Reconsidering Riley (24 page)

Chattering voices drifted toward him. An
instant later, Mack entered the clearing with Mitzi, Kelly, and
Alexis. Mitzi immediately located Bruce and went to flirt with the
guide (making the source of the hearts-drawn-in-arranged-leaves and
"M + B" spelled out in stones along the trail immediately obvious).
Kelly waved cheerfully to Riley and then began purifying some water
through a filter. His niece looked for Lance, caught a glimpse of
him through the pine branches, and deliberately swerved toward
Riley instead.

That worked for him. He had a bone to pick
with Alexis, and had since early this morning.

He looked up as she passed. "Hey. I never
made you eat moss, damn it. Stop spreading that around."

She paused. Frowned over her shoulder. "Made
me eat...?" Alexis echoed, then comprehension dawned. "You were
fooling around in the woods with Jayne!" she crowed. "I knew
it!"

He stiffened. Whoops. Too late, Riley
remembered he'd been ducking behind a tree, waiting for Jayne to
get a head start on him so they wouldn't reveal the truth about
their temporary reconciliation, when he'd overheard that
aggravating tidbit fall from his niece's lips.

"Don't you have some chores to do?" he
asked, frowning as he leaned forward to finish dusting the logs.
"Fish to clean? Tent poles to straighten? Somebody else to
pester?"

"You're getting lucky with Jayne," Alexis
sang. She pumped her hips and pushed her palms in the air in some
kind of demented whoopee-celebration dance. "You're getting lucky
with Jayne."

"I am not." But it hadn't been for lack of
trying. At a crucial juncture amid the fallen leaves, Jayne had
remembered that amour al fresco might include actual bugs, and had
bolted upright. Riley could still feel the sizzle inside him caused
by their preceding kisses, though. Not that his innocent niece
needed to know that. "It's none of your damned business."

Alexis went on dancing. She stopped singing
long enough to peer at his head. "I'll bet you have leaves in your
hair, too. Jayne did. No wonder she looked all dreamy."

Dreamy? His heart softened. He wanted Jayne
to feel dreamy, wanted her to... Hang on. He was getting
sidetracked.

"It must be the mall deprivation, making you
loony," he told Alexis firmly. "You're imagining things."

"Oh, yeah? Did I imagine the goo-goo eyed
look you were giving Jayne when I got here? Huh? Huh?"

Riley shoved a hand through his hair. Hell.
All of a sudden, this was looking like a very long trip. Still
prodding—literally now—Alexis jabbed him in the shoulder.

"Huh? Huh? Huh?"

"I have a workshop to get ready for," he
told her with dignity, raising his jaw. Then he strode away before
he could get himself into even more trouble.

Alexis sat on a bunch of logs with the other
women that afternoon, waiting for the next anti-heartbreak workshop
to begin. Beside her, Carla, Kelly, Mitzi, Doris, and Donna all
held the hairbrushes Jayne had requested they bring. So did Alexis.
She could hardly wait for things to get started. She needed a
break. That loser Lance had been following her around the campsite
almost from the moment she'd gotten there.

He'd even tried to impress her by showing
her some stupid tree branches he'd whittled. As if. Alexis had told
him she preferred Jayne's ribbon-wrapped, polka-dotted (with red
nail polish) marshmallow toasting sticks. Which was true. Jayne's
sticks had style. Even Uncle Riley had agreed—once he'd recovered
from an inexplicable laughing attack.

But once Jayne's workshop began, the guys'
workshop would begin, too—which meant Lance would leave her alone
for a while. Alexis waited impatiently for Jayne to take her place
in the center of their group.

Finally, she did. The breeze tossed her
ponytail and the sun glinted off her blonde highlights (Alexis had
to get highlights exactly like those, she decided), and from
somewhere she'd produced her leopard-print compact. Alexis palmed
her identical compact tightly in her non-hairbrush-holding hand. It
felt good to be part of the group.

At the camp's edge, Uncle Riley quietly led
Lance, Bruce, and Mack beyond some trees to another nearby
clearing. With a knowing nod, Alexis watched him go. His innocent
act hadn't fooled her a bit. She knew darn well neither he nor
Jayne had been able to resist her superior matchmaking skills.

