Chapter Six

Lexie was in her element.

Fletcher would have been hard-pressed to say why the ballroom done up in silver and gold suited her so well. The easy answer was how beautiful she looked dressed up, what with her blue dress standing out among all the rigid blacks and severely-cut suits, and her hair—a rich honey color that seemed to defy nature—swept elegantly to the side. Lexie would always stand out in a crowd, and not just because his eyes naturally followed her every movement.

Right here, right now, her brilliance had more to do with the way she interacted with people. She made it look so easy. A hand on an arm here. A laugh and a smile there. A genuine look of interest as she inquired after husbands, wives, kids, dogs.

He cleared his throat and straightened the notecards in his hand, doing his best to focus as she took a seat at their table near the back.

If you get nervous, find where I’m sitting and start talking, she’d said on the car ride over. But don’t picture me naked. That might make things worse.

He’d almost choked. She had no idea.

Pretend it’s the two of us instead, chatting about your work over lunch. You can do that, can’t you?

In theory, the answer was yes. He’d done exactly that last week at the car lot, had enjoyed spending some quality one-on-one time with her more than was good for him. But as the conversation stilled and a hundred pairs of eyes turned his way, Fletcher wasn’t so sure about the reality of this plan. He felt clammy and cold and likely to swallow his tongue. This was a stupid idea. He wasn’t doing Lexie a favor here. He was probably going to get her fired.

But then she flashed him a thumbs-up and a wide smile, and he realized he couldn’t back down now. Even if he screwed this up a thousand different ways, Lexie was the last person on the planet who would hold it against him.

She’d believed in him enough to ask. So he would believe in himself enough to try.

He had a list of statistics and the SAR mission on his notecards—dry stuff, the only stuff he could think of to say—but in that moment, he realized he didn’t need them. If this was a date, a real date, the kind of date he’d never allow himself, he’d simply tell Lexie why this meant so much to him.

So that was what he did.

“The first rescue I ever went on was a mountain biking accident.” The words came out hoarse, his voice unaccustomed to this kind of use. He drank from the water bottle on the podium, thoughtfully provided by—who else?—Lexie, and willed his pulse to slow. It didn’t obey, so he tried again, hoping the words would calm him. “It happened out by the river. I don’t remember much about that day, to be honest, except that I’d never been so scared in my whole life. Growing up, I was never a very adventurous kid. I didn’t play sports. I didn’t take risks. I didn’t put myself in dangerous situations. I always told myself it was because I had a strong survival instinct, but the truth is that I was scared. I was scared of everything. You see, my dad died in an airplane accident when I was eight years old.”

Lexie’s hand flew to her mouth, his confession catching her off guard. He felt almost guilty, springing his confession on her like this. She could probably count the number of times he’d willingly mentioned his father on one hand, and here he was, opening his soul to a hundred people he’d never met before.

This time, it was his turn to flash her a reassuring smile. This was going to be okay. He could do this.

“At the time, I got it into my head that the reason he was gone was because he hadn’t been careful enough. Like maybe he didn’t research the airlines ahead of time or he’d picked a bad month to travel or even that his carry-on bag was too heavy and he tipped the whole plane off balance. But as I got older, I realized that these things just happen. His plane hit a patch of engine trouble and a bad storm at the same time. And bad luck, too. If there’s one thing I’ve learned doing Search and Rescue, it’s that luck—good and bad—plays a role in everything.”

A few nodding heads told him he was taking the correct approach. These people—wealthy yet generous, fortunate enough to succeed but aware of those who didn’t have the same opportunities—probably knew quite a bit about being in the right place at the right time.

“So for me to pull on a pair of hiking boots and venture twenty miles into the forest with a handful of other volunteers and a walkie-talkie was a big deal. I kept expecting bears to come barreling down the mountain for a snack, or for us to start falling, lemming-style, off a cliff.”

That got him a few laughs. Laughs. Him.

“But you know what? It all worked out fine. We knew the biker’s coordinates, we’d made contact with him via radio, and all we were there to do was extract him on a stretcher, since it sounded like he had a few smashed ribs. My Unit Leader told me later they broke me in with the mountain biker on purpose—a guaranteed win, he called it. We were never in any real danger at all. I knew then that I could trust these people with my life. They recognized that I was scared out of my mind, and that I was determined to go through with it anyway. They gave me an easy rescue to build my confidence. I’m still scared a lot of the time—about a lot of things—but it makes me feel good, knowing there are people out there who have my back, no matter what happens.”

He had to pause and take another drink of water, and he noticed as he did that his hands didn’t shake.

“Anyway, that’s about all I have to say. I remember hearing a quote once about war, about how you don’t fight for your government or for your cause, but for the guy next to you. That’s what Search and Rescue is about—and I guess that’s what Children’s Choice is about, too. We’re all just part of a team, holding each other up, working toward a common goal. Sometimes it’s flashy, like jumping into a lake—” more laughter that time, even a few cheers “—and sometimes it’s as simple as writing a check so kids have a better chance at a decent future. I figure it all counts in the end.”

