Page 8 of Tracked
“Why wouldn’t I?” I countered, heading back toward the kitchen.
What struck me wasn’t the compact efficiency of the Airstream, but the unexpected sense of warmth it held inside its silver fist. The bookshelf. The coffee machines. The map and handwritten notes. And even on the table, a crossword sat on top of some folders, half completed. It was all ... Calder. All cozy ruggedness packaged in a perfect, hard shell.
I lifted my eyes and noticed the second door at this end of the camper that I’d missed when I’d walked in.Calder’s bedroom.
Rachel had never shared any details about that part of their relationship, but, standing here, I couldn’t help but wonder whether there was a ruggedness beyond that door, too.
“Fair,” Calder returned, and I faced him just as one corner of his lips twitched like he wanted to smile. “Yeah, I live here. Only Creighton and Colby, my two youngest siblings—and sometimes Colton, the third oldest—live at the house.”
I made a sound of acknowledgment. “Well, you have a really nice camper.”
Camping, to me, was a tent in the woods. Growing up in Wyoming, sleeping in a tent was something Rachel and I had done plenty of times when we were younger, especially when Mom had dated Ronnie; he’d been a creep, and it felt safer to sleep in the backyard. Thankfully, Ronnie hadn’t stuck around beyond summer.
“Thanks.” His timer went, and he shut it off, pushing the plunger of the French press through the liquid.Pronator teres, flexor carpi ulnaris, andflexor carpi radialisreported for duty.
Stop, Lara. Sister’s ex’s anatomy class is done for the day.
I sank onto the bench seat at the table and reached for the crossword puzzle—a new distraction—and scanned the clues for the few unsolved spaces. Number fourteen stopped my eye:the path between nose and lips.
“Here you go.”
I looked up as Calder put his hand on the back of the seat and set the mug in front of me, and my breath jammed in my throat.
The camper had felt pretty roomy until this moment. Until he stood between the table and the counter and tipped forward to deliver my coffee. Too tall. Too broad.Too close.Instantly, the space felt as small as a cell.And as hot as an oven.
It wasn’t the first time his proximity had stolen my breath or blasted goose bumps over my skin, nor would it be the last that he seemed oblivious to it.
“Cream or sugar?” he asked, like his closeness wasn’t causing me a cardiac event.
“Philtrum.” I blurted out the only word on my mind after watching his mouth trace over the words.
“Excuse me?” He cocked his head, a crease forming between his brows.
I pointed to the puzzle and read the clue aloud. “‘The path between nose and lips.’”
He leaned closer to look, and out of some instinct toward insanity, instead of pointing to my ownphiltrumto illustrate, I turned and touched his. My index finger landed flat on the valley between his nose and his upper lip, his skin rough from his short beard.Rugged but warm.
Calder’s pupils blew wide, and I felt his sharp pull of air like a hot blade along my finger.What was I doing?I choked back to reality.
“Sorry.” I jerked my hand back and pushed the crossword away, mumbling, “Philtrum. It’s the answer to fourteen.” And my excuse—explanationfor touching him.
He said nothing and spun away, so I added, “No cream or sugar. Thanks.” Maybe the last thirty seconds could be erased if I just pretended they didn’t exist.
Get it together, Lara,I thought as I grabbed my mug and breathed in the strong aroma. Closing my eyes, I took a giant sip and dissolved into the rich taste.Wow, this was a good cup of coffee. Really good. Maybe the best.
Calder Stone. Anatomy specimen. Coffee-making god.And careless heartbreaker.That last was the one I really needed to focus on.
A throat cleared, and my eyes flipped open to find Calder seated opposite me at the table. Staring.Had I moaned out loud?
“Can I get Rachel’s phone number and address?” he asked.
After pulling up my sister’s contact, I slid my phone across to him.
“I’m going to have Callum see if he can get a location on her cell, if that’s all right?”
I nodded and watched him snap a photo. “It goes straight to voicemail, and has been for weeks,” I said. “At first, I thought she was declining my calls, but now I’m worried her phone is either off or dead.”
I picked up the warm mug again and clutched it close to my chest like it could buffer the chill from the word.
