Though I elbow him, I know he’s right, and it pisses me off a little bit. She broke my heart, and it doesn’t matter anyway because I’m leaving eventually. A small, distant voice tells me that there might still be a chance for us, though, and I want to believe it, even if I know I shouldn’t.
“You get a chance to talk to her yet?” And I know what Nick means.
I let out a deep breath and cross my arms over my chest. “No, and I’m not sure this weekend is good timing, either,” I say, worried any conversation deeper than the state of my house or the weather might create even more tension between us, especially when we’re stuck together for the next two days.
“Got it,” Nick says and whistles for the girls. “Load up, people. We’ve got an hour ’til we get over the mountain, and the sooner I can start drinking, the better.”
“He’s anxious because Savannah’s coming,” Mac says, and she punches him in the shoulder.
“Ouch!”
I’m glad to hear Nick’s finally gotten over the unattainable Bethany.
“Give me a sec,” I say, and head back inside to make sure all the lights are off and the windows are closed. I peek through the window, making sure Petey has enough food and water, and step outside. I lock the front door behind me out of habit, and Mac’s already squealing with glee.
“He asked you out! How could you not have told me that, like immediately?”
“Excuse me, Miss I-can’t-answer-the-phone-while-I’m-packing-in-case-I-forget-anything-because-it-would-be-the-end-of-the-world. Besides, he called right as I was leaving my house.”
I glance behind me, jiggling the handle once to make sure it’s locked, and then head toward Nick, who’s checking that everything’s secured in the back of the truck.
Mac squeals again and throws her arms around Sam. “It’s about freakin’ time, Sam. I thought you were going to be celibate for the rest of your life at the rate you were going.” Mac pauses. “You said yes, didn’t you?”
Although I’m not certain, I assume I know who they’re talking about, and even though I try not to let it bother me, my jaw aches with tightness.
Mac looks at me, and when her gaze lingers, Sam looks back at me, too. The easy expression on her face falters. “We can talk about it later.”
“Sam.” I can’t help but say it. “You know that guy’s a tool, right?”
Her gaze hardens on me. I know I’m digging myself into a hole, but I can’t help it.
“I know it shouldn’t be my business, but that guy?” It’s Mike all over again.
“The ladies don’t care what we think, man,” Nick says, and he pushes me toward the truck.
“Do you like him?” I ask Nick, but he throws his hands up. “I do not get involved in these kinda things.” Nick gestures to the truck. “Ladies, please. This train’s a-leaving.” He climbs into the driver’s seat.
“Well, you’re definitely riding with me,” Mac says, ushering Sam toward the Jeep. “I need more details about Mr. Dreamboat.”
“I’ve mentioned him like, once.”
I frown and open the passenger door of Sam’s truck. That no one can see what I see baffles me. I’m about to step into the cab when I sense her right behind me.
“I, uh . . .” I smell sunblock and vanilla before I even turn around. Her eyes shift from mine and her expression is fixed again, less open than before.
“I need my bag,” she says and tries to reach past me. She’s five foot six to my six foot two, so I reach in and grab her bag from the bench seat. “Thanks,” she says, and doesn’t look at me when she accepts it, but her fingers brush against mine before she jogs back over to the Jeep. I’m relieved when the F-250 rumbles to life, drowning out the giggling girls in the Jeep behind us.
Seventeen
Sam
With all of our tents up, our beds rolled out, our bellies full, and Mac’s famous hot toddies brewing on the camping stove, I stretch in my seat in front of the campfire I’ve built to blazing. I’m not used to the listlessness of not being at home with my chores and horses to tend to.
I spot Reilly’s oversized flip-flops by the fire, and I wonder how I’ve come to find myself on a camping trip with the one person I thought I’d never see again—and the one person who makes me crazy confused.
He’s only here for a short while. I keep telling myself this because if I don’t, my mind starts wandering, and I start thinking about unrealistic possibilities and my mind spirals into the past all over again.
