Attractive Nuisance (Legally in Love Book 1) Page 10

  “Besides the chance to meet all the hottest female prosecutors in the state?” He gave her a sly look. “I wanted a challenge. And I like to tell stories. The juries seem to like all my dumb stories. It’s fun.”

  Okay, fine. The answers appeased her annoyance. But they didn’t make her stop wanting to roll her eyes. She could think of about fifty other jobs that called for storytelling ability, jobs that didn’t have community safety on the line. He could be an actor. An author. A court jester—just not in a real court. A professional storyteller—they had festivals for people like that, didn’t they? A TV talk show host. Oh. He’d probably look really good on TV. Like Falcon looked better on film, she bet Zane would too. His jaw line and teeth would look amazing when he smiled for the camera. She got a bit fizzy inside when she thought about that smile, the way his eyes crinkled, the way the line in his cheek indented, the way—

  Zane reached over and put his arm around her. “We could keep talking all the way to the mountain, or we could do what I like to do in the car.”

  “What’s that?” Please, don’t let him say something horrid like “suck face.” That would break the spell of closeness they’d been weaving. She wouldn’t put it past him, though. He’d been pretty forward, and she might be losing steam for pushing him away. Maybe it was the smell of the truck, but Zane was better looking this afternoon, and that hadn’t seemed possible. Her defenses were getting thin.

  “Sing.”

  “Sing?” That came out of nowhere. And it made her laugh this time. But not with scorn—just, well, delight. “Tell me, Zane. What do you sing in the car?”

  “Everything.” And to prove it he started with “The Old Gray Mare,” continued through about eight verses of “Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall” before she begged him to stop and he agreed only if she’d sing along. She did, and she recalled that he’d serenaded her once before back at the office.

  He led them through some songs from Broadway musicals, a few classic rock ballads from the 1970s that she had to fake lyrics for, and on to some pop songs of a current boy-band on the radio. He wasn’t perfect, but maybe it was because of the great way the windshield bounced the sound waves back at them—his baritone sounded really good. Like warm waves washing all around her soul.

  “My brother Hank and I used to sing on hikes. Our voices blended pretty well.”

  Camilla never had a brother or sister, so she wouldn’t know. “How did you cope with that? Losing Hank, I mean?”

  “Oh, that.” Zane looked straight ahead, his eyes on the distance. Camilla maybe shouldn’t have asked. But it’d been bothering her, and she wanted to know.

  He was quiet too long, so she filled the air. “When my parents died, I was lost for a while. But I filled my time, and then I didn’t feel it so keenly.”

  Zane nodded. His fingers gripped the wheel and then relaxed. “To be honest, I didn’t cope well. Not for a long time. In fact, I did the proverbial veer off the deep end. It got to the point where my parents were desperate, and my dad said, ‘I’m not losing two sons just because I lost one,’ and he pretty much forced me to enlist.”

  “Whoa. Drastic.”

  “I needed it.” Zane leaned back. “I met better people. Got a little taste of discipline. Got my head back on straight—all while I was in boot camp, actually. Came to my senses.”

  “And you’ve been in your senses ever since?”

  “Except when I’m around you, Cami. You send me out of my head.”

  She gave his arm a nudge and let her hand linger there. After a bit, he started to hum another song. She picked up the lyrics, and soon they were singing together again.

  “Actually, you and I—we blend pretty well.”

  “Uh, I’m not much of a singer.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  She shoved him.

  “Just kidding! You sound great. Do you have a record contract yet?”

  She shoved him again.

  “Ouch. Fine. Hey, we need to stay on the road.” He swerved a little to prove it. “But seriously, I think we sound all right together.”

  “Maybe we do.” She didn’t want to commit. If she said “Yeah!” with all the enthusiasm she secretly felt, he might get the wrong idea. Or worse, try to get them a record contract. She wouldn’t put it past him. And then they’d look like a couple. And everyone would talk, and everyone would assume, and Camilla would start assuming, and then she’d wait…and wait…and wait for him to say something to her that was real.

  And he wouldn’t.

