Page 13 of Colton in the Wild
She hesitated then said, “I know they’d come get us if they knew, but I told Lakin not to interrupt them.” For a moment, Spence just looked at her, and she started to feel uncomfortable. “I should have talked to you first, but Lakin told me what day it was and—”
“No. No, you did exactly the right thing.” That Spence smile flashed again. “But then, you always do,” he added, gesturing back toward the plane, “or we wouldn’t be here talking about it.”
Not for the first time, she thought she could hear the difference in his voice between when they were talking like this and when he was chatting up some client who’d turned on the charm at her first sight of him. She’d like to think what she was hearing now was the real Spence, was sincerity, and all the rest was…well, not fake exactly—he wasn’t a liar—but part of an act.
Hetty suddenly recalled the last time—and maybethelast time, given the gushing—she’d read a review of RTA on one of the travel websites: “Ladies, if you want some lovely scenery—and I don’t mean just the landscape—check out RTA out of Shelby, and ask for Spence as your guide!”
She remembered how he’d deleted that last guest’s phone number as soon as she was out the door, and how she had wondered if that’s what he did with all of them.
What she should have been wondering about was why it mattered to her.
She knew he almost never left Alaska, only a couple of times to see friends down in Seattle. But even that was a while ago, and he’d said after the last time he doubted he would be going back because things weren’t like they used to be.
She’d dwelt on that one for a while, too, wondering if it was a sign that Spence couldn’t move on, if maybe he really was still that high school flirt. She’d later felt badly about those thoughts when she’d heard his dad talking about how the Seattle friends were all leaving the city for various reasons. She told herself sternly she needed to quit judging present-day Spence by the teenager she’d known. He’d proved her wrong then, when, on the edge of giving up, they had figured out how to use the quirk he did have to compensate for the one he didn’t, but she hadn’t learned, apparently.
You need to stop judging, period. Nobody appointed you judge or jury.
She came out of her reverie, almost embarrassed at having mentally wandered off. But at least this time it had served a purpose; the last of the adrenaline had ebbed and she was back to calm and steady.
As long as she stopped trying to figure out Spence Colton.
Chapter 8
Spence put the last crate in the bearproof—well, as much as anything was up here—storage outbuilding. He straightened up and spared a moment to be thankful that that was the last of it. It was quite a stretch from the beach to this hilltop campsite and, of course, the heavy-load part was on the uphill side. He needed to talk to Parker about some kind of motorized transport for the site, since it was one of their most established and often used destinations.
Too much for you, old man?
He could just hear Parker’s laugh as he ragged on him for being a whole year older. He doubted his cousin dared do the same with his older brothers. Eli was too intimidating and Mitchell the same but in a different way. You took care with Mitchell because it was him you’d need if you were ever in trouble.
A faint sound from outside made him pause. Something in the distance, down toward the lake. It didn’t repeat and he heard nothing else out of the ordinary. They hadn’t seen any fishing boats on the water, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there now. Or hikers in the vicinity, though that would be beyond rare out here this early. Or simply a big elk getting fired up for a summer of fun.
Still, he stepped out of the building and looked down toward the water. He couldn’t see the beach where the plane was tied off, but the part of the lake he could see was empty. He watched for a minute then went back to work. He stacked the crates in a logical—to him, anyway—order, settled them to be sure they were stacked solidly, then straightened, finally done. His back was probably going to remind him of this tomorrow.
Hey, at least you’ll be around to be reminded. Thanks to Hetty, Ms. Cool Under Fire.
And now I get to look forward to—he glanced at his watch, the chronometer his dad had given him on his twenty-first birthday—twelve more hours here, at least.Twelve hours of unexpected leisure. Twelve hours he could spend fishing. Or hiking. Or paddling out on the lake. Since it never got really totally dark this time of year, the options were pretty open. Or he could take this gift of twelve hours and just relax.
Twelve hours with Hetty.
Sure. Relax.
He started walking around, inspecting the camp. Looking for something, anything, that needed attention. But everything seemed in working order. The tent—or the “tabin,” as the little boy of one of their clients had called it once, a combination of tent and cabin—had no holes or rips, even the roof was clean. Which he of course knew, because he’d been the one to clean it when they’d taken it down last fall. The indoor woodstove was in good shape and vented properly. The camp stove outside was the same. Everything had wintered well.
So there, he’d killed a couple of those twelve hours. Now what?
Maybe he should radio headquarters. Ask Parker if there was anything he wanted done up here, as long as he was stuck anyway. He only had the basic tools that he always carried, back aboard the plane, and the tools that were always here, but he could make do, if his cousin had a project in mind. He’d be happy to tackle anything.
Anything that would keep him too occupied to think about being up here with Hetty for hours on end. All night. Alone.
All night. Damn.
He darted toward the tent. He’d lugged the folding camp beds down from storage along with the tent, without even thinking. But the original plan had been the big double one, for the honeymooning couple who would obviously be sleeping together. But there were a couple of singles, too, so he needed to be sure those were set up. And as far apart as possible. Hell, he should think about grabbing his sleeping bag out of the back of the plane and sleeping outside tonight. It wouldn’t be that cold. And at least he might actually sleep, instead of lying awake all night, knowing she was just a few feet away.
Hetty was already inside. And she already had the singles unfolded and set up. On opposite sides of the tent. She glanced up as he came in, looked puzzled at his rush. He tried to think of something to say, something logical, reasonable. Words failed. There was something about standing in an area meant for sleeping, with Hetty Amos, that made him almost forget how to talk at all.
“Wood,” he muttered finally. “We need firewood.”
Her head turned as she looked at the woodstove and the neat rack of compressed-energy logs beside it. “There are ten of these, and they each last about two hours once it’s going, don’t they? And it’s July, after all. Not like it’s going to drop below zero.”
