by Lisa Plumley
She needed a crash course. The overnight equivalent of the Buttmaster 2000, designed not to eliminate cellulite but to eliminate weakness. If she could just tackle something really scary, that would do it. Something like…never plucking her eyebrows again. Cutting up her Macy’s card. Staying at her campsite all night, alone.
Alone. That was it! The very thought gave Jayne shivers. Until just this moment, she’d been too caught up in her pain to realize exactly how alone she already was.
How alone she already was. Yikes! What had she done?
She bolted upright, eyes peeled for rogue raccoons or marauding javelinas. The wind blew her hair in her eyes, seeming to murmur sinisterly. Clouds covered the sun with evil portent, and—okay, so maybe it already had been a little cloudy. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was, Jayne had gotten herself in a fix again. The question was, could she handle it?
Heck, no! Dark, scary, do-it-yourself stuff coexisted with Jayne Murphy about as well as stripes coordinated with plaids. Who was she kidding? She had to be reasonable.
But still…this just might be her only way to salvage her future. Her career. Her pride. Those were all she had left now, Jayne reminded herself. Without Riley, she was on her own. So she’d better make it good.
Newly determined, Jayne brushed off the leaves that had drifted onto her sleeping bag and daintily sat on it. She grabbed Riley’s pack to refill it with his things—and that was when it happened.
She discovered the most surprising thing of all.
Inside the canyon lodge’s common room, Alexis glanced toward the wide windows overlooking the forest. There, seven of the eight adventure travelers still remaining at the secondary lodge stared out at the sight that had held them transfixed for the past two hours.
Jayne. Wilderness Adventure Jayne, to be exact.
“What’s she doing now?” Alexis asked, pushing a checkers piece across the board toward Lance. He countered her move.
“She appears to be constructing something,” Mack answered, squinting. “I think it’s a primitive hanger for her clothes.”
“It is.” Beside him at the window, Bruce scoffed. “Next she’ll be weaving a purse out of Aspen bark.”
Mitzi perked up. “Would that work? Neat!”
“I don’t know, Mitzi,” Kelly said. “I wouldn’t recommend it. A bark purse would be a definite Glamour ‘Don’t.’”
“I once made a purse out of a Quaker Oats carton covered with wallpaper,” Doris offered. “It looked very Mod.”
“Like something Twiggy or The Shrimp would have carried,” Donna agreed. “I remember that.” The two women smiled at each other.
“I’m, like, never going to carry a purse again,” Carla volunteered. “I just decided it last night. A purse is nothing but excess baggage. It, like, lets you hold on to things you don’t need anymore. Like my…I mean, like Paolo.”
All the women, including Alexis, stared at her.
“‘Paolo?’ Not ‘my Paolo?’ Just ‘Paolo?’ Does that mean you’ve given up on that loser?” Doris asked.
Decisively, Carla nodded. “I, like, deserve better. Being here with all of you has made me realize that.”
“Awww.” The women clustered together for a group hug. Alexis told Lance to king her, then joined in.
“Now she’s dragging over a huge fallen branch,” Bruce said, breaking in with the latest Wilderness Adventure Jayne Update. “What the…? She’s already got a campfire, so—”
“A weapon,” Mitzi said knowledgeably. “She just wants to protect herself, in case another javelina comes along.”
“Or something worse,” Kelly added. All the women nodded.
Lance frowned. “Doesn’t she know she’s within a quarter mile of the lodge? Within sight?”
“I’m sure she thinks she walked further than she did,” Donna said. “She looked pretty upset when she started. I doubt Jayne knows exactly how far she went.”
“Right,” Doris agreed. “She was going in circles around the perimeter of the lodge for a while there. And those trees probably block her view of us. We can only see Jayne so clearly because she’s up on that hill.”
“Somebody should go after her,” Lance announced.
They all looked at each other. A moment ticked past.
“Mitzi and I will,” Bruce announced, tugging a blushing Mitzi nearer by the hand. “We’ll reconnoiter Jayne out of the—”
“You’ll reconnoiter yourselves into the nearest secluded spot for a little nature nooky,” Donna said, shaking her head.
