This was really not good.
“That won’t be a problem here, miss. When it comes to braving the elements, nature decides what lives and what dies,” the man answered somberly.
Holy apocalyptic boot camp!
Jordan glanced at his fiancée, now sporting a frozen grin.
“Ignore him!” the woman said, gesturing to the armed older gentleman, who appeared ready to join a militia. “I’m Syd Slaughter, and this is my husband, Buck. We’ll be leading the boot camp.”
The Slaughters? This was right out of a horror movie.
This could not be right. The wedding people must have booked the wrong boot camp.
“We must have made a wrong turn. We’re expected at a bridal boot camp,” he said.
Syd gestured to the plethora of trees. “You’re here. This is it.”
“We are?” Georgie asked.
“Yes, this is the advanced wilderness bridal boot camp,” Syd replied as Buck stared them down.
Advanced?
Georgie glanced around. “Where’s the lodge?”
Syd turned to Buck, and the two broke out into laughter.
“Grab your gear and give Buck your car keys. He’ll park your vehicle behind the brush,” Syd instructed through a throaty chuckle.
“Why behind the brush?” he asked as he and Georgie grabbed their bags, then handed the old man his keys.
Buck’s features hardened. “Because we are off the grid, young man. There will be no Googly maps or enemy drones taking pictures of my land or my animals.”
“You mean Google maps,” Jordan corrected.
Syd and Buck stared blankly at him. They had that scary look down pat.
“Is there Wi-Fi?” Georgie asked, cutting through the silence.
“No, ma’am! This boot camp is about living off the land and going toe to toe with Mother Nature. You can also hand me your phones. I’ll lock them in your car along with any other electronics,” Buck answered.
They didn’t even get to keep their phones?
“Okay,” Georgie replied wearily.
Syd cleared her throat and gestured with her chin toward Buck’s backpack. “We do have one modern convenience for you.”
“Great,” Georgie answered, relief coating the word, as Buck reached around and pulled two items from the bag.
“As mandated by the judge, we have to give you these,” the man said, handing them each a lanyard attached to a small plastic circle.
“What are they for?” Georgie asked.
“Death,” Buck shot back.
“Death?” Georgie echoed in a panicked whisper.
Wilderness or not, what kind of boot camp was this?
Syd let out another husky laugh. “Buck, don’t be so dramatic. It’s only a tracking device. You can press the little button, and we’ll come get you.”
“Why would you need to come and get us? Aren’t we here?” he questioned.
“We had a slight mishap a few years ago. We lost a couple of boot campers,” Syd replied, a little too calmly for admitting they’d lost actual people in the wilderness.
Sweet Jesus!
“You lost them?” Georgie whispered in that same panicked tone.
“Only for four days,” the woman replied with a nonchalant wave of her hand.
“We told them not to wander off,” Buck mumbled, opening the gate.
“If you do find yourself in danger, press the button. Thanks to a court order, we’ll get you in a jiffy. Now, let’s get to camp,” Syd said, gesturing for them to follow her as the lantern lit her leathery features.
Jordan fell into step next to Georgie, allowing Syd to stay a few paces ahead of them while Buck disappeared with the car keys.
“What have we gotten ourselves into?” Georgie asked under her breath.
“It’s probably for show. You know, to make hipsters and city people feel like they’re roughing it,” he replied, hoping that was the case.
“I don’t know the first thing about camping, Jordan. I spent most of my childhood parading around on stage in full makeup and five-inch heels. Do you know anything about wilderness survival? Were you a boy scout?”
He shook his head. “No, I spent my childhood hiding from bullies and reading comics in the library.”
Georgie lifted her chin. “We’re two capable adults. We advise people on all kinds of things. We should be able to figure it out. And, last week, we watched that nature documentary,” she added with a hopeful lilt.
“Georgie, that nature show was on dolphins, and after five minutes, you fell asleep.”
“Shoot! That’s right,” she whispered as his stomach growled.
He’d figured they were going to some fancy boot camp with a Paleo menu and organic produce that would make Georgie swoon.
“Syd, what’s on the menu for dinner?” he called to the bobbing lantern light in the distance.
“Perfect timing! We’re at the snack shack,” she answered as they came upon a small shed.
The wilderness woman unlocked the door. With a clank and thud, she grabbed some items and threw them into a sack.
“A pound of deer jerky, six cans of beef stew, a gallon of water, and, for a real treat, some canned pineapple,” she replied.
Georgie made a sound between a yelp and a gag.
“That’s dinner?” he sputtered.
She handed him the burlap sack. “Yep, these are your rations, and you can always get more water from the well.”
Beef stew, deer jerky, and canned pineapple? This wasn’t dinner. It was a recipe for constipation.
“That’s it?” Georgie asked.
“If you trap a rabbit, we can cook it up, too. And don’t forget to lock up your food in the bear canister. You’ll find it next to where we’ve got you making camp. We haven’t seen bears in these parts for years, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry in the backcountry.”
A bear canister!
Syd locked the shed, and they continued walking.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got us covered. Just keep that pineapple away from me,” Georgie whispered.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I’ve got a tube of vegan cookie dough in my bag. I wrapped it in an ice pack.”
