Bea (8 page)

She had no one except a blond, bearded giant with knowing blue eyes.

She looked up at the sky. It was sullen and heavy looking. She shook her fist at it.

“Don’t you dare rain. Don’t you
dare,”
she said, and then stalked back to camp.

o0o

Russ heard her coming before he saw her.

“You’d never make a stalker.” He looked up as she came into the circle of his campfire.

“I don’t plan to be a stalker.” She moved close to the fire and held out her hands. “That feels good.”

“Pull up a chair and sit down.”

“A chair?”

“Campers always go prepared.” He walked out of the circle of firelight and came back with a folding camp chair. He set it up with a flourish. “At your service, ma’am.”

“This feels wonderful. I didn’t know I was so tired.” She sank back into the canvas, letting her body sag with the contours of the chair.

Russ felt all his protective instincts rush to the surface, and suddenly he was sorry he’d be leaving her in Memphis. Not sorry enough to change his mind, but sorry enough to make a few amends.

“I’m sorry for all the troubles you’ve had, Bea.”

“I think you really mean that.”

“I do.” He unfolded another camp chair and sat down opposite her, watching her through the flickering flames. “You’ve been a trooper.”

“So have you.”

They watched each other in silence for a while. Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry I made you angry a while ago.”

“All these apologies... What has gotten into you?”

“I guess I’m feeling human.”

“It’s a pleasant change. How long can I expect it to last?”

He laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You.” He watched her in silence a while. “You’re not like other women, Bea.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not sure I meant it as a compliment.”

“I’ll take it as one anyway.”

They studied each other across the fire.

“Are you ready for a bath?” he asked suddenly.

“Is that a hint?”

“You
are
dirty.”

“So are you.”

“Under the right circumstances that could have been an offer.”

“Then we should both be grateful these aren’t the right circumstances.” She stood up. “Which way to the showers?”

“Right in front of you.”

She glanced down at the fire and saw a large dishpan filled with water. It was sitting on the edge of the coals, steaming.

“I don’t believe it’s big enough for two.”

“We’ll take turns. You can have the first bath.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“Standing guard outside the camp.”

“Guard against what? Mountain lions?”

“No. Myself.” He disappeared into the tent and came back with a washcloth and a towel. “Better go ahead before the water gets too hot.” He tossed the linens to her and stalked off into the night.

“Well, I’ll be darned.” Bea watched him until she could no longer see him. “The man has scruples.”

She stood uncertainly for a while, not knowing where to start. Her mother had urged her to join Girl Scouts the year Taylor had left, probably hoping that it would take her mind off her daddy’s defection. But when she had discovered that all the Scouts had a camp out with fathers, she’d refused. What was the use of a camp out if you didn’t have a father?

The night air was chilly, and she hugged herself, peering off into the darkness. She didn’t hear a sound, not even a night bird. Where was Russ? Suppose he had walked out there and stumbled off the mountain in the dark? Or what if he had started walking and just kept on going? She guessed drifters would think nothing of leaving worthless old pickup trucks and helpless women behind.

Helpless women!
Good grief, what was happening to her? One or two little setbacks and she was thinking of herself as helpless.

She snorted in disgust. There couldn’t be much that was hard about camping in the great outdoors, otherwise droves of people would stay home rather than clog up the highways with their campers every summer.

She jerked up her washcloth and did the best she could with her bath. When she finished, she rolled her muddy clothes into a bundle and dressed in a Victorian nightgown, white cotton, some crazy quirk of hers when she’d gone shopping with Cat in New Orleans. She added a white terry robe that made her feel snug and dry. Bea thanked her lucky stars for luggage that didn’t leak.

“All finished,” she called into the dark. There was no response, so she called again. “Russ? Are you out there?”

Still no answer. Her head felt light and her palms began to sweat.

“Russ?”

He came into the light, moving so silently she didn’t hear him.

“I’m here.” His eyes raked her from head to toe, but he didn’t comment.

She felt vulnerable, and she didn’t know why. That bothered her.

Russ stood on the other side of the firelight, so quiet and watchful he looked like a part of the mountain.

“I guess it’s your turn,” she said. “I’m sorry the water’s so muddy.”

“I’ve bathed in worse.”

“I’ll go stand guard...to fend off the mountain lions.”

“No. It’s too cold. And besides, I’m not going to let you go wandering around out there in the dark again.

“You’re not going to
let
me!”

“That’s what I said.”

“If you think I’m going to stand here and watch—”

His roar of laughter interrupted her.

“If I’m that funny, maybe I should give up advertising and go into comedy.”

“You’re that funny, Bea. And stubborn and irritating and bossy, besides. I wouldn’t put up with you for a minute if you weren’t paying me handsomely.”

“Just remember that.” She had almost forgotten their bargain. For some silly reason she was sorry he’d reminded her. “I’m paying you.”

He came around the fire and took her arm.

“Go into the tent, Bea. My sleeping bag is rolled out for you. There’s a flashlight, and there are books in my duffle bag if you like to read.”

“I’m not going to sleep in your bag.”

“That’s not an offer. That’s an order.”

“I never take orders. I give them.”

“Dammit. This is no time to be stubborn. I’m sleeping on a pallet, you’re sleeping in my bag, and that’s that. Now, go inside so I can bathe.” They glared at each other, then his face softened. “Please.”

