Page 16 of Hearts Don't Lie
In short order, the waiter was back with Hardin’s lunch. He hadn’t eaten since his light breakfast hours ago at the inn; the smell of the tender beef made his mouth water. The first bite proved it was as delicious as the waiter had claimed.
Hardin glanced at the people slowly filling the tables, wondering what it was like to live in Piñon Ridge and if Mac frequented the restaurant. He envisioned them having dinner. A date. Comfortable with one another like they used to be. Talking and smiling over beers. Their eyes meeting, conveying private thoughts under the surface of their discussion. Was his plan going to work?
After lunch he walked Main Street south, noting the mix of commercial and retail businesses that continued up to where the street merged into the highway. Hardin reversed course and headed north. Once back in the thick of Piñon Ridge, he explored the side streets east of the charming village, wandering into an older neighborhood with refurbished Victorian homes and remodeled extended miners’ cabins that reflected a similar feel and age. The homes were significantly smaller than those that dotted the sloped bases of some of the peaks. Resort lodging—condo and town house developments—filled in large swaths of land between the village and the ski slopes.
Booming music in the distance caught his attention. He slowed his pace, mesmerized. Just up ahead, where the street T’d into another, was a small Victorian, painted pale green. Dancing and singing and wearing cutoff shorts that showcased her beautiful legs, Mac disappeared behind the red vehicle she was cleaning out, oblivious to him or anyone else. An older Jeep. Hell, it might even be the same year as the one he’d driven in high school.
The recently mowed front yard was bordered by a riot of colorful flowers, bird feeders, birdhouses, and a birdbath on one side and large pines mixed in with smaller purple-leafed trees on the other. He smiled, thinking it all felt so like the Mac he had known. Warm. Welcoming. Full of life. Happy.
From where he stood, he could tell that a privacy fence extended behind the house, gated where the asphalt driveway ended. In front of it was a basketball goal with a collection of sports balls scattered underneath, including several soccer balls. A skateboard lay on its side on top of an inexpensive soccer goal in pieces in the grass. She tossed out an equipment bag, adding it to the pile, then stretched. Her shirt tightened and rode up. He noted her breasts were fuller than in high school and her abs were more toned. Her auburn hair, which had spilled over the back of the chair in Intrepid’s office, was clipped into a large, loose wavy knot at the back of her head and shone like burnished copper.
There was no additional movement other than birds visiting the suspended feeders. He ventured closer as he took in the scene, his mind replaying the feel and scent of her warm skin. Two boys rode toward her from the opposite direction. Hardin stepped into the shade and hid behind a large tree.
“Mom!” called the boy balancing on the seat and holding two backpacks while the other boy pedaled them both.
Mac dropped what she was doing, like literally dropped everything. Before she even turned toward the boy, an enormous smile spread over her face and she glowed.
Hardin’s heart beat so hard it felt like it would explode out of his chest. He watched, blown away by seeing her as a mother. Mac was the embodiment of grace and love, and it only made her more beautiful.
From his position, he couldn’t hear anything else after the boys came to a stop in front of her, dismounted, and chucked their helmets into the grass next to the pile of sports gear. She wrapped her son in a tight one-armed hug and ruffled his mop of dark hair before kissing it. The boy, only slightly shorter than Mac, seemed familiar. He leaned in and wrapped his mom in a two-armed hug around her waist. After releasing her son, she gave the towheaded boy a side hug, and the three of them disappeared companionably into the house.
Taurus Range, Colorado Rockies…
Hardin’s admiration for Mac’s fitness and agility was the last thought he had before stepping into a deep patch of scree and sliding. His arms flailed as he fought for control and to stay upright and not sail over the knife-edge of the narrow path. The drop-off was sheer; the unforgiving ground appeared to be at least half the distance of a soccer field before it leveled off among more boulders and spindly trees and pines. Sweat broke out over him as he battled, legs and core straining, unaccustomed to the extra weight and bulk of the backpack. He finally won and chastised himself.Pay fucking attention.
Above him on the steep incline, Mac had stopped and turned. It was impossible to read her since she wore sunglasses and the dark shadow from the bill of her ball cap obscured any facial expression. Her hands were on her hips, and the impersonal “You good?” didn’t make him feel any more confident. He was definitely out of his league up here. This called for a different kind of athleticism.
“Yeah. What would have happened if I’d gone over?”
She cocked her head, seeming to consider before she answered. “As Cori explained when you reserved your trip, all guides carry a specialized first aid kit. All of us are wilderness first responders, trained to triage. We also hold CPR/AED certification.And I have a SPOT device, so we’re being tracked via GPS. Our location is known. Should anything happen, the PCRG, Peaks County Rescue Group, will be activated and escort you to a clinic or hospital. You’re covered, Hardin. Feel better?”
He didn’t. She was emotionally closed off, fully professional, focusing on guiding him safely. She stayed ahead of him, enough so that talking was nearly impossible as they traversed the demanding terrain among the tufts of long grasses and clumps of wildflowers. He wanted her to talk to him, not sound like some damned infomercial.
“I’m good,” he said, then sipped from his dromedary bag, a purchase recommended by Cori. He had refilled it three hours ago with water filtered through the compact microfilter Mac carried.
“We have about another mile before we stop for the day and set up camp. The terrain settles out in another half mile or so. Then it’s easy-peasy, especially for an athlete of your caliber,” she said, not trying to hide her sarcasm. “Let’s go.”
Relieved at having dodged possible injury or death, Hardin picked up his pace and followed her more closely. He was impressed with how Mac had become a human mountain goat, appearing to easily maneuver over the steep scree-covered earth. The sun had dropped in the sky ahead of them, and the air was noticeably cooler as they continued upward. He looked forward to stopping, stretching, and cracking through the veneer she had erected, hoping they could have a long-overdue, albeit painful, conversation.
