Page 46 of Love By a Landslide

Pausing, he looked down at his hands then back up at Lucy. “You wouldn’t think it, but that thing traps body heat like crazy. It’ll feel like a sauna within the hour, especially with two of us in there.”

“Is this some elaborate scheme to get me out of my clothes?” She felt no urge to temper her indignation.

The molten amber of Jonathan’s eyes settled on hers, pupils expanding. “Trust me, sunshine, if I were trying to get you out of your clothes, you would know it.” The husky timbre of his voice sent tingles up and down Lucy’s back.

This is a bad idea.

What other option did she have?

“Fine, but you better keep your undies on.”

“That’s the plan.”

The suggestive moment passed, and with a sigh, Lucy deliberated about what to remove. Surely it would be prudent to keep her pants on. And her sports bra. But everything else would be redundant in covering the important bits. Looking up from unbuttoning her shirt, she noted that Jonathan had turned away from her, most likely to provide a modicum of privacy. It all felt ridiculous, seeing as how they would be pressed up against each other in what amounted to an oversized sex swing. By the time her boots were untied and off, Lucy was shivering so much that she was actually eager to get into the hanging sweatbox.

Jonathan skillfully shimmied his way into the hammock. Once settled, he smiled. In the dim light, Lucy could barely make out his white teeth and the mountain range tattoo that dancedacross his collarbone and shoulder. He was so sexy. And she was so anxious about doing something embarrassing.

“Permission to come aboard?” She hoped the joke disguised her nerves.

“Granted.” That smooth-as-molasses chuckle was lethal. “But, you’ll want to climb in and lay opposite me. Head at each end.”

She regarded his suggestion and tumbled in, careful not to let a knee—or hand—land on any of his more delicate parts. After some Olympic-worthy gymnastics, she finally found a somewhat comfortable spot.

“Why is this the best position?” Lucy’s nose crinkled. His bare toes were precisely what one would expect from a man who’d worn hiking boots two days in a row without showering. Long gone was the fresh scent of fabric softener, though the cedar and bug spray scent lingered, mingling with the musk of sweat. She could only imagine what aromas she brought to the table.

The waning glow from the last bit of fire did little to disguise Jonathan’s perturbed expression. He began ticking the list off on his fingers. “First, it balances the weight. Second, it puts our shoulders, the widest part of our bodies, at either end. And third, it’s not like you’ve been walking on rose petals all day. Your feet stink too.” Jonathan reached up to secure the rain fly and mosquito netting that made up the top half of the cocoon, blocking out the stars and dwindling embers in the process. Lucy could barely see her hand two inches from her face.

“Fine, fine. I’ll quit complaining.” She settled in, marveling at how comfortable the setup actually was. It cradled her back and was warm enough to chase the chill from her bones. She wouldn’t be making the swap from a tent anytime soon, but as far as backup sleeping arrangements went, this would do.

Prickles on her right side called attention to whereJonathan's muscular thighs, hip, and torso met hers. It wasn’t the first time that they were in each other’s bubble, and Lucy felt the same charge as each time before. There had been an awful lot more physical contact than she’d anticipated going into the whole backpacking excursion. A lot more danger than she’d expected too. And while she wasn’t necessarily complaining about the former, she knew to proceed with caution all the same.

Craning her neck, she squinted at Jonathan. Once her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could sort of make out the large outline of his form. His hands were braced behind his head, elbows splayed to either side.

He startled her by breaking the silence. “Yes?”

“Um.” She paused, hands fidgeting together. “Never mind.”

“What is it, Lucy?” His inflection was more word-of-caution than a question.

She hesitated, unsure if proceeding was wise.

Curiosity triumphed. What was the worst that could happen?

“What happened to your wife?”

“What do you mean?” Jonathan asked softly but with an unmistakably sharp edge.

She bravely forged on. “You said she passed away.” She paused again, giving him time to offer a response, but when none came, she continued. “It’s just that I told you about Brodan dumping me and thought you might want to share your baggage too.” Her hollow chuckle bookended the sentiment.

Silence, as tangible as the hammock they laid in, hung in the air. She shouldn’t have brought it up. The love of his life was taken from him too soon. Lucy had no way of knowing what that kind of loss felt like. No one she had ever known had died. All four of her grandparents were alive and well. Her dad’s dad still ran marathons and participated in those muddy obstacleraces, for goodness’ sake. The worst grief she had ever felt had been because of breakups, which seemed inconsequential at that moment. Convincing Jonathan to spill deep emotional trauma when she barely knew him was wildly selfish. She was acting like a jerk trying to open that wound.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have pried. Forget it.”

“No.” The throaty reply hung heavily. His rigid silhouette relaxed slightly. Lucy could make out the motion of him scrubbing a hand down his face. With a pensive sigh, he continued, “It’s fine.”

Lucy held her breath, almost unable to handle the quiet that followed. It stretched on for an eternity. She would have thought he wasn’t going to say anything further, but the way his feet started to twitch and fiddle together hinted at the opposite.

“It was the beginning of the rafting season four years ago,” he began with unmistakable sorrow, “and me and my guides were out doing practice runs on the Wenatchee. It was my friend Zac, my wife Cynthia, and me in a raft with a few new hires. We came to an especially technical part of the run, a really risky spot with two routes to pick from. And I chose the wrong one.” His tone became embittered as regret dripped from each word. “We flipped, and Cynthia lost her helmet. She must have hit her head on a rock because by the time I got to her, she was already gone.”

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