Chapter Eighteen
Amelia
I watched the group vanish from view, wiping away a few (more) tears. I’d gotten pretty choked up when I’d said goodbye to them, particularly to Molly, Megan, Pat, and Linda, whom I’d become strangely close to in the few short days I’d known them. Would I ever see them again? Probably not—they all lived in the UK, and though we’d all promised to email each other, it wasn’t the same. Though Megan’s parting words had been “Have fun alone on the trail with Rory. Do us all proud,” which had made me laugh in spite of my tears.
I sank onto the boulder, grateful to get off my feet, dreading the rest of the day.
I could barely walk, yet I somehow thought I could complete this trail.
Not to mention that Rory was clearly dealing with some kind of PTSD that caused him to freak out on his best friend and have terrible nightmares.
Was I insane to even think about being alone on the trail with Rory, who may or may not be unstable?
No. He wasn’t unstable. If he was, he wouldn’t be working for Scotland By Foot. Scarlet seemed too on the ball to have a guide who might be a danger to the clients. And Tommy wouldn’t have let him stay behind with me. If I knew one thing about Rory, it was that Tommy loved him like a brother and trusted him with his life. That was obvious enough, even though I’d only known them a few days.
Why had he offered to help me, when we could barely spend two civil minutes together? It obviously had to do with what I told him about Carrie. Or was it something else entirely?
Tommy thought I was into Rory—and that he was into me. “If there’s an opportunity for you to kiss him this time, you should take it. While you’re both awake,” he’d whispered in my ear when he’d hugged me goodbye. I should have expected that Rory would tell Tommy what happened the other night, but I hadn’t thought Tommy had picked up on my conflicted feelings about it, or that he thought it was a good idea.
Which it wasn’t. At all. And likely not even on the table anyway, after the things I’d said to him.
“Think you can walk for a bit?” Rory asked. “Just to the other side of the village. We’ll take the afternoon off for you to rest your knee and then head out in the morning.”
I was relieved, but surprised. He was going to give up hours of walking time? “Are you sure? I mean, it’s only midday…”
He rolled his eyes. “The smell of Tommy’s socks hasn’t even faded from the air, and you’re already arguing with me?”
I snorted with laughter—and was rewarded with a grin in return. His eyes sparkled, and there was a deep crease in his right cheek that I hadn’t seen before—because he hadn’t smiled like that before.
It was like a ray of sunlight shining through a dark cloud, and my heart skipped a beat.
It was so worth the wait.
“You should smile more often,” I blurted out. Then immediately wished I’d kept my damn mouth shut, because the smile immediately dropped from his face like a switch had been flicked.
“I leave the smiling to Tommy,” he quipped, but the moment was over. He picked up my pack. “Let’s head over to the bay so we can get situated. We’ll take it slow.”
Clearly, our conversation was over. Because I didn’t know when not to speak. I carefully pushed upright and balanced my weight on my left foot. I turned so he could slide the pack onto my shoulders, then grabbed my poles. “I’m ready when you are.” Big words, considering I couldn’t stand without help.
He shrugged into his own pack. “Okay, let’s go.” He moved to my right side and took my arm. I opened my mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped me.
It was going to be a long few days.
…
The walk to the village was a slow one. I ended up being grateful for Rory’s support, because my knee was throbbing and shaky, and only his quick reflexes and the strength in his forearm kept me from falling on more than one occasion. And that was on a paved road—what the hell was I going to do once we were on the trail?
Thankfully, he didn’t say anything when I failed to hide the tears of pain and frustration, though at one point he handed me a napkin from his pocket so I could wipe my eyes. In fact, we didn’t speak at all, except for him telling me to watch my step or asking if I was all right after the zillionth time I nearly fell.
Why did I have to make that comment about him smiling? We’d actually been getting along for five minutes, and now, this tense silence.
God, this was a terrible idea. And then I pictured Carrie, so pale and small in her hospital bed, her leg in traction, her right arm in a cast, her head bandaged, hooked up to so many machines you could barely tell there was a human under there.
Because of me.
And suddenly, it didn’t matter whether Rory and I passed the rest of this trek in complete silence and without eye contact. I was there for one reason, and that wasn’t to make friends or engage in small talk with my taciturn guide.
It was to finish this trek so that Carrie would wake up. I had to believe it was possible, because the alternative was unthinkable.
The village was tiny, and I didn’t see any B&Bs or hostels, or even more than a small convenience store. “Where are we staying tonight?”
“We’re going to camp on the beach.”
“Oh.” I didn’t want to protest or start another fight, but camping on the beach? With my knee?
He looked at me sympathetically. “There aren’t any B&Bs or hostels in Camustianavaig, and it’s too far to the next village. You need to get off that leg as soon as possible. It’ll be fine, I promise.”