Mac curses quietly to herself at the camping stove, and a laugh bubbles out of me; with it, all of my concerns evaporate too, at least for now. With the guys gone fishing, us ladies have some girl time to ourselves, and I try to take comfort in the fact that it’s just Mac and me, watching the sunset.
“Almost ready,” Mac says from her cauldron at the stove. I catch her sniffing the vapors rising from it as she methodically stirs the contents. It’s funny to see Mac at a stove, though I know it shouldn’t be. She’s the glue that keeps her family together at home, and she probably cooks for her dad and brother every single night. But here she looks more like the twenty-three-year-old that she is—she’s the picture of an enchantress or wielder of the dark arts more than a Susie Homemaker.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask, not comfortable with the idleness of sitting there just watching.
“Nope . . . I think you get to relax.”
“Thanks for putting all of this together again this year, Mac,” I say, more than grateful to have a friend that loves me enough to force me out of my routines. My camping chair squeaks and settles as I curl my legs beneath me and impatiently wait for Mac to finish our drinks. “Even if I’d wanted to miss this,” I say, quickly adding, “and I didn’t, I know you would never let me. I appreciate that.”
“Good.” Finally, Mac looks up and winks at me before she leans over to inhale the steam rising from the pot of intoxicating libations once more. “I know you’re trying to get as much done as you can while Nick’s out of school, but you guys need some fun time, too. Otherwise, what’s the point of being crazy, unpredictable twenty-year-olds? You only live once, right?” Picking up a bottle of brandy, she removes the cap and dumps another cup inside.
“You wouldn’t, by chance, be trying to get me drunk tonight, would you?” I raise an eyebrow because I know she is.
She balks. “I would never.”
I snort. “Right.” Knowing she’s around to keep me laughing and distracted—having a good time for once—makes me feel lighter. “Tomorrow’s going to be so fun,” I say. “I can’t wait to get out on the water.” I rub my forehead and gaze up at the pale blushing sky.
“Yeah, we should probably turn in somewhat early tonight, otherwise we’ll get a late start tomorrow morning.” Mac peers around the campsite. “Where are the guys, anyway? They sort of just . . . disappeared after grub,” Mac says as she ladles a mug of her famous brew.
“Fishing,” I say. “Which reminds me . . .” I lock eyes with her as she hands me my cup. “You forgot to mention Bethany would be joining us this weekend. It must’ve slipped your mind.”
Mac straightens, her brow furrowing and her eyes turning round and guilt-ridden, the way they do when she feels like absolute shit. “I didn’t know until this morning,” she’s quick to say, and her palms fly up. “I promise. I don’t want her here any more than you do. Trust me, the way she fucks with Nick’s head . . .” Mac waves the thought away, one hand on her hip. “At least she’s staying with a friend at a different site.”
Reilly and Bethany, together with me all weekend . . . “Awesome,” I mutter. When Mac’s expression grows more apologetic and pitiful, I can’t help but forgive her. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” Repositioning the hot mug in my hands, I blow on its contents and take a sip. I close my eyes and let the warm liquid ease the tightness in my body. “God, these are so damn good,” I say, feeling the honey and tinge of lemon coat my throat and flow down into my stomach.
&
nbsp; In a few steps, Mac is back at the stove, smiling to herself as she ladles a mug full for herself. “There’s an art to it, you know.”
I take another sip and lick the sweetness from my lips, savoring every last trace of it. “I’m not surprised.” The ladle clangs against the metal pot as she drops it inside. “What’s your secret?”
Mac’s eyebrows dance as she saunters over to sit with me beside the fire. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I raise an eyebrow, and she waves my feigned impatience away.
“Two tea bags and use brandy—and only brandy. Not rum or whiskey. Brandy has a smoothness to it that the others don’t. Although whiskey and honey is a really nice combination, if you’re in the mood.”
I analyze my mug, watching the steam rise from it, before I bring it to my nose to breathe in the scent. Yep. It’s spicy, but doesn’t burn the nostrils. “It’s sooo good.” I take another sip and gaze out at the red glow our campsite is bathed in as the sun sets.
