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But he sort of was. Not that a few dozen bunnies or a couple of snakes or a random coyote frightened him. What scared him was Andie. And his feelings for Andie. And the gut-wrenching question of why she was taking him for a midnight stroll in her grandmother’s orchard. He followed her to the top of the hill, admiring the view of Andie’s backside more than the star-studded sky, wishing he could touch her, wondering what she would do if he did. The moonlight caressed Andie’s face when she turned to him.
She pointed to a distant campfire. “I wanted you to see that.”
“What is it?” he said, squinting into the dark, even though he knew what he would see. A cluster of vehicles––vans, trailers, pickup trucks––parked in a clearing. Shadows moved through the trees.
“There are children, pets...families.”
Whit fought a flash of frustration and tried to keep his face neutral. “If they want to camp, why don’t they go to O’Neal Park?”
She looked at him as if he were a particularly stupid breed of dog. “Because O’Neal costs twenty dollars a night.”
Whit swallowed and tightened his fists. He saw Andie’s direction, and he didn’t want to go there. He hadn’t wanted to take this walk from the moment she had suggested it. Why hadn’t he just listened to his gut? “That’s not their land.” His voice sounded harder than he meant it to.
Andie nodded. “But they have nowhere else to go.”
“They don’t belong there, Andie.”
She blinked up at him. “Where do you think they belong?”
“Not here. They just can’t camp! They could start a forest fire.” He took a steadying breath and tried to infuse compassion into his voice. “There are programs and shelters, places that are much more humane and sanitary. Those children should be enrolled in school, guaranteed at least a couple of warm meals a day and an education that will provide them a future outside of the canyon.”
Concern filled Andie’s eyes. “I just wanted you to see them. I wanted you to know that they are there.”
“Why?” His voice was hard. He didn’t want to sound like his mom, but he couldn’t help it.
“Because I saw a map of Trabuco Canyon on the wall—”
He swore under his breath and looked up at the stars. They sparkled down on him, but told him nothing. This is where I lose her, a voice in his head whispered. But another voice told him that she had never been his to lose. How can I make her stay? He asked the voices. Stay where? He had no home. He was as much of a vagabond as the families in the pickup trucks and vans parked in the clearing. And with all these competing voices, he was beginning to suspect his sanity. Andie deserved someone sane.
“Is that why Carver Neilson is panting after my mom?” Andie touched his arm, turning him toward her. “He’s not really interested in her, is he? He just wants Grammy’s orchard.”
Whit shook his head. He didn’t want to look into Andie’s eyes. He didn’t want to see her disappointment, so he trained his attention on the distant ocean—a long strip of unfathomable black stretching to nowhere. “How could I know that?”
“I think you know.” Andie folded her arms, like a barrier, across her chest. He saw her anger mounting with every ticking moment. “None of it was real, was it? You, Carver—you think you can buy whatever you want—and money isn’t your only bargaining chip.”
“What are you going to tell your mom?” Whit turned on her. Because he wanted to take her shoulders and shake her, make her grow up and see a real world where money mattered and people had to live by society’s rules, but he tucked his hands in his pockets. “Are you going to tell her that you think Carver Neilson is coming on to her because he wants her property? I don’t think she’s going to like hearing that.”
“My mom won’t need to have things spelled out for her. She’s a big girl, and so am I.” Andie chewed on her lower lip, before she added, “Thank you for not lying to me.”
“Lie to you?” His words echoed through the dark canyon. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “About what?”
“Like Carver lied to my mom. Pretending to be interested in me...you’ve been very...professional.”
“I wasn’t pretending.” Whit raked his fingers through his hair. Did it matter that he was leaving the day after tomorrow? He wanted her now. Tonight.
“I think you were trying to be kind.”
“Trying to be kind?” Whit watched the moonlight cast shadows on Andie’s face, and then he did something decidedly unprofessional. He grabbed her by both arms and kissed her. Hard.
At first, she barely moved. She broke away from him and touched her lips with the back of her hand. “That was not professional...or kind. And you were supposed to ask first.”
He closed the distance between them and took her back into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I know I was only supposed to do that in public.”
Lowering his head, his kissed her again. This time much more tenderly. She leaned into him, responded, and then tore away. He felt cold and lifeless without her pressed against him. This is how it will always be, a voice told him. I’ll be cold and empty without her. Her loss overwhelmed him, even though she stood only inches away. He reached for her and she backed down the hill.
“I don’t trust you, and I thought I could,” she said in a ragged voice, before she turned and ran.
“I don’t blame you,” he whispered into the dark night. “I don’t trust myself.”