Page 32 of Love By a Landslide

The waning sun broke through the partly cloudy sky, sending down a few final rays of warmth before its inevitable dip behind the mountains. Lucy’s jacket had dried, but because it was waterproof, there was zero breathability. The tank and bra she wore underneath were still damp and clinging to her skin, as were her pants. And underwear. And socks. Everything besides that rain jacket, clearly more adept at keeping moisture in than out, was wet. She felt miserable. The promise of a blazing campfire, dry clothes, and food were the only things keeping her feet moving.

Turning into camp, she flung her heavy pack to the ground. It must have taken on water or rocks during the landslide because she swore it was heavier than it was this morning. She collapsed onto the log bench and began untying her laces.

“You may want to wait on that,” Jonathan said, noticing her intent to remove her boots. “I need your help setting up camp so we can settle in before dark.”

Lucy looked up and attempted to glare, but fatigue kept her from flashing anything beyond subtle annoyance. “My socks are wet.” She heaved one boot off, and it landed a few feet away. “I have blisters.” The other followed with a thud. “I don’t care if I have to help while barefoot; these fuckers are coming off.”

A moan escaped her as she peeled off her sodden socks and draped them on a branch within reach. She stretched out her legs, flexing and unflexing her sore toes. Despite the crinkly whiteness of the damp skin and a couple of small blisters on her heels, her feet weren’t completely ravaged. Surprisingly, her sparkly coral nail polish held strong. She made a mental note to tip her pedicurist a little extra on her next visit.

Eyeing her bare feet with irritation, Jonathan crossed his arms. “You can’t go barefoot. That’s how you impale yourself on a stick or sharp rock. Rest for a minute then put your boots back on.”

“I’ll compromise with you.” Lucy pulled her pack into her lap and rummaged around in the surprisingly dry main compartment. At least she bought the right backpack. With a sly grin, she pulled out a pair of day-glow yellow flip-flops. “I’ll wear these.” She slipped them on and set her bag to the side. Wiggling her toes, she tossed a triumphant grin at Jonathan.

“Fine. Just don’t trip on anything.”

“Deal.” Needlessly dusting off her pants, Lucy rose. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Divide and conquer. We gather dry—well, as dry as we can find—wood. Then I’ll build the fire, and you can put up your tent.”

With a nod, they set to work collecting branches, sticks, and dry bits of moss. The canopy of branches overhead acted as an umbrella during the storm, and Lucy quickly found enough kindling around the camp perimeter. She made a pile next to the driest firepit. Her attention zeroed in on Jonathan as he hacked away at a larger chunk of wood with a small hatchet. Jacket removed, he had rolled the sleeves of his flannel up past his elbows. With each swing, the corded muscled of his forearms flexed. Veins popped beneath a dusting of light brown hair and tanned skin. Could forearms be sexy?

Watching a few more chops, Lucy felt the need to wipe the drool from her lip. His forearms weredefinitelysexy. What did his upper arms look like? Or his back . . .

“Can I help you with something?” He hadn’t looked at her but paused his movements.

Lucy jumped at being caught ogling the sexy guide-turned-lumberjack. “Huh? What?” She croaked, the words stuck in her throat.

He turned, eyebrows raised. “You’re just standing there.”

“Oh, I . . . finished collecting sticks and stuff.” Gesturingto the pile, she hoped Jonathan didn’t notice the swath of pink climbing her cheeks.

“Great. Your tent? Can you manage?” he asked, sounding like an exasperated middle school teacher trying to redirect his students. Reaching up, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his decidedly sexy forearm.

“Oh yeah, on it.” She pivoted and scurried to her pack.

Lucy was grateful that she’d bought an easy-to-erect tent for the trip. She remembered going camping with her family as a kid. Her dad and older brother, Oliver, would struggle for half an hour to get their behemoth of a tent set up. She and her younger brother, Garrett, would sit and watch, giggling at the nonsensical words that would pop out of their dad’s mouth in place of the big four-letter expletives.

Why are there so many brick-a-bracken rods for this darn thing?He would grumble while trying to organize each element of the tent. Oliver would try to help but never understood their dad’s system. So, he’d join Lucy and Garrett until he was summoned tohold thisorsteady that. Without fail, the tent would be ninety-five percent set up and then collapse before the stakes could be hammered in. On one trip, the tent managed to stay up on the first attempt, only to implode once her family had retired for the night.What the flibbity-gibbet?!Her dad hollered in surprise while her mom took the less creative route and dropped the F-bomb.

Lucy smiled at the thought of those camping trips, longing for a simpler time and the safety of her loving family. She resolved to set something up with all of them once she got back home—if she survived this trip.

She shoved the morbid thought away.

Roving the campsite, tent under her arms, she searched for a flat spot to set up. Once found, she held the edge of her tent in both hands and flipped it out in front of her. With a stifffwomp,it popped into shape. Grinning ear to ear, she positioned it on the ground and returned to her pack for her sleeping bag and pad. Having set up her quarters, she turned to Jonathan, who was arranging the wood in the firepit.

“Tent’s up,” she chirped, feeling mighty proud of herself.

“You better hope it doesn’t rain,” Jonathan tossed back absently, not looking away from the miniature log cabin he seemed to be building.

“Why’s that?” Lucy settled her hands on her hips and tilted her head.

“Because those things aren’t waterproof. Quick and easy to put up, but without a rain fly, it’s useless in a storm.” He stuffed some moss and twigs in the middle of his structure then topped it off with shavings from a silvery block he held in one hand and a tiny flat saw in the other.

“Well, it’s all I’ve got, so it had better hold.” The wind out of her sails, she noticed the sun was starting to set. “I’m going to change.”

“Good plan.” Flipping the block, Jonathan struck the flat end of the little saw against the edge, creating sparks. After a few attempts, the tinder ignited, burning brightly. With haste and a trained eye, he added more bits to the growing flame, being careful not to snuff it out.

Leaving the caveman to his fire, Lucy grabbed her backpack and retreated to her tent to change into dry clothes.

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