What was it about this man that made her care? That made her want to keep those chocolate-brown eyes fixed on her? She hated herself a little right now for that. And for single-handedly getting herself into this overnight camping trip. Her conflicting feelings made her dizzy.
It would be fine. He was obviously set on finding this particular spot, and the least she could do was help him do that.
She led the way on the marked trail following the rippling water of Lone Creek. The path was wide, paved, and ascended slowly into the hills. Towering deciduous trees rose above them, and a thick undergrowth sheltered the small critters scurrying about the forest floor. She breathed in the earthy smells of leaves, pine trees, and moss and caught a whiff of Wyatt’s clean scent in the mix.
She stepped over a fallen tree, taking the time to hitch her backpack higher on her shoulder. Wyatt had taken the bigger of the two and managed the move like his pack weighed no more than a feather.
“Enjoy the paved path.” She started off again. “It goes on for about four miles, then becomes a footpath.”
“And after that?”
“A deer path, more or less. It’s been a while since I’ve been out that far, though, so it might be overgrown. How long ago was it you were here before?”
“I was just a kid. But I have a good visual memory of the area. I’ll know it when I see it.”
They continued in silence, her footfalls and the chattering squirrels filling the quiet. She wondered again what drove Wyatt to find this area. But that was his business.
There was a lot she wanted to ask him. About his job, his life—and yes, his love life. But her job was to be his guide, not to pry into his personal life. If he wanted to talk, he’d talk, and she’d be happy to accommodate. If not, it was going to be a long, quiet two days.
“What was it like growing up here?” he asked as if privy to her thoughts.
Grace’s first thought was of that terrible afternoon when the minivan had followed her down the deserted country road they lived on at the time.
“Pretty great really. I had loving parents, and we didn’t want for anything. A nice, comfortable small town where everybody knows everybody, a lake to swim and fish in, and mountain trails to hike. Couldn’t ask for much more.”
“Some people think small towns are boring. Especially teenagers.”
“It would be if you didn’t like the outdoors.”
“I guess you found the right business to launch. Did you like the space you looked at in town yesterday?”
“Loved it. Unfortunately, the building’s as old as Methuselah, and it’s been vacant awhile. It needs a lot of TLC. Did you find what you were looking for at the library?”
He paused a beat. “Mmm. Not really.”
“Right genre, wrong author?”
“Something like that.”
“I’m not much of a reader myself. I think Molly got all of the literary genes, though Levi likes to read a little too. Molly’s husband is an author—writes under the pen name of Nathaniel Quinn.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“He lives in Bluebell now. Nice guy. They met when he came to stay at the inn.”
“And your brother’s engaged?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “How’d you know that?”
“He was on the phone discussing wedding plans when I passed him yesterday.”
“Yeah, their wedding’s coming up in just over two weeks. His fiancée lives in LA, and the wedding will take place here, so the planning’s been a little tricky.” She left out the part about his fiancée being a celebrity. They were trying to keep the wedding quiet to keep reporters away.
There was a nice lookout just up the hill with a grassy bank that overlooked the rippling water. “I’m about ready for a water break. How about you?”
“Sounds good.”
At the designated spot she shrugged off her backpack, but it connected with Wyatt’s shoulder.
He flinched at the impact, his lips going tight. He pressed his hand to the spot.
“I’m sorry,” she said, even though she hadn’t hit him hard enough to inflict pain. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine.” His hand fell away. “It’s nothing.”
Maybe he had a bad shoulder or something. In that case he probably shouldn’t be carrying that heavy backpack. But he dropped the pack and rooted through it. He seemed fine. Maybe she’d jabbed him with something.
She mentally shrugged and went in pursuit of her own water bottle.
* * *
By the end of the day Wyatt’s shoulder was throbbing. Two days of backpacking had set him back. He’d also neglected the physical therapy regimen he’d been religious about before this trip. He needed to get back to it but suspected the injury was aggravated enough for now.
“I’ll gather some firewood,” he told Grace, scanning the small, primitive campground they just reached. “It’ll get chilly tonight.”
“I’ll get out our supper.”
“Sounds good.” He grabbed his pack and headed up a path through the woods. They’d made decent progress today until they came to the deer path. It had been slow going, cutting through the underbrush.
He’d started to doubt his sanity. What if this was all a big waste of time? They wouldn’t be able to go much farther tomorrow before they had to head back. What if he never found the spot? Or what if he did and it didn’t bring the healing he sought? What if he was just as broken when his leave was finished? He couldn’t entertain that thought. Not when he was about to be promoted to PPD.
Wyatt didn’t bother looking for firewood as he walked. He was headed first to the creek. He had a day’s worth of sweat, dirt, and cobwebs coating him, and he couldn’t wait to shed it. He was pretty sure Grace had already bathed when she disappeared for a bit after they’d set up the tents.
She was in good shape, he’d give her that. They’d hiked, mostly uphill, for hours and not a word of complaint. She was a good traveling companion—chatty when he was, quiet when he wasn’t. It went back to that good intuition he’d noticed before. She hadn’t even pried him for information about this place he was searching for.
Did she even know about the murder that had happened somewhere in these mountains fourteen years ago? Probably not. She’d only been a child at the time, not likely to be scanning newspaper headlines or watching the eleven o’clock news.
When he reached the creek, he ditched his pack and took a few minutes to stretch out his shoulder. The creek was deep enough here for a swim. And no one was around, even at the campground, so he stripped off his clothes and went in.
* * *
Grace set out some of the food Miss Della had packed for them—peanut butter sandwiches, chips, granola bars, and bananas. The old campground had grills, but Grace hadn’t been sure of that, so she played it safe. There were napkins, paper plates, even instant coffee and coffee cups. God bless Miss Della.
The sound of a thumping bass hit her ears just before the rumbling of an engine. A pickup truck approached from the dirt road, turning into the campground. Looked like they had company. There was still plenty of light, but the shade of the trees made it seem later. She couldn’t make out who was inside the extended cab.