“Something wrong with that?” Bruce asked.
Everyone rolled their eyes.
“Well, I can’t go,” Lance said. “Jayne left me in charge. With Riley gone, I’m it.”
“I’ll go,” Alexis announced. Sheesh, older people took forever to decide stuff. She made a quick hoppity move that ended her checkers game with Lance, then pushed back from the table. “I’ll make sure Jayne’s all right.”
“You’d better hurry. It’s almost lunch time,” Bruce said, looking out the window again. “And I think—” He glanced down at Mitzi with a worried expression. “I think she just started crying.”
As far as Riley was concerned, airports were part of an alternate reality.
Inside an airport, time crawled or raced, depending on if you were early for your flight or fifteen minutes late. Logic vanished, replaced by a kill-or-be-killed mentality that insisted it was okay to trample your fellow travelers if they dawdled at the wrong speed. All roads led to uncomfortable chairs, and second grade knowledge of sequential numbers went by the wayside when staring at a too-high boarding pass number. Human kindnesses and courtesy mostly disappeared, brought low by layover tussles in the Wiener King hot dog line.
Not that any of those factors affected Riley, in particular. No, his usual M.O. was to arrive early, sleep as much as possible to pass the time, and carry on everything. In keeping with that philosophy, he arrived at the small Sedona airport still numb from his confrontation with Jayne, completed the checkin procedure, and promptly napped.
He placed his backpack on the seat beside him, then turned sideways so his knees rested on its bulk. He wadded up the fleece he’d grabbed and tucked it beneath his cheek. With his body spanning two chairs in the nearly-empty waiting area, he leaned his head to the right and took a shuddering breath.
The next thing Riley knew, someone was shaking him.
He awakened to find a gray-haired, sixty-ish man peering into his face. Blinking at the man’s lined face and turquoise-studded string tie, Riley shook his head to clear it.
“I said, are you all right?” the man asked.
He had the impression the man had been trying to wake him for some time. Was his flight leaving? Riley had set his watch alarm to awaken him in time, but there was always a chance it was broken. He jerked his wrist upward. The time indicated more than forty-five minutes remained until boarding.
“You were crying in your sleep,” the man explained in a low voice. “Not blubbering, mind you,” he added at the doubtlessly alarmed look Riley shot him, “just sad, silent tears. Nightmare?”
Slowly, Riley raised his hand to his cheek. His fingertips came back wet.
Jesus. His freaking emotions had ambushed him while he’d slept. Exactly when he’d been at his most defenseless, they’d snuck in and bam! Helpless bawling. What was happening to him? He couldn’t remember the details of what he’d been dreaming, but he felt sure it had been about Jayne.
He missed her. Already.
“It’s okay, you know,” the man said, sitting down in the chair across from Riley. He gave him a wise look. “Catches up to us, sooner or later. Nightmares are just our brain’s way of giving us a big smack upside the head, telling us to pay attention. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” Riley lied. He swiveled, ducking his head to swipe away the tears as he did. He dried his hands on his pants. “But thanks for waking me.”
The m
an nodded. “You don’t look like a fella who takes easy to being caught off guard. I figured you’d want to know.”
He didn’t want to know. He wanted to never know. When it came to being helpless against his feelings, Riley wanted nothing to do with it. But it looked as though the rest of him had other ideas. Scary, touchy-feely, emotional ideas.
As a result, he was afraid to try napping again.
Instead, after sniffing away the last of his tears, he cleared his throat as manfully as he could. He deepened his voice. Extended his hand. “He Riley Davis. Buy you a cup of coffee?”
Ten minutes later, he and K.C. Logan were on the road to becoming friends, unlikely as it was. They slurped scalding coffee in the waiting area, chatting about the weather and the Diamondbacks and photography. Somehow, talking with K.C. felt natural to Riley—and so did bringing some other travelers into their conversation, when they sat down nearby. Hell, if he’d known passing the time with gabbing worked this well, he’d have quit napping years before this.
