Page 10 of The Spirit of Love
“Who wrote that?”
“Wrote what?”
“You memorized that nonsense, I can tell.”
“It’s not nonsense,” Search and Rescue says, sounding almost hurt. “And allow me to remind you, ma’am, that I’m responding toyourdistress signal.”
“Stop calling me ma’am!” I say, backing farther into the rain, playing off how I’ve just tripped over my hammock in the dark. “I assure you that I became distressed only after your arrival.”
Search and Rescue’s fantastic eyebrows furrow. He’s cute when he’s confused, which is lucky for him, because I’m guessing it happens a lot.
“A flare went up eleven minutes ago,” he says, looking around as if suddenly he’s doubting his side of the story. Which he should.
“Dude, the last time I packed any flare was when I waited tables at BJ’s Brewhouse.”
He stops walking and rubs his bicep, thinking. “Maybe we should start again.”
“Do you want me to get back in the tent?” I deadpan.
“I do owe you a tent,” he says.
“And a priceless, irreplaceable camcorder,” I say. “And a weekend of spiritual restoration. And—”
“We can tally it all up later.” For some reason, he’s smiling at me now. “Right now, it’s time to seek higher ground. This storm is getting unfriendly—”
“Look, cowboy, Iwantedthis storm. I called it in. Not only that, but I was in a flow before you bodice-ripped my tent.”
“You called inthisstorm?” he shouts over earth-rattling thunder.
“Okay,astorm!” I shout back, wiping my face with my hand. “Not this one necessarily. This one is…a lot. Perhaps more than I anticipated.”
“That’s the whole point of my speech! Which I wrote, by the way.”
“Yeah, well, Search and Rescue needs an editor.”
“The name is Sam,” he says. When he turns his head, his profile in the helmet, with rain streaming off it, is something I wouldn’t mind capturing on film. Very quickly, while Sam is looking at the steep path up from the beach, I lift my viewfinder to my eye and frame him. It would make a beautiful shot.
“Do you see that rock formation?” Sam shouts over the rain. “The one that looks like a serpent’s head?”
“Of course.” My protector. My good omen.
“Listen,” he says, holding up a finger.
I do. “All I hear is rain.”
“That prehistoric natural sculpture is about to become a contemporary rockslide. Any second now, the levee up the trail is going to give way. So, flare or no flare, I’m not asking. You either walk with me up that path to my Jeep so I can drive you to Two Harbors—”
“Here comes the authoritarian threat—”
“Or I toss you over my shoulder and carry you. I’d prefer your consent, but saving your life comes first.”
For a second, I picture this: Sam actually tossing me over his shoulder. Something warm pulses inside of me, which I dispel with a laugh that turns into a full-body shiver.
He notices, and a moment later, his vest comes off his huge chest and drapes around me. It should be soaking wet and freezing, but his body heat has kept it warm. There’s no masking my gratitude.
“Thanks.”
“I can heat my Jeep’s interior in three minutes,” he says. “I can have you checking into a fireplace room at Banning House in under twenty. I’m out of your hair in twenty-one.”