“Okay.” I would have to trust him on this, like I was trusting him on everything else. But there was no way this wasn’t going to suck.
We passed through the village and came out onto a rock-strewn beach, not unlike the one from the other night. We walked a short distance down, so we’d be out of sight and out of the way. Every wobble of my foot on the small rocks was agonizing. But I kept my mouth shut, forcing myself not to ask when we’d be able to stop. I needed to be strong—if I couldn’t handle this, he’d never let me do the rest of the trail.
We stopped in a not-too-pebbly spot where we’d be mostly sheltered from the wind. Rory helped me to a large rock. I gingerly lowered myself to sit and slung my pack to the ground. He unclipped my tent and began to set it up.
“Can I help with that?” I winced as I said the words, remembering what happened the last time I tried to set up my own tent.
He glanced over, his eyes lit with—was that humor? “I’ve got it.”
“Right. I’ll just sit here and supervise,” I said. His lips quirked at that. Okay, maybe things weren’t going to be awful.
I watched as he quickly and easily threaded the tent poles through the nylon sleeves and anchored it in place. He set up my sleeping mat and sleeping bag, too.
“Why don’t you go in and lie down for a while, get that leg up.”
“Okay,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to argue with me?”
“Nope. I’m tired and sore, and lying down sounds amazing right now.”
He looked almost disappointed, like he’d been hoping for an argument. But he just took my arm and ushered me into the tent, and then helped me lower myself to the ground. He brought my pack inside and set it at my feet, then removed my boots and socks. I stripped off my outer shirt and folded it up for a pillow, straightened my T-shirt, and lay back. Rory helped me elevate my leg on top of the pack. “Do you need anything else right now?”
“No, thanks.” He nodded and slipped out, partially zipping the tent door. I closed my eyes, grateful for the chance to rest.
…
The air inside the car was full of tension. “I can’t believe this,” said Carrie. “I’ve asked you to come hiking with me for years and you’ve always said no. You’ve never wanted to share that part of my life. And I was disappointed, but I sucked it up because you’re my best friend and I love you and we don’t have to have all the same interests. And suddenly, you’re going to do it for a guy? That’s shitty, Amelia. Really shitty.” She sank back against the seat and crossed her arms over her chest, her expression hurt.
Guilt swept through me, but I forced it back. Chris was the first guy to catch my interest in a long time, and while I truly didn’t want to go hiking, he’d asked me to come with him and I wasn’t about to say no.
“You know what, Carrie? You need to stop acting like a goddamn baby about this. It isn’t always about you!”
She muttered something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like—
I turned to stare at her. “Did you just call me a bitch?”
Her eyes widened, and she threw her hands toward the dashboard. “Stop sign!”
What? I whipped around and slammed both feet down on the brake, but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop.
There was a loud horn and a flash of something to the right and Carrie screaming—
—and then impact, glass shattering, metal crunching, the car tumbling.
And Carrie wasn’t screaming anymore.
Gasping for breath, I opened my eyes and stared up at the arch of the tent, willing my heartbeat to slow down. It wasn’t the first time I’d dreamed about the accident, and it never got any easier to deal with. I took a shuddering breath and wiped the tears from my face.
I thought about Rory’s nightmare—and how he’d awakened from it—and I couldn’t help but wish he’d been there for me when I’d awakened from mine.
As the nightmare faded and my breathing slowed, I became aware of my knee, which had swelled up and felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand. The trekking pants weren’t helping.
I sat up, intending to grab a pair of shorts, but I couldn’t lift my leg off the top of the pack. I had to use my hands to move it, clenching my teeth so I wouldn’t cry out.
Breathing shallowly, I dug in my pack, finally pulling shorts from the bottom. I unsnapped my pants and started to ease them down. But when I tried to lift myself up to slide them over my butt, I jostled my knee and a cry of pain tore from me.
Seconds later, there was the hiss of a zipper, and Rory was inside my tent. “Amelia, are you—?” He broke off mid-sentence, his eyes wide. He was wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and he looked really hot, and it took me a moment to realize why he was staring at me like that.
Crap. My pants were half off my butt, and the T-shirt wasn’t long enough to hide my underwear. Frantically (and irrationally) trying to remember which underwear I’d put on that morning, I reached for my discarded shirt to try to cover myself, but that jostled my knee again. “Shit!”
Rory dropped to his knees and covered my hand with his. “Amelia, let me help you.”
Help me take off my pants?
“Aye, I’ll help you take off your pants,” he said, his voice tight. My face burned, and I closed my eyes. I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud. “Amelia.” I opened my eyes. “I can control myself around an injured woman in her underwear, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I was more worried about my reaction to his hands on me, to be honest, but I just nodded.
He slung one arm around my waist, the other around my thighs, and lifted me up. I slid my pants over my butt, and he lowered me back down. He knelt at my feet, hooked his fingers over the waistband, and started to slide the pants down my thighs, raising his gaze to mine.
