Definitely, Maybe in Love Page 16

  When she grinned, I cringed. Of course this was part of her plan.

  Sensing my alarm, she relaxed her devilish smile. “Don’t worry,” she said in a sotta voce whisper, as we dragged a heavy cooler toward the center of camp. “There will be no hanky panky inside the tent.” She nodded toward the guys. “Tyler knows that.”

  “Good, thanks,” I said, letting go of my held breath.

  “What goes on outside the tent…” She lifted one eyebrow. “Just don’t try to find us if we wander off the trail for a while.”

  Henry walked toward us, his arms full of large rocks. After shooting me another intense look, he knelt down and began arranging the rocks in a circle for our fire.

  “Thanks for the warning,” I whispered to Mel, watching him. “Something’s pissed him off. I think he wants to murder me in my sleeping bag.”

  “That’s not what he wants to do to you in your sleeping bag,” Mel murmured.

  I glared at her. “Pardon?”

  “Nothing.” She snickered.

  Our troop tooled around the thick woods all day, romping halfway up the trail toward Beacon Rock, then turning back a different way when the sun arched to the west. At around five, we were forced to end our hike early after I slipped on a mossy rock by the river, tweaking my ankle.

  “Think of your happy place,” Henry prescribed, his left arm around me, acting as my crutch. “We’re almost back to camp.”

  I winced, regarding the trail ahead of us. Mel and Tyler had disappeared into the bushes, leaving us alone. “Really,” I insisted, trying to squirm free, “it doesn’t hurt that much.” I attempted to limp away from him. “See, I can walk on my own.” It was a pitiful attempt.

  “You’re favoring your right side,” he observed, wrapping his arm around me again. His hold was iron-tight this time. Even though he had a five o’clock shadow going, he still smelled like that ceramic bowl of shaving cream in his bathroom back in Palo Alto. Something about that smell was making me feel dizzy, or maybe my foot hurt more than I thought.

  “Hold onto me till we get to the car and I can check it out,” he said. “I feel responsible. It was my long pass of the Frisbee that sent you flying.” He tightened his grip, hoisting me closer so that even my healthy foot was barely touching the ground as we walked.

  Maybe thinking he was taking my mind off the pain in my ankle, Henry described a little Tahitian town he’d visited a few times. White sand, clear blue water, friendly and accommodating neighbors. It sounded like a little piece of heaven.

  “Perfect place to finish your thesis,” he added. “Under a banyan tree, laptop shaded by an umbrella. Endless Diet Cokes.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” I said, trying not to wince.

  The sun was low and the fire looked warm and inviting by the time Henry and I returned to camp. But my escort made us stop at the Durango first.

  “Get in.” He opened the rear door at the back of the car. “Or do you need me to lift you?”

  I snorted a laugh, but he made a move toward me, so I quickly hopped onto the edge of the tailgate before he got any macho ideas.

  Kneeling down, he took ahold of my ankle between his two hands, then lifted my leg, resting it on the tailgate. Gently, he pushed up the bottom of my jeans to my knee. I gasped quietly the moment chilly air hit bare skin, but then instantly calmed as his warm hands encircled my calf muscle, gently pressing in as they ran down my skin, a tender massage. When his examination paused and his lingering hands felt way more exploratory than medical, my breathing suddenly picked up speed. I stared at the top of his bent head, my fingers curling around the edge of the door. One of his hands slid to the sensitive backside of my knee while the other wrapped around my ankle, gingerly manipulating my foot this way and that way.

  “Am I hurting you?” he asked. I could feel him breathing on my skin as I held my own breath.

  Before answering, I swallowed then shook my head.

  “No sprain,” he said, his eyes lifting to mine. “A mild bruising.” His skin was so warm that it surprised me when I felt a chill shoot through my body. His hand behind my knee slid down to my ankle so both hands were around it. For a second, I had a flash of him holding the sides of my neck…right before we—

  “Ready?” he asked, leaning an inch closer.

  I nodded automatically.