Maybe, Riley thought uncomfortably, there was something to Jayne’s theories about being with people. Maybe Alexis had been right, and he was a loner. The thought depressed him. Was it too late for him?
If it was, Riley told himself, then he didn’t want to know. Determined to forget his past—and Jayne—as easily as she’d tossed him into a damned closet and hidden him, he went on talking. Faster than he’d have thought possible, more than an hour swept past, punctuated by two flight delay announcements.
“I wish this damned thing would get going. I’m only headed as far as Dallas,” K.C. said, naming the city that would be Riley’s second stopover once the Sedona-to-Phoenix flight got underway. “Got grandkids I’m visiting there.”
“Oooh, grandbabies!” Everyone in their small group brightened and talked faster. Wallets were produced, snapshots were unfolded in arrays of clear plastic, and one grandmotherly type even passed around her camcorder with footage of “the little darlings.”
Instantly, Riley felt shut out. Cast aside. Forgotten. It occurred to him that this kind of shutting out was—literally—what Jayne had done to him this morning. Being left behind was what he’d always dreaded most. No wonder he’d instantly gone on the offensive. No wonder he’d pretended he’d never changed his mind about going to Antigua.
No wonder he was alone now.
Miserably, he looked at the faces of the people grouped around him. Older and younger, they all glowed with happiness while sharing images of the people they loved.
He had people, Riley told himself defiantly. He had photographs, too. Although it went against his every instinct, he grabbed his backpack and made ready to share some of his photos with K.C. and the gang.
He reached inside. “Look, everybody! Here’s my—”
“Self-help book?” K.C. interrupted.
Their stunned expressions gathered on the hardbound book in his hand. Not the thing he’d expected at all, it was instead a…copy of Heartbreak 101: Getting Over The GoodBye Guys?
Riley frowned. Jayne must have slipped the book into his backpack at some point during their trip. Probably, she’d been hoping he’d absorb some of her techniques through osmosis and become a Sensitive Guy. He almost would have tried it, if it would have kept her from pushing him away this morning. He almost would have done it, if…awww, the hell with it. It was too late, anyway. He crammed the book back into his pack.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” the grandmotherly type cooed, trying to stop him.
“He’s prone to that,” K.C. confided, “but he’ll tell you he’s not.” He offered a sympathetic look.
“It’s okay. I loved that book!” said another of his fellow travelers. She tugged his arm until Riley relented, then took the book from him. Exclaiming over how the techniques inside had helped her divorced daughter overcome heartbreak, she showed it to her husband. “It’s a runaway bestseller, you know. I’m hoping the author goes on “Oprah” someday.”
Riley rubbed his palms on his thighs. “It’s not my book—it’s a…friend’s. I don’t read that kind of stuff. Real men don’t need to. Right, K.C.?”
The older man looked doubtful. “If it would make my Ada happy, I’d read the dictionary. Twice. Standing on my head.”
They all nodded. “Me, too”s were heard. Riley couldn’t believe it. Shoving their protests from his mind, he decided to stick with his original plan. He reached into his backpack. His fingers groped for the familiar item he sought. Instead, he touched something smooth and cool and round, and withdrew it.
A leopard-print mirrored compact.
Jayne’s leopard-print mirrored compact.
He had the wrong backpack, he realized, scanning the contents for the first time since leaving. How had he taken the wrong pack? Sure, they were identical on the outside. Sure, Riley hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly when he’d left the lodge this morning. Sure…sure, he could believe it.
While the others talked and passed around Jayne’s book, he sat in his chair and examined the compact in his hand. He ran his fingers over its glossy surface, remembering Jayne’s “primp!” battle cry. He rubbed his thumb over the catch, thinking of Jayne perched on a rock, bombshell style, fixing her makeup. He opened the catch and peeked inside.
Geez, he looked like hell. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed, his features miserable. Was this what love did to him?
