Page 51 of Fast Currents
Clay: How do you feel about late-night picnics?
Lucy: Favorable, if you’ll keep me warm.
Clay: Always, Lucifer. Pick you up at 6:30?
My heart melted in my chest. Goofy and sweet was a deadly combination.
Lucy: Can I bring anything?
Clay: Your patience.
I snorted. It was like he didn’t know me at all. But for him, I’d try. I put away my hand tools and gloves, stowing my safety glasses before shutting off the lights and passing through the door from the oversized garage that housed the studio and showroom and into my house.
Grabbing a quick snack and shower left me plenty of time to brood before Clay picked me up. For a man who had been married and widowed, he sure threw around the word“marriage” a lot. I’d been content alone for so long, it was strange to admit, even just to myself, that he was wearing me down. Maybe it was desensitization, but thinking about being tied to a man forever wasn’t so scary. So long as that man was Clay.
I tugged on my heavy jacket over my jeans and sweater as Clay knocked on my front door. He grinned down at me from my front step. Looking good enough to eat. Freshly showered and shaved, dressed in a warm plaid flannel, jeans, and hiking boots. He projected clean and outdoorsy in a wholesome, lumberjack kind of way that sent my pulse hammering.
“Hi, honey. Ready to go?”
“You sure I don’t need to bring anything?” I asked.
“Just me.” He said it smugly, extending his hand. “C’mon. We need to get settled before it gets much darker.”
The sun had set, but there was still a faint glow limning the horizon in the distance. Clay bundled me into his truck and drove to the outskirts of town.
“We’re not going to your place?” I asked.
“Nope. I’ve got something special planned.”
He seemed so pleased with himself that I didn’t press him for details. He drove with his left hand on the wheel, his right hand covering my knee. He did it easily, naturally, as if we’d been this close forever. It was a stark reminder of how much we’d changed. How muchI’dchanged.
I’d believed that part of me was shut down forever. But maybe it’d just been dormant. Waiting for the right man to trust again.
He pulled up to the American Camp entrance, gate closed and locked tight.
“Is this a security pit-stop?”
“Nope.” Clay smiled mysteriously, hopping out. He unlocked the gate, swinging it open, before driving his truck through and locking it behind us.
“We’re sneaking into the national park? Who are you, and what did you do with Clay Robertson? What would the other park rangers say if they knew we were sneaking in like this?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but if you’ve been paying attention, the park rangers are kind of a rebellious bunch.” We parked, and he pulled a cooler and heavy blanket from the back seat. He put on a headlamp and offered me a second one. “Safety first.” We picked our way along the trail, hand in hand until it became too narrow to walk side by side.
Stars were peeping out, their glittery warmth above unable to take the edge off the crisp fall night. A few clouds lingered to the south, but the view to the north was unobstructed. Grassy fields that were lush and green in spring had dried to a golden brown, forming a crunchy carpet beneath our feet. A light breeze carried the scent of the sea. I could just hear the waves crashing over the sound of the grasses riffling in the wind.
It felt like Clay and I had the world to ourselves. I paused, hypnotized by the waves rippling, their dark magic uninterrupted by boat traffic.
It was a little eerie, being out here all alone, but also peaceful. No one but wind, waves, and wildlife within miles.
Our hike wound through the plains far above the beach and, thankfully, far from the cliffs. A flash of motion caught my eye—a fox darting in the distance. I stilled, scanning the nearby meadow.
“Robertson, you’ll protect me from any wildlife, right? You didn’t come out here to feed me to the bears?”
His gentle chuckle sent a wave of sensation rolling down my spine, his confidence calming the preternatural prickle of vulnerability. I had Clay.
“Honey, I promise you, there are absolutely no bears. The only thing that will eat you up tonight is me.” His grin flashed white in my headlamp. “And I don’t bite. Unless you ask me nicely.”
We walked a few minutes more. Clay paused in a small clearing, where the grass was a bit flatter. Thankfully, it had been dry the last few days, so it wasn’t muddy. We stretched out the blanket, and he dropped the cooler on one corner, extending a hand.