  “Good.” He stepped back and drew my jeans down to cover my leg. “Come on.” He turned toward the fire. “Let’s eat.”

  …

  The woods around us were dark, and two owls on either side of the fire hooted back and forth. I grabbed my copy of Walden and peeled myself off the stump I’d occupied for the past few hours. A combination of that morning’s early wakeup call, the long drive, the sun, the hike, and the potential of bodily injury had officially worn me out.

  “I’m going to bed,” I announced, heading toward the tent. “You staying up, Mel?” When I turned around, both Mel and Tyler were looking at Henry, who was sitting on the ground on a blanket, staring vacantly into the fire.

  “It’s ten thirty,” Mel replied. “I’m not tired.”

  I covered my yawning mouth with one hand. “I’ll see you in the morning.” The early spring wind had picked up once the sun set, and it was chilly. I hurried into the tent.

  No formal sleeping spots had been designated, so I unrolled my sleeping bag and situated it in the far right corner, farthest from the flap. I was hoping I would be fast asleep by the time the others came in. Mel promised no hanky panky. Still, I did not want to know what was going on once the butane lantern was turned off.

  Feeling strangely modest, I crawled into my sleeping bag to change out of my jeans and sweatshirt and into my soft and snuggly flannel pajama pants and long-sleeve T-shirt. I fluffed and punched my pillow before lying back, prepared for exhaustion to overtake.

  I pinched my eyes closed, then opened them. I rolled onto my side. It was probably an hour of tossing and turning later when I threw back the tent flap and wandered toward the campfire, huddled in my pajamas and coat.

  Henry sat before the yellow fire, toasting a very well done marshmallow off the end of a wire hanger. He was alone.

  Chapter 22

  “ Comment maintenant vache brune?” Henry asked. His voice was quiet, he eyes red and sleepy.

  “Did you just say, ‘How now brown cow?’” I asked as I ambled toward the fire.

  He smiled, keeping his eyes down.

  I stood across from him, warming the front of my body. “Where are the others?”

  “Night hike.” He pointed the end of the hanger toward the dark woods. “I wouldn’t expect them for a while.”

  I rotated, warming my back now, remembering Mel’s warning about not trying to find them if they split away from the group. Mel and I were best friends, but there were some sides of her I didn’t need to see.

  “Probably not,” I agreed.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  I turned my head in time to see the crispy marshmallow slide off the hanger and disappear into the licking flames. “I guess I’m restless,” I said as I walked past him to the stump I’d been sitting on earlier. “Ever had one of those nights when your mind is racing but you can’t figure out what you’re trying to think?”

  “More often than I’d like,” he replied. “Especially lately.”

  I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Probably too much caffeine.”

  After staring into the fire for a moment longer, Henry tossed the hanger to the side and shifted his weight toward me. “Spring—” He cut short, his head snapping to the side.

  A shiver ran up my spine when I realized he’d heard a sound coming from the woods. My eyes shot in the direction of where he was looking, but I saw nothing and heard nothing…until Mel and Tyler stumbled out of the darkness. I glanced at Henry, who had already relaxed his stance.

  Mel was hanging onto Tyler’s hand and swinging it between them. “Still holding out?” she said to Henry, then she noticed me sitting on the
other side of the fire. “Oh, hey Springer. Thought you were asleep.”

  “She tried,” Henry said. “Now that you two are back”—he rolled to his knees and stood up—“Spring and I are going for a drive.” He walked over and stopped in front of me. “Ready?” He extended his hand to help me up.

  When I didn’t react, his eyes went tight and his jaw clenched. The expression screamed impatience, like I wasn’t going along with some secret plan we’d earlier devised. After a moment, he sighed and grabbed the end of my coat sleeve, pulling me to my feet.

  “Toss me your keys, man,” he said to Tyler. The silver ring flew through the air.

  Without a second thought, I followed. “It would appear,” I announced to Mel over my shoulder, “that we will be going for a drive.” I didn’t look back to take note of her expression.

