Close to You (19 page)

Twenty

H
E WAS IN SERIOUS STRAITS
. Jackson unfolded the pamphlet he had folded with exacting precision and stared again at the images it contained. He breathed in and then out, attempting to find some equilibrium. As much as was possible anyway, given that the rutted road they were traveling on had him bouncing around like a popcorn kernel over heat.

A sharp bend threw him into Hans before he could grab something—anything—to prevent it. “Sorry.”

The large German grinned at him from his two-thirds of the backseat of the SUV they were traveling in. How Jackson had ended up with him, instead of his wife, in the chaos of getting everyone into cars, he still had no idea. Those two were usually stuck as close together as Merry and Pippin.

Jackson crumpled the pamphlet and tossed it onto the floorboard. Of all the important details about this tour, how had he overlooked this one? To be fair, the place where “Rohan riders' journey to the Pellannor” had been shot
was just one of a long
list of film locations they were visiting over three days. Residing innocently between the sites of “Gandalf's ride to Minas Tirith”
and “Rohan refugees trek to Helm's Deep,” it didn't exactly jump off the page flashing red lights of doom.

He wasn't even sure if he'd read the whole list, let alone given it any thought, since
none of the explanations meant anything to him anyway. He'd still have been clueless if not for Esther throwing a fit about not being allowed to wear her Arwen outfit because it didn't meet safety requirements.

He ran his hand through his hair, only half taking in the beautiful rugged scenery. Maybe he was worried about nothing. It had been twenty years, maybe even longer, since his last encounter. He might have grown out of it. People grew out of irrational childhood phobias all the time.

And there was no way he could let Allie see even a hint of his fear—not after the grief he'd given her about that stupid cow. After everything he'd been subjected to on this trip, this would be more humiliation than he could bear.

And then there was his uncle. Jackson didn't even want to know how many nails were in his coffin, but he was sure this would be the final one. Who would entrust millions to a guy who changed the channel at
Mr. Ed
reruns?

It wasn't even like he had a good reason. No traumatic childhood experience. No knowing someone who'd once been in some sort of serious horse-related incident. Nothing. Horses had just scared the pants off him his entire life.

He closed his eyes and tried imagining himself walking up to his chosen companion, giving it a pat on the nose. Feeding it a carrot. Riding off into the sunset like the man from Snowy River
.
His stomach lurched. Maybe not.

He was thirty-two years old, for crying out loud. He'd grown up on a farm and stared down plenty of scarier things in his life.

All the rationalizing in the world was no competition for his breakfast, which was trying to fight its way to the surface.

The SUV skidded to a halt in a lush pasture, in the middle of absolutely nowhere. If it hadn't been for a cheerful “Here we are” from the driver and the other cars pulling up beside them, he would've thought they were lost.

Opening his door, he unfolded his legs from their wedge-shaped position and exited the car. Breathing in the crisp air, he cast his gaze around the green rolling hills, guarded by towering snowcapped mountaintops. At least if today was going to be his last, it was in one of the most beautiful places he'd ever seen.

Doors flew open as the rest of the group tumbled out in various states of enthusiasm. Esther appeared to have gotten over her sulk as she was chatting with Mavis, hands flying in all directions.

Movement across the meadow caught his attention. Three men and two women were walking toward them, each leading two or three horses. His chest tightened.

So much for his hope they would be small, docile creatures closer to the pony end of the horse spectrum. These were the Hulk versions of the equine kingdom. Even from fifty feet away, he could see the powerful muscles rippling underneath glossy coats. Lips flapped open to showcase enormous white teeth that could no doubt chomp a man's arm off, if they were so inclined.

He watched them approach, fighting the urge to step behind Hans and hide like a turkey in the third week of November.

“You ready?”

It was Allie. The woman could move with the stealth of a ninja when it suited her.

He was not even close to ready. “Of course. Horses. Great. Me and horses, we're like that.” He held up two fingers crossed over each other. Then his brain caught up with his runaway mouth and he realized how wrong that sounded. “I mean . . . I um . . . like horses.” This time his voice came out an octave higher than normal. He might as well shoot himself now.

She gave him a weird look that matched the strange vibe charging the air between them. “Ooookay.” She opened her mouth, as if to inquire further, but then closed it again. After two days of arctic-chill silence on his end, he couldn't blame her for not stretching out the conversation.

“So which one is mine?”
Please let it be an old nag. Please.

Allie scanned the lineup, then pointed to the largest one of the bunch. “That one. Her name's Tinkerbell.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “I think you'll make a great team.”