In terms of the great speeches of the world, Fletcher knew he wasn’t going to win any awards. He’d stumbled over the words a few times and he didn’t think all his thoughts had been coherent, and he was fairly sure no one but Lexie could get him to ever do it again, but he’d seen the speech through to the end. And the applause that rose up to help usher him off the stage felt good. It felt earned—which was something all the attention for last week’s rescue hadn’t managed to accomplish.

He’d hoped to find Lexie waiting for him at the base of the stairs, but she wasn’t anywhere in sight. Instead, he had to shake hands with a few people, accept their congratulations without making a fool of himself.

“That was a hell of a speech, son.”

Fletcher turned to find a man waiting patiently for his turn to talk. The man was short and squat, with beads of sweat breaking from his over-red brow. He tried to mop them up using a silk handkerchief that matched his expensive suit, but a droplet lingered on the tip of his slightly bulbous nose.

Fletcher immediately understood how the man felt.

The drippy mess part. Not the ten-thousand-dollar-suit part.

“The name’s Barnes. Henry Barnes.” He shoved the handkerchief in his pocket and offered his hand instead. “I saw your picture the other day.”

Fletcher nodded. He still hadn’t quite worked out the appropriate response there. Was he supposed to thank him? Offer to sign an autograph?

“I liked what I saw, so I’ve been meaning to look into it,” Henry continued, relieving him of the agony of response. “Tell me—do you boys operate on a volunteer basis, or is it paid work you do?”

“Most of the men and women with the Spokane Search and Rescue are volunteers.” Fletcher corrected him. “Myself included.”

Henry nodded, the sweat droplet finally separating from his skin and splashing into his drink. “And the equipment you use—that’s all donated?”

“Well, sort of.” Most people assumed that small, local SAR groups like theirs were funded either from all public money or all private money. The truth was something a lot less clear-cut than that. “There aren’t any government funds earmarked for small-time search and rescue use, but the sheriff’s office will kick us a perk every now and then. And we certainly take donations when we can get them. But most of the equipment we use—from the ATVs to our packs—comes from our own pockets.”

“I didn’t know that.” Lexie appeared at his elbow, her hand warm on his arm. Her expression, however, was not. “I guess there are a lot of things we’ve never talked about.”

He thought maybe she was mad at him, but she brightened and moved to include Henry in the conversation. “Also, I see you’ve met Mr. Barnes. Henry here is the only reason we’ve been able to hire two full-time case managers this year. And he plays Santa every year at the kids’ party. He’s the perfect amount of jolly for the job. You should have seen him last week. There was a line an hour long to sit on his lap—the children adore him. We all do.”

“Oh, now, I don’t know about that.” Despite his modest words, the man flushed under Lexie’s praise.

“Well, I do,” Lexie said simply. She turned to Fletcher. “I wish you’d told me sooner that you take donations. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s putting people like you and Henry in touch.”

“You should probably talk to my Unit Leader.” Fletcher shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t come here to take advantage of Lexie’s contacts.

“But how much of your own money would you say you put in every year?” When Fletcher paused, Henry quickly added, “Percentage-wise?”

Fletcher glanced back and forth between Lexie and Henry, both of them turning expectant looks his way. “It’s hard to say.”

When it was clear more was required of him, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t put in money. It’s just not, uh, possible on my salary.” Great. Now he looked like a penniless loser—something Lexie obviously knew for herself, but still a terrible thing to have to admit out loud.

Henry didn’t blink. “What do you put in then? Aside from your time?”

“And the risk to your life,” Lexie added, looking at him queerly. “I don’t think we should forget that part.”

Fletcher feigned an intense interest in the palms of his hands, still damp from his foray into public speaking. “Well, the thing is . . . ” He took a deep breath and forced himself to meet Henry’s eyes. He’d just admitted to a crowd of strangers that he was nothing more than a scared little boy who missed his daddy. Surely he could admit that SAR needed all the help it could get.

“The thing is,” he repeated, “we can always use money for better vehicles. We have a converted RV that serves as our outpost station and two snowmobiles I was able to get at cost from my boss at the car lot, but our storage trailer is decades old and I have my eye on a new transport truck. I’m partway to paying the truck off with my current hours, but it’s still a long ways away. I’m afraid someone else might get to it before I can.”

Henry nodded and his eyes shifted upward, as if he was doing calculations in his head.

Fletcher glanced at Lexie to see if he’d blown all his chances at ever being invited to another one of these benefits . . . and stopped.

“What?” He checked around him for signs of imminent danger—a river cracking open or a door crashing into her face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She didn’t speak right away, which only increased the sensation of doom pressing on his chest. “I can’t believe it,” she said slowly. “It’s so obvious now. The trucks, the RV, the rescue stuff. That’s why you work at the car lot. You get a discount.”

As it was neither a question nor a statement, his only available response was a low-throated rumble.

