Page 2 of Dare to Fall
We’ve drawn more than a little attention from the crowd around us. Thankfully, the carousel didn’t devour Erin. I scan the people nearby, relieved that none of them appear to have been recording the incident on their phone. If Erin went viral, it’d be a lot harder to hide her away for the weekend.
“Are you okay?” I ask Erin, dropping my gaze to her red hand.
“Nothing’s broken,” Devin says, her tone purposely chipper, after several seconds of silence clearly indicating that Erin has exceeded her word count limit and may not speak again for a couple of hours.
Erin rubs her hand, almost absentmindedly. But that vacant look in her eyes is still prominent. God I hope this trip is the rejuvenating getaway she needs. Because once we get back to Omaha, everyone will lose their ever-loving mind about her calling off the wedding.
“Our shuttle’s outside,” Alanna announces, her tone a little breathless from running.
An older gentleman with a mop of thick, white hair and glasses helps load our suitcases into the back of a passenger van outside. The poor man breaks a sweat after the second bag. Apparently, none of us traveled light this trip.
“Let me help with mine,” I say, hooking my hand through the handle. “No fair making you lift the dead body.”
He chuckles instantly, a warm expression gracing his gently aged face.
“Fair enough.”
“Do you live in Cinnamon Creek?”
“Born and raised.”
I glance into the back of the van, quickly counting three women. Alanna stands on the curb near the open door, but she seems distracted by something on her phone. “How far from civilization are we going?”
“Cinnamon Creek’s a couple hours from Bozeman,” he explains. “But I assure you, it has everything you need.”
“Do you know if there’s any rafting tours in the area?”
“Oh yes,” he says. “Have you ever been?”
“Once or twice.” Because Alanna glances at me impatiently, I leave out the part that I’d live on the river if I could. I don’t know how any of the others would feel about going white water rafting this weekend, but I’ll be damned if I sit in my room and miss an opportunity to take in all Montana has to offer in the fall. I’ve wasted enough time not living these past several months. On the water is the best place to do just that.
“You’ll want to talk to Winnie,” he says.
“Winnie?”
“She’s the event coordinator for the lodge. Sweet as apple pie, that woman.”
“Your wife?” I guess.
“No,” he says, though his eyes twinkle with something I’d dare say is mischief.
“Girlfriend?”
“You’ll want to get that rafting tour booked tonight,” he says, ignorning my question. Ah, so I’ve hit on something. A secret love affair? It makes me ache the tiniest bit. It’s been a good long while since I’ve felt anything for a man—at all. “They book quickly, but if there’re any spots open, Winnie’ll find you one.”
“Good to know…” I let my sentence trail off, hoping to get a name.
“Fred.”
“Fred.” I offer my hand to shake. “I’m Gabby.”
“As in Gabriella?”
“Yep.” My smile is forced. No one has called me that in a long time. Only my grandmother when I was a little girl, my mother when I’m in trouble—still—and Tucker Black.Speaking of He Who Shall Not Be Named men… “But I go by Gabby.”
“Gabby, are you coming?” Alanna demands, rounding the back of the van. She looks extra annoyed, but I’d wager some of that has to do with the phone she’s squeezing in her hand. If she grips it any tighter, that brand new device will shatter into pieces.
“Just asking Fred here if he knows where to buy a good shovel since you wouldn’t let me check mine on the flight.”