He shifted the sack of constipation rations and wrapped his arm around her. “God, I love you. Have I told you you’re the most amazing woman on the planet?” he whispered back.
“We’ll see how you feel when we run out of the dough,” she teased, but that was a real possibility.
“Come on, you two. It’s not far now,” Syd called, trekking further into the middle of nowhere, Colorado.
They continued through the evergreens, dodging splintered trees and stepping carefully when the glow of a campfire crackled in the distance.
“We’ve got a full house. Ten engaged couples,” Syd explained as two small canvas structures came into view.
“Yurts!” Georgie exclaimed excitedly. “I recently interviewed an interior designer and wrote a blog post about how people are turning yurts into luxury mini-villas with all the comforts of home. They’re becoming quite the rage among millennials.”
“Mini-villas and millennials?” came a voice in the dark.
Georgie shrieked, and he nearly dropped their bag of provisions.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“That’s Buck! He’s been tracking us since we left. You didn’t notice him?” Syd asked.
“No!” Georgie said, back to clutching his arm as they came into a partial clearing.
“Buck and I live in that yurt for part of the year with all the creature comforts. The other yurt over there is the honeymoon yurt,” Syd replied, pointing to the structures.
“We get to stay in a honeymoon yurt?” Georgie asked.
“No, this is advanced wilderness boot camp. You two will be pitching a tent with the rest of the engaged couples.”
“A tent in October?” Georgie replied.
“It’s our last bridal wilderness b
oot camp, and we’ve been assured the weather will remain unseasonably warm,” Syd answered.
Damn that wedding frau and her weather magic! He should have waited and proposed at Christmas.
“And the alpacas?” he queried.
He had to ask about them, or else he wouldn’t sleep a wink.
“We let them wander, but they usually stay near their enclosure just over that rock formation,” Syd answered, holding up the lantern.
Okay, at least there was a wall of rock separating them from the beasts.
Syd passed him the lantern. “Take this. Your tent and camping gear are on that side of the clearing. Sleeping bags are next to the tent. It looks like all of the couples have turned in already. You’ll get to meet them in the morning. We rise and fall with the sun.”
“I don’t see a tent,” Georgie said, squinting past the campfire.
“Of course, you don’t. You have to put it up,” Syd replied.
“We have to put up a tent?” Georgie asked.
“We’ll be fine,” he said, taking her hand and growing hungrier by the second.
“See you bright and early,” Syd called with a wave.
“And where are the restrooms?” Georgie asked.
“You brought your trowel, right?” came Buck’s raspy reply.
They jumped, and Syd laughed.
“Don’t let Buck get to you. He loves sneaking up on people,” Syd said, giving her husband a playful smack on the arm.
“That’s not creepy,” Georgie muttered.
“What’s that?” Buck asked.
“We brought a towel,” Georgie supplied.
Buck cocked his head to the side. “A towel?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“How are you going to dig a hole to take a shit in with a towel?” Buck asked.
Georgie’s mouth fell open. “We have to go to the bathroom in a hole we dig ourselves?”
“Here, we’ve got an extra,” Syd said, retrieving a small shovel propped against the yurt.
She held it out for him, and he took the shit shovel, doing his best to touch as little of the handle as possible and praying his fiancée had packed hand sanitizer.
He glanced at Georgie and found her frozen in place, staring in horror at the gardening implement.
“Sweet dreams,” Syd called in a singsong voice as the couple disappeared into the darkness.
7
Georgie
Georgie rubbed her eyes and attempted to bend her neck, listening as the vertebrae popped. The muscles in her back screamed for her memory foam mattress while her literary trifecta gasped in horror.
Lizzy and Jane were all for the great outdoors, but the Regency-era variety, where lovely servants, carrying wicker baskets and fresh linens, laid out a picnic of dainty watercress sandwiches and hard cheeses. And Hermione? That girl shrugged. How could she relate? She had a magical tiny tent that turned into a palace.
Georgie rolled her head from side to side then groaned. Damn magic. She could use some right now.
Despite Syd wishing them sweet dreams, last night had been an unmitigated nightmare. Neither she nor Jordan knew the first thing about putting up a tent. No tent knowledge, along with having to assemble the damn thing by lantern light, turned out to be an even bigger disaster. After hours spent poking tent poles every which way and a litany of swearing, they’d finally got it to stand.
Then, there were the sleeping bags that rivaled the scent of Jordan’s father’s ancient mothball encrusted tux.
She often cited the benefits of spending time in nature on their More Than Just a Number blog.
It was time to rethink that.
Jordan shifted in his sleep, and his mouth fell open as a rip-roaring snore tore through the tent.
Yep, her fiancé was a tent snorer.
The Marks snoring sound system activated when the man was without his goose down pillow. Last night, she’d tossed and turned, poking and prodding him, but he was out like a light and sawing logs like a lumberjack on steroids.
She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. How many nights had she slept wrapped in his arms, peacefully dreaming? How many mornings had she woken with his muscled body pressed to hers and his hard length, ready to take her over the edge of ecstasy?
Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined this is how they’d spend their first night as an engaged couple.
The only saving grace? At least, she hadn’t needed to use the shit shovel…yet.
“Georgie? Is this a dream?” her fiancé, Mr. Tent Snorer, asked on a groggy exhale.
She blinked her burning, sleep-deprived eyes. “No, this is real, Jordan.”
He shifted in the sleeping bag and gathered her into his arms. They’d opted to lay one flat to have some sort of cushioning and share the other.
“How’d you sleep?” he asked, his voice thick from actual sleep.
“Not great. You snore,” she replied.
“I do?” he asked with a gruff, gravelly morning voice she usually loved. But this morning, all she wanted to do was stuff a pair of socks into his mouth.
“Yeah, pretty much all night long,” she replied, lamenting her decision to pack light and not add an extra pair to her bag.
His sleepy gaze grew concerned. “Do I do that at home?”
“No.” She sighed, feeling like an asshat. It wasn’t his fault he was a tent snorer.
“I’m sorry, babe,” he said against her neck, dropping kisses.
“Jordan, I don’t think boot camp is for me,” she murmured, melting into his touch.
He continued kissing a trail to her earlobe. “We could call the concierge desk and ask for housekeeping to bring up some earplugs.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, along with a working toilet and a minibar.”
He ran his hand down the side of her body then tugged at her fleece. “What are you wearing?”
“A T-shirt, a sweatshirt, and a fleece. I bundled up in the middle of the night,” she answered.
He released the layers of fabric. “Are you warm enough now?”
She cuddled into him. “I’ve never slept outside. I didn’t want to die of hypothermia.”
“Georgie, we checked the weather before we left. It’s not going to get even remotely close to freezing temperatures.”
She sighed. “Your definition of remotely close may differ from mine.”
“Let’s warm you up,” he purred in that sexy voice.
He slid his hand under her multiple layers of clothing and stroked her back, drawing lazy circles with his warm fingertips.
She hummed her pleasure. “This, I like.”
He slipped his hand into her yoga pants . “What about this?” he asked, caressing her tight bundle of nerves.
“That, I like even more.” She wove her fingers into his dark, uncharacteristically messy hair. “Looks like you’re going to be rocking some sex hair this morning, Mr. Marks.”
“Two can play at that,” he replied on a heated breath.
“It is the great outdoors. We can go a little caveman, can’t we?” she answered as her sex brain kicked in and overruled her rational mind that yearned to return to civilization.
He captured her mouth in a kiss, then stilled.
She held her breath. “What is it?”
Oh no! She hadn’t brushed her teeth, and, after all the tent hell and her fiancé passing out from exhaustion, she’d indulged in the one thing that never let her down.
Jordan frowned. “Have you been eating cookie dough?”
Her cheeks grew hot, and it wasn’t from the sleeping bag hanky-panky.
“I was up most of the night, and I got bored,” she confessed.
Tired, uncomfortable, and unable to escape her fiancé’s snore-fest, she’d turned to her only salvation.
Vegan chocolate chip cookie dough.
“How much did you eat?” he asked as his frown deepened.
She buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Enough that we’ll pr
obably be eating deer jerky for breakfast.”
“Georgie! You ate the whole thing?” he exclaimed.
“No!” she shot back.
“How much is left for us?” he asked.
She cringed. “An inch.”
“An inch!” he cried.
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. The few times I did fall asleep, I dreamed of my mother knocking that doughnut out of my hand. I needed something sweet.”
He caressed her cheek as his features softened. “I guess if I want to enjoy any cookie dough, I’ll have to keep kissing you.”
She met his gaze. “That’s sweet of you to take one for the team. I’m sure it’s a real hardship.”
“I’ll show you a hardship,” he whispered against her lips as his hand resumed stroking her most sensitive place.
Okay, this wasn’t so bad. Maybe she could get into camping. Tent kissing was really nice and, when the love of her life wasn’t snoring to beat the band, it was pretty hot being zipped up next to him in a snuggly sleeping bag.
She reached between them and palmed his hard length. “We’ve never done it in a tent.”
“No, we haven’t,” he answered against her neck as he cupped her sex, rocking his palm against her in slow, delicious strokes.
She gasped. “And it wouldn’t really be sex.”
“It wouldn’t?” he asked with a mischievous lilt.
“No, it’s wilderness survival heat production,” she offered as a near-inferno smoldered between her thighs, thanks to Jordan’s touch.
“You are good at coming up with ways for us not to have sex,” he answered in a tight breath.
“It’s a gift,” she said, then moaned as Jordan freed his cock from his pants.
It was time to get down to not-sex wilderness heat production.
She did a little shimmy-shake to get her yoga capris down past her ass as he did a scoot-scoot twist to work his track pants to his ankles. Disrobing in a sleeping bag was not for the faint of heart, but her guy was clearly up for the task.
“Try lifting your leg and turning your hips,” he offered, positioning himself at her entrance.
She shifted her body. “Hold on. I can hook my leg like this, and I think it’ll work.”
Own the Eights Gets Married Page 10