Once again, we’ve commandeered the best camping space in Snake Canyon. A stretch of redwoods and pine trees are the only things separating us from the river; they provide shade during the sweltering afternoons and act as a windbreaker at night when the breeze picks up.
It’s not long before the sun disappears behind the surrounding mountains and the sky turns the color of midnight. A drove of stars shine bright in the sky. With bated breath, Mac and I wait for a comet to fall from the endless space above. I briefly wonder if I could come up with a different wish for each and every star I saw falling, or if it would always be the same, unanswered one.
Exhaling thoughts of Papa, I watch the stars flutter and dance above me and realize I’ve had more than my share of hot toddies for one night. I’m too much of a lightweight to keep up with Mac, or any of them for that matter.
“We can never stop doing this,” Mac whispers. “No matter what. We have to do this every year . . . forever.”
I smile happily. “You got it.”
“I’m serious,” Mac says, her voice more staid. “If we didn’t do this every year, we’d never spend time together, not real, uninterrupted time.”
Trying to squelch the guilt that lingers with the truth of not being an attentive friend the past few years, I change the subject. “Who’s running the show while you’re up here, relaxing in the mountains with me and acting your own age, instead of doing your usual head-mistress-of-the-shop routine?”
“Just Dad, I guess. It’s the weekend—he’ll do fine, as long as he doesn’t answer the phones.”
We both start laughing, knowing that Cal’s probably losing his mind, although it’s only the first day of our trip.
Mac peers around the campsite. “Are Reilly and Nick still fishing, seriously? How boring.”
“I think so,” I say. My head falls to the side, and my eyes alight with a hopefulness I pray will pressure Mac into saying yes to my next request. “You want to wake up early and see if anything’s biting? I haven’t been fishing in ages. We’ll be done in time to make breakfast. I promise.”
Mac gives me a withering glare. “I don’t fish, Sam. It’s never going to happen.”
Mac’s right, it was my dad who used to fish with me, and the memory becomes a lead weight plummeting into my stomach. “You’re no fun,” I say.
“Assuming I don’t have a hangover tomorrow morning,” she says dismissively, “I’ll consider accompanying you.”
I knew that wasn’t going to happen, despite her intentions. Mac doesn’t do “dirty things” like fishing or even gardening, especially not in the morning when she’d rather be sleeping. I, on the other hand, haven’t slept in late for so long I might’ve forgotten how to do it. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand how you can work with grease monkeys and lube and stinky, synthetic liquids, but the purity of nature bothers you.” I squint at her, incredulous.
“Grime under my fingernails and grease that I can wash off is different. Slimy, wiggling things that eat decaying matter and live underground . . .” She cringes. “There’s no coming back from that, Sam. I can’t just wash something like that off. It’s imprinted in my brain—”
“Forever,” I finish for her. “I know.” We burst out laughing. “You’re pathetic.”
“No, I’m a girl, something you should act like every once in a while.”
“Hey,” I say, defensive. “I got a date just fine, and I was dirty and stinky and—”
“None of which you should be proud of, Samantha Marie Miller. If this Adam guy is as dreamy as you describe him and the big shot his website claims, then you’ll need to step out of cutoff-and-cowboy-boot zone and sex it up a little bit for your date.”
I recoil. “Sex it up?”
Mac grips my arm. “You’re still on birth control, right?”
I frown. “Yeah, but—”
“Good. That’s one less thing you have to worry about then.”
I groan. “I haven’t ‘sexed’ anything up in so long I think I might’ve forgotten how to do that, too,” I grumble.
“That’s why I’m going to help you. I’ll raid my closet and find you the perfect outfit. Figure out where you’re going when we get back, okay? That will help me narrow our options down.” She turns serious. “You really need to try and make this work, Sam.”
I frown. “Excuse me?”
There’s no sympathy in her tone, no placating. “This is going to be good for you. You need to get out more, start living your life. So don’t sabotage it, okay?”
