12
Darcy had never been so thankful to be on solid land. Her legs were wobbly, unsure beneath her as she took her first steps onto the hard-packed sand of Kesuk’s southern shore. The pent-up anxiety she’d wrestled all day as they paddled along the island’s northern and western shores now left her body in a burning adrenaline rush. She fought the urge to lay prostrate on the shore and kiss the ground. She’d made it. God had carried her through.
“What a rush!” Clint smiled beside her.
“That’s one word for it,” she mumbled.
“You did good,” Landon said, setting his pack in the pile forming beside the unlit fire pit.
“We’ve still got a lot of work to do,” George said, greeting Ted. “I’ve started setting up camp in a half circle with our backs to the hills.”
Ted nodded and moved to assist.
“I’ve got Phillip’s supplies set by the cooking pit,” George said. “Hopefully he’ll start soon. Looks like the passengers are hungry.”
“Starving,” Heath chimed in.
“Passengers aren’t the only ones.” Gage rubbed his stomach. His damp shirt clung to his midsection, hugging his well-defined abdomen. Heat rushed Darcy’s cheeks.
“I’ll get the cooking fire started for him,” Jake offered.
“Piper and I will get the staff tents up.” Kayden pulled the tent roll from the base of her pack.
“Unless you need me, Gage, I’ll help the girls,” Landon said, inclining his head in the sisters’ direction.
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” Gage shifted his attention to Darcy. “You good?”
“Fine.” She was just thankful to be on land.
His gaze bore into her—so much emotion dwelling there.
“I . . . better get started interviewing the participants about their first day out.”
“Right.”
Gage approached Darcy at the picnic table while everyone else was otherwise occupied, settling into the tents George and Ted had so masterfully erected. Though tents hardly seemed the appropriate word. What they had set up looked more like the luxury safari tents of the early 1900s, bordering far too close to what many referred to nowadays as glamping for Gage’s tastes. The only difference between true glamping, as Piper explained it, and what stood erected around him was the lack of actual furniture. Each passenger had an inflated air mattress on a raised frame, upon which high-loft goose-down sleeping bags were spread. A small battery-lit lantern hung from the overarching beam, bathing the faux-linen tents in soft light. He had to admit the overall effect was quite nice—like fireflies dancing in the coming dusk of twilight. The sun wouldn’t be fully setting for a bit, but the pink already streaking across the Alaskan sky indicated it was going to be a gorgeous one.
He sank down beside Darcy on the picnic bench. Somehow Chef Phillip had enlisted her to help with dinner, putting her to work on the potato skins—which she’d clearly never made before, though watching her attempts to cook them over the fire had proved highly entertaining. “How’d your interviews go?”
“Fine until I got to Phillip.” She poked at the limp skins arranged on the platter before her.
He fought back a chuckle. “How’d he wrangle you into helping?”
“I’m not really sure. One minute I was talking to him about Abby, asking if he’d ever worked with her, how he felt about her leaving and his taking over her job, and the next thing I knew, he’d put me to boiling potatoes over the campfire.”
The distinct smell of smoke clung to her fleece jacket—he leaned in—and to her silky blond hair.
“Hope I’m not interrupting.”
They turned to find Clint standing behind them.
“Not at all.” She sat back from Gage. “Please, join us.”
“Just wanted to sample one of those amazing-looking potato skins. May I?”
“Of course.” She smiled.
Clint reached in between them and grabbed one.
She stiffened as he popped it in his mouth.
He swallowed. “Delicious.”
“Really?” Relief filled her face. “Thanks.”
“No. Thank you.” His appreciative gaze lingered on Darcy far too long for Gage’s liking. “Hope all your interviews went well.”
“Yep. Everyone’s really enjoyed the excursion so far.”
“That’s great.” He shifted his weight, resting his boot on the bench between them and leaning in slightly toward Darcy. “And did you enjoy it?”
She nodded.
“I’m glad to hear it. There’s nothing like the wind in your hair, the sea air on your face.” He smiled. “Such a beautiful face.”
“Thanks.”
Gage leaned around Clint, fixing his displeased gaze on Darcy.
Clint straightened. “Guess I should let the restless natives know dinner’s about ready.”
“Yeah. Shouldn’t be long now,” she said. “I think Phillip is just about done with the steak.”
“Great.” Clint popped another potato skin in his mouth, then turned and headed back toward the campers.
Gage cocked his head. “What was that?”
“What was what?” She fidgeted with the arrangement of the potato skins.
He jutted his chin toward Clint’s retreating back. “The two of you all flirty.”
“We weren’t flirting.”
He arched a brow.
“I wasn’t flirting.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I was simply trying to establish a connection with him.”
“I’d say connection established.” He linked his arms across his chest. Why was he getting so worked up?
“It’s vital I make connections with as many crew members as possible. I don’t know which of them may be of use to me in finding Abby.”
“So you’re using them?” Why was he getting combative? And why did he feel so territorial all of a sudden? Maybe it was simply that Clint rubbed him wrong, or maybe it was the way she’d just led Clint on that bugged him so.
“I’m just getting to know the people Abby worked with leading up to her disappearance.”
“In case they can be of use to you?” Isn’t that what she’d just said—they’d be of use to her? Was he simply of use to her too?
“I’m not using them.” She fanned the stack of napkins out beside the tower of plastic plates. “I’m just getting to know the people that knew Abby.”
“So, let me get this straight. You form a false attachment with Clint, for example”—though it could just as easily be him—“in case he can be of use to you in finding Abby?”
“Yes . . . but it’s not how you’re making it sound.”
“How am I making it sound?” He was only repeating what she’d said, though he recognized he was making the situation far too personal.
“Wrong and manipulative.”
“Just call it like I see it.” He shrugged. “But that’s me. I prefer to be up-front.”
“I’m doing what I need to do to find my friend.”
“By using other people.” Just as his ex, Meredith, had. He was falling for another woman who led people on and lied. What was wrong with him?
While Meredith’s and Darcy’s professions weren’t the same—lawyer and reporter—the means they used were far too similar for his tastes. It showed the heart of their character. While in Yancey this winter, Darcy had tried so hard to convince him she was different, that she wasn’t the type of reporter who lied and manipulated to get ahead, and about the time she’d left for California, he’d actually started to believe she was different.
Now . . . he feared the truth was showing through. Darcy might be kinder than Meredith, she might even have great intentions for her actions, but the end result was the same—she did what she needed to do to get what she wanted.
It wasn’t like he didn’t understand. He’d been there—wanting to do everything possible to protect a loved one, to prove his brother’s innocence, but he’d never lost sight of who he was and of what mattered.
“You think I should simply walk away?” she asked at his silence—her tone less assured than it had been moments before.
“No, but I still believe there’s a straightforward way to go about it.”
“You don’t understand. People lie. They cover their tracks.”
“So, what . . . you have to lie to catch them?” That was convenient.
“That’s not what I said!”
Kayden cleared her throat.
They both turned.
Kayden tilted her head in the direction of the group. “You’re starting to draw an audience.”
Darcy’s eyes widened. “Could you hear what we were discussing?”
“No, but your voices were rising. A few more seconds and . . .”
“We don’t have to worry about that.” She pinned a glare on Gage. “This conversation is over.”
It wasn’t the only thing that was over. He had to keep his distance. Darcy had worked her way into his heart, and he had to do whatever it took to work her out again. Even if it meant being combative, blowing things out of proportion, making it personal. Because the truth was, if he didn’t stop his deepening feelings for Darcy, it would become intensely personal, and he couldn’t go back there.