Once Upon a Campfire

  “Good morning.”

  Sarah held in a whimper. How dare anyone expect her to converse before caffeine? Homicide on her mind, she turned to find a mug held out to her.

  “Oh, thank Jesus.” She snatched it from the big, masculine hand, and took a hefty swallow, not caring that the coffee scalded her mouth. The heat from the mug soaked through her hands, taming the beast and melting away her habitual foul greeting of the day.

  Lifting her gaze, she found her competition from the swim test yesterday. He was grinning at her, clearly amused. Sarah didn’t even care. He’d brought her coffee. As far as she was concerned, that was a life debt. “You, my friend, have just performed an act of the greatest public service. No one will die today.”

  “Glad to hear it. Since there was no official prize for winning yesterday, I figured not having to fix your first official cup of camp coffee would have to do.”

  “Better than any trophy. Come to me, my sweet, sweet nectar of the gods.” She took another sip, slower this time, and rolled it around in her mouth, savoring with a contented sigh. It was excellent coffee—rich and bold and black as midnight.

  He laughed. “Not a morning person, I take it.”

  “Not even a little bit.”

  As the fog of sleep began to lift, Sarah took a moment to study her benefactor. He looked annoyingly bright-eyed, his Camp Firefly Falls t-shirt stretched across the broad shoulders that she now knew could execute a perfect butterfly. That was almost sexier than the sculpted chest she could still picture with rivulets of water running down to the board shorts that hung, dripping, low on his lean hips.

  And why are you cataloging his finer features? You won’t be here to enjoy them after this week.

  Perhaps her man-drought was taking its toll, but there was no harm in admiring the view. He’d done the same to her on the dock. And hadn’t that been a nice boost to her ego? After all the time sitting on her ass in classrooms and labs or camped out in study carrels, she still had something worth admiring. She lifted her gaze to his face. Not classically handsome or the vaguely geek-chic she’d become accustomed to in academia, but his was an appealing face. All sharp angles and scruff. He’d be next to the picture of rugged in the dictionary. Who knew that worked for her?

  Sarah lifted the mug. “And to whom do I owe this beneficence? I didn’t catch your name yesterday.”

  “Beckett Hayes. And you’re Taylor the Mermaid.”

  Sadly, for this week, yes.

  Since he’d brought her coffee, she graced him with a smile. “Meadows. Taylor Meadows. Nice to meet you.” Taking another sip, Sarah glanced around. “You seem to know the lay of the land. Where are our schedules?”

  “Right this way.” Beckett led her across the room to a table set up at the tail end of the buffet.

  The schedules had been alphabetized by last name. Sarah found hers and skimmed it.

  “According to Heather, the staff has been split into four groups for orientation.” As Beckett continued to talk, Sarah skimmed the list. “We’ll all be rotating through the assorted classes—first aid, CPR—”

  “Bartending? Really?”

  “So I’m told.” He shrugged. “Anyway, between all that, we’ll be doing overall prep of the facilities and checking equipment.”

  That didn’t sound so bad. When Michael Tully had mentioned she’d been assigned to rock climbing, she’d nearly panicked. But Taylor was entirely qualified to deal with that, and she’d be here to take her rightful place by the end of the week. Sarah had eyes in her head. Surely she could look at the equipment to check it for frays or weak spots or any other sign that it was worn out. There wouldn’t be time to actually climb anything with everything else going on. Taylor had promised there’d be no human pyramid equivalent at this orientation.

  “Which group are you in?” she asked.

  “Red.”

  “Same as me.” That pleased her far more than it should. But what was the harm in enjoying a little flirtation for a few days?

  Beckett peered over her shoulder at her afternoon assignments. “And looks like Michael kept you with me for rock climbing, after all. I figure the plan for today will be to meet the other staff on that rotation, do an equipment inventory, and start checking out the available climbs for campers.”

  Michael had said something similar yesterday, but the implications hadn’t sunk in. They did now.