The look in his eyes—which were green and intense and burning into me like lasers—made my body go hotter than if he’d just stared at my crotch. My breath came faster, and I could feel my heart pounding. It was possibly the most erotic moment of my life.
Oh, this was not good. I don’t see a problem with it, said Carrie’s voice in my head. Not helping!
“Christ,” he muttered, finally looking away. He swore again when my knee was revealed—as did I. It was really swollen.
In a split second, he became all business, stripping off my pants and whipping the gym shorts up my legs and over my hips.
He unwound the ACE bandage and set it aside, then scooped me up and ducked out of the tent. The sun was still high in the sky, so I hadn’t been asleep for too long.
I assumed he was going to set me down on a rock and tend to my knee, but he kept walking.
“Um, where are we going?”
“We need to bring down the swelling. I don’t have another instant ice pack.”
Bring down the swelling? How was he going to—? Hoping I was wrong, I turned to look over my shoulder. Nope, I wasn’t wrong; we were heading right for the water. The ice-cold water.
I turned back to look at him, digging my fingers into his shoulder. “Rory, that water is freezing!”
“Aye, I know. That’s why it will help with the swelling.”
I knew he was right, but still. “Fine, put me down, and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“Not with your knee like that.”
“Rory—”
“Remember that time when you agreed to follow my directions?”
“Remember how I said I couldn’t promise not to argue?” I retorted. I started to struggle, but his arms were like a steel band.
“Calm down! It’s just water.” A gleam came into his eyes, and I knew what he was going to do.
“Don’t you dare, you—”
I was cut off mid-rant as he bent at the waist and dunked me in the frigid Scottish water.
Cold. It was so cold, I was gasping like a landed fish. I tightened my arms around Rory’s neck and tried to climb him.
“What are you doing, you…you…?” I sputtered, unable to think of a good enough insult.
“You needed to cool off.”
“What?” I shrieked. “I needed to cool off? What about you? I saw that look in your eyes when you took off my pants, you—”
His arms tightened around me, my only warning before he dunked us both up to our necks.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” I said when I could speak again.
“I needed to cool off, too.”
Startled by his admission, I looked up. He held my gaze for a long moment, and then he looked away. He began walking parallel to the shore, his strides slow and steady. In spite of myself, I began to relax, leaning my head against the crook of his neck.
“You can put me down,” I grumbled. “Now that I’m completely soaked.”
“I don’t want you on that leg, and I don’t want to have to rescue you if you go under.”
“I can swim. I’m actually pretty good at it.”
“Amelia, just shut up and enjoy the water.”
I lifted my head. “Enjoy it? Are you nuts?”
He glanced down at me, his eyes a strange bluish-grayish-greenish from the reflection of the sea and sky. I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away from them. “Probably. But can you honestly tell me that this water doesn’t make you feel alive?”
I wasn’t sure about the water, but I’d never felt more alive than I did right now with his strong arms holding me close, his beautiful, expressive eyes staring into mine. Even the other night couldn’t compare to this, as passionate as that had been.
If there’s an opportunity for you to kiss him this time, you should take it, Tommy had said. This would definitely be that opportunity; I could almost hear Tommy’s voice in my ear, telling me to go for it.
I parted my lips—to speak or to “go for it,” I didn’t know—but then he looked away, and the moment was gone.
Just as well. It would only make things awkward when we inevitably got into an argument an hour from now—or sooner. I relaxed against him once more as he walked back and forth through the water like I was a cranky baby he was trying to get to go to sleep.
I looked at the mountains, silhouetted against the sky, then at the sparkling water around us. “You’re so lucky,” I said.
He glanced down at me. “Why do you say that?”
“Look around. You get paid to be in the middle of this beautiful scenery in all kinds of weather, to see it over and over again through the eyes of so many different people. You must love it so much.”
He didn’t answer, just stared at me with his bright, sea-glass eyes. He was so stoic sometimes, but in his eyes I saw all the emotion he tried to hide; so much that it was impossible to parse any of it, to tell what he was thinking.
As if in a dream, I watched my hand reach up and touch his cheek, watched something flare in those eyes. “Rory?” I whispered. “Don’t you…love it here?” I felt so tired suddenly, the words struggling to come out.
“Sometimes more so than others,” he finally said.
What? “What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer; just tightened his arms around me and headed for shore. Clearly, he was not going to elaborate. As my body emerged from the water, I began to shiver.
“Why are we heading back in?” I said. And why does my voice sound so slurred?
“Because your lips were turning blue. I wanted to bring down the swelling in your knee, not give you hypothermia.” He walked faster, his long legs cutting through the water. When we reached the shore, he strode to our campsite, walking over the rocks in his bare feet like they weren’t even there.
