Love's Sporting Chance: Volume 1: 6 Romantic sporting novellas

by Janice Thompson

  “Not going to happen.”

  “Right. You’d rather take a picture than risk living in the moment. You’re content to watch life pass you by and chronicle all you miss.”

  “Glad we cleared that up. Let’s go.” Keats marched up the trail at a pace slightly less than a run.

  Darby jogged behind trying vainly to catch up. “Wait! Please.” She bent over and sucked air into her burning lungs. She couldn’t wait until she got Bonnie alone tonight. Not an axe murderer, my foot! I’m dying, and she’s going to get an earful.

  She slowly straightened, got out her water bottle, and took a long drink. No sense rushing. She’d make it to the rendezvous point on her own.

  She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, stretched her neck and flexed her tense shoulders. So much for tai chi. Gotta move, I can’t stay here all day. A drizzle of rain dripped through the branches overhead and hit her cheek. Perfect.

  She threw her shoulders back and focused on the trail ahead. Keaton stood above her, still as a statue.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. It came out in a hoarse cry. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Just so you know, the apology is accepted but this isn’t a quid pro quo moment.”

  “I didn’t expect it would be, but maybe we can at least put it behind us and enjoy the hike,” Darby said. “Okay?”

  ~

  “Maybe.” Keats looked down at her for a moment but she didn’t move. He thought she might hike up to where he was and expect him to wait for her. He was glad she didn’t expect a group hug or anything. On the heels of the snarky thought came another, unbidden. Is she frozen in place like me? It didn’t matter. He’d learned long ago a person could live with a broken heart and frozen emotions. Not a big deal. I do it every minute of every day. “Are you coming?”

  In answer, Darby advanced up the tumbled stone toward him. He waited until she was about ten feet away before he turned his back on her and trudged ahead. The morning wore on gray and somber. A light drizzle dampened their clothes, a perfect setting for his mood and the day ahead. Each time he glanced back, Darby was marching forward but maintaining a safe distance. Safe for her, or for me?

  He shook his head and droplets of water scattered off the brim of his old Red Sox hat. If only he could shake her off his mind that easily. Darby’s low, teasing voice echoed in his head. I didn’t expect my Boy Scout to go all modern millennial guy on me. Why’d she have to say things like that? Her Boy Scout? The thought nipped at his emotions. It scared the pants off him. Because I like it.

  They, whoever they were, said admitting it was half the problem. That was a load of lies. Admitting it definitely only made it worse. It let her skip through his head. If he didn’t stop it now, she’d be moving in on his heart.

  He quickened the pace, grunting as the trail grew slick and the climb grew steeper. Keats glanced back again, reassured she was still there like a pink, persistent shadow. She’d put on a pink cap with some sort of blue blur of a logo on it, to shield her eyes from the drizzle. No! Don’t be an idiot! Stop noticing everything she does!

  Keats fiercely turned his attention to his surroundings: the moisture-laden spruce needles laced with dew-beaded webs, the quivering silver moss dangling from the branches, a bright, cheerful chickadee flitting through the forest keeping them company.

  His eyes framed shot after shot, assessing the angle and light with each step, but he never stopped. More than once he slowed his pace to better study his passing subject, his hand reaching into the pocket of his hoodie for the phone. Each time he yanked his fingers away from the device as if he’d been burned.

  He lectured himself. She’s right, you know. Okay, so photography was his personal camouflage from life. It was his life, so he could hide out in pictures if he wanted to. It was none of Darby Irish’s business. She barely knew him. He’d prove her wrong if it killed him. No more pictures this trip.

  The promise infused his step with more energy. Garrett was really the one to blame in all this, although Darby came in a close second. Why did they care about his life? His anger felt good. He hadn’t taken a single photo of human subjects or subject matter since Jess died. She’d been his last personal shot. He’d vowed never to take another picture of a person again and he’d kept that promise. Until this trip. So he’d had a moment of insanity. That was all in the past now. If he was taking any pictures, but he wasn’t because of Miss Censure behind him, when he got through with this hike and was on his own again, it would be strictly nature from now on and forever.