  The engine hummed softly as we wound along the dark road away from the campground. I didn’t take the time to dissect what Henry’s motivation might have been. A drive sounded nice and the car was warmer than the tent, with less bugs.

  I slouched down in my seat, kicked off my shoes and propped my feet on the dashboard. When we first got in the car the radio was on, but Henry turned it off at once, so it was quiet for the first few minutes. After fishing around the inside pocket of his leather jacket, he pulled out his phone and plugged it into the jack. He held the silver device in one hand, working his thumb along the face. I could tell he was scanning through music tracks.

  A song came on. I recognized it immediately, but he skipped past it as well as the next few, which I also recognized as part of a familiar, and now deleted, playlist.

  “Track six, please.”

  Henry turned to me, lifting an eyebrow. A few seconds later, my request came spilling through the speakers. “You like this one?”

  “Very much,” I admitted. “Dave Matthews Band. Classic nineties.”

  “I always suspected there was more to you than Alanis Morissette.”

  I exhaled tranquilly and closed my eyes, taking in the much needed serenity. The darkness, the bluesy ballad, the rhythm of the moving car, that aftershave…

  “Are you hungry?” he asked in a low voice. I liked the way it sounded coupled against the music. “We’re close to a town.”

  “No, thanks,” I said. Just as it had been back in the tent during my tumultuous hour of tossing and turning, my mind was racing again. Murky thoughts jumped, abstract and disconnected images flashed behind my closed eyes. Motorcycles, a black Viper, an argyle sweater hanging over the bend of a palm tree.

  Suddenly, the car was stifling, and it felt like a pile of hot bricks was stacked on my chest. I snuck a quick glance at my driver. He seemed pensive, too. His lips were pressed together in a line and I could see his strong jaw muscles working. Although I’m sure his Rhodes Scholar brain was focused on something more substantial than mine was.

  Don’t be an idiot, Spring.

  “Feeling any better?” Henry asked after the song ended.

  “Yes, thanks,” I replied, allowing my eyes to linger on his face, but that only made my hands break out in a cold sweat. Sudden hot flashes coupled with chills? I was probably coming down with the flu. “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t know.” His brooding eyes smoothed out. “I haven’t been this way in years.”

  A new song came on, prompting a question that I’d tucked away months ago. “This playlist.” I pointed at his cell balanced in the cup holder between us. “What was your motive?”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “No, I do,” I blurted. “I was just”—I rubbed my nose—“a little surprised by some of your choices.” Of course I was remembering the theory Mel had insinuated, how those ten songs were all tied together with a similar “theme.”

  “As far as there being a common thread, there isn’t.”

  I exhaled, choosing to believe him over my sex-on-the-brain best friend.

  “You got me thinking,” he continued, “that night at the party when you said you don’t dance to male singers. I was creating a sample. Show you what you’ve been missing.” He smiled at me briefly then moved his focus back to the road. “I guess I jumped at the chance when you allowed me to load a playlist.”

  “I didn’t allow. You confiscated my phone in the middle of the night.” I chewed my thumbnail for a minute. “Tell me about the last song.”

  Henry lifted a surprisingly big grin then chuckled under his breath. “To tell the truth, I pulled in a ringer for that one.” He adjusted the seat belt across his chest. “I called my sister Cami that night, told her what I was doing, and for whom.” He gazed out the side window. The headlights of an oncoming car flashed across his glasses. “She’s a few years younger than you, but I credit her with impeccable taste in most everything. I ran off the list of songs I already had in mind, she went on to approve and delete. The last was her suggestion.”

  “Your sister?”

  He turned to me, our eyes meeting. “Yes.”

  My stomach made a little spin, and that pile of hot bricks on my chest felt heavier. And hotter.

  “Does she, um…does she live…” I stopped short, realizing that I had no idea where Henry came from. His family had homes all over the world, but other than Elliott Academy in LA, Washington, Duke, and Stanford, I didn’t have a clue about his past life.

  “Cami lives in Zürich right now,” he said, answering my unfinished question.

  I nodded.

