“Thanks?”
She held my gaze for a moment before we both burst out laughing. “I really did mean it as a compliment. You haven’t aged a day since our senior year.”
I smiled at her, wondering why it was so much easier to believe Rick’s second-hand words about my aging than it was to believe my own best friend. Was this a neurosis unique to me, or were we all just hardwired to believe the worst about ourselves?
“I should get some information together,” I said, wanting to get my mind off of my aging, visible to Emma or not. “Before the meeting.”
She stood. “And I should go sharpen my nails.” She flexed her fingers menacingly, grinning at me. “In case the douche gets out of line.”
I laughed in spite of myself as she left, happy that I could count on Emma, if nothing else.
Chapter Eight
Rick was hunched over the table in the break room of the shop, his head resting on his hands, his attention so fully on the book in front of him that he didn’t notice when I came in. I leaned against the doorjamb, watching him. From this distance, I could see that his book contained what appeared to be maps of hiking trails. I smiled, wondering what he was planning.
“Where to this time?” I asked, the interruption making him jump. His surprise quickly turned to excitement at the sight of me.
“Have you been to the Clinton-Huron trail?”
I made a face at him. “Not if you haven’t. Have you forgotten that I’d never been on a hike in my life until you came to town and set your bad influence on me?”
He grinned. “I think you’re the bad influence, miss.”
I came around the table to stand behind him, wrapping my arms lazily across his shoulders as I leaned over to check out the maps. Every so often, it struck me as strange, the way I felt so comfortable touching Rick. I hadn’t had many boyfriends, certainly no serious ones. The opposite sex had always intimidated me a little, to be honest. I watched the way they interacted with Emma, a strange combination of fawning and something almost like aggression, just visible below the surface. It made me nervous. But it wasn’t like that with Rick. I found myself subconsciously taking any excuse to touch him, brush my hand across his, rest my head on his shoulder, lean into him. Sometimes he felt more like an extension of myself than a separate person.
“It doesn’t look too strenuous,” he explained. “So I thought it might be nice for a Saturday morning hike.”
I made a noncommittal noise. The previous week, Rick had taken me to Pickney to hike a seventeen-mile, somewhat hilly trail, which could definitely be classified as strenuous for a beginner hiker like me. Though I had bitched and moaned about it the entire way there, I found after the first mile that I was enjoying myself—like, really enjoying myself. It had been a shock to me, how good it felt to make my muscles sting in protest, how clear headed I felt when the difficulty of the task took up all my brainpower. There was no time to worry about school or my dad’s shop or any of the other things that normally took precedence. It had been fantastic.
Rick leaned back into me a little, looking up to see my face. “I know it’s not the rolling hills of Tuscany, but it might be nice to take it easy this weekend,” he said. “Hot coffee in our thermoses. Maybe I’ll even make you some of those muffins you like. What do you say?”
“That sounds great.” I bent down to kiss him, eager to feel his lips against mine. We hadn’t kissed since arriving at work that morning, and four hours was about my limit—
I woke with a start, my heard pounding. For a split second, I had no idea where I was, why it was so dark. Why I couldn’t still feel Rick’s lips against mine—
“Shit,” I muttered, lying back against my pillows. Another damn dream about Rick. I suppose it should have been expected, considering the fact that he had so annoyingly inserted himself back in my life, but I knew that wasn’t the only reason. The truth was, embarrassingly, that I had been dreaming about him on and off for the past ten years. I never told anyone about it, definitely not Emma. Not only because it was mortifying, but also because of the way that it made me feel afterward. There was always a strange little ache when I woke up those mornings, a sense that something was off, wrong. That there was something missing.
And if I had been so unlucky as to dream about him before, when I hadn’t seen him in ages, it made sense that my subconscious was drawing up even more old memories of him now that I was seeing him on a daily basis. I rubbed my fingers lightly against my lips, trying to shake the disappointed feeling that I had woken before we kissed. It was just a dream, I thought crossly. Besides, it wasn’t like I wanted to remember kissing him.