He forced himself to keep his expression neutral as he stared at the enormous, dark brown thing. He'd need a ladder to be able to mount her. As if she knew she was being talked about, “Tinkerbell” looked their way, flared her nostrils, and tried to tug the reins from her handler.

Jackson snorted out a semi-hysterical laugh. At least when he got thrown off and trampled to death, it would probably be over fast.

“Would you like me to swap you for something a little more . . . sedate?” Allie looked up at him innocently, the golden highlights in her hair glistening under the morning sun. “Like maybe Chaos.” She pointed to a smaller, dapple-gray horse that stood serenely, making no attempt to move, even though her
reins were dangling free and no handler was nearby. He had to give the Kiwis points for having a good sense of irony when it came to animal naming.

He sucked in some crisp mountain air. “I'm sure Tinkerbell and I will get along fine.” He was surprised he could even get the words past the scrambled eggs trying to climb back up his throat. It was a small miracle that they came out sounding close to nonchalant.

“Great. I've got to get the others sorted.” She threw him a smile that left him short on breath before striding away. Her perfectly fitted cropped jacket, jodhpurs, and knee-high boots did nothing to alleviate his sudden light-headedness.

Steady, Jackson!
He forced his gaze away. Sucked in some more air. It was just the high altitude affecting him. Plus his impending date with doom. Nothing to do with Allie. Allison. Dr. Shire.

Something inside him groaned at his lame attempt at self-deception. He'd clearly gotten rusty at the art of lying to himself over the last few months. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

He did know that falling for his tour guide was definitely
not
a good thing.

* * *

A
llie had almost told the guy to plant his butt on the ground and put his head between his knees, he looked that gray. Hopefully he hadn't eaten anything dodgy for breakfast. The last thing she needed was to deal with some kind of food-poisoning debacle.

Holding her wind-whipped hair back from her face, Allie
tried to maintain some equilibrium against Esther's continued whines. “ . . . Arwen if I'm not allowed to.”

“Unfortunately, New Zealand and Middle-earth have slightly different health and safety regulations.” Truth be told, there was no law in New Zealand that specifically forbade a whiny, preteen girl from riding a horse in Elf regalia. They were a lot more vague than that, but she had neither the inclination nor the energy to justify her call.

The whining continued and she tuned in only enough to hear snippets about Liv Tyler.

Allie finally snapped. “Liv Tyler had a stunt double. Last I checked, you don't. If Jane shows up anytime, I'll be more than happy to let her roam the countryside dressed as Arwen. But you are not. End of story. If you don't like it, I'll have one of the drivers take you back to the hotel.”

She wished she could take the words back before they'd even left her mouth. The girl might be a pain in the behind, but she was only twelve. Over Esther's shoulder, she watched as Elroy fought against an imaginary foe with his sword, which he would also be leaving behind if he wanted to get on a horse.

“Who's Jane?” The girl's voice was so soft, Allie almost missed the question.

She softened her voice. “Jane Abbott was Liv Tyler's stunt double. Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you, but it's my responsibility to keep you from hurting yourself. And when you're not an experienced rider, having you in clothing that could get caught or tangled up isn't safe.”

“Okay.” For a second, the difficult preteen vanished and Allie caught a glimpse of the young, insecure girl behind the facade.

Allie rocked back on her heels. This was the first crack Esther had shown. The girl hadn't so much as flinched when Allie had asked her to hand back the lamp without a fuss, just returned with it under her arm and handed it over with a mutinous look. Her father hadn't been any help at all, cracking a joke about kids being kids.

Might as well ask. She had nothing to lose. “So, what's with all the stealing?”

Esther looked at her. Tugged at her long, dark braid. “My parents are splitting up. That's why my dad took me on this trip. They think I don't know.”

Oh. The pre-divorce guilt trip. It wasn't the first. “I'm really sorry.”

“I've been super good for months, but it hasn't made any difference. Since that hasn't worked, I guess I thought if I got in trouble then maybe Dad would stick around.” She offered up a wobbly smile. “I know that doesn't make any sense.”

Ahhhhh.
Allie's heart broke. Poor kid. She crouched down so she could look the girl in the eye. “I'll be praying your parents can work things out. Maybe having some time apart will help. But I do know one thing. You getting in trouble or being perfect isn't going to save their marriage. I promise. Only they can do that.”

Esther heaved a sigh almost bigger than she was. “I know. I haven't taken anything since the lamp.”

Allie wasn't sure what to say.
Thanks
?
That's great
?

“So what's up with you and Jackson?”

Allie startled at the sudden change in direction. “What?”

Esther shrugged. “I answered your question, so I figured I get a question too. And mine is, ‘What's up with you and Jackson?' ”

“Um . . .” Allie stalled, lost for a response.