  They climbed a final stretch of highway where a sign read Horsethief Basin 0.5 Miles.

  “Hey, I know.” Zane slowed down and pulled out on the side of the road. “We should pick a song, practice a couple of times, and then perform it for everyone around the campfire tonight. What do you say?” He had his hand on the gear shift, ready to jam it into park. His eyes shone with anticipation. But Camilla couldn’t. She just couldn’t let herself.

  “We’re already showing up a few hours later than everyone else. We’d better not delay more—Falcon will squawk.”

  Zane paused a moment, frowning, but then nodded and pulled back up onto the road. They entered the Horsethief Basin camping area. There was a paper plate with an arrow drawn on it stapled to a tree. That was their blazed trail to follow—just a few hundred feet and they came to the staff party already in session.

  “Oh, no. It looks like Falcon started the roast early.”

  “We’re having roast?”

  “Uh, no. Falcon—don’t you know what this is all about? The ghost stories? He’s roasting us.”

  ***

  It took a minute for Zane to park, dodging among all the other cars and trucks in the campground parking lot. He backed in and out of one spot to get them into a place close to where he could set up his tent. He brought a tent for himself, but the plan was still for Camilla to stay safe from all ursine-kind in the truck. Part of her almost wished she’d changed her mind about that. It might not be so bad to share a tent, Zane in one hammock, Camilla in the other. Together, but not “together.” But no, this was better. Safer. What with the diesel fumes, the woodsy scent of the mountains, the stars blazing above, the breeze swishing in the trees, she could very easily forget herself up here.

  “Can you give me a hand with these tent poles?” Zane already had his tent spread out and ready to thread the poles through the top. He was fast. Camilla crouched down and folded out all the rods. “We’re missing part of the storytelling over there, but we can catch up with them in a minute. Besides, this is kind of nice, right? Did you see that shooting star just a minute ago?”

  She’d missed it. She’d been staring at Zane’s hands, the way they deftly managed the setup. If he’d been in the military, no wonder they had a roughness to them. He really did seem like a Boy Scout. And didn’t he say a while back that he took a troop out on a geology merit badge hike? That was so great. It made her take a moment for personal inventory. What was she doing to serve in the community—besides make sure bad guys got put away? Not much. It was all for the greater good, but it didn’t specifically enrich any individual’s life.

  Huh. She could do better. She should do better. Maybe she could cut back on a few hours in the office and make time to volunteer somewhere. The community garden, or the Boys and Girls Club or something. Or maybe she could even spare some time to clean her apartment. Seriously.

  Imagine—Zane Holyoake, slacker extraordinaire, making Camilla Sweeten, workaholic, want to try a little harder. She shivered and laughed a little.

  “You cold?” Zane was looking at her, and he slid his jacket off and put it around her shoulders. He rested his hands on her arms. The jacket’s warmth from Zane’s body seeped through her skin, into her core. Instinct made her dip her nose down and sniff the lapel. Mm. It was more than just the diesel fumes this time. There was something beyond that—just his essence lingering on the denim. “Look.” He pointed up at the stars, and she leaned back into him
as she looked skyward. His strength propped her up, and there, above them she saw the fading trail of a meteor. “The Boy Scouts and I found meteorites a few times in this mountain range.”

  “I heard about that.” She kept looking at the inky velvet sky, with the pinpoints of white winking above. She could see Scorpius, its tail stinging Orion. Autumn stars were her favorite.

  Zane kept looking up, and so did she, as he asked, “You did? How?” He pressed against her a little firmer, and she didn’t pull away.

  “In court. The first time I heard you argue. In front of Judge Overby. The kid wanted to know if he’d found a hunk of Mars.”

  At this, Zane snickered. “Poor kid. It’s like the time when I was a kid and saw a mounted stuffed bobcat at my uncle’s house. ‘Cool tiger,’ I said. He just patted me on the head.”

  “That could so happen to me.” Camilla nestled up against him a little more. He stood so strong and steady. He didn’t bend when she pressed against him. He felt solid. “Maybe we’d better get over to the meeting. Falcon’s probably thinking up even worse things to say about me, every minute I delay.”