  He glanced back and the trail stretched behind him empty and forlorn. Keats never broke stride as he reversed and charged back down the slope. He’d only gone a few hundred feet when she burst out of the bushes at the side of the trail and nearly crashed into him. He instinctively caught her arm to steady her.

  Keats immediately broke contact and she sidestepped to put space between them. “I thought maybe I’d lost you,” he muttered.

  “No such luck. I’m wearing distress signal pink, remember?” She inserted her thumbs under the padded straps of her pack. Her cheeks radiated pink, even in the gloom. “Sorry you had to backtrack. TMI, but I had to attend to some personal business. I’m ready to roll again.”

  He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses on his wet sweatshirt. Why hadn’t he just waited on the trail for her to show up, instead of charging down here as if he was protecting her from a bear attack? Stupid!

  Darby pulled off the chamois cloth tied to her strap. “This might work better.” The colorful rag hung between them for a moment before he tweaked it from her fingers.

  He polished his lenses and affixed his glasses on his face before he looked at her. “Much better. Thanks.” He thrust the cloth back at her.

  She waved it away. “Keep it. As you might suspect, I have more packed away back there.” She smiled, thumbed toward her pack, then pointed up the trail. “I think we’re almost to the perch. Do you want to take a lunch break there, or would you rather just push on through? I’m good either way.”

  Keaton stared at her. It’s horrible … they’re nice. Garrett’s comment whined in his head like a pesky mosquito. Darby was nice and he’d been the horrible one, punishing her to punish himself for… what? Having a good time with her? Liking a woman who wasn’t Jess?

  Her fingers brushed his sweatshirt sleeve and hovered light as a butterfly. “Are you okay? We can turn back if you like. Well, I guess that’s not true, because when we didn’t show up at Traveler’s Pass they’d send out the bloodhounds for us.” She chewed her fingertip for a second. “I guess the solution might be for you to head back and I can go on and tell Garrett and Bonnie. If you feel okay about hiking alone.”

  “No.” The word brayed harsh and loud in the dripping forest. “I can’t let them down.”

  “They’ll be fine with it.”

  “No,” he repeated, gentler this time. He held up a hand like a traffic cop and her touch fell away. Don’t look at her. Keep it together! “I’m fine. We’ve pushed really hard this morning and no way am I going to miss the hike to the peak.”

  “Okay, then lead on, Boy Scout.”

  Boy Scout. The name plucked at his resolve, but at least she hadn’t said ‘my Boy Scout.’ He stepped past her. “We’ll stop at Mason’s Perch for a quick lunch break.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He trudged uphill, his ears tuned to the scuffle of boots hitting the rocks behind him. Keats tried to focus on nature crowding in on him from every angle, but all he could hear were her boots. A half-hour later, they burst from the trees and emerged on an eagle’s ledge vista. Mason’s Perch jutted out from the side of the mountain in a show of solid rock, holding forth a misty view of the peaks and valleys to the west.

  Keats stepped aside and gestured for Darby to precede him. She plodded past, but as soon as her boots connected with the massive stone, she straightened. She stood tall, head back, blond tendrils
blowing across her cheek. She smiled slightly and turned to take in the vista, the lines of her body strong and vibrant as if she was an integral part of these magnificent surroundings.

  His fingers itched to snap the photo—the muted hues, the lightening sky, the woman cast in pink and dignity; pure grace and strength on display without arrogance and without apology.

  “Get over yourself,” he whispered as he whipped out the phone and framed the shot, then another. Just this once; nobody needs to know. He slipped the camera back in his pouch before she turned to him.

  “Are you joining me?”

  “In a minute, I’m getting the token.” He ducked down the trail and into the trees, his hands shaking. Man up! Get control! He sucked in a shuddering breath and blinked back the moisture pooling in his eyes. What was wrong with him? Keats swallowed hard and paced farther down the trail until the quivering inside abated. As an afterthought, he grabbed the token from its place on the trail sign and shoved it in his pocket before he spun on his heel and strode back to the opening and froze.

