Authors: Tracy March

Should've Said No (29 page)

BOOK: Should've Said No

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Bryce exhaled at the top of the rise, then charged along the rocky downhill payoff, the trail dancing nearer to the mountain’s crumbling edge. Patches of pink wildflowers flashed like a strobe as he flew past, barreling toward the blind curve ahead. He took it as wide as he could, peeling around to a sick view that took his eyes off the trail. He’d never seen anything so—

His front tire hit a deep pit, stopping him cold. Bryce leapt from the bike as it tumbled forward, grateful that the edge had given way to an outcropping of boulders until he landed on one, hard—mostly on his knees and elbows. His sunglasses flew off and skittered across the rock as pain ricocheted into his hips and shoulders. His phone popped out of his backpack and tumbled toward the drop-off. Bryce clenched his teeth, watching helplessly, amazed that it stopped inches before plunging over. He rolled onto his back and stayed there, getting his bearings, sucking in air…taking inventory.

Knees. Hips. Elbows. Shoulders.

He unclasped his helmet and put his forearm over his eyes, shielding them from the intense sun.

Definitely bruised, but nothing broken…

He couldn’t count how many times he’d fallen off a mountain bike. Gotten hit in the head with a surfboard. Capsized his kayak in wicked whitewater rapids.

“Pay to play, Bennett,” he muttered.

“Are you okay?”

Had he imagined that sexy female voice? He hadn’t hit his head, but it had been a while since he’d heard someone inquire about his well-being in such a sweet and soothing tone. An alluring fantasy started shaping up in his mind. He debated whether to open his eyes or let it play out.

“Oh, man,” the woman said, sounding worried.

He dragged his forearm away from his eyes, shaded them with his hand, and focused. Dressed in hiking gear, the woman kneeling next to him had a knockout oval-shaped face with high cheekbones, a perfect nose, and very kissable lips, puckered with concern. Her auburn ponytail stuck out from the back of a green baseball cap and fell in front of one of her slender shoulders. Bryce blinked and tugged in another oxygen-depleted breath, convinced she was a post-trauma vision, holding half a sandwich with a bite taken out of it and smelling like…peanut butter?

Maybe I did hit my head.

He propped himself up on his elbows and she drew back a little. The girl was definitely not a vision, because things would’ve gone a little differently had Bryce’s psyche been calling the shots.

Am I relieved or disappointed?

She lowered her eyebrows. “Everything all right?”

Bryce tore his gaze from her lips and met her eyes—a dazzling kaleidoscope of light brown and gold that had his heart paragliding from beat to beat. “Better than I thought.” He sat up, leaving his long legs outstretched, and checked out the fresh gashes on his knee guards.

Sandwich in hand, she gestured toward a backpack and a bottle of water several yards closer to the edge. “I’d just started eating and I heard you coming.” She leaned back on her heels and tipped her head. “I’ll give your dismount a nine-point-three, considering the way you stuck the landing without breaking anything.” She winked.

A spark fired inside Bryce and a grin stretched across his face. He was a sucker for a girl who took him at his word and didn’t go all Florence Nightingale on him—especially one who looked like her and had clearly spent her Monday morning hiking in the Rockies. There were no easy trails to this ridge above the lodge—he’d confirmed that himself. No wonder she was in such fine shape.

“Ah, the elusive perfect ten,” he said. “Guess I need more practice.”

She smiled—a magical thing that matched the awesome view—brought the half-sandwich to her mouth, and hesitated. “Want some?” she asked, and held it out to him.

“Peanut butter?” He had no doubt.

“And jelly. Homemade.”

“The jelly and the peanut butter?”

“Yep,” she said, as if it was nothing unusual.

“The bread too, right?” he teased.

“The bread too.” Her matter-of-fact tone had Bryce’s chest tightening with disappointment. Had she sent a couple of little kids off to school this morning with lovingly made PB&Js, then stashed one in her backpack for her hike? Maybe her lucky husband got one to take to work too.

Bryce wasn’t exactly looking for romance, but if it happened to find him, he wished it would bring along a girl like her. The ones he wanted always seemed to be taken, and he knew better than to flirt with that kind of disaster again.

Lesson learned.

He settled his gaze on the sandwich in her left hand, then zeroed in on her ring finger—jewelry-free. His spirits lifted a little.

Single mom? Married without a ring? Dating someone? Or just plain single and enjoys making peanut butter?

At this stage of his life, this assessment thing had become way too complicated. Why couldn’t there be some kind of sign—outside of a ring—that immediately told him if a woman was available?

She tore off a piece of her sandwich and handed it to him as she stood, turned, and headed toward her backpack. Her just-right curves and the easy sway of her hips had Bryce thinking about another of his favorite outdoor activities.

A special girl…A campfire…A blanket under the stars…

He eagerly took a bite of the sandwich, savoring the moist bread, the rich, creamy peanut butter, and—“Is this blackberry jam?” he asked through a mouthful. This had to be the most incredible PB&J he’d ever tasted.

“Sure is. My grandfather grows them on his farm just outside of town.” She grabbed the bottle of water and returned to his side.

“Delicious.” Bryce bent his knees. Pain shot through the left one and he winced. “So you’re local?”

She grinned. “And you’re a tourist.”

“Pretty much.” No need to tell her that he was just about to buy the lodge down near the trailhead. That would sound too much like bragging, and that wasn’t the way he rolled. Besides, he still needed to contact the lawyer to schedule the closing. He and the sellers had only recently settled on a firm price.

“You’ve got one of Dirt Street’s bikes over there.” She glanced toward his rental, which had landed a short distance away, the bike shop’s red logo emblazoned on the bright blue frame. “That’s a dead giveaway.”