  “Are you the head rock climbing guy?” Sarah hoped her voice sounded casual.

  “So they tell me. Everything around here is a cakewalk compared to Yosemite, which is where I spent the last three years in the National Park Service. If I make it through the summer without having to use my S and R skills, I’ll be thrilled.”

  He was a freaking park ranger. Who’d apparently done search and rescue in California. Which meant he knew his shit. Great for the camp. Not great for her. He was liable to figure out in less than five minutes that she was green as grass, when it came to rock climbing.

  Beckett steered her toward the breakfast buffet. “Better eat up. It’s gonna be a long day.”

  “Greeeeeeat.”

  How on Earth was she going to keep her cover as Taylor?

  ~*~

  Taylor Meadows knew her first aid. She sailed through the class, hand up, voice clear and confident as she readily answered questions. Beckett decided it was true what people said—confidence really was sexy. The legs certainly didn’t hurt. And damn, he’d had dreams about those legs last night.

  As the session broke up, Michael bumped Beckett’s shoulder. “Doesn’t look like Heather’s services as Cupid are necessary.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’ve had your eye on the pretty brunette since the swim test yesterday.”

  Had he been that obvious? “Just enjoying the view.”

  Michael smirked. “Pinecone Lodge, man. Pinecone Lodge.”

  Beckett gave him a friendly shove. “Shut up.”

  His buddy only laughed.

  “Yeah yeah, whatever. I’ve got work to do,” Beckett announced.

  Over lunch, he made the switch from student to instructor, calling all of his people together at the end of the meal. “The plan for today is inventory of equipment, both ours and the gear meant for the ziplines and ropes course. And a quick tour of the most common climbing locations around camp.”

  Taylor’s hand went up. “Might I suggest we do the tour first? It would be a nice mental break after the morning’s classes.”

  It was six of one, half dozen of the other to him. “Sure. We can do that.”

  Beckett took them to the trail leading to Base Camp Adventure Park, where the zip lines and ropes course were set up. They walked the length of the various activities, discussed assignments, then he led the pack back to Boulder Mountain.

  “This is our primary climb site. As you can see, there are three main paths up, separated out by experience level. Nothing here is above an intermediate skillset, as the majority of campers probably will have little to no experience,” he explained.

  “What about experienced climbers? Don’t we have a Scout Wars session later this summer?” Diego asked.

  “We’ll take those on a case-by-case basis. Taylor and I will be scouting prospective locations around the camp property, as well as in the adjacent state park later this week.” It seemed like the ideal means of spending some one-on-one time with her.

  She went brows up. “We will?”

  Beckett would’ve felt better if she’d said it with the same amused snark she’d used when she’d caught him checking out her legs, instead of that faint look of panic. Had he done something to offend her? Maybe he’d read her signals entirely wrong. Maybe she wasn’t actually interested or had changed her mind. In which case, fine. He could keep this professional. “Based on everyone’s applications, you’ve got the most climbing experience besides me.” He’d verified that himself last night by reviewing the applicants assigned to him.

  She just nodded, looking faintly green.
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  Definitely something going on there. A bad fall? Scared to get back on the mountain? Later, he promised himself, when they weren’t surrounded by other staff.

  Back at the equipment shed, he divided up the group. “I want each of you to count and check your assigned component. Make note of any prospective issues with the gear you see. Diego, you’re on harnesses. Break down the count by men’s and women’s. Laura, helmets. Number and size.” Beckett went on down the line, passing out clipboards. “Taylor, you’ve got the ascenders and cams, and I’ll do ropes myself.”

  “Got it.”

  He pulled the first row of coiled ropes off the rack and dumped them on the table. Michael said they’d been checked at the end of last season, but Beckett wasn’t letting anybody go up equipment he hadn’t inspected himself, not even for the ridiculously easy climbs around here. As he unrolled the first coil and began checking the sheath, he noticed Taylor on her phone, frowning.

  “Something wrong?”