I threw off the blankets, angry at myself. I had been planning to head out on a hike this morning, and I didn’t want to ruin it with memories of hiking with Rick.
“I won’t let it be ruined,” I muttered, jumping from the bed and heading out to the kitchen for coffee. There was my thermos, just as I’d left it the night before in anticipation of getting an early start. I filled it and took a deep, soothing gulp of the hot liquid as I walked back to my room to get dressed. I didn’t bother with a shower, knowing I was going to be sweating buckets in a few short hours. Instead, I pulled on a pair of spandex capris and a thin tank top, pulling my hair up into a ponytail. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and allowed a brief grin—I looked pretty ratty, makeup-free, in a Cornell Law tank top that had definitely seen better days. Emma would be horrified if I showed up to our luxe gym looking like this. She considered the gym as good a place to network as anywhere else, and wouldn’t be caught dead in anything less than Armani. But Emma would not be on the trail today.
A few minutes later, teeth brushed and thermos refilled, I grabbed a lightweight windbreaker and a hat and stuffed some water bottles and other essentials into my backpack. I was out the door only ten minutes after waking, more eager than usual to get out onto the trail.
I suppose I had Rick to thank for what had developed into a deep love of hiking. I most likely would have never picked up the hobby had we not met that summer. When I tried to imagine my life without hiking, I felt an unexplainable sadness. It was more than a hobby to me at this point. I craved it the way I craved water when thirsty—it was a part of me now, a need deep in my soul that I couldn’t extinguish even if I wanted to. And I certainly didn’t want to.
The ride to Red Rock Canyon was about half an hour, but traffic moved quickly in the early morning hours. I drove in silence, watching as the sun came up over the desert around me, splashing gold and red across the rocks and bare earth. This was my quiet time, free from work demands, free from social expectations. These weekly hikes were for me and me alone. Maybe that was why I loved them so much.
Or, I thought, pulling into the parking lot, maybe it was the way my stress seemed to melt away when I was out there on the trail. I had felt it the first time I hiked a strenuous trail that summer with Rick—the way the physical exertion seemed to clear my mind of all worry. I was so used to my thoughts spinning endlessly about work and my plans—but I didn’t have time for that when I was hiking. I couldn’t afford it. My entire concentration was on the hike, on keeping my feet on the trail, on pushing my muscles through the ache.
It was the most freeing thing I could ever hope for.
I climbed out of the car, taking the last sip of coffee from the thermos before grabbing my bag and double-checking it for the water. I was planning on hiking Turtlehead Peak that morning, no easy feat. Adequate water was essential. I also made sure my cell was securely in the front pocket. Reception was spotty out here, but I still felt better having the phone on me. It was still early enough for the desert air to carry a chill, so I pulled on my windbreaker and set off for the park, eager to get my blood pumping.
There were several cars in the lot already. Red Rock was a popular site for hikers, mountain bikers, and sightseers alike. I kept my head down, not feeling particularly social, and made my way to the trailhead.
“Oh,” a smooth Engl
ish voice said, surprised. I jumped back as two hands came out to clutch my shoulders, preventing me from bumping into the stranger on my path. I looked up, realization dawning at the same time as I saw recognition crossing his face. “Annabelle.”
“Rick! What are you doing here?”
He seemed to realize suddenly that he was still holding my shoulders and released me, stepping back. “I’m hiking.”
I couldn’t help but scowl. Why in the hell did he have to choose my trail? Why in the hell hadn’t he outgrown the hobby? Wasn’t he too busy swanning around the world designing hotels and turning the heads of girls like Lucy and Etta?
His face tightened. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I won’t get in your way.”
“You’re not disturbing me,” I said quickly, wincing at the snap in my voice. I hated him thinking he could get to me. “It’s a beautiful site,” I tried again, my voice more friendly this time. “Have you been here before?”
