty?” Camille asked. “There’s not enough room.”
“My mom’s afraid of dogs,” Darlene blurted. “No, more like petrified.”
Jackson cocked an eyebrow in a questioning manner.
“I never liked animals.” Camille flushed, wishing she didn’t feel compelled to answer the nonverbal questions people asked too.
“Ah, Rusty wouldn’t hurt a skunk.” Jackson laughed at his own joke, which Camille didn’t find at all amusing. After composing himself, he said, “I have an idea. Why don’t Darlene and Austin take Rusty back to my cabin, put him in the garage, and catch up with us for lunch in Cody? It was founded by Buffalo Bill. That should be enough history for your liking.” Jackson winked at Camille.
“Dad, he’ll freeze in the garage.”
“Why don’t you let him in the house?” Darlene asked.
“My dad is allergic to him,” Austin said. “I mean, he can stand him for a bit, but not when the hair and stuff gets all over the house.”
“He could ride with Austin in the truck and follow us,” Camille said.
“Great,” Jackson said. “Darlene, you ride with Austin. If he gets tired, you can take over.”
“I’ll take over now.” Darlene extended her hand for the keys.
“Not on your life,” Austin said.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those sexist-type guys who believes in being in complete control? You know, the kind that’ll freak out if they can’t operate a remote?”
Austin puffed out his chest in fake pride. “No one drives my truck but me. Girl or boy.”
Camille leaned over to get a better look at this “hot” vehicle. A big jacked-up four-by-four, high enough to require two steps to climb in. A large roll bar with huge fog lights. Great. Definitely a wild type. She eyed the teenager. His light brown hair was feathered on top, with a short trim by his ears. His brown eyes glimmered, sensual like his father’s—his nose small and delicate. He must’ve inherited that from his mom. Overall, nice looking. A kid Darlene might fall for.
Jackson slapped his hands together. “Stop the lollygagging and let’s go. I need to shoot me a bear.”
The group dispersed. Camille and Jackson walked back to her car together.
“Keys?” He extended his hand. “I like control.” He dashed her a smile.
It felt like a cold glass of water on parched lips to have someone willingly admit a weakness. Besides, she was sick of driving. Her hand released the keys to the huge, extended palm. That was when she noticed that one of his fingers still wore a gold band.
* * *
The keys clinked as they fell into his father’s hands. Odd that Dad had to ask Camille if he could drive, Austin thought. His mother would have handed him the keys when she first saw him. And there was something more he didn’t like about Camille—and Darlene too, for that matter. Neither one of them wore much makeup or looked done up. Darlene did have long shiny hair, but her bossy attitude covered up the merits of her hair.
“Don’t slam my door,” he mumbled to Darlene, but his eyes fixed on the car ahead of him, where Camille climbed in to sit next to his dad.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Darlene said.
Austin knew she swam in sarcasm, but it would be best if he didn’t respond, so he simply revved the engine before tailgating his father. With his headlights on, there was no way his father would forget that he was driving right behind him, even for a brief second. He refused to let his father forget about his family. “Is your mom married?” he asked.
“My parents got divorced about six months ago,” Darlene said. “How long have your parents been divorced?”
He flinched. He hated the idea of that word directed at his family. Their divorce had gone through, but that didn’t mean it was permanent. He hated the idea of their family being broken—and especially the idea of his mother being single. His buddies had joked with him about how stupid his dad was to let anyone as hot as his mom go. Austin had already been in more than one fight from other comments his friends had made about his mom. They shouldn’t look at his mother that way. If he had his wish, he’d deck anyone who did. “Technicality,” he grumbled.
“So how long has it been?”
“A few weeks, maybe. But my dad has made it absolutely clear he plans to win my mom back. We talk about it all the time.” Austin released some of the pressure he was applying to the gas pedal. His father had already braked twice.
Darlene twisted a strand of hair. “Do you think he’ll be successful?”
“Yeah. My dad never gives up. I know he loves her more than anything. That’s the point.”
Brown meadows with distant rolling mountains spread out before them, along the paved road they drove on. When his mother came here to find his dad, as she promised she would, his parents couldn’t help but rekindle their romance in such a setting. Darlene sounded skeptical because her parents’ marriage had failed. Her mom wasn’t meant to be with her father, but his parents were meant to be together. They complimented each other perfectly. When his dad was still living in Denver and he came out for visitations, it became apparent to Austin how much they fit together. He never mentioned it, but his father would take him to the same spaghetti factory as his mom took him to the night before. Both parents would comment that it was the best restaurant around, and then they would each order the same dish. They would go to the same music concerts, not knowing the other person was there. But Austin knew.
