Just Try Me...

“You always were a great guide,” Keith admitted. “I guess, if you’re serious, I have a camping trek next week in the Sierras. It’s high-altitude though,” he warned. “And high summer. It’s also seven to ten miles of walking for four days running.”

“I can do it,” she said quickly, even as she paled at the thought of pushing her body that hard.

“Well, once upon a time no one knew that area better than you,” he admitted. “Should be right up your alley. Pre-trip meeting is in three days, my offices.”

She smiled, and that alone felt…amazing. She would do this, and she’d feel worthwhile again, alive. “I’ll be there.”

“I guess a trip like this will be good for you, huh?”

Good for her? Probably not.

But something to do, a direction to go in?

God, she hoped so.

OUTDOOR ADVENTURE’S offices were located in a large but old art deco building right on the bay. Twice she drove by looking for a parking spot. There wasn’t one. There was never a parking spot in San Francisco, anywhere.

She glanced at the magazine on the seat next to her— the one with the Adrenaline-Rush article, which she’d bought for herself to keep staring at.

Risk.

Yeah. She was risking, all right.

Just then a parking spot opened up right in front of Keith’s building. It was a sign, she thought, a sign that she was doing the right thing, and she put on her blinker and—

And nearly crashed into a brand-new Lexus, whose driver was going for the spot at the same time.

Her truck a mere inch from his, he looked at her through his designer sunglasses.

Oh, no you don’t, she thought, and pointed to the spot and then to herself. Mine.

Lifting a brow, he cocked his head, as if not used to being told no.

Well, she had plenty of nos for him, but then he did something she didn’t expect. He waved her into the spot.

Go ahead, he mouthed, his glasses slipping down his nose. Pushing them up, he again waved her forward. Take it.

Huh. Go figure. He wasn’t a jerk. She watched as he put his car in Reverse, giving her room to take the spot.

Still dazed by this, she pulled in. By the time she got out of her car, he was gone, probably having to drive to Seattle to get his own spot.

That’s when she looked up and saw it. The handicap tag she’d been given after her injury, hanging off her rearview mirror. The tag she hadn’t used in months but had never removed.

He’d given her the spot out of pity.

Well damn if she didn’t hate that all the way down to her toes and back, where it settled into her gut like a slow burn. She didn’t need the charity spot, damn it. Yanking the sign down, she stuffed it beneath her seat. Uncomfortably unsettled, she got out of her truck, refusing to admit to the shooting pain in her legs, the one she always got when she first stood up.

She ignored it. Her doctor had said she was healed enough to walk from here to the ends of the earth, which she’d taken to mean she could certainly lead others there, or anywhere else she chose.

Shooting pain or not.

The San Francisco night was cool for July. Summer still hadn’t really kicked into gear yet, and as usual, probably wouldn’t until it was nearly over. Didn’t matter. She loved the misty air, the salty breeze, but it was time to get back to the mountains.

Yeah, if you can really actually do this …

Swallowing the doubts, she moved up the steps. Ahead of her was a man, tall and lanky, with short dark hair, dressed in clean, neat lines that would have looked just right on the pages of a glossy men’s magazine. He held some sort of digital device in his hand, an earphone in his left ear, and was typing something at the speed of light with only his thumb as he walked and talked to himself.

No, wait. He wasn’t talking. He was singing. Singing badly off-key to…she couldn’t hear whatever it was he heard through his earpiece, but she caught his words. He was definitely screwing up a good U2 song.

He slid the Sidekick in his back pocket, the display still lit up, suggesting he had incoming messages and/or a phone call, all of which he ignored to squat and pat a stray dog on the steps of the building.

The dog, a mixture of black and white and grunge, rolled on its back and exposed its belly for more petting, its huge tongue lolling out of its head in ecstasy.

“Good boy,” the man said, taking a seat on the step in his well-fitting beige pants which meant he clearly didn’t do his own laundry. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

In answer, the dog drooled happily, his legs straight up in the air.

As Lily came level with them, they both looked up, the man letting out an easy smile.

Her parking spot savior.

2

IN RESPONSE to Lily’s surprise, the man’s mouth went from smile to grin, the kind that was instantly contagious, though she didn’t understand why. Because for her, a contagious smile came from a different sort of man entirely: a rebel, a guy who could and would transport her, make her wonder what was going to come next, give her a sense of…adventure.

This guy, in his pretty-boy clothes and pocket full of toys was cute enough, but her geek alert was beeping an alarm as loud as his Sidekick. “I didn’t need that parking spot,” she said.

“Okay.” He looked at her from hazel eyes that were more whiskey-brown than sea-green.

“You should have kept it for yourself.”

He seemed amused. “Not used to gift parking spots, huh?”

She wasn’t used to gift anythings.

Leaning in, he arched his brow. “A hint? The correct response is ‘thank you.’”

Damn it, he was right. She hated that. “Thank you,” she said, moving through the door he opened for her. “Twice.” She moved past him into the building’s lobby, refusing to notice how good he smelled, or that she could feel him watching her limp.

“You okay?” he asked, right on cue.

Her shoulders stiffened. “I’m good.” To prove it, she moved past the elevators, toward the door to the stairs. “I’m going to take these since you spared me the trouble of having to hike in from Timbuktu.”

He laughed, a sound that seemed to come easily, and for some reason, she turned to look at him. Laugh lines fanned out from those interesting eyes, assuring her that he laughed often. “Glad I could save you the trouble,” he said. “Think of how much gas you’d have used going to Timbuktu and back.” His Sidekick beeped again, and he reached for it. “Excuse me. If I don’t get that, it self-destructs.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Yeah, it’s not pretty.”