Page 15 of Just a Plot Twist
His hair is midnight and chocolate—rich and glossy, with a thin spray of the beginnings of grey. He has nice skin—no visible pores. His laugh lines are faint and distinguished. And he murmurs low to warn me when there’s a close branch or some other obstacle. Like he’s my personal protector.
“Duck your head a bit,” he says in my ear, as the scenery on both sides grows claustrophobically close. It wasn’t this way on the hike up, was it?
Back when life was good. Back when I had two, fully functioning ankles.
Much of the trail is open, with plenty of tallish grasses on either side. But this particular section is narrow, and trees close us in on both sides. Once again, my imagination leaps to a start as I dream about the quiet solitude of the area and this gorgeous man’s bulging biceps.
It’s a coping mechanism for my brain. Because I’m being carried down a mountain by a stranger, and it’s humiliating.
And I’m regretting all those days when I could have been working out at the gym in Longdale, taking care of myself. Because if I’d only known I’d have to becarrieddown a mountain like this, I would have lost some weight, if for no other reason than to give my rescuer a break.
The truth is, though, there’s no way I could have made it down the mountain myself with my ankle so stiff and hot to the touch. And even though I wish we’d called my brother-in-law, Oliver, to come help, it is what it is.
“Are you okay?” I ask Benson, aware that my face is very near his with my arms wrapped around his neck. My torso is crushed against his back, my legs in the stirrups of his arms at his hips, and there’s a whole lot of bouncing going on, what with the jostling of his steps as he’s going downhill.
Nice.
I should have worn a sports bra.
“Of course,” he says, and I believe him. Even though his breathing is a little strained, he’s not having too hard of a time. I’m impressed, but I’m alsoso dang mortified.
“I’m really sorry.”
“So you’ve said, several times.” He pauses to take a breath. “No apologies necessary.”
“Oh, and I’m making you talk, too. While you’re carrying me. Sorry.” All my sassiness is gone. I knew I was a brat earlier, even as I was powerless to stop it.
Getting injured is frustrating. My ankle hurts, which would make anyone short tempered, but then just knowing that Rich is not far behind, potentially watching me struggle…well, it’s a lot. I can’t have Rich using my injury as fuel in his quest to get the city manager job. He’ll tell his best pal “Doug” that I’m not cut out for the position, being crippled and all.
But right now, my brattiness is gone, I hope. It’s been replaced by a huge need to reprioritize everything in my life. And regret at how short I was with Benson.
“How about I keep my talking to a minimum,” he says, then another pause to breathe. “And you entertain me with stories about you.”
“Entertain you? Isn’t this all you need to know? I suck at hiking. End of story.”
He chuckles under my weight. I take a breath slowly. Maybe if I imagine myself as weighing less, it would somehow, magically be easier to do this right now.
“You don’t suck at it. You had an unfortunate accident, Claire.”
“I’m so sorry. First, I’m totally rude to you after I get hurt, and now you’re having to carry me down?”
“Stop apologizing, Claire.” His voice is insistent now. “It happens. It’s okay.”
“I’m just so—” and then I stop myself. It’s fitting that as he’s saving my life, I should respect his wishes and stop saying sorry.
When I’m quiet for a while, the jostling of his steps the only sound, he speaks up again. “So, about you? You were going to tell me about yourself.”
I manage a laugh. “I wasn’t about to do anything of the sort. But circumstances being as they are—”
“That I’m carrying you, so you have to do what I say?”
“I guess—”
“Consider it like the whole,I’m driving the car, so I pick the tunes, thing. In this case, I’m pickingyou. You’re the tunes.”
Now he’s sounding a little more out of breath, and again, my stomach plunges to my toes.
I hate this. I hate it!
