“God, grow up, Kendrick,” he muttered under his breath. He brewed the coffee, one cup at a time. He left hers on the coffee table, next to the floor pillows where they’d thrashed around, completely into each other, then took his and headed back to his bedroom and his shower. He tried to wash the conflicting emotions out of his head. He tried to be a guy, to consider it a one-night stand as any guy would do, and for shit’s sake, move the hell on.
But Luke couldn’t do it. He wasn’t that kind of guy. He never had been. He couldn’t simply notch last night into his bedpost and forget it.
Hell, he would never forget last night.
Luke finally emerged, clean-shaven and dressed in jeans and boots and a Pearl Jam T-shirt. Madeline was sitting nervously on the arm of his couch as she watched him walk down the little hall. She had cleaned up, too, as best she could, washing her face free of any makeup, braiding her hair and donning the pink ball cap. Going through the motions of getting dressed was the only thing that felt normal this morning.
Madeline didn’t know what she was doing. She knew Luke was unhappy with her—God, she’d be unhappy if she were him—but anxiety was making her crazy.
She stood up a little too eagerly and pasted a bright smile on her face. “Wow,” she said. “You look great.”
He looked down at his old T-shirt. “Are you ready to go?”
“I am.” She picked up her bag, slung it over her shoulder. She was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, but had returned his flannel jacket to the hook next to the door. Her hiking boots were laced up and tied tightly in perfect bows. Gone was the woman who had let herself go last night, who had felt things, experienced things she’d never felt before. Old Madeline was back. Uptight, do-not-step-off-the-center-line Madeline.
Luke opened the door for her. Madeline smiled, but he had already turned away to lock up. She walked on, slipped into the passenger seat of the Bronco, her focus on her phone, texting Trudi fast and furiously, a stream of empty talk.
She desperately wanted to say something. But while she debated, he started up the Bronco and headed for Pine River.
The more time that passed, the emptier the words rattling around in Madeline’s head seemed to be. She blindly e-mailed herself lists of things to do, exchanged two e-mails with Jackson. Luke turned on the radio, his eyes on the road. Madeline wanted to touch his arm, his leg. She wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and close her eyes and think, but she was frozen with anxiety. At last, she tried to break the silence. “Good news—the storm didn’t do any damage,” she said.
Luke looked at her, confused. Madeline pointed to the radio.
“Ah,” he said absently.
“I had an e-mail from Jackson this morning.”
“Okay,” he said, waiting for her to continue.
“He’s found someone who is willing to lead the horseback riding, and he said he gave Libby some names of rafting outfitters we could hire. I think I could make a deal with them. Oh, and I thought we should have the meeting tent erected next to the picnic area beside the house. We might as well make use of that space.”
Luke’s gaze flicked coolly over her, then returned to the road. “I thought Libby had suggested it be down near the campsites.”
Libby had said that, all right. Madeline just hoped she’d be open to discussion about it. “She seems pretty flexible. So how long do you think it will take to finish the temporary showers?”
“Don’t know.”
Madeline didn’t believe that for a moment. “I was going to add it to my spreadsheet,” she said.
“What spreadsheet?”
“I set one up yesterday,” Madeline said, and clicked over to an app on her phone. “I find things are easier to keep up with if you have them lined out.” She held up her phone; Luke squinted at it. It was a miniature spreadsheet with tasks and bars of yellow sliding across the screen, marking how many days to completion of any task.
Luke looked up from her phone and met her gaze. Madeline had the distinct feeling he wanted to say something, but all he did say was, “I don’t know how long.”
Madeline lowered her phone. “Okay. Well, when you do, let me know, and I’ll add it.” She smiled.
“Sure.” He didn’t sound like he meant it.
Madeline could feel the anxiety filling her up like a balloon. Last night had been so great, too great. She’d been so free, so happy, and now she was struggling. She never meant to hurt him, or anyone. And honestly, she didn’t understand why he was so angry. It was one night. And he didn’t really know her. If he did know her, really know her, he would… he would…
He’d what?
Madeline’s pulse began to pound in her neck. Say it. SAY IT. It was all she could do to admit her greatest fear to herself: that he would leave her. He would know her, and he would leave her.
So tell him you’re sorry. Sorry? But that sounded so wrong. What exactly was she sorry for? Because she wasn’t sorry, she was enthralled by him. Then tell him that, tell him how you feel.