Esther cast a look over Allie's shoulder. “I mean, he's no Aragorn, but he's probably the next best thing.”

“It's complicated.” Why was she justifying her nonexistent love life to someone who wouldn't even know what Hammer pants were?

Esther gave Allie a shrewd look. “As complicated as Aragorn and Arwen?”

“Um, no.” She couldn't claim that her dramas trumped having to give up immortality.

“Well, he likes you and you like him. I can tell.”

Allie restrained the urge of her inner twelve-year-old to ask how Esther knew Jackson liked her. She wasn't so good at squashing the tingle that went through her at Esther's confident statement.

Esther held up a hand, shading her eyes against the sun. “If Aragorn and Arwen can make it work, so can you.”

Kermit and Miss Piggy also made it work for a while, but no one was using that as a basis for arguing that frogs and pigs should date. Maybe because none of them were
real.

“Esther?” One of the handlers came up to them. “I've got your horse ready.”

The inquisition had ended. Thank goodness. Esther followed the guy toward Buttercup, and Allie got to her feet, turning to see Jackson mounting Tinkerbell nearby. Swinging his leg over the saddle, he sat atop the huge horse with all the comfort of a man sitting on top of a large cactus with no pants on.

Allie grabbed the reins and handed them up to him while the handler adjusted his stirrups. She tried to banish the feelings Esther's words had unleashed inside her. It didn't help
that, even clearly out of his comfort zone, the guy sat up on his horse looking hotter than the Sahara.

“Thanks.” The word croaked out of Jackson's mouth.

“Are you okay?”

He let out such a violent sneeze that Mildred, the horse beside Tinkerbell, startled just as Ethel was being helped onto her.

Allie peered up at him. He really didn't look so good, his torso kind of weaving on top of the large horse. There was a higher pollen count than usual for this time of year. Maybe he got hay fever too. “Do you need an antihistamine?”

He swallowed. His eyes started bugging and a hand grabbed his chest. “Can't . . . breathe.” He rasped the words out with the bad theatrics of someone doing their first show way, way, way off Broadway. Like she was falling for that.

“Ha, ha, very funny.”

His eyes bugged some more and he made a noise like he was trying to suck air through a small tube.

She stared at him, waiting for him to burst out laughing, enjoying thinking he'd fooled her.

Instead, the guy tumbled over, toppled off the horse, and landed in a pile at her feet.

Twenty-One

“W
HAT IS WRONG WITH YOU
?” Allie's eyes were so wild and wide it seemed entirely possible they might defy all laws of human physics and explode from her head.

“With me?” The oxygen mask muffled his words, but she clearly managed to interpret them, given the next thing he felt was her shaking him. Clearly her parents had never taught her about being nice to invalids.

“Yes, you!”

He could now see her pacing out of the corner of his eye. He tried to turn his neck to watch, but the pain rocketing up into his temples put a stop to that pretty quickly. Where were they? What had happened?

“I could have lost my job because of that stupid stunt you pulled. You put everyone at risk—most of all yourself. You could be dead right now! Did you even think about that?”

He closed his eyes. Dead would mean he wouldn't be able to feel every atom in his body screaming at him. Dead would
mean a hefty life insurance payout and his parents being able to pay off the farm. On those terms, it actually sounded fairly good.

He tried to pull his thoughts together. The last thing he remembered was climbing on the monster horse. After that, ­everything turned blurry. Very blurry.

Pleading ignorance was probably the only thing that might get her down off her high and mighty ledge. “I didn't—”

A finger jabbed into his face. “Don't you even try it. I saw your face when you saw those horses. Stupidly, I thought maybe you hadn't ridden much or weren't a big horse person. It didn't cross my mind that anyone, not even you, would be stupid enough to get up on one when they were deathly allergic.”

His muddled brain couldn't even begin to unravel if that was meant to be a compliment or a smackdown. He was going to guess at the second.

Hold on. What had she said? He was allergic?

She was still ranting. “. . . EpiPen, never would've gotten you down on time. Had to call a rescue chopper. Do you have any idea what kind of paperwork that means?”

He tried to gather enough force to project his questions past the mask. “I'm allergic? To horses?”

She tased him with her eyes. “Don't try and play dumb with me, Jackson Gregory. I know you're a farm boy.”

He leaned back in against his pillow, too tired to find the words to try and explain that farms and horses didn't necessarily go hand in hand like ketchup and fries. Though, now that he thought about it, horses had always made him sneeze. Could he have been allergic this whole time and the years of not coming into contact with any just made it worse?

