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That made me laugh as well. “Good choice. I like that park. But this one is my go-to. It’s just a short drive from my home.” I lowered my camera.
“Plus, the paparazzi don’t seem to like hiking. Damn blood suckers.”
“Yeah, you’re not likely to come across that kind of photographer outside their natural habitat, which would be on Broadway in Nashville.” He had my sympathies. Ducking for cover from the celebrity press had to be exhausting.
I was sure I already had the perfect shot for the cover, but I didn’t really want our time together to end. I waved a hand to the trail. “Can you push the bike that way?”
He looked at me skeptically. “Uh…”
“Probably a dumb idea. Let’s just walk that way. I have a couple composition ideas we can do with just you and no bike.”
Snatching my bag up, I moved ahead of him.
As I led him along the trail, he made small talk. “Where are you from?”
I looked back at him. “What makes you think I’m not from here?”
He tapped his ear. “Your accent isn’t quite right for here. Too brisk, I guess. People from here elongate their words, draw them out. Your words seem more clipped.”
“Hmm. I guess I don’t really think I have an accent. But I came here from Oklahoma a couple months ago.” I clambered over rough section of rock, carefully placing each foot.
One of the rocks was loose, and my foot slipped, ankle rolling inward, triggering a pained gasp from me. I teetered toward the right, favoring the injured side, and lifted my camera over my head; if I was going down, I’d do anything to save the Nikon.
Callan wrapped his warm hand around my left elbow, steadying me and holding me upright. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “I wasn’t paying attention to the trail. Rookie mistake.” He hadn’t freed my arm so my skin heated under his touch, and an arrow of delicate warmth landed right in my lower belly.
Good lord, Catherine! Keep it professional.
I gently broke his hold on my elbow and leaned over to rub the tender muscles on my foot.
A sharp inhalation sounded behind me, and then rocks clattered as Callan stepped to the side, hands extended to catch me if I did something stupid, like lost my balance, or jammed my ass into his crotch, or jumped him in some other manner.
I liked the idea that he might be as affected as I was.
He cleared his throat and let out another sharp breath.
I stopped rubbing my ankle and righted myself. “It’s fine. Doesn’t seem like I did anything more than just tweak it.” I met his gaze and dang if the humor in them didn’t change his eyes to a yummy clover color.
He grinned. “So you’ll just walk it off?”
“Yeah, coach. I’m good for the next series of downs.”
“Ah,” he laughed, showing off his white teeth and crinkling the skin around his eyes. “Football vernacular. You’re a fan?”
I laughed along with him. “You do not grow up in Oklahoma and not stop everything on Friday nights to sit under the lights and cheer for the boys wearing your school’s colors.”
“Wait…were you a cheerleader?” His teasing expression made me itch to snap another picture.
Instead, I tipped my head and stared at him in mock scorn. “Hell no! I was the statistician for the team. And I brought the boys their bottles of water and sports drinks. Cheerleading was for other girls.”
He clutched his fist over his heart. “Kind of had you figured for that job. Good to know my instincts are in fine shape. I ought to write a song about girls who hold clipboards.”
“And water bottles. Don’t forget those.” I gestured to the trail. “I’m good to go if you’re ready.”
“Yep. Hey, do you need me to give you a piggyback ride? You know, to save your foot.”
The idea of straddling those narrow hips, even from the back, made my mouth go dry. I looked at my feet and cleared my throat. “No, but thanks. I can make it.”