  Her head shot up. “What? No.” She bobbled the phone and it bounced across the floor toward him.

  He crouched to pick it up, automatically checking the screen for cracks. Not a one. “All hail the Otterbox.” He handed it back to her, but not before he noted the Google search open to ascenders. He arched a brow.

  Blushing, Taylor shoved the phone away. “Oh, I just remembered a particular one somebody told me about and was trying to remember what it was called.”

  She was lying. Right to his face, she was lying. That chapped his ass. He couldn’t abide dishonesty. What he couldn’t figure out was why she’d lie, so he let it go, keeping an eye on her through the rest of the inventory. It took a solid three hours before he was satisfied. As each of his people passed over their clipboard, he went over it, adding notations to a master list of equipment that needed to be replaced or retired. When he reached Taylor’s list it confirmed his suspicions.

  Disappointment flared through him, but Beckett said nothing, setting the clipboard aside. “Looks like y’all have a little extra time before dinner. Go make the most of it.”

  Everybody cheered. Taylor was at the head of the pack trying to get out of the shed.

  “Taylor, stay back a minute? I wanted to go over some things.”

  Her foot hovered inches out the door before she turned back around, a too bright smile pasted in place. “Sure.”

  Shit.

  He waited until everybody was considerably down the path, then shut the door. “We have a problem.”

  “We do?”

  “You don’t know your equipment. And if you’ve done more than go up the wall at the local gym, I’ll go do a handstand at the top of Boulder Mountain.”

  Taylor just closed her eyes, resignation in every line of her body.

  “How the hell did you get assigned to rock climbing?” Beckett demanded. “Did you lie on your application?”

  “No. No, I—It’s complicated.”

  He crossed his arms and waited. “Look, these may be relatively easy climbs, but I’m not having anybody out there who doesn’t know what they’re doing. That’s dangerous to everybody involved. So you’re either going to explain yourself, right now, or I’m headed to Michael and having you fired.”

  The blood drained from her face. “You have every right to be upset—”

  “Damned right, I do.”

  “Look, I’ll explain everything. Just not here. Will you come with me?”

  Beckett frowned. “Where?”

  “There’s bound to be somewhere to eat in Briarsted. Let me buy you dinner and explain.”

  He couldn’t imagine an explanation that was going to end in any other way but her being canned, but he’d liked her, so he could give her the chance to spin this away from camp. “I’ll get my keys.”

  ~*~

  They ended up at Boone’s—part tavern, part gas station, part general store, and just about the only thing on the road between Camp Firefly Falls and Briarsted, the nearest town. As it was a Sunday night and early at that, the place wasn’t too busy. A handful of patrons filled booths or stood around the pool tables. Kansas played on the jukebox in the corner, and as she watched a waitress sashay by with a slice of pie a la mode, Sarah half expected to see Dean Winchester waiting in a corner. But the star from Supernatural wasn’t hanging around with a cocky smile and a willingness to drive her away from her predicament in his ’67 Impala. She’d have to find her own way out of this.

  Her actual companion wasn’t the friendly, easy-going guy she’d flirted with at the lake. Beckett’s blue-gray eyes had chilled to flint since inventory. Sarah couldn’t blame him. Nobody appreciated being lied to, and when it came down to it, he was the one responsible for the safety of both his staff and the campers those staff members would be working with. He had every right to be pissed.

  Sarah didn’t hesitate to order a beer. She figured she’d need it to get through this mess and explain it in such a way that Taylor still had a job to come back to. They remained silent, studying the menu, until the waitress returned. In honor of Dean, she ordered a cheeseburger. Once the waitress left, Sarah tipped her longneck back for a healthy swig, then wrapped her hands around the bottle, as if it were some kind of anchor. “I did not lie on my application.”

  “Really?” Beckett’s sarcasm thudded on the table between them like a stone.

  Sarah held in a wince. How to get through this without throwing Taylor under the bus? “The truth is, it wasn’t my application.” She lifted her gaze to meet his and found him staring, his own beer halfway to his mouth.