“I hope you've broken something.” Her voice bounced off the sterile hospital room walls as she paced. At least that's where he guessed they were. “I hope you have to be laid up for the rest of the tour in a hotel room. No more schmoozing your uncle. Just you all by yourself with bad daytime TV.”

He followed her movements. At some point, she'd shed the cropped jacket and her SLT-branded top had come half-untucked. Her hair was pulled back in an off-center haphazard ponytail. She looked undone and out of sorts. Because of him.

He managed to lift a hand, nudging the oxygen mask off his mouth. If nothing he said was going to calm her down, there was always a bit of fun in making her even madder. “Why are you so mad at me?”

“Seriously? Seriously!” She appeared by his side. “Have you not heard a word I've been saying? You could have died. Tinkerbell could've been hurt if you'd spooked her. I could lose my job. The whole group is being inconvenienced because you're an arrogant, entitled schmuck who couldn't get off his prideful pedestal and admit he was allergic to horses.”

“So when did you realize you like me?” He wasn't sure where the words even came from, but they hit the room with the force of a ballistic missile.

Allie staggered back. “What!”

He managed a feeble shrug. “No one gets this worked up over someone they're indifferent to. So I was just wondering when you fell for me?”

“Argh!” If eyes could flash fire, he would have been so incinerated it would have required dental records to identify him.

He steeled himself for the slap he could sense coming. That
should take care of the one remaining part of his body that wasn't hurting.

Instead there was no resounding pain against his cheek. Worse. Her hand froze in the air and she stared at him, shaking her head. “He's not worth it, Allie. Not worth it.” The words were muttered under her breath; she might not have even been aware she was saying them out loud, but they slashed through him like they'd been boomed across the universe. She'd finally worked out the one thing everyone else already knew.

* * *

A
llie shoved the door to Jackson's room open and stormed into the hospital corridor. A power-walking nurse wheeling some medical machinery swerved to avoid her, a wheel just missing Allie's toe.

“Sorry!”

The woman was out of hearing before the word was even out of her mouth.

What was wrong with her? Not even with the rudest, most chauvinistic, sleazeball clients had she ever come close to indulging in her desire to give them a good slap. And some of the situations they'd put her in had been a lot more deserving of one. Lecherous smiles, wandering hands, outright solicitations for services not listed in the company brochures. She'd managed to extricate herself from all of them without ruffling any expensive feathers.

Instead she'd lost it over what? Some meaningless goading from a guy trussed up in a hospital bed who couldn't even move?

He was right, though. If it had been any other client, she
would have been oozing sympathy. To come on the tour, people had to sign the world's longest and most exhaustive waiver imaginable, and broken limbs were nothing new. Plus they paid through the nose to be coddled and made to feel okay in events such as this—even if they'd come about their injury in the most ridiculous way imaginable.

Sagging against the hallway wall, she blew out a breath. What was it that made Jackson Gregory get under her skin like nothing else? He was wrong, so wrong. She didn't fancy him, couldn't fancy him, but she was far from indifferent.

When had she fallen for him?
The question kept repeating in her head. Haunting her every breath. She could try and rationalize things in her head until the Second Coming, but there was no denying the way her emotions had gone into meltdown when she'd realized he was having a severe anaphylactic reaction. Or the desperation in her prayers during the moments after she'd stabbed him with the EpiPen and waited for the epinephrine to kick in.

Desperation that went far deeper than if it had been any other person from the group crumpled on the ground.

Allie breathed in the universal hospital scent of antiseptic and body odor. She had to find her way back to the cool, professional exterior she'd maintained at the beginning. That had worked. She was a guide; he was just another client.

Except at some point along the line he had turned into anything but.

She hoped he hadn't broken anything. Despite what she'd said, having to deal with someone with a broken limb was a nightmare at this point on the tour. The paperwork would be horrible. The incident reports, the re-litigating of hazards, the
write-up for the head office. Hours on top of hours of extra work. And that was before she even started dealing with unraveling his travel insurance if he couldn't fly home when he was supposed to.

Sirens sounded and trolleys rushed past her. People shouted orders across the beds. A few hours ago that had been Jackson.

Why couldn't he have just said he was allergic? There was no shame in it. It would've been a bit of a boring day for him while the others went off to ride, but it would have been better than this.

The last guy who had made her this mad was Derek. Not that she'd stuck around long enough to show it. No, she'd called the lawyers, changed the locks, packed her bags, and moved out before he'd even gotten home.

Running away. That she was good at, which made the possibility of Oxford even more tempting. Except she'd promised herself she wasn't going to run again—not until she reclaimed her life.