Page 53 of Love By a Landslide

“And what?” Who is he to chastise her like this? What? Was he, lord of the woods now? He was acting like she went cliff-diving after chugging a case of beer. It wasn’t like she swam out to the middle of the lake. She splashed around a little and washed her hair and smellier bits of her body. She’d been in the water for maybe five minutes. If that!

“You could have drowned!” he roared as moisture welled in the bulging whites of his eyes. His body shook, and his breath increased ferociously. The violent flex of his forearms matched the savage clench of his jaw. Lucy worried he’d break a tooth as she took in the volatility that consumed him. “You could have—” His deep voice broke. “You could have drowned.” The anguish washed over his tight features, muting the rage until clarity tackled Lucy like a three-hundred-pound linebacker.

His wife.

Cynthia had died that way. No wonder he was reacting the way he was. In his mind, Lucy put herself in a situation where she would have been screwed if things had gone sideways. In any other instance, her actions would have been inconsequential. But in the wake of her guide’s deeply traumatic loss . . .

She’d misjudged.

“Jonathan. I . . .” She struggled with the words and didn’t know what he needed to hear. He turned away from her, swiping at his eyes while struggling to regain composure. All she could think to do was lay a hand on his forearm. He surprised her by settling his other hand on top of hers. Strong fingers curled around hers and squeezed.

Lucy knew it wasn’t about him losing her specifically, because they hadn’t known each other long enough for that.Instead, it was about another person dying that he felt responsible for. He took the safety aspect of his job seriously. It was one element of Jonathan’s personality that Lucy picked up on almost immediately after meeting him. It only took a small logical jump to deduce the rest.

He blamed himself for his wife’s death. Feeling responsible for another would destroy him.

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said.

He met her eyes; thick emotion swirled around the liquid amber. His throat worked, and he swallowed a few times before speaking. “Thank you.” The words came out as a timid croak. “I’m sorry I freaked out. It just—”

“Stop. I understand. I’ll be more careful. Ok?”

He nodded while chewing on the inside of his cheek, a fresh glisten forming along his lower lashes. Lucy gently swept away a tear and settled her hand on his prickly jaw.

“You really need to heal. Maybe try and get some rest, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “That’s probably best.”

“I’ll handle things around here. You relax.”

“Thank you, Lucy.”

She smiled and stepped away to busy herself around camp.

Chapter twenty-seven

Jonathan

The first thing Jonathan heard as he awoke from his nap was the metallic clanging of cookware. The second was the melodious lilt of Lucy’s voice, hurtling words that would make a sailor blush. Her quiet yet frustrated curses made him smile. He couldn’t see what was happening, but in the context of the waning sun and the smell of campfire, he assumed she was cooking dinner. Or at least attempting to.

Jonathan wished he could take over. Partly to make up for his outburst earlier that afternoon. All the memories of Cynthia’s accident had come rushing at him, and his temper broke under the swell of fear. He’d practically bit Lucy's head off and he desperately wanted to do something as penance for his behavior.

Aside from all that, there was something about Lucy that made him want to take care of her. When he looked into those dazzling eyes, he felt this inexplicable urge to give her everything she needed so she never had to worry or be inconvenienced.

A third part of him—the mischievous side, perhaps—thoroughly enjoyed her apparent struggle and accompanying string of expletives.

Reaching for the edge of the hammock, he tugged it down a bit to catch a glimpse. Huddled around the firepit, she mixed something in the titanium pot. Every few stirs, she’d lift the spork and eyeball the gloppy concoction that dripped off. The tilt of her head and scrunching of her nose tugged at something inJonathan’s chest. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling, not wanting his reaction to cause her dismay. Also, he selfishly wanted the scene of this beautiful woman bustling around to continue playing out.

Lucy placed the cookware beside the fire. Standing, she brushed the dust off her pants and let out a sigh.

“How’s it going out there, chef?” Jonathan crooned.

Lucy startled slightly but grinned at him a moment later. “It’s going about as well as it’s going to, I suppose.” Her brows drew together as her smile fell. “Did I wake you?”

“You mean by banging pots and pans together and screaming obscenities? Nah.”

She strode over, wearing a smirk. “Har-dee-har-har.” She reached the side of the hammock. “How are you feeling?”

Jonathan took a deep breath, weighing her meaning, and slowly let it out. “Not bad. Better, actually. Still tender, but all things considered, I am doing all right.”

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