“Since you beg so nicely, I’ll go.” She lifted the tent flap, then turned. “Russ, if you wouldn’t try so hard to be a jackass, you’d be a very nice man.”

“And if you wouldn’t try so hard to be stubborn, you’d be a very nice lady.”

She was too tired to fight any more. She went into the tent and tried once more to find a signal on her iPhone. Finally she gave up, rummaged into her suitcase and pulled out a dog-eared copy of
Gone With the Wind.
Taking Russ’s flashlight, she settled back into the downy softness of his sleeping bag and began to read.

Outside, Russ began to whistle. She closed her mind to the sound. She didn’t want to think of what he was doing out there, probably stripped naked, dripping water all over that chest she’d like to paw. Joanna would approve.

Bea giggled, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

Involuntarily, her eyes strayed toward the front of the tent. He was silhouetted against the firelight, his chest as naked as she had imagined, and just as broad.

She quickly turned her gaze back to her book. Nobody but Rhett Butler could take her mind off Russ Hammond.

As always, Rhett climbed straight into her heart. He was such a scalawag, such a renegade. Lord knows why a man like that appealed to her, but he did. She never read about Rhett Butler without thinking of Clark Gable. No other actor could possibly have played that part, except maybe George Clooney or Brad Pitt.

She smiled and ran her hands over the beloved print. Rhett Butler and Clark Gable. Neither one had ever broken her heart. Suddenly her hands stilled. Heroes in books and movies were safe. That’s why she turned to them. That’s why she preferred a good book or a good movie to a flesh-and-blood man.

It was something she’d never thought about, never until that moment. But then, she’d never been stranded on a mountain. Janet would probably tell her the solitude of the mountain was conducive to introspective, analytical thinking.

Outside, Russ splashed water and hummed snatches of a song. Bea listened. Russ was a flesh-and-blood man. Every bit the scalawag, very much the renegade. Dangerously appealing. But not safe, not at all safe.
Real
men broke your heart. They took up with floozies and ran away. Just like Taylor Adams.

She didn’t want to think about it anymore. She pushed the book aside, snuggled down into the bag and shut her eyes.

Chapter Five

Russ lay on his pallet listening to the far-off call of a whippoorwill. On the other side of the tent, close enough to touch, Bea was sleeping, her chest rising and falling with her soft breathing. One arm rested on top of his sleeping bag, pale in the moonlight.

“Stubborn beauty,” he whispered.

He lifted himself on his elbow so he could see her better.
Gone With the Wind
lay beside the pallet with Bea’s hand still grasping it.
Romance.

He smiled at the idea of her crying over romantic movie classics and sniffling through one of the most beloved historical romance novels of all time.

“You’re a fraud, Bea Adams.”

Moonlight, streaming in from a crack in the tent flap, made a gleaming path across her cheek and down her arm bared by the pushed up sleeve of that old-fashioned but strangely appealing gown.

He reached over and touched her cheek with one finger. She didn’t stir. Her skin was as soft as orange blossoms. And just as fragrant. In the confines of the tent, her scent wafted around him. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Ahh, Bea. What have you done to me?”

She made a soft sighing sound, and her lips parted slightly. What would it be like to kiss that mouth? Just once?

She stirred, and he lay back down on his pallet. Lonesomeness fell over him like a wet saddle blanket. At times like this, when the night was so quiet he could have been the only person on the planet, he felt unfinished, as if God had started building him with bone and sinew and blood, and then had set him aside before he put all the parts in. Maybe the heart had been left out. Maybe that’s why he’d never been able to find love. Maybe it had not been all his fault.

He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Things would be better when he got to Memphis.

o0o

Thunder rolled through the mountains like giant ninepins, and a great jagged spear of lightning tore through the dark skies.

Bea sat bolt upright, clutching her sleeping bag under her chin. Thunder roared through the mountains once more. She curved into herself and huddled down in the bag, holding her hands over her ears. Opening one eye, she peered around. The night was so black she couldn’t see a thing, not a shadow, not a shape, not even a tiny pinpoint of light. For all she knew, she was totally alone. And lost. And scared.

She squinched her eyes shut. It was only a storm, she told herself. She would endure.

Lightning crackled once more, so close this time the hair on Bea’s arms stood on end. She pressed her hands against her mouth to muffle her scream.

Russ came slowly out of his usual deep sleep. It was storming something fierce, but what was that sound, soft, like the whimper of a puppy thrown into a muddy ditch on the side of the road?

“Bea?” He rolled over, squinting his eyes in the dark. He could see a dark shape on her side of tent. “Bea? Is that you?”

“Russ?”

Her head came up, and in another flash of lightning he could see her eyes, wide and scared. Sound and bright unnatural light filled the tent. Bea shuddered, and huddled down into her bedroll.

Russ was touched. Here was a woman who wanted all the world to know how independent she was, and yet she cried at romantic movies and cringed at thunderstorms. All of a sudden he felt strong and important and necessary.

He sat up and made room on his pallet.

“Would you like to come over here and sit with me awhile?”

“No.” Her soft hair had covered the side of her face, like the broken wing of a bird, and she peered sideways at him through that curtain of black. “I’m doing just fine.”

Another boom reverberated through the mountains. Bea jumped, then settled back into her covers, shivering.

“You know,” he said, “I can’t help but want a little bit of companionship at times like these. If you’d just sort of scoot over this way so we’d be close, I’d really appreciate it.”