Page 26 of Hyde

“Nah, I’m good. What time is it?”

“I think it’s time to go on that hike you mentioned,” she responds, stretching her legs out in front of her. “I’m getting a little stir crazy.”

“You haven’t stopped moving all day, I’d say it was your turn for a nap.”

“I’ll nap after our walk, when the lasagna is baking,” she responds, giving me a little grin when a moan escapes me. “In all your travels, you must have found a version to rival Mom’s?”

“Never. I gave up ordering it after the first year on the road,” I tell her, standing up and stretching before reaching a hand down to pull her out of her seat. The sooner we get moving, the sooner I’ll be eating lasagna.

Winding down one of the overgrown trails, I smile at how sure-footed she is in the woods and appreciate how she sometimes pauses to point out an animal watching us, or whatever catches her attention. And the woman doesn’t miss much.

“You ever change your mind about fishing?” I ask her, risking one of her glares. It’s impossible to keep the grin off of my face, remembering the trouble she’d get into because she thought fishing was too boring and gross.

“No, but if it means a boat ride, I just bring a book with me nowadays,” Leslee responds, her strawberry blonde hair falling over her shoulder when she turns to look back at me. “Is there a lake on the property?”

“Nah, just a couple of spots along the river that make for so-so fishing and decent swim holes this time of year,” I answer her and immediately want to kick myself.

Shit. It’s not like she would have packed a suit, so I close my eyes against the image of what she’d probably want to swim in.

“Crap,” I growl out when my boot hits a tree root.

“How was your trip?” she asks me, only hiding her smile when she sees me carefully pat my side. I shrug, letting her know I’ll live, but it’s honestly too painful to do anything except exhale. “Good. I’ll see you next fall.”

“Get your own material, brat,” I counter after I catch my breath, knowing damn well where she learned those lines. “Wait, if you take that trail up on the left, we’ll eventually end up back at the cabin.”

“I want to see the swimming holes, are they very far?”

“One was back on the right, the other is about a half mile up. I’m not really in the mood for swimming today though,” I warn her.

“No swimming today.” She crosses her finger over her breast. Shit, her heart. “But let’s turn back to see the one we passed, then I want to get dinner started.”

“Deal,” I answer with a nod. “Follow me.”

Thankfully, she keeps her word—and her clothes on, even though I can see how tempted she is when we break from the trees to the sight of the sun shining down on the water.

“Why doesn’t Alex live here? This place is incredible,” Leslee asks me, her vibrant eyes meeting mine.

“Besides being too far away from her husband’s job, her father was murdered here,” I inform her, leaving out the part about her mother being killed here also. Barely more than a handful of people know that last bit, and I only do because I overheard Jasper and Silver talking years ago.

“Oh.” She lets out the word on a sigh and nods her head more to herself, than me, in understanding.

Without another word, we head back to fulfill our afternoon plans.

After four years without eating Riley’s cooking, I think it might be the time and distance, but during my second piece of lasagna, I can’t help thinking that Leslee’s tastes better than what I remember. I compliment her profusely, even though I can’t bring myself to tell her that last part. It feels too disloyal.

I take the hint and handle the dishes when we’re finished eating, but I’m already thinking about having more lasagna as a midnight snack.

“What do you want to do now?” I ask her, lifting my bottle of beer up for a swig.

Which I promptly spit out when Leslee pats the seat cushion on the couch next to her and raises an eyebrow at me in invitation.

“No.” I firmly shut her down.

Letting out an overdramatic sigh, she tucks her feet in near her ass and glares at me. “Okay, if you don’t want to kiss me tonight, how about we go and check out the escape tunnel?”

“I have zero interest in walking bent over for a hundred yards after eating three pieces of lasagna,” I tell her, sitting in the chair across from her and patting my stomach, not even attempting to muffle my belch.

My refusal to rise to the first part of her statement has her narrowing her eyes at me and I grin to myself, wondering if I’d be safer with the Navaja.

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