Rick shook his head. “No, haven’t had the chance. I’ve only been to Vegas once before, and that was just a weekend with friends.”
“Really?” I couldn’t help the surprise in my voice. I would have thought he’d have spent some time in the area on his travels, considering the proximity to so many of the natural sites he had been interested in.
“Yes. I had intended to come out when I was first out of school, but things didn’t work out that way.” His words hung over the early morning stillness, heavy. His meaning couldn’t have been clearer. Something kept me in the Midwest. Something wasted my time.
I cleared my throat, desperate to keep the color from flooding my face. “Well, you’ll enjoy it then. The scenery is great.”
We stood there in an awkward silence. Despite the chill, I was starting to sweat under my jacket—which had absolutely nothing to do with the sight of Rick dressed in light cargo shorts and a tight black T-shirt, which did ridiculous things for his tanned skin. And his muscles.
I shook my head lightly, looking away. Why in the hell was I ogling him? He was a douche, and I needed to remember that. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”
I turned to make my way up the trail, not waiting for him to say goodbye.
“Hang on!” he called behind me. “Where are you going?”
I looked back at him in confusion. Surely, he didn’t expect us to hike together? But he was gesturing to his left, to the start of the White Rock trail. He gave me a weak smile, looking almost embarrassed at having called me back. “Trail’s that way.”
“I’m doing Turtlehead this morning,” I explained, gesturing behind me. “It’s this way.”
He narrowed his eyes a little. “Isn’t that really advanced?”
What the hell? “So?”
“Are you up for that?”
I crossed my arms. “I’ve hiked Turtlehead a dozen times. This isn’t my first trip to Red Rock.”
He couldn’t hide the look of surprise. “Really? You still hike?”
I didn’t like the word still. It held too much hidden meaning, connected me too strongly to those days of hiking with Rick.
“Yes,” I said softly. “I still hike.”
His face softened considerably as he looked me over. Before I could start to feel uncomfortable, he seemed to catch himself, turning away. “Well, I guess I should let you get started then. I’m sticking with the bunny trail today.” He smiled lamely at his joke.
“It’s a good trail to start with,” I said, trying to still the heavy thumping of my heart. I didn’t know why he had looked at me like that, and I wasn’t entirely sure that I liked it. “Nice views. Enjoy yourself.”
“You, too. Uh, be safe.”
I turned away from him, not wanting to wonder whether he was actually concerned or just being polite. As I began my trek, I felt flustered and off kilter. Why did he have to be out here today? This was supposed to be my time. And God knew I needed it.
I forced my legs through the motions of the hike. The trail was somewhat complicated, requiring my full concentration. It was easy to veer off on the wrong trail where the paths crossed. As I climbed higher through the rock formation, the trail got trickier—there were plenty of tripping hazards, and a fall could be serious.
But still, my mind kept going back to Rick. To the way he had hinted at our shared past when he mentioned not visiting Vegas before. To the way his face had softened when I told him I was still an avid hiker. What had that been about?
My mind traveled a few times, without my consent, to ruminations about his dark hair, wind swept in the early desert morning. Or the stubble on his face, indicating he hadn’t shaved that morning. Or the way his shirt clung tightly to his—
That’s when I slipped. I let out a little cry as my ankle twisted against a rock—then I was stumbling, trying to catch myself, a steep embankment only feet away. Instinctively, I threw my body weight backward, knocking my feet out from under me in the process. I landed hard on my butt, putting my hands out to slow the fall and scraping them against the hard ground.
I winced at the pain in my hands, bringing them up to see blood. I cursed loudly, pissed at my own stupidity. The scrapes weren’t deep, but I could see sand and tiny rocks embedded in the skin. I didn’t have anything to clean them with—I was going to have to go back down. Gingerly, I lifted my ankle, turning it from side to side. There didn’t appear to be any lasting damage, but I wasn’t eager to put my weight on it.