No, he answered himself instantly. This was what the lack of love did to him. He’d really believed Jayne was the one.
Angrily, he snapped the compact closed and put it away. At the same moment, the grandmotherly traveler turned to him.
“It’s going to be a while ‘til our flight gets here,” she said. “We’re all going to get a bite to eat at Taco Tillie’s. Would you like to join us?”
The others had risen. They waited expectantly. K.C. met Riley’s gaze and nodded in encouragement.
“No, thanks,” Riley said. “I’m…not hungry. You all go ahead. Enjoy yourselves.”
“Sure?” asked the man Riley recognized as the divorced daughter’s dad. “They’ve got an enchilada plate that’s only four ninety-nine.”
“You’ve got to keep up your strength, you know,” said another woman. She patted his arm, apparently not noticing Riley’s biceps was twice as big as her hand. “You don’t want to get too thin, now.”
“I’ll get something later, I promise,” he said. “First I have to take this book back to my Suburban—” Riley indicated the copy of Heartbreak 101 that had just been handed back to him. “—and rustle up some traveling supplies. It turns out I’ve got the wrong pack.”
He’d already shipped some equipment to the Antigua site—cameras, tripods, lenses, basic essentials—and with the additional clothes to be found in his Suburban, he could manage. Anything else he could buy on location. After a walk to the long-term parking area, he’d call Mack and ask him to send someone from the Hideaway Lodge to pick up Jayne’s pack and deliver it to her.
“I’ll bring you back a doggie bag,” K.C. said with a wink.
“Okay. Thanks.” Riley watched as, after more assurances from him that he wouldn’t starve to death, the group headed for the airport restaurant. Then he gathered up his—okay, Jayne’s pack—with every intention of taking a walk himself.
He only made it as far as the next row. There, Riley sank into a chair and pulled out the book again. Drawn by some mysterious but powerful impulse, he gazed at the author photo on the back. He touched the name embossed in pink script on the front, and ruffled through the pages. A sentence caught his eye, and Riley began reading.
It was exactly like talking to Jayne, he discovered—minus the flirty looks, the warm touches, the smiles. Still, it was closer than he was likely to ever come again, and Riley had time to burn.
Assuring himself that reading this self-help book did not make him an official Sensitive Guy, he turned to the first page and read the introduction. Two paragraphs in, he realized he was getting sucked into Jayne�
�s prose. Riley glanced up worriedly to make sure no one was staring at him strangely. Apparently, he hadn’t grown a sweater with leather elbow patches, a couples-therapist style beard, or an intense urge to redecorate. Relieved, Riley dove back into page two.
It was a very long time before he glanced up again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Perched atop her sleeping bag, Jayne let her campfire die down. All her attention was for the thing she’d found in Riley’s backpack—the thing in her lap, right now.
She’d been stunned to find it. Especially in Riley’s pack, since he was the epitome of an essentials-only guy. According to his own philosophy, he should have been carrying only those things required for basic survival. From the looks of it, though, he’d considered this item essential for a very long time.
It was a photo album. Protected by a zippered waterproof outer covering and about an inch thick, it was small enough that Jayne could hold it easily. Inside, it was bound in leather. At first, she’d thought it was some kind of professional portfolio, meant to display his photography work.
Her initial, tentative glance at the pictures inside had made her realize the truth. This was a personal collection, one not meant for any eyes except Riley’s.
The first photo was a slightly yellowed one. In it, a long-haired man and woman stood side by side, dressed in late Seventies clothes—Earth shoes, flared jeans, and ponchos. A small heap of mismatched luggage rested at their feet, plastered in travel stickers depicting exotic locales. Jayne had never met Riley’s parents, but this had to be them…just as the dark-haired boy at the edge of the frame had to be Riley himself.
She leaned closer to peer at his image. He’d had longer hair then, its side-parted, over-the-ears style badly in need of a trim. His little face looked serious as he confronted the camera. In one fist, little Riley clutched his own luggage, covered in decals identical to those of his parents’—right down to their placement on his bag.
