Page 33 of The Outpost (Jamison Valley 4)
He smiled when I told him about the beach cottage my parents had rented one winter on the Oregon coast. My parents had purposefully reserved it during the worse possible season so we would learn to appreciate the warm weather of Florida. My brothers had obviously learned the intended lesson since they hadn’t strayed much from home but, much to my mom’s chagrin, I had found the rain mixed with the salty air comforting. That trip had inspired me to choose Seattle when I was browsing colleges.
“It was eye-opening to see different cultures and environments,” I said, “and it wasn’t that the trips were horrible. My parents paid a lot for them, so I don’t want to sound ungrateful. But when my friends came home from their summer breaks with stories about amusement parks and beach expeditions, I was so jealous. Teenage me didn’t appreciate my experiences like I do now.”
“So, you just needed time. Does that mean one day you’ll appreciate this enlightening travel experience?”
I laughed. “Yes, I’m sure I will. What would you say your most educational trip has been?”
“Probably my senior class trip to Washington D.C. It was the first and only trip I’ve ever taken to the East Coast. It was my first real trip period. Before then, I’d never been on an airplane. Hell, I’d rarely ever stayed in a hotel room before that. The museums and monuments were awesome but the whole travel adventure itself was what I remember the most.”
“Have you traveled much since?” I asked.
“Nah. I went to Denver with some buddies for a concert in college. Vegas for a party weekend. Michael’s the traveler in our family. He takes a vacation at least once a year to someplace exotic. Maisy probably would too if it weren’t for Coby. I’m content to stay here where I belong.”
Where he belonged.
Where I didn’t.
Why did that idea bother me so much? It was the truth.
I had no desire to live in rural Montana. I’d go crazy in Prescott. I needed fast-paced streets and faceless crowds. I needed to live in a county where there were more people than cows. I was a city girl.
Even if I liked the clear night skies of the mountains. Even if I liked the quiet evenings blessedly free of traffic noise. Even if I liked the longer days because I wasn’t wasting time waiting for a late bus. I was a city girl.
So why wouldn’t the knot in my stomach go away?
It had to be this crazy fucking situation, right?
Right.
Having my life turned upside down was unearthing all of these new doubts.
Being around Beau wasn’t helping.
This pull I had toward him was magnetic, the strongest I’d ever felt toward another person. In the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind, I pictured a relationship with him. I pictured a life with him.
Impossible pictures.
Beau needed a woman who would be his camping co-captain. Who would trail along behind him on an outdoor adventure as he taught their children about wildlife and navigating forest trails. A woman who would love his sleepy town and going to the small-town high school’s football games each Friday night.
He needed a woman who didn’t get ecstatic at the sight of a hair dryer and designer jeans.
So why, when I knew all these things, were they so hard to accept?
Because I liked him that much.
It probably wasn’t helping that he was giving me mixed signals. He was so damn affectionate. Was this how he was with his other female friends? The hair touching. The hand-holding. The hugs. He’d gone to high school with Felicity; I wished I could ask her.
But since I couldn’t, I resigned myself to putting some distance between us.
Somehow, I had to kill these silly feelings. These silly dreams.
I was done dreaming.
My goal was to survive this experience and go home, without a broken heart.
As we walked back to the outpost, I made sure to let Boone run between our feet so my shoulder couldn’t brush against Beau’s arm. I cooked him dinner, insisting that he hang out in the living area so I had full control of the kitchen and wouldn’t risk bumping against him. And while we watched a movie together, I curled up on my cot while he sat on the log chair, three feet away.
I had done well all evening, establishing distance, but when I emerged from the bathroom, wearing pajamas and my long hair tied in a sleek ponytail, I couldn’t resist climbing into the bed Beau had laid out on the floor and sleeping in his strong arms.