I heard footsteps behind me and turned, prepared to tell the climber that I was fine, but my words died in my throat.
“I thought you were going the other way?”
Rick didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He was half reaching in my direction before he shoved them anxiously through his hair. “I walked for ten minutes over totally flat ground and decided the bunny trail wasn’t for me, after all.”
I closed my eyes. Great. He had seen me fall on my ass.
“That looked pretty close.” He crouched several feet away from me, looking over his shoulder at the embankment behind us. “That’s a steep drop.”
“Definitely would have broken something,” I agreed, turning my ankle again.
“Does it hurt?”
I nodded but didn’t elaborate, not wanting to tell him that the pain was worsening as the adrenaline wore off.
“Here.” He stood in front of me, offering a hand. I held mine out to him but winced when he touched it. “Shit,” he muttered, turning my palm in his hand. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s not bad.”
I wanted to snatch my hand away from his. Even through the pain, I could feel his skin against mine, warm and smooth. I did not want to think about his skin. Did not want to feel the pressure of his fingers against my palm.
“I have a med kit,” he said, releasing my hand—I let out a sigh of relief—so he could crouch down again, closer this time. He pulled his backpack off his shoulder and fumbled with the zipper. A moment later, he pulled out a small red box.
“Aren’t you Mr. Boy Scout?” I muttered without thinking. He grinned at me, quickly, before his eyebrows came down in a near scowl, as if he had caught himself doing something wrong.
“You should always be prepared when you’re hiking somewhere this remote,” he replied, pulling alcohol swabs from the kit. “This might sting.”
The feel of his hand lightly holding mine was causing much more distress than the stinging of the alcohol. He cleaned the scrapes quickly and thoroughly before pulling two strips of gauze from the kit. He wrapped a strip lightly around each of my palms, securing them with tape. The entire act took less than five minutes.
No five minutes had ever been more stressful.
“All set,” he replied, releasing my hands the moment he was finished.
“Thank you.”
He didn’t meet my eyes as he repacked his kit. “No big deal.”
I sighed, wondering if the entire three months was going to be like this. How were we going to work together if we couldn’t even tal
k to each other? The stakes for this project were high, and I knew I would never be successful with anything less than my best work. And no matter how hard I might have tried to convince myself otherwise, it was becoming increasingly clear that my best work was not going to happen with this kind of tension between us.
“Look, Rick…” I trailed off, unsure of how to start. Finished with the med kit, he finally looked me full in the face. The mixture of emotions there made my breath catch. He looked at once angry, frustrated, sad, and…hopeful?
“Yeah?”
I squared my shoulders. “This project is really important to me.”
The warring emotions slipped instantly from his face, replaced with a blankness I had never seen on him before. He didn’t speak, waiting, apparently, for me to make my point.
I dug a toe into the dry dirt, feeling stupid. This had clearly been a mistake. “There’s… There’s a lot riding on it for me.”
“I know,” he said, his voice light, a total contrast to the tightness of his eyes. “Another chance for you and Emma to make a killing. Of course it’s a top priority.”
I could tell he was trying to maintain the light tone, but there was a steely coldness in his voice at the word priority.
“It has nothing to do with making a killing,” I argued, not sure why I felt so chastised by his words. We were a business—were we not supposed to be trying to make money? “It has to do with stabilizing the company—”
“Uh, huh. I get it.”
I was starting to get pissed. Did he not see that I was trying to smooth things over? There had been a time he could read my meaning with nothing more than a glance at my face. Now…
“I don’t think you do,” I said, my voice sharp. “Our employees are counting on us to provide a stable income—”
He snorted as he stood. “Oh, yes. Your employees. I’m so sure that your little underlings are your main concern.”
I stood up so fast, I stumbled on my twisted ankle. For a brief moment, he looked like he was going to steady me, but the look on my face must have made him think twice. He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking almost angry with himself.
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