At Jayne's call, they primped. Alexis spent
most of her primping time trying to cover a monster zit. Then all
the women yelled out, "If you look good, you feel good!" and
high-fived each other. The whole thing gave Alexis a warm and fuzzy
feeling, sort of like the last five minutes of "7
^th
Heaven." Only this was better, because this wasn't TV—it was
real.

"This workshop is based on one of my
original techniques—shampoo therapy," Jayne said. "It's called
'Really Wash That Man Out Of Your Hair.'"

Everyone hooted and hollered. Alexis did,
too. Take that, Brendan!

"Now, since somebody wouldn't let me bring
actual shampoo bottles on the trail," Jayne continued, shooting a
disgruntled frown in the direction the men had gone, "and the
bathing facilities here leave so much to be desired—"

"I heard that!" came Uncle Riley's voice
from within the trees.

"—we're going to have to improvise. I have
one container of dry shampoo, and I'm going to share it. What you
do is—"

She went on to explain the technique. Before
long, the dry shampoo had been passed, the hairbrushes were being
wielded, and everyone was muttering the mantra Jayne had given
them.

"Get out of my head, Brendan, you weasel,"
Alexis said. The scent of cinnamon still gave her twinges of
heartbreak-by-association, and she'd had enough. "Get out, get out,
get out!"

"Get lost, Marty," Doris and Donna chanted
as they vigorously massaged the dry shampoo through their graying
curls.

"You can't, like, hurt me any more, Paolo,"
Carla said, rubbing her scalp.

"I'm over you Rodney," Mitzi recited. Her
gaze drifted to the men's location. She spotted Bruce in the
distance and winked at him, as though proving the technique
miraculously effective.

"Bye, bye, Tim," Kelly said. "You're no good
for me." Beneath her shampoo-squeezing hands, faint tears rolled
down her cheeks. Her voice broke. "Sorry...Mrs. Tim."

Witnessing Kelly's heartbreak, Alexis
couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Tim had obviously been a
scumbag. She scooted nearer to Kelly and gave her a hug.

"It'll be okay," she whispered. "And your
hair looks amazing."

Kelly brightened. "You think so?
Thanks!"

Alexis felt better already.

Jayne walked among them, offering
encouragement, demonstrations, and effectiveness boosters. "Coming
clean" was good for body and soul, she told the breakup-ees.

Jayne looked sad as she said it, Alexis
noticed. Almost as though she believed she might never be squeaky
clean again. Being on the trail had that effect on some people, but
it seemed doubly tough for Jayne. She was a regular bathaholic.

All the same, the author rallied. "Who's
feeling better?" she asked when everyone had finished.

Alexis instantly raised her hand. "Me!"

Mitzi did the same. So did Doris and
Donna.

Carla only hung her head, but Kelly sniffled
and raised her hand partway.

"Excellent!" Jayne beamed at them. Then she
swept a compassionate gaze over Carla and Kelly. "The rest of you,
take heart. There are more techniques on the way. I'll be with you
for every step. Remember, I've been there. I understand what you're
going through, and I'm here to help."

Everyone cheered. In the center of the
group, Jayne blushed and stared at her shoes. Alexis felt a surge
of affection for her so strong it was startling. Yes, she decided,
Jayne could definitely become her aunt. Definitely.

She'd be perfect.

And she even came with a bonus makeup kit to
share, Alexis reflected. What could be better?

Chapter Fifteen

After her workshop, Jayne found Riley and
the other men sitting in a nearby clearing with their backs against
several thick-trunked pines. They held out their arms in front of
them, palms turned partway up and fingers slightly curled, and
gazed determinedly into the distance. Flickers of movement caught
her eye. Their thumbs, she realized. Every last man was wiggling
his upraised thumb.

She frowned in puzzlement. "Riley?"

"Shhh. I'm conducting a workshop here."

"A workshop for what?" she whispered.

"Thumb development. I call it the 'Remote
Control Relay.' Useful for when you need to whip through a hundred
and fifty channels while your girlfriend gets another Diet
Coke."

Jayne rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable."

His smile was boyish.
Appealingly
boyish. "Thanks."