  “How’s that?”

  Truth, she decided, insofar as possible. “I’m not Taylor Meadows.”

  “You’re—” Evidently deciding he needed alcohol for the rest of this story, he drank deep. “Then who the hell are you?”

  “Sarah. Her identical twin sister.”

  Beckett only blinked. “You’re shitting me.”

  “Nope.” To prove it, she pulled out her phone and found a recent picture of the pair of them. Taylor was a little leaner, definitely tanner, but otherwise, only someone who knew them could easily tell them apart.

  He studied the picture for a long time, then turned that penetrating gaze on her. She wanted to squirm, but held still. He handed the phone back.

  “Okay, so that’s one part of the mystery solved. Now you want to tell me exactly why you’re impersonating your sister?”

  “Because she asked me to.” Even as the words fell from her lips, she realized how lame they sounded.

  His brows winged up. “This is a thing y’all do for each other on a regular basis? Having some fun, screwing with people?”

  “No. Well, not since we were about twelve, anyway. And this one time in college when she forgot to renew her driver’s license.” Shut up. You’re not helping your case.

  “So why now?”

  Why indeed?

  To buy herself some time to think, Sarah took another pull on her beer. “She’s caught in a difficult situation in the job she’s leaving, one she’s obliged to try and accommodate because of an even more difficult situation in her personal life.”

  “Meaning what exactly?”

  Sarah told him the story of Jax and the untenable position Taylor was stuck in. Their food came somewhere in the middle of the tale, so they ate while she talked and he listened. Other than muttering a few choice curses about Taylor’s ex, Beckett stayed quiet until she’d finished.

  “That sucks for her, it really does. Why didn’t she just call up Heather or Michael and talk to them about it?”

  Sarah opened her mouth, closed it again. Because that would have been the responsible, adulting thing to do. “I didn’t ask. She came to me for help.”

  “But you could’ve said no.” His tone implied she should have.

  “I told myself the same thing. Right up until I said ‘yes.’ The thing is, I can never say ‘no’ to bailing Taylor out.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m the oldest.” r />
  Beckett gave her a bland stare. “By how much?”

  “Fifteen minutes, but sometimes it feels like fifteen years. I’m the responsible one who has her shit together. Kind of goes with the territory.” Sarah realized that made her sister sound like a flake. “Not that Taylor is irresponsible. When it comes to safety for climbing or rafting or any of the other things she does, she’s serious as a heart attack. It’s the money management and, I guess you’d say, interpersonal stuff, where she has trouble.”

  He swiped his last French fry through ketchup and pointed it at her. “And yet you, with your shit together, are here doing certification training for something you’re not qualified for?”

  Now she did wince. “The only part I’m not qualified for is the rock climbing. And I have actually done some climbs that weren’t in the gym. Taylor’s taken me a few times, but since I started grad school, there hasn’t been time. Look, Taylor knows the handbook backward and forward. She’s certified in first aid, CPR, and a whole laundry list of other things you probably saw on her application. She absolutely is qualified to deal with the rock climbing, and she’ll be back by the test on Friday in plenty of time to prove it.”

  Beckett’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re asking what, exactly?”

  “I’m asking you not to blow the whistle.”

  “You’re asking me to lie.” The hard tone told her she’d lost this battle, but she made one last effort.

  “I’m asking you to wait. She needs this job. More, she desperately wants this job, and she’ll be great at it. And if, for whatever reason, she doesn’t pass the certification tests, then whatever the consequences are, they’re on her. I’m just asking you to give her a chance.”

  Shoving the plate away, he sat back and studied her, finally shaking his head. “I won’t lie to Michael. I won’t pretend the person I’m working with is qualified, when she’s not.”

  Sarah’s hope withered. She blew out a breath. “I understand. I had no right to ask you to cover for her. For us. I’ll find the Tullys when we get back to camp and explain.”