“Why would I sab—”
“I know you called Tommy Baker right before your date with him last month and claimed you were sick, Sam. I know you showed up for that blind date I set up for you last year with one of my customers, then left like ten minutes into it because you suddenly weren’t feeling well.” She studies me, the flickering fire illuminating concern and annoyance in her brilliant eyes. “There was nothing wrong with those guys, Sam. I interviewed them myself. You were scared and stopped anything from happening before they even had a chance to hurt you.”
I suddenly feel sick to my stomach and don’t want to talk about this. Refusing to meet her gaze, I take a sip of lukewarm toddy.
“Sam,” Mac says sternly. “Look at me, Sam.”
With a raised, expectant eyebrow, I spare her a glance. “Yes, Miss Bossy-Pants?”
Her expression softens and the genuine worry in her eyes makes me uneasy. “Not every guy is an asshole like Mike.” She rubs one hand over her bare legs to keep warm.
After making a noncommittal noise, I reach for the fleece blanket folded up in Nick’s empty chair on the other side of me. “I know that,” I say and spread the blanket over her lap, tucking in the edges.
“I know what you’re doing,” she says. Mac watches me a moment, what seems to be her trademark for the night, and I can tell her mind-wheels are turning.
“Yeah? And what’s that,” I say, though I don’t like the direction this conversation is going. I draw nonsensical shapes in the mug’s condensation.
“You’re trying to control everything because you think it’s the safest option.”
A frown settles on my face. “What the hell is this, an intervention or a camping trip?”
Mac’s green eyes are bright but gleaming with sadness, and it hurts me more than I thought.
I lift an indifferent shoulder. “So what, I’m taking my time, making sure I don’t make any more bad decisions—God knows I’ve made enough of them. That’s not some horrible thing.”
When Mac doesn’t say anything, I venture a look at her, though I’m certain I’ll regret it.
She gives me a grim smile. “This is the last thing I’ll say,” she says and holds up a hand. “You can’t control everything. You’ll constantly be disappointed if that’s what you’re waiting for.”
I stare into the fire. Little does Mac know I already gave up on that. Now I’m just trying to keep my head above water.
When the silence hangs too long between us, M
ac uncurls herself from the chair. “I’m gonna change. Want me to grab you a sweatshirt or something while I’m up?”
I shake my head, needing the cool air that bites my exposed skin, wanting to feel the chills raking painfully over my body because anything is better than the unwanted pain in my heart.
“Don’t drink the rest of the toddy before I get back,” she teases, trying to lighten the mood before she disappears into our tent.
It bothers me that she can’t just let me be. She says she wants me to let loose, but then she pries and prods until my miserable life is all I can think about. Despite my intention to forget about everything but having fun this weekend, my mood has officially turned sour. What little light there was has been chased away by the darkness again.
I want to steal off into the shadows, be alone, and cope the only way I know how. My gaze fixes on the Ziploc bag of forks and knives on the picnic table, but I check the impulse, banishing the thought when I realize my sudden absence would only cause a scene I don’t have the energy to deal with.
Willing the darkness in my mind to go away, I stare into the glowing embers of the fire, inhaling the scent of smoky pine and wishing I could scorch the old pain and memories away and start anew. But it’s too late for that. I already feel like the charred piece of kindling that braces the side of the fire pit—cracked and burned nearly to ash.
After a dozen heartbeats and a couple of deep breaths, I hear footsteps behind me. I don’t bother looking back. I know it’s Reilly because he’s silent, not boisterous like Nick.
“Hey,” Reilly says as he steps out of the trees. I can hear Nick cursing in the darkness farther back.
“Hey.” I continue to stare into the flames. There’s rustling and chatting behind me as the guys settle back into camp, but I don’t pay much attention. I’m debating going for a walk when Reilly’s form looms above me. “Mind if I sit?”
I shake my head. “Sure.”
He lowers himself into the chair to my left, and lets out a deep breath as he stares at my mug. “How did it turn out?”
Whatever It Takes (A Saratoga Falls Love Story Book 1) Page 17