  “I’m sure you find the idea of attending a private, all-girls boarding school in Switzerland passé, if not offensive, but with my parents away from home so much…” He trailed off, pressing his lips together. “It’s an exceptional school. She’ll go Ivy League if she chooses.”

  I thought of Henry calling his sister in the middle of the night to discuss music. If it had been one a.m. in California, what time was it in western Europe? My attention was pulled by Henry tapping his knuckle on his side window. “I wish it were warmer,” he mused, changing the subject. “I know a great spot by the river. Are you still cold?”

  I nodded mechanically, although I wasn’t cold. Quite the opposite.

  He cranked the heater. “Would you like to wear this?” he asked, unzipping his leather jacket. I politely declined but was stirred by the chivalrous act. Then I remembered I was supposed to be a self-sufficient woman, an independent feminist. I dug my middle knuckle into my temple, massaging a tiny circle. Nothing in my brain was working correctly tonight.

  “I read a case once about a man who killed his wife because she always kept their house set at eighty-five degrees.” Henry turned the car onto what looked like nothing more than a dirt road. “One day he snapped; shot her in the heart.” He turned to me, grinning. “His attorney got him off. Justifiable homicide.”

  “Is that the kind of law you want to practice?”

  He crinkled his nose with an air of repugnance. “The case was required reading. I enjoy studying about trial lawyers, but I lack the particular…subtleties.”

  There was a time when I thought Henry would have fit the role of sleazy ambulance chaser perfectly. I didn’t know what I thought now.

  “Once upon a time, I planned on working for the D. A.,” he continued. “But that won’t work, either.”

  “Why not?”

  “From what I know about myself and the kind of life I want to live, I’m better suited for private practice.”

  “More money in that?” I zinged without thinking.

  Henry glanced at me, not bothering to hide his frown. He actually looked hurt. “The money will be sufficient,” he replied coolly, setting his gaze back on the road, “but if I work for the D. A., I can’t do pro bono as much as I’d like. That’s why I want my own practice.”

  “Pro bono?” My feet slipped off the dashboard, jerking my body forward, straight toward the windshield.

  He swore in alarm as his right arm jetted straight out to his side, catching me across the chest. Driving one handed, he swerved back and f
orth across the center line.

  “Pro bono?” I repeated after he’d pulled his arm back.

  “What’s the matter with you?” He stared at me, his eyes blazing with shock.

  “Doesn’t that mean for free?”

  He exhaled gruffly and ran a hand through his hair. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “I just never thought that you…someone like you—”

  “Not all lawyers are sharks, Spring,” he cut in. “And not all of them are out to kill trees and pollute the water. I plan on doing a lot of good.”

  “No, I…yeah.” I swallowed. “I’m sure you do.” I turned to face him full on, trying to make my face convey what I was feeling, to let him know he’d won this battle. “I’m sorry, Henry. I didn’t know.”

  “That’s the trouble with you,” he muttered, tight-lipped. “You thought you had me pegged from the beginning. That first night. Didn’t you?”

  I felt my eyes going wide, trying to display my innocence. But he was right. People seldom surprised me, and Henry had managed to do just that. Time after time. Just admitting that to myself made me feel miserable. The pile of bricks on my chest was replaced by a lump in my throat.

  His next movement startled me when he reached forward, jerking his cell free from the jack. My music abruptly stopped. Only the sound of tires on the road.

  “There’s a store coming up,” he said. “I’m stopping for a drink. Would you like something?”

  “J’ai très soif,” I mumbled. “I mean, I’m thirsty, too.”

  He laughed softly, sounding more like himself again. “I understood you the first time.”

  I echoed his laugh, only mine sounded nervous.

  Henry pulled the car to a stop, keeping the heater on. “Diet Coke?” he asked as he opened his door.

  “I probably shouldn’t if I plan on getting any kind of sleep tonight. But…”

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, zipping up his jacket then raking his fingers though his hair.

  I watched as he entered the store, surveyed the fountain drinks and chatted with the clerk, finally placing two bottles of water on the counter and one sixty-ounce Diet Coke.