  But they didn’t move, just stood, swaying slightly, under the stars. “What is this thing he’s doing? Is it some kind of celebrity roast re-enactment, but on an office level? That doesn’t sound … nice.”

  “Oh, it’s meant in good fun. We all have to deal with it. It gets everybody’s quirks out on the table. Or so Falcon says.”

  “Does anyone roast Falcon? Hey, that sounds good, maybe. If the real birds weren’t endangered.”

  “Actually, they’re not listed as endangered anymore. The peregrine falcon population has made a great comeback in the last couple of decades.”

  “You’re surprising me again, Camilla Sweeten. And it’s sweet. What’s with the falcon knowledge? You live a secret life as a falconer?”

  “I live a lot of secret lives.” It wasn’t true, but it made Zane hug her a little, sending waves of tingles through her whole body. Boy, howdy. It was a very good thing she’d opted for sleeping in the truck instead of in the tent with Zane later tonight.

  “I’ll bet you do.” He nuzzled her neck, inhaling deeply. Man, if she thought tingles happened from the hug, she was wrong. He had her number, and he kept calling it over and over. Kazam. Right up next to her ear, he whispered, “My nose is starting to itch. We’d better go see what Falcon is saying about us.”

  With his arm around her waist, he guided her, flashlight in hand along a trail through the pines toward the general gathering of the office staff. It wasn’t far, maybe twenty yards, but coming back among other people jarred her. It had felt so right, standing there under the stars alone with him, his hot breath and arms warming her. Other people’s voices…well, she just preferred not to hear them. Not after that moment they’d shared.

  “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to join us.” Falcon stopped mid-story and swooped in on Zane, taking his hand and shaking it vigorously. “We didn’t know if you were ever going to make it out of the tent.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Cruel and Unusual

  Oh, great. The boss was in fine form. Thank goodness he didn’t drink. He might have been so much worse. For now, he was just drunk on nature. It happened every year. Chances were, this was his one annual outlet. The staff got that. He was good to them all the time, so they humored him this one weekend a year. It seemed like he saved up all his chiding for October and then let it fly. Maybe he thought it all flew away with the campfire smoke. After the first time it happened, four years ago, there had been a ripple of shock that reverberated for a couple of weeks in the office. One paralegal almost quit, but Camilla talked her down from that ledge. The following year, everyone knew what it was and just wore their armor—or drank too much—for insulation.

  “And you, Camilla. It’s good to see you outside. I was just beginning to discuss you next. But wait, I’m finishing up with Sheldon Cleek first.”

  Zane gave Camilla a look of what the heck, and they wove their way through the crowd of about eighty frightened or glazed over with alcohol faces, to find a seat on a fallen log.

  “And so Sheldon, for you, I present two items: the golden sandal—” Falcon held up a Birkenstock that had been bronzed. Fabulous. Honestly, Sheldon deserved that one. He should not have let Lydia’s father buy his footwear. Speaking of footwear…Camilla had a decision to make about what, if anything, to tell Falcon about the shoe sales statistics. It could really sink the Veldon Twiss case. Shoot. But Falcon had finished digging in his awful Santa Claus sack and held up an aerosol can. “—And a can of pest repellent. This is to spray on pests who won’t listen when you tell them ugly sandals are not appropriate for the office. Even on casual Friday. Which we don’t have, by the way, people. Casual Saturday. That’s your day.”

  Camilla sighed, and the crowd gave courtesy clapping and guffaws. Falcon usually knew how to make it fun, but he was ending kind of flat. She wondered how long this had been going on, and if there was any way out now.

  “And now, we’ve saved the best for last.” Falcon made eye contact with Camilla through the crowd, across the smoke and flames. That answered that. At least there was the joy of not having to sit through the rest of everyone else’s embarrassment. “Our final two staffers have joined us, and I get the pleasure of toasting first of all our newest attorney, Zane Holyoake.” At this, the crowd clapped with enthusiasm. Sheldon’s wife turned around and winked at Camilla. Oh, great. Now, since they came together, everyone on staff and their families would think things.

