looked out for me at the lowest point in my life. You helped me through Mama’s death and took me in. I’ll never be able to thank you enough. But at some point, you have to let me make my own choices, my own mistakes. Otherwise, I’ll never be sure I can survive on my own.”
“I suppose you’re right. Is that why you wanted to see me this morning? To tell me to butt out?”
Libby grinned, relieved that Maeve had not taken offense. “No. Actually, I need your help in rounding up some hiking gear. Patrick wants to take advantage of the warm weather coming up to teach me what I’ll need to know for the team-building, outdoor-adventure expeditions.”
“So soon? Those usually don’t begin until early April.”
“I think he wants to be sure I can handle the physical part of the job.” Libby spoke calmly, but inwardly she cringed, Patrick’s words still ringing in her ears. I can’t afford to babysit Mom’s misfits.
Maeve stared at her intently. Almost as if she could tell something else was going on. “Write down all your sizes,” she said. “I’ll gather everything you need and meet you here tomorrow around one.”
“I really appreciate it.”
Maeve stood. “I have a lunch appointment, so I need to run. You’ll get through this, Libby. I know how strong you are.”
“Mentally or physically?”
“They go hand in hand. You may surprise yourself this week, my dear. And you may surprise Patrick, as well.”
* * *
Patrick’s mood hovered somewhere between injured grizzly and teething toddler. He was ashamed of himself for letting his aggravation make him say something stupid. But damn it, he’d been talking to his brother...letting off steam. He didn’t go around kicking puppies and plucking the heads off flowers.
He was a nice guy.
Unfortunately for him, he could think of at least one person who didn’t think so.
During the weekend, he gathered the equipment he would need to put Libby through her paces. Normally, he and Charlise shared the load: supervising the employees who organized the meals, interacting with the executives, teaching skills, coaching the group through difficult activities.
But Charlise was not only accustomed to being outdoors, she also had a great deal of experience in living off the land.
Libby didn’t. It was as simple as that.
Patrick tried to juggle things in his mind, ways for him to take over some of Charlise’s duties so that Libby could handle a lighter load. But that would only postpone the inevitable. This first experience had to play out as closely as possible to the real thing, so Libby would understand fully what was involved and what she could expect.
By Monday morning, his mood hadn’t improved. He’d gone through his checklist on autopilot, but of course, he’d had to cover Charlise’s prep, as well. He arrived at Silver Reflections several minutes before eight so he would have some time to mentally gear up for the day’s events.
Libby’s car was already parked in the small wooded lot adjacent to the building. It was an old-model Mercedes with a badly dented fender. Suddenly Patrick remembered where he had seen the car before. Liam’s wife had driven it a couple of years ago until a teenage kid backed into her at the gas station.
Liam had decided it wasn’t worth fixing and bought Zoe a brand-new mommy van. The damaged car had been in Liam’s garage the last time Patrick saw it. Apparently, Maeve wasn’t opposed to getting the whole family in the act when it came to her “rescue Libby” plan.
Patrick headed inside, greeted the receptionist with an absent wave and holed up in his office. Taking a deep breath, he leaned a hip against his desk, pulled his phone out and sent a text.
We’ll leave at nine if that works for you...
Libby’s response was immediate: I’ll be ready.
Meet me out front.
He wondered if Libby was nervous. Surely so. But he knew her well enough already to be damned sure she wouldn’t let the nerves show.
At 8:55 he hefted all their gear and headed outside, only to get his first shock of the day. Libby leaned against a tree, head back, eyes closed. On the ground at her feet lay a waterproof jacket. From head to toe, she was outfitted appropriately. Sturdy boots, lightweight quick-dry pants, a white shirt made of the same fabric and an aluminum hiking pole. He came do a dead stop and swallowed hard.
Every bit of what she was wearing was borrowed. Yet inexplicably she managed to look like a model for some weird amalgam of Vogue and L.L.Bean. The clothing fit her better than anything she had worn so far in his employ. Suddenly, he realized that Dylan was correct. Libby Parkhurst had a kick-ass body.
When he shifted from one foot to the other, he dislodged a piece of gravel. Libby’s eyes snapped open, her expression guarded. “Good morning,” she said.
He hated the guilt that choked him. “Libby, I—”
She held up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
They stared at each other for several long seconds. He couldn’t get a read on her emotions. So he shoved aside the memory of her face in Dylan’s bar and forced himself to zero in on basics.
“Three things,” he said tersely. “The moment you feel anything on your foot begin to rub, we stop and deal with it. A major key to hiking in the mountains is taking care of your feet. Blisters can be incapacitating. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Her smart-ass tone was designed to annoy him, but he didn’t take the bait. “Secondly, if I’m walking too fast for you, you have to say so. There’s no need to play the martyr.”
“Understood.”
“Lastly, you have to drink water. All day. All the time. Women don’t like the idea of peeing in the woods, so they tend to get dehydrated. That’s also dangerous.”
The look on Libby’s face was priceless. “Got it,” she mumbled.
“Am I being too blunt?” he asked.
She gnawed her lip. “No. I suppose I hadn’t thought through all the ramifications.”
“That’s what this trip is about.”
He slid one of two backpacks off his shoulder. “I need to make sure the straps are adjusted correctly for you.” Without asking, he stepped behind her and helped settled the pack into position. With a few quick tugs, he was satisfied. Finally, he moved in front of her and fiddled with the strap at her chest.
Libby made some kind of squawk or gasp. It was only then that he realized his fingers were practically caressing her breasts. He stepped back quickly. “I’m sure you can manage the waistband,” he muttered.
“Uh-huh.” She kept her head down while she dealt with the plastic locking mechanism. After a moment, she stared off into the woods. “I’m good.”
“Then
