Luck And a Prayer
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“Welcome to our little corner of paradise.” He easily swung her pack onto his back, for which she was more grateful than she cared to admit, and led her out of the field. She picked up her boots and followed as quickly as she could, but found herself wincing each time she took a step. How would she ever get back down off this mountain? She played with the idea of getting the captain to airlift her out, but he was still mad at her, and then she would have to admit she couldn’t handle a few hiking trails and a little wilderness.
Maybe she could get this handsome man to carry her down. She smiled at the thought while watching him walk ahead of her. She lost her smile as she hobbled into the circle of tents and saw the expectant faces of six kids.
“Everyone, I want you to meet a fellow packer.” The pastor turned to her. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
She held out her hand. “Willa Barrett.”
“Miss Willa Barrett.”
Willa turned to the kids and plastered on a be-gentle-with-me-I’m-clueless-about-kids smile. They all greeted her warmly, all except the girl she’d taped selling her soul to Jack Paulson. Wariness narrowed the girl’s big, brown eyes. Surely she didn’t recognize her? If not yet, chances were good she would soon. Better to find the camera and get off this mountain as quickly as possible, before one youth minister and six scrub-faced innocents became entangled in the ugly side of life.
“Make yourself at home,” the pastor said, pointing to a chair.
A real canvas chair. Cleopatra’s throne wouldn’t have looked so good. After her tortuous hike up the mountain, their camp had the makings of a four-star resort. Seven small tents nestled in a cluster of pines surrounded a fire pit. The kids sat around it, resting on rocks and blankets.
“Wow, look at your feet.” A boy no more than thirteen stood before her staring down at her swollen toes.
She wiggled them. “Yeah, new boots,” she offered weakly, then collapsed into the chair.
“I have a first aid kit, if you’d like.” His cheeks turned a soft crimson as he pushed his glasses farther up on his nose.
She smiled at his awkwardness. “Yes, thank you. I’d like.”
“Good.” He turned and walked toward the green tent closest to them and started digging through his pack.
“I’m Jeff MacPhearson,” her rescuer offered. “We’re all on an outing from the Morning Star Church. I’m the youth minister there.”
“It’s nice to meet you all. I’m certainly lucky you came along when you did.”
“Especially since it will be getting dark soon.”
Willa looked up at the sky; it didn’t look anywhere near dark to her.
“You can set up camp here with us, if you’d like.”
“Here?” Willa looked at the dirt-encrusted ground and the multitudes of little-legged things crawling all over it.
“You did bring a tent, didn’t you?” He glanced toward her overstuffed pack lying where he’d dropped it.
“No, I don’t think I did.” She tried to remember the list of items the clerk had stuffed into the pack. She didn’t remember a tent being among them. “I wasn’t planning on staying an hour let alone the night,” she explained, then shuddered. She’d have to sleep out here, at night, in the dark, with all those beady-eyed creatures watching from the trees and scurrying along the ground.
“Have you ever been backpacking before?” he asked. There it was—laughter in his voice. She swung her gaze from the dark depths of the trees and met the twinkle in his eyes head-on.
“Sure, lots of times,” she said, stiffening her back. There she was, lying again. And to a pastor no less. Although she had to admit he didn’t look like a pastor. At least not any pastor she’d ever conjured up. She took in his muscular legs, wide chest, and strong, tanned arms. Nope. More like a construction worker. She could easily picture him with a hammer in his hand. A very large hammer.
“Found it!” The rosy-cheeked boy held up the first-aid kit in triumph.
“Thanks, Charles,” Jeff said, and took the kit from him. Willa smiled as the boy shuffled his feet and spent an unusual amount of time studying the ground beneath them. She would never understand kids.
Bending before her, Jeff lifted her foot. She jumped at the unexpected contact, causing her chair to tilt. “Oh!” With her right hand, she braced herself, taking all her weight on her already sprained arm. Pain shot through her as her arm gave out.
“Whoa, there.” Jeff caught her just before she fell, his hands on either side of her grasping the arms of her chair. She couldn’t tell if it was from the shock, the pain or this incredibly handsome man’s close proximity, but what had happened to her breath?
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she muttered, unable to tear her gaze away from him. “It’s a sprain, is all.”
“I was only going to put antibiotic ointment on your blisters.”
“I’m sorry. You startled me. Your hands, they’re very…” Warmth moved up Willa’s chest and into her cheeks. She stifled an overwhelming urge to shuffle her feet and stare at the ground.
“Just how new are those boots?”
“Very,” she answered. She reached for the cream. “I think I’d better do my own feet.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Hmm.” She had the feeling she didn’t want to get that close, shouldn’t get that close to this man, but the image of him rubbing her feet left her breathless. A peculiar tingling on the back of her neck had her turning to find the rapt attention of six curious budding teens. “Oh, boy,” she moaned, then went back to work on her sore feet.
She had to get to the business at hand. Jeff was still wearing the jeans she’d slipped the camera in. The question was, had he found the pen and taken it out? And if he hadn’t, how in the world was she going to get close enough to get it back from him?
She should tell him who she was and demand the pen. That would be the smart thing to do, the right thing to do, the easiest thing to do. It was exactly what Captain Ben Armstrong would do, but not what she would do.
Everyone would find out about Tracey’s involvement with Jack Paulson soon enough. Bringing it all out into the open now would only fuel Jeff’s instincts to protect the girl, and his actions could possibly jeopardize the case. No, she’d find a way to get the pen, then get out.