He set me down on a rock and then pulled a small pouch from his pack. He opened it and shook it out. It was one of those tiny emergency blankets. He draped it around me, and I snuggled into it, my teeth clattering together. Then he ducked inside my tent and emerged with my pack.
“Take out dry clothes. Something warm.”
My whole body shaking with cold, I dug in my pack with clumsy hands and pulled out underwear and clothes.
“N-now what?”
“Now I hold that blanket in place while you get out of your wet clothes.”
I raised my eyebrows. “S-seriously? Why can’t I just g-go in my tent?”
“Because you’re shivering too hard. You need help.”
Damn it, he was right—I couldn’t even make my fingers cooperate. “Are you going to help me with my underwear, too?” I snapped, unable to help myself.
To my surprise, he grinned. Oh, I could really get used to that grin. “Only if you ask nicely.”
I’d definitely walked into that one. But two could play at this game.
I looked down the neck of my shirt. I was wearing my navy sports bra, which covered more of me than most of my bathing suits did. I dropped the blanket and whipped the T-shirt over my head.
His eyes grew comically wide. “What are you doing?”
Now it was my turn to grin. I could almost feel Carrie’s smile of approval—and surprise—at my boldness. “Calm down, Rory. I wear less than this at the beach. I’m trying to minimize the amount of time you need to hold up the blanket as I awkwardly get changed under it.”
I hooked my still-clumsy fingers in the elastic waistband of my shorts and shimmied on the rock so I could carefully slide them over my butt and down my legs.
I looked up—and sucked in a breath. There was that look in his eyes again, hot enough to melt steel.
“Are you ready?” he asked, then swore under his breath.
I’m getting there, I nearly said aloud. I wished I had the nerve to say it out loud. But I just nodded. He held the blanket loosely at my neck and waist, keeping his eyes averted as I wriggled out of my wet sports bra. Shit, the dry one was out of reach. I cleared my throat. “Um, can you reach my bra? It’s on top of my pack.”
He muttered something that sounded like “give me strength,” grabbed the bra, and handed it to me under the blanket.
“This was your idea, you know,” I mumbled as I slid my arms through the straps and quickly did up the hooks, then adjusted the front. “I probably could have managed in my tent.”
“Next time,” he said, handing me my shirt.
I checked that everything was where it should be and slipped the shirt over my head, tugging it down to my hips.
Now for the fun part. I picked up my clean panties so that I wouldn’t have to ask him to hand them to me.
No longer needing to cover my chest, he lowered the blanket a few inches. “Okay, go for it.”
“Don’t let go of the blanket.”
“I won’t. But if you could be quick, that would be brilliant.”
He kept his gaze fixed on something—or nothing—over my shoulder as I peeled off my wet panties, shimmying as I had with the shorts to get them off my butt without jostling my knee too much.
“Okay, I’m going to stand up. Just, like, stay close.” I held the blanket around my hips as he pulled me up. I shifted most of my weight to my left foot and anchored the blanket around my waist as if it was a towel. “Can you hold my arm?” I asked.
He nodded and took my upper arm, steadying me as I eased my right foot into the leg of my panties, and then I leaned on him and slipped my left foot through. “Okay, if you could take my arm again, and just look over at the sea for a second?” He obediently shifted his eyes and I yanked the panties up, maneuvering awkwardly under the blanket. “God, that was an effort.”
“Tell me about it,” he muttered. “Have a seat before you put on your pants, and let me see your knee.”
I re-tucked the blanket around my hips and sat on the rock once more. He carefully prodded my knee, which looked less swollen than it had before. He glanced at his watch. “It’s too soon for more ibuprofen, but you can take some before you go to bed.” He retrieved the ACE bandage and wrapped my knee, then handed me my sweatpants. “Can you manage these yourself?”
I nodded, and while I pulled them on, he picked up my wet clothes and began laying them out on some large, flat rocks to dry. Including my underwear. “Hey, I can do that,” I protested.
He looked up at me, his eyes wide and incredulous, my panties clutched in his hand. “Seriously?” he drawled, his accent thicker than usual, “you had no problem with me seein’ you wearin’ them, and no problem strippin’ them off six inches from my face, but you don’t want me spreadin’ them on a rock to dry?”
“It’s different,” I muttered, feeling foolish. “You weren’t touching them.”
“Aye, well, holding your wet underwear is not as titillating as you seem to think it is,” he said. He wrung them out, slapped them on the rock with the rest of my wet things, and went into my tent, returning with my fleece. “Put this on, and sit here in the sun to warm up.”
He handed me the fleece, and then stripped off his shirt, wrung it out, and spread it on a rock, then strode back into the water without a backward glance, wading out until he was waist-deep. He turned to the right and began swimming, as if a leviathan were chasing him.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a similar outlet at the moment. All I could do was sit on my rock.