  Darby sat on the edge of the perch, cross-legged, her elbows propped on her thighs, chin resting in her hands, looking as if she’d lost her best friend; pensive and little girl/woman, achingly sweet.

  Over the valley, the sun found a hole in the clouds and scattered-sulfur beams lit up the horizon beyond her. The whole scene clashed violently with the picture he’d taken two minutes ago. Now his hands shook for a totally different reason as he ripped the camera out of his pocket, crouched down and took the shot. His photographer’s eye would not be denied: the juxtaposed lighting, the two shots showcasing this woman’s heart, the moment that would never come again. Even as he moved a foot to the left and took two more shots, the light changed, the dark clouds joined together, and the moment was gone. Darby remained perfectly still, transfixed in her own world. He’d make no apologies for capturing what was already a memory.

  Keats stowed the phone back in its hiding place and strode to the overhang. He shrugged out of his pack and laid it on the rock before sitting beside her. Darby slowly turned her head from contemplating the vista before them and smiled at him. “More peanut butter today?”

  He shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. I’m eating some five-grain something or other Bonnie gave me.” He unzipped his pack and pulled out a concoction of bread and seeds spread with some kind of dark colored butter, maybe? He didn’t want to think about it. The only thing appealing in the lunch bag was the three strips of beef jerky. He wanted to wolf them down right now, but decided he’d better save them as a chaser to cleanse his palate. He held the offering up, letting the bag dangle between his thumb and forefinger.

  Darby nodded and held up a similar lunch. “Me, too. I think it’s my cousin’s personal spin on Logan bread. I hear it’s an experimental recipe. This getting married has unleashed her inner Julia Child. It’s scary.”

  Keats ripped open the food bag but Darby put her hand on his wrist. “Just a second. I think we should pray over this one.” She bowed her head and before he could wonder if she expected him to say grace aloud, her voice came out low and soft, hovering over the chasm before them. “Dear Lord, Thank You for this fantastic spot and for Your guidance on this hike. Thank you for this food, bless it to our bodies and, please, Lord, don’t let it make us sick. Amen.”

  “Amen.” Keats almost choked on the word.

  Darby must’ve misinterpreted his guttural response as humor because she raised her head and winked at him. “If you breathe a word of this to Bonnie, you’re dead meat, Mister.”

  He drew an X over his heart with his forefinger. “What happens on the trail stays on the trail.”

  “Good man.” She smiled. “No guts, no glory.” She took a bite and he watched her, his own lunch forgotten. She chewed and chewed and chewed.

  He was thankful for the reprieve. He needed time to think. He’d already broken all of his promises to himself. He’d taken her picture not once, but several times, although Darby never knew it. He liked that about her. She was totally immersed in the moment, absorbing her surroundings. And, in an even greater lapse, he’d crossed his heart — something he’d only done with Jess. It was too late to take it back now.

  Her eyes grew big and her blond brows rose in peaks as she finally swallowed. She grabbed her water bottle and chugged it down before she spoke. “Your turn. I warn you its a little dry and earthy.”

  He shook his head and she laughed. “Come on. Boy Scouts are brave.”

  “Not this brave.”

  “Hey, I prayed over it, you’re safe.”

  You prayed. I noticed. You blindsided me; not fair! He suspected Darby had thought he was trying to smother a laugh when he said ‘Amen.’ In truth, he’d been blown away by her willingness to address his earlier jab about her “God thing.”

  “About that. Why’d you do it?” He laid Bonnie’s experimental recipe on the rock between them and held her gaze.

  Darby shrugged. “She’s my cousin and you know she’s gonna ask me if I ate it and liked it. I can’t lie. At least I got the eating part covered. I’m trying hard to think of a fitting adjective to wiggle out of the liking it part.”

  “No.” Just say it. Ask her and be done with it. “I’m asking about the prayer itself.”

  Darby chewed her fingertip and a pink blush crept into her cheeks. “Yeah, not exactly stained glass material, but I guess you could say I was inspired by the Traveler’s Psalm, thank you very much, and you guys in the circle this morning. And, if I remember correctly, you gave me a kick in the pants on the trail.”

