He lets out a long exhale, his relief palpable.
“Come on, Rambo. I’ll behave.” I pick up my ruined tent, heading toward the canteen with that pleading look in his eyes burned into the back of my mind. It’s a fineline, wanting independence and also needing his help, but there’s more to this for Jack than just doing his job well. I just hope he hasn’t built up too big of a wall because of whatever’s happened in the past.
Because I really want to crash through that wall and demolish it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We’re five miles into our hike for the day, and I’m already dreaming of settling down tonight on my horrible sleeping pad. Those dreams may also involve more snuggling against a certain hot body, but I can’t exactly help myself.
I squint my eyes at the sun, wondering if it’s angry that it gets the blame for the stifling heat when the canyon and its greedy hoarding of the sun’s rays are really to blame, like a warted witch cackling over her cauldron of salted, slow-roasted humans.
“Hey, Rash Girl!”
Just when I start to think I’m winning at this hiking thing, I hear those words. It’s not easy holding back every whiny thought about the heat and pretending like I’m unfazed while I resemble someone who’s been in a sauna for ten hours. It takes concentration. And that voice just busted my bubble.
The desire to shush Brandon with a hand over his mouth is strong. For some reason, having him utter that ridiculous nickname in these ancient corridors makes me cringe, like my reputation is on the line, and I can’t have the canyon thinking ill of me. There’s also the small fact that Brandon and Chad are mostlikely at the top of Jack’s suspect list, and they probably should be, considering our weird interactions.
Jack bristles as Brandon and Chad get closer. It’s the first time we’ve seen them since I spotted Brandon sneaking around last night.
Chad quickens his steps, trying to fall into stride beside me even though I’m already walking next to Jack and the four-foot-wide path is supposed to be more of an unspoken single-file thing. “I’m feeling a little jealous,” he says with a smug purse of his lips. “You’re clearly no longer on a solo trip.”
Jack has slowed to place a hand on my hip and motions for me to walk ahead of him. My lips roll in as I follow his intentions. Chad tries to overtake him, too, but Jack steps in his way, staring him down.
“She’s still got that rash.”
Oh, for flip’s sake!
This rash bit is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
Meanwhile, the three men have stopped walking and are currently in some sort of standoff. Jack’s jaw muscles pulse as he looks down at the other two, taller than Chad by a good few inches.
“Hey, man, we were just making a joke. No need to go allHulk smashon us.” Chad laughs, patting Jack on the arm. The second his hand makes contact, Jack tenses even more, and I see it in the slightest lift of his shoulders. But then I do a double take once I realize he’s actually smiling at Chad. How the hell doesChadget a smile, yet I have to fill out an application and provide a blood sample for one? But the longer I stare, I realize this isn’t the type of smile I’d want to be the recipient of. It’s a scary smile, filled with promises of pain.
The heat must be acting like an accelerant, feeding the tension crackling around us. This is definitely one of thoseIknow, you know, I knowsituations, and everyone is on edge, waiting to see who will make the first move.
“Enjoy your hike, gentlemen. There are Park Rangers roaming around if you need anything.” Then Jack turns, guiding me to do the same, and we resume walking, leaving the others to consider his subtle warning.
I’m a little disappointed, since Jack went into Rambo mode before I could suggest we use this meet up as an opportunity to get closer to Chad and Brandon. It’s not exactly a use-me-as-bait approach, because all I’d be doing is talking. And possibly telling Jack to peek into their bags while I distracted them. But still, I’d like to contribute and pull my weight when I can, especially when I can’t even carry my own bag without panting like an asthmatic pug by the time we finally stop for a break off the path.
“I didn’t know this part of the hike was a sprint.” I lean forward, hands on my knees, but Marigold is still a heavy girl, and I begin to topple. Jack pounces forward, barely saving me from faceplanting into an angry looking cactus.
He pulls me upright, but I’m still out of breath, so my nostrils end up flaring unflatteringly with my heavy breathing. The picture of feminine grace right here.
“You’ve carried things on your back before, right?” Jack asks, head tilted and eyes narrowed.
“The only thing I’ve been carrying on these shoulders for the past decade is a Disney Princess mini-backpack and years of emotional trauma.”
“What about at school?” He frowns, not removing his hands from my arms.
“Messenger bag.” I shrug. “I’m not usually in this much of a rush. Why are we practically running, anyway?”
He steps back, shaking his head like he’s snapping out of a daydream. A gritty throat clear follows. “I wanna put somespace between us and your fan club. If they pass, I can approach them at their campsite from behind. Plus, I didn’t like having them at my back.”
“Maybe we should have been a bit more friendly though…”
“Why?” He scowls like this is the most distasteful thing imaginable.
“You know…to get close to them. Find stuff out.”