  Well, maybe they were right. After all, maybe Zane was as solid and steady as she was discovering him to be. Maybe she’d let things go a little farther than she’d let them go with anyone in years. Hand holding? Sure, why not? He already had his arm around her waist and let her wear his jacket. And those hands, with their crevices and roughness. She wouldn’t resist if he tried interlocking his fingers through hers.

  “Zane, Zane, Zane. Where should I start?” Falcon sighed and began pacing back and forth—which people instantly recognized as Zane’s signature move when he addressed the jury. He had a serious pacing habit. The crowd buzzed a little with the entertainment. Camilla glance to see him redden. Oh, it made her heart ache a tiny bit—to see him blush. She reached over and put her hand on his, where it rested on his knee. As soon as her palm made contact, he flipped his hand over and laced his fingers through hers. Wow! He took hints fast! Pretty much every nerve in her body started sparking. It took a moment for them to settle enough for her to hear what Falcon was saying again. He was partway through an anecdote when she tuned in.

  “And so when Zane starts in on his story about the desert tortoise—again, for the fourth time in Judge Harper’s court—the judge himself hits the gavel and says, ‘Badgering.’” Ah, as in badgering the judge with the same story over and over. Ha ha. “But what can I say? Zane. He’s just like his dad. Old Skunk Holyoake. We had a royally good time at the fraternity in college, and Skunk could spend six hours telling all of you about the skeletons from my deepest darkest closet. So I have to be careful about how I prod this bear.” By now Falcon had made his way around the fire and at this point prodded Zane in the shoulder, then handed him a box of Frosted Flakes cereal, the kind with the cartoon tiger on the front, a glossy eight-by-ten black and white photograph of a badger—oh, for badgering—and a teddy bear. Ah. Because Falcon was prodding the bear. Got it. Man, there were way too many bear references in her life right now.

  “But I do see you’ve taken the tiger by the tail, just like I meant for you to do. Good boy, Zane. Good boy.” He winked in an exaggerated fashion then stumbled over someone’s foot and nearly tottered into the fire.

  “Wise move, Mr. Torres. ’Cause I got the goods on you.”

  Everyone snickered, and the fire popped, sending glowing orange sparks up in a plume of light against the black sky. Black and orange. Like a tiger’s stripes.

  Oh, wait. The tiger—Falcon was refer
ring to her as a tiger. What the— And did he just say Zane had taken her by the tail? Of all animals in the zoo, Camilla resembled the tiger least. Maybe more the baboon. Or the toucan. Call her the flamingo or the capybara if you must, but… And in what way did Falcon mean Zane had her by the tail? Ugh. This whole insinuation just rankled.

  But wait.

  Did Falcon just say that Zane was the son of the frat brother the boss was originally trying to set Camilla up with, back at the end of summer when she refused to go? The skin on her back crawled with cold. If she remembered right, Falcon had said something like, “I need you to go out with this guy. He’s kind of a ne’er do well who’s lost his way and just needs the love of a good woman to guide him.” That couldn’t mean Zane. Or could it?

  Oh, geez. If so, that meant Falcon didn’t take no for an answer. Instead, he’d gone to extreme measures, hired Zane on as staff, and then threw them together whether she liked it or not. And she hadn’t liked it. But she’d been sucked in by his charm. Camilla had fallen right into the trap.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a horrible thing.

  Zane squeezed her hand. Camilla looked at him. He gave her an apologetic wince of a smile. She shrugged a shoulder, the one closest to his, and he bumped against it at hers. She bumped back, but stayed, not bouncing off him. His shoulder was strong. She wouldn’t mind having his arm around her again. Soon.

  “I’ll share this cereal with you, if you want.” Zane leaned in and whispered in her ear. “It’s the dinner of champions.”

  So he’d noticed she ate cold cereal for dinner based on her bowls and spoons scattered around her living room. Alas. Too late now. He knew she was a slob with a penchant for sugar. If he still stayed on this date with her, with the blinders off this way, she might not think he was half bad. She might give him a longer term chance.