“You hate that place, Fletcher, and you have since the day you started there. Sean and I could never understand why you insisted on staying somewhere you were obviously so ill-suited and . . . ”

“Miserable?” Fletcher supplied.

“For lack of a better word, yes. And overqualified.” She paused, taking a moment to appraise him. If he didn’t know better, he’d have said there was admiration and—yes, even interest—in her eyes. Was it the rescue that had done it? The speech? Or is it me? “How is it that I’ve known you almost my whole life and I’m only just discovering these things? You rescue people even though it scares the crap out of you. You look amazing in a suit. You have a natural gift for public speaking. What else could you possibly be keeping from me?”

His mouth went dry.

She turned her attention to the other man. “Mr. Barnes, if you don’t buy this man a truck for his SAR group, I don’t think I’m going to invite you to be Santa next year. In fact, I’m going to make you be an elf. Stripey tights and all.”

Henry laughed, not the least bit put off by Lexie’s blatant handling of him. “It just so happens I might have a scheme in mind.” He handed Fletcher a business card, taking a moment to scrawl a phone number on the back. “That’s my personal line—none of that wading through secretaries stuff first. You call me next week, understand? I’ve just signed a deal with an aerotech company that might end up being a good deal for the both of us.”

A thousand overwhelming words of thanks hung on Fletcher’s lips, but he couldn’t manage a single one. Instead, he nodded and tucked the card into his pocket.

The familiar vibration of his pager going off gave him an excuse for his rudeness. With an apologetic smile, he checked the number. 27-04-18. It didn’t take him longer than a few seconds to translate it in his head. Mountain, Spokane County, Missing Persons.

“Oh, is that a call now?” Henry’s eyes lit up. “Do you have to go?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Fletcher caught sight of Lexie’s crestfallen face and hesitated. This was her luncheon, her job, her time. But it was the middle of the workday right before a major holiday. Volunteers were always scarcer around Christmas. “I’ll just call in to get the address, and then I should probably go.”

“Okay.” Lexie looked around the room before returning to face him. “I should be able to duck out. I’ve just about hit everybody up for donations. There’s only Beatrice Watson left, but I’m trying to avoid her right now. There was this episode with an almond pastry last month . . . ”

Henry barked out a laugh and clapped Lexie on the shoulder. “Not your fault, young lady. How were you supposed to know the old bat is as allergic as they come?”

Lexie laughed, but Fletcher could see that it was a struggle. “These things always seem to happen to me, that’s all.”

“I’ll talk to Beatrice for you,” Henry said with a wink. “I play squash with her husband. How much do you want me to squeeze out of them?”

Lexie smiled primly. “As much as they care to donate, of course. Though five thousand would get us that new playground equipment. She does have those seven rambunctious grandsons you might want to slip into the conversation.”

Henry rubbed his hands together, clearly delighted at Lexie’s tactics. “It’d be my honor.”

“Let me just clear it with Joan first, Fletcher, and we can be off.”

“Uh, Lexie?” He hated to let her down, especially when she already seemed so upset, but . . . “It’s not really the sort of thing that requires an audience.”

She frowned. “You don’t want me there?”

Oh, I want you there. He wanted to spend every minute of his life with her near. That was the problem.

“I can’t,” he said. “You don’t have the right training and it’s too dangerous—”

“You think I’ll be in the way.”

The flatness in her voice was hard to ignore. “No, that’s not it. It’s cold and could last for hours and you . . . ”

“Always mess things up.”

“Lexie.” His tone was much sterner than he intended, but he couldn’t stand to see her misconstruing his intent this way. He wasn’t everybody else. Hurting her was worse than plunging into a thousand freezing lakes, more miserable than spending a hundred lifetimes alone. “You have to understand—this isn’t my call to make. I’m not in charge. I’m just a support volunteer.”

“Oh, I understand.” She sniffled once and backed away. The distance felt like miles, but something about the gleam in her eye made him realize that sadness wasn’t her ruling emotion right now. That was the exact expression she gave Sean when she was planning some kind of retaliation. “But you’re forgetting one small thing. You didn’t drive here today.”

Fletcher groaned inwardly. She was right. “Do you think maybe I could borrow your car? Someone here could give you a ride home, right?”

“Nope.”

“Are you joking?”

“Nope,” she repeated, firmer this time. “My car. My rules. Unless you plan on hitchhiking your way to the scene, it looks like you’re going to have to depend on little old Lexie Sinclair for a change.”

Before Fletcher could try to rationalize further, she turned on her heel, giving him a full view of her back. Her dress plunged in a deep vee to the smallest part of her waist, the delicate line of spine leading to the untold wonders of her backside.

He gulped and loped to catch up with her. She had no idea how badly he wanted to catch a glimpse of that backside. She had no idea how badly he wanted to depend on little old Lexie Sinclair for everything. His happiness. His future. His heart.

But getting over his fear of blood and danger was one thing. Getting over his fear of public speaking was another.

Getting over his fear of losing her?

He wasn’t sure that would ever happen.