best for you, Dyl—”
“I know.”
“I want the best for all three of us.”
“I got it.” They had made that promise to each other. Remembering that night on the rugby field made him suddenly need to clear his throat. He sliced the last tomato and tossed it into the bowl of greens. “How about for now you stick to wishing me luck, eh, Garrick?”
Garrick laughed. “Good luck, dude. I’ll see you on the Canadian side.”
Dylan ended the call just as the bedroom door opened in the other part of the house. Bare footsteps padded toward the kitchen. He turned his back to the doorway to clean the cutting board and the knife in the sink, to avoid being struck by the sight of her, all fresh and clean, as she strode in.
“So,” she said from behind him. “How are those burgers coming?”
“I just fired up the grill.” He grabbed the pepper mill and twisted it over the hamburger patties he’d set aside. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
“There are a few beers left in the fridge.” He figured she was a wine kind of girl, but she might as well start making do. “Otherwise, all I have is water. I had to clean out the food before I leave the cabin.”
“A beer would be great.”
He grabbed the salad and the plate of burgers and turned in time to see her cracking the metal top off a beer. Her long, dark hair dripped a dark spot down the back of the swishy blue dress she was wearing, a slinky summer thing that clung to her narrow waist and stretched over her slim hips. A few drops darkened on the swell of her backside. That small, firm ass had filled his palm when he’d pushed her into the canoe. As if she sensed the straying of his thoughts, she glanced over her shoulder, beer to her lips. His blood pressure shot up.
Shit, he was in trouble.
“I’ll get the door for you.” She pushed it open and stepped outside, holding it until he passed through. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Grab plates and forks. I’ll get started on these.” He slid the patties by the grill and the salad on the picnic table close by. “Except for an occasional grilled fish, we’ll be eating rehydrated food for the next three weeks.”
“Oh, joy.”
He slapped the burgers onto the hot grill. She shouldered her way out the back door a while later, carrying plates, forks, ketchup, and salt. “Strange selection you have in that kitchen,” she said as he flipped the burgers. “Canned beans and artichoke hearts and sundried tomatoes—”
“I didn’t buy any of that.” Full disclosure, right? “It’s probably from Renee.”
A plate clattered onto the wooden picnic table. Satisfying to think he’d surprised her.
“My ex-wife went through phases.” He tossed open rolls on the grill to toast them. “Gourmet cooking was one of them. I suppose I should check the expiration dates before I use anything. Or just throw them all out. It’s been four years.”
The old picnic bench creaked as she swung her legs over and sat. “I should warn you that as a journalist, I’ll use whatever I need to give the story I write maximum impact. So be careful what personal information you confess to me.”
“It’s no secret that I have an ex-wife.” He checked under the burgers to see if they’d charred enough. “A failed marriage is nothing to be proud of, but it is what it is.”
“Is the wife an ex because of this trip? Or did the divorce have something to do with your choice to arrange the expedition?”
None of the above. And she’d missed why he’d mentioned his previous marriage—he’d been warning her he was no good at relationships.
“Have you ever been married, Casey?”
He glanced over his shoulder in time to see her face spasm. She took her time aligning the silverware on each side of the plate in front of her. She didn’t like being interviewed, but with this question he could practically hear the keys to many locks turning in her mind. She had been married before, perhaps. Not now, though, because she hadn’t made a single call before agreeing to be his partner for three long weeks.
“I was engaged,” she said. “But not anymore.”
He took the toasted rolls off the grill. “That’s cryptic.”
“Because I’m not the story, MacCabe. You are.”
Boy, this woman had a history. Did she forget that he was a historian? Nothing intrigued him more than stories untold.
He wasn’t going to tease this story out now.