He kept his profile toward her, apparently
concentrating on his
technique
. She let her gaze travel over
the beard-shadowed edge of his jaw, the assertive line of his nose,
the amused quirk in his lips. A sigh nearly escaped her. He'd
kissed her with those lips. He'd kissed her, eased her onto the
pine needles, trailed his mouth down her neck as he slipped his
hands beneath her multitudes of outdoors-wear layers to unerringly
cup her breasts. He'd stroked her there, making her dizzy. If she
hadn't remembered the buggy hazards surrounding them, Jayne wasn't
sure what would have happened.

But she
was
sure she would have
enjoyed it.

"I'm considering a 'Barcalounger-Fridge Beer
Dash' next," Riley said, breaking into her thoughts. "The guys and
I can run up the trail with boulder-sized 'beer can' stand-ins in
each hand for training."

She pictured it. "Gee, Riley. The potential
usefulness of that...well, I can hardly describe it."

His grin widened.

"You should think about writing your own
book," Jayne went on mock-seriously, giving him a teasing nod.

"Nah. That would mean staying in one place."
He frowned. "Working on one thing."

She considered his dual careers as nature
photographer and trail guide. Both fit perfectly into his
stay-on-the-move lifestyle. "But you already work hard," she said,
deliberately misunderstanding. "You could do it."

"Thanks." Riley swept her with a hasty,
grateful glance as he got to his feet. "I appreciate your vote of
confidence, but the settled life isn't for me."

There was nothing to say to that.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. If you're
done with your workshop, we'll head out after that."

Jayne agreed, wondering what she'd said to
cause Riley's rapid exit. She watched him stride away, his
shoulders straight and his movements steady. He nodded at the other
guides as he passed them, but didn't stop to talk. For the first
time, it struck her that Riley spent a lot of time away from the
group. Alone. On purpose. He isolated himself
on
purpose
.

The very idea was alien to Jayne, who did
everything she could to avoid feeling as lonely and out of place as
she had while growing up. It wasn't as though Riley was unpopular
with the other adventure travelers or guides—on the contrary. Bruce
and Mack, for instance, obviously liked and respected him. So what,
she wondered, was the rest of the story?

Curious now, Jayne resolved to find out. And
she knew exactly how to begin.

That evening, Riley hunkered down beside
Mitzi's Coleman-fueled camp stove, watching the frizzy-haired
waitress maneuver its fold-out supports into position. Performing
the steps he'd shown her, she connected the fuel line. She struck a
match. In the center of the stove's supports, a tiny blue flame
burst into life.

"I did it!" she cried. Exuberantly, she
hugged him. Bubblegum popped in his ear. "Thank you
so
much!"

"You're welcome."

"And after only six tries this time, too. I
swear, I thought you might give up on me after that whole water
purifying mix-up—"

Riley remembered his struggles to explain
the filtering process to Mitzi, after Bruce had gotten too
frustrated to go on. With an effort, he kept the smile on his face
so her feelings wouldn't be hurt.

"—but you didn't. You're the greatest,
Riley!"

Her hug tightened. Tentatively, he patted
one hand on her back. Then he leaned away quickly, feeling awkward
but pleased to have helped. Adventure travelers needed to trust
their guides—and he'd detected some serious antagonism coming from
a few of the group members. Now, Riley was making progress with
them.

Mitzi, for instance, beamed at him.

A muffled "
hmmph
," came from
nearby.

He turned his head. The only person close
enough to have spoken that loudly was Jayne, who sat on a folded
tarp beside her own camp stove, looking mildly betrayed. She caught
him watching her and went back to waiting for the water to boil for
her instant macaroni and cheese.

The vaguely disgruntled pucker of her lips
remained, though. Riley wondered at its cause.

"How are things coming along for you?" he
asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Need any help?"

She lifted her chin. "You
would
have
to ask that, wouldn't you?"

"Huh?"

"It's not nice to gloat, you know."

Again, "Huh?"

"I'm doing fine." She folded her arms over
her chest, glaring into her pan of water as though her angry gaze
could boil it. "Just fine. In fact, I've never needed
less
help than I do right now. Never, ever."

Was she upset because he hadn't helped
her
work her camp stove? He didn't think so. And yet...no.
It was probably best not to think about it too deeply. Thinking
about it would only lead to talking about it—which, with women,
often devolved into A Serious Discussion About Things.