* * *
The gray sky surrounded their car as they drove toward the West Yellowstone entrance gate. Traveling through the early morning took Camille back to a family trip she’d taken with Adam and the kids. They’d driven to Lake Powell in the middle of the night, wanting to spend as much time as possible camping, hiking, and water-skiing. She had envisioned long, fun-filled, sunny days and dreamed about how they would maneuver the boat through the ruffling waves, laughing as the breeze raced across them.
Hours would be spent encouraging and teaching their children how to put pressure on the back foot of the ski so they’d pop out of the water. Then they’d hike through the red cliffs and stop at a shaded grove for a picnic. Best of all, in the evenings, maybe she and Adam would leave the children at camp and take a private ride through the water. They’d find a remote spot, she’d relax into his arms, and they’d rediscover their love for each other. It had been a long time since they had given their relationship that kind of nurturing.
Unfortunately, the reality had been much different. The first day consisted mostly of sharp orders to fix up the camp, and then Adam left with the kids for a short ride as she prepared dinner. After she cleaned up from their evening meal, she found him in an exhausted heap, snoring. The second day went no better. There was always work for her to do, and he was always off with the kids, hiking and boating. When all the meals and cleanup had been done, he said, “I’m taking Richard fishing. We’ll be home later.”
“But I thought . . .” Camille had let her protest trail off.
By the next to last day, she had reached her breaking point. He had a map and water jug in hand when she stopped him. “We need to talk,” she demanded. “Now.” She would take no excuse; the nonsense had gone on long enough.
“What?” he said, tapping his map against his knee.
The tapping sounded in her brain over and over. Tap, tap, tap, hurry, hurry, hurry.
“Sometimes I get the feeling I don’t exist,” she said. She waited for him to say, “Don’t be silly. You’re my life.” Then he’d squeeze her tight and she’d believe him.
Instead he said, “I’ve just taken a whole week off from work. A week I couldn’t afford—and you’re complaining? Cam, I give up. You’re impossible to please.” He packed up their stuff in a controlled, rapid motion, then drove them home. They’d screeched to a halt in front of their average, brown brick house before the sun had set on the day, never to go on a family vacation or any trip together again. Sometime around then, he must’ve fallen out of love with her.
“Whach’ya thinking over there?” Jackson’s voice broke into her wounded feelings.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
The silence was thick between them. A square block of pain a hand’s width above her stomach knotted, throbbed, and twisted. All the hurt, rejection, and humiliation had been shoved into that tight box. She needed to feel it, share it, expose the hurt for healing. But the risk might be too great.
“I’m just remembering.” She choked on the word that was coated with unwanted emotion.
“From the tone of your voice, they aren’t good memories.” He was inviting her to share, and it seemed that he cautiously, gently, oozed with kindness. A passing vehicle’s headlights shone in the car, illuminating Jackson’s face as he watched her. Camille saw the concern.
Then she remembered.
The gold band.
He was married.
That settled it. She really didn’t want to bare her soul to a man who had told her he had an ex-wife and yet clearly had some attachment to her. And yet . . . “I thought you were divorced.” Camille pointed at the gold band.
His cheeks reddened. “I—I . . . oh.” His hand patted the steering wheel. “She left me.” It was his turn to have his voice crack and fill with emotion. “I guess I was thinking that maybe . . .” His throat muscles flinched. Crimson covered his face.
“I’m sorry,” Camille said.
They drove on in silence. Camille watched the clock numbers change on the dashboard. Finally, she said, “I’ve been thinking about what went wrong in my marriage. It started out so well and ended so poorly.” Tears came, as she knew they would. “I feel like such a failure.”
“Did he tell you why he left?” he asked before hurriedly adding, “I apologize. I shouldn’t have asked that. It was wrong for me to assume he was the one that left. Oh, I mean, I shouldn’t have asked. I mean, ah—”
“It’s okay. I’ve needed to talk about it, and it might as well be to a stranger.” She leaned her head against the headrest, thinking it odd that out of everyone who had offered to listen to her, she had chosen him, this stranger, this cowboy.
For another long moment they were silent. Then he spoke. “Uh, you were going to tell me about his reasons for leaving,” he prompted.
“I don’t think I want to tell you that.”
“I’ll give you my ex-wife’s reason after you tell me.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Adam—that’s my ex—said we were two strangers living together, going through the motions, and that we didn’t even know each other.”
“Was he right?”
“At first I felt he’d blindsided me in the back of the head with a big two-by-four, but now—I don’t know. We definitely drifted apart. How were we supposed to be this close couple who knew each other inside and out, when he was always off trading stocks?”
The Superstitious Romance Page 7