Of course the locals had their own bikes. He would too, once he started spending time there. But he would never settle in Thistle Bend long enough to be considered a local. He had the lodge in Costa Rica to oversee. And ever since he’d been old enough to decide, he had never chosen to stay in one place too long. People might find out…

“Busted,” he said.

She scrunched her nose. “And the locals know there’s a pit there.” She aimed the unopened water bottle at the big divot in the trail, then handed it to him.

Bryce laughed. “I won’t forget it.” He took the water from her and straightened his left leg, testing the pain in his knee.

Better…a little.

“I’m Holly, by the way.”

“Bryce,” he said, opening the bottle and raising it to her. “Appreciate it, Holly.” He liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. “My CamelBak’s nearly empty. But is this your only bottle? I wouldn’t want to leave you dry.”

“No worries,” she said lightly. “I’ve got more.” She ate the last bite of her sandwich.

Bryce took several greedy slugs of cool water, polished off his PB&J, and drank the rest, worried Holly would take him for a grade-A wuss if he sat on his butt much longer. “Speaking of the bike…” Determined not to wince or moan, he picked up his helmet, soldiered through the pain in his knee, and stood. “Let’s see what kind of shape it’s in.”

She got up much more gracefully than he had and they walked over to the bike. Bryce stepped gingerly over the rocky terrain, but worked to put some confidence in his stride. He pulled the bike upright and checked it for damage, rolling it forward and backward several times. No flat tires, bent rims, or jacked-up alignment. Holly narrowed her eyes, examining it closely, as if she knew a thing or two about mountain bikes.

“Looks good to go,” he said, relieved he wouldn’t have to walk it down the mountain. The trail was mostly downhill from here and, despite his barking knee, he wasn’t about to hobble away, walking a crippled bike.

Not in front of a girl like her.

Holly gestured toward the front tire. “Except that brake pad rubbing against the rim.”

A quick glance confirmed that she was right. Holly had an eye for detail. Bryce gazed at the brake mechanism, suffering through an uncharacteristic bout of self-consciousness. What details had she noticed about him? His look might check the boxes for some women—the long blondish hair and the scruff, the sports-toned six-one body with the year-round tan—but not for others. What about Holly? Bryce shook the question from his mind. He didn’t even know her. Might never see her again. Was it crazy to hope she liked what she saw?

“Good eye.” He pried the mechanism away from the rim, got on the bike and tested the brakes. They would work for now, but they still needed adjusting. He’d be sure to square up with the bike shop, even though they might not notice the damage. “That oughta get me as far as I need to go.”

Holly nodded, seeming satisfied with his fix. “You’re going to need those brakes on the switchbacks heading down. On the third one, about thirty yards into the Aspen grove, there’s a tree blocking the trail.” She winked. “Just in case you’re rusty on your bunny hops.”

Bryce gave her a wry grin. He wasn’t rusty on his bunny hops—or any of his other techniques—and he’d jump at the chance to prove it to her. “Good to know.” He put on his helmet and propped his right foot on the forward pedal, poised to ride.

“You’ll probably be needing that.” Holly pointed toward his phone over on the edge of the flat rock he’d landed on. “If it isn’t smashed.”

Good God.
She had gotten so far into his head that he’d forgotten about his phone—and his sunglasses. “It isn’t,” he said lightly. His fortified case had saved it from worse.

Her eyebrows raised along with the corners of her mouth. “You seem pretty confident. That thing took a header onto the boulder and turned a couple of cartwheels before it settled all the way over there. Did you see it?”

Bryce nodded, giving her his best cocky smile. “It’ll still work.”

Holly leveled a playful, challenging gaze on him, turned, and went to get the phone. He couldn’t help but notice that her gray hiking pants looked tailored to fit. It took him only seconds to decide that enjoying another fine rear view of her was worth getting pitched off his bike. She stepped to the crumbling verge of the ledge without hesitation—which made him like her even more—picked up his phone, and examined it.

“You’re right.” She shrugged. “It’s not smashed.” Along the way back, she picked up his sunglasses and scrunched her nose. “But these are.”

He shaded his eyes with his hand, giving him the chance to totally check her out as she walked toward him. A tad taller than average, lean and fit, with compact curves and a little swagger—a sweet blend of athletic and feminine, with a shot of super-sexy. Despite the low-50s temperature, heat surged through Bryce and sweat prickled on his skin.

“But it’s dead.” She handed him the phone and the cracked sunglasses.

Bryce slid the sunglasses into a cargo pocket on his shorts and focused on the phone. Pushing the power button, he brought it to life, a recent photo of a brilliant Costa Rican sunset on his home screen. A touch of his thumb brought up his icons, and he held the phone out to show Holly. “Good as new.”

She cupped her hand behind his, pulling it closer and turning it to get the glare off the screen. Bryce tensed at her touch, aware of the softness of her skin, the pressure of her fingertips.

Holly shook her head, an amused smile on her face. “You got so freakin’ lucky.” She plucked the phone from him and pulled her hand from his. “There’s an app you can get for updated trail conditions,” she said, busy tapping the screen. Within moments she handed him the phone. “Off you go, Bryce.” She stepped aside, clearing his way to the trail. “Happy trails.”

He glanced at the screen, his eyebrows rising along with his heart rate as he read the contact information she’d typed in.

Holly—The Elusive Perfect 10.

A winking smiley-face emoji followed, as did the most exciting combination of ten digits he might’ve ever seen.

Bryce’s heart surged. “Definitely the best fall I’ve ever taken,” he said, shamelessly flirting. He slipped the phone into his pocket and leveled a gaze on her as electric as the bright blue sky. “Maybe I don’t need any more practice.”

Leaving her smiling, he pedaled off along the trail, feeling like a badass movie hero.