  “I—”

  “No need to say anything. I needed it. I’ve been thinking about what you said while we were hiking. You’re right. I didn’t realize how far I’d drifted and how much I’ve missed my Spiritual roots and the power and joy that comes with living out my faith day to day.” She broke eye contact and looked out at the wide expanse. “I know… well, I don’t know, because no one tells me anything, but that’s beside the point. Let’s just say I realize this isn’t your favorite place to be right now, so I want to thank you for hiking with me. I didn’t want to come on this hike, but I’m so glad I did. It’s been just what I needed.”

  Darby turned back to him, her face heartbreakingly sad. “I lost myself for awhile, and I was so lost I didn’t even know it.” She flashed a smile. “Now I’m back.” The serious moment passed. “Don’t eat the bread.” She took her lunch from the bag and pitched it over the edge of the cliff before digging into the beef jerky. “As a friend, I couldn’t let you go there.”

  He didn’t know what to say so he took a bite of Bonnie’s bread.

  “Big mistake,” she said around a mouthful of beef jerky.

  He slugged down half a bottle of water before he could respond. “She’s gonna ask me how I liked it, too, and I don’t want you to get all the glory.” He threw the rest of the sandwich out into space. “Very filling.”

  She laughed. “Very. The beef jerky, on the other hand, is excellent.”

  “Good to know.” He wolfed down the three pieces and stared past his companion, drinking in the stillness and the camaraderie. A sudden burst of rain hurtled down on them. They scrambled to their feet, grabbed their packs, and ran for the cover of the trees. “We’d better hit the trail and get to shelter before we get soaked.” He held out his hand and gestured toward the trail. “Why don’t you take the lead for awhile?”

  Darby nodded, strapped into her pack, and marched past him. “Might as well get it over with. ‘A coward dies a thousand deaths; a chicken, only five hundred.’”

  Chapter 6

  They slogged through the rain for another two hours. The trail wound relentlessly uphill and the rain beat down harder with each step. The trees thinned and the rocks got bigger. Eventually the sparse stunted spruce gave way to brush and patches of low-bush blueberries. At Fowler Knoll they picked up their final token and crossed the timberline.

  Their pace slowed on the wet ledge but Keats a
lways followed her, adjusting his pace to hers, never surly, never impatient. Something had happened at their lunch stop. Darby didn’t know what, exactly, but the grace she said seemed to lighten the mood. The Keaton Atticus Cooper she thought of as a new friend was back and she silently thanked God for the reconnection.

  What she really needed to know was what was up with him this morning. It bugged her to no end that Bonnie was holding out on her and, with each step, she plotted ways to get the truth out of her cousin. It was better than thinking about meeting up with Haskel and Felicia at day’s end. Right now, as they crossed the barren ridge into the strong headwind and pelting rain, Darby was more focused on the stinging lash across their faces than her ex and his new girlfriend. She just wanted to get to the shelter and hopefully find some dry clothes in her increasingly heavy pack.

  Keats shouted over the howl of the weather and she stopped. Her companion halted beside her and pointed. “Traveler’s Pass,” he yelled.

  Darby narrowed her eyes in the lowering drench and spotted the brown shingled roofs of the shelters a few yards below them. Keaton grabbed her arm and pointed down slope to the cut-over trail. “Be careful. It’s slick.”

  She nodded, too weary to speak. Darby forced her aching wet legs forward, surprised when Keats stayed alongside, no longer touching her but close enough to reach out should she slip. The knowledge warmed her. She stole a glance at his profile and felt a blush rise in her cheeks when he met her gaze and gave a curt nod.

  They trudged down the angled trail in tandem and a short time later made it safely through the boulders into the horseshoe opening of the basin. Since the moment she’d faced Haskel and Felicia at the start of the Take A Peak competition, Darby had imagined this meeting a thousand different ways. She’d thought about what she’d wear — the pink anorak, of course, but the combination of pants, socks, and hat could go several different ways. That option fell flat with the weather and her hiking companion. Somehow she couldn’t imagine Keats waiting up ahead on the trail while she played fashion hiker. She was a little old for that anyhow, and way too tired.