“Everyone say cheese!” Aunt Sandy clicked away.
“Cheese!” We suffered through a few more pictures before disbanding to continue on the trail.
“Bet I can beat you to the top of that ridge.” Calder eyed me speculatively, exactly like we were kids again and he was daring me to do something with the bigger kids. Like most of the family, he’d been excellent at using his own competitive nature as a motivator.
“Are you capable of enjoying nature without a competition?”
“Nope.” He grinned, and several people close by laughed. “And it’s okay if you’re chicken—”
The laughter sealed my fate. “You’re on.”
The thing about Calder was that he was big like a tank that had two speeds, whereas I was smaller and had agility on my side. Also, I’d put in some serious treadmill hours since the last time we raced. Accordingly, I darted out in front of him, quickly establishing a lead, knowing full well that he’d finish strong. Scampering up the hill, I let out a triumphant noise as I neared the ridge. I was going to win. About damn time.
“Arthur!”
I didn’t turn at the sound of my name from a female voice I couldn’t readily place. I wasn’t going to listen to a lecture about not racing or being a good example for the kids, not when I was so close to finally beating Calder at one of these stupid challenges.
The angle was increasingly steep and slick, but I kept moving quickly. Too quickly. My left leg lost its footing, and then I was sliding back down the hill, crushing ferns and causing deadwood and rocks to tumble after me. My bare arms and shins scraped against the uneven terrain until I landed in a deep boggy, muddy puddle that smelled like dead things, like ancient dinosaurs had chosen this exact pit to decompose and now I was disturbing their eternal slumber.
“Oh f—”
“Language!” my mom scolded me from the top of the hill. “Little ears!”
“Sometimes no other word will work, Mom.”
“You okay?” Derrick had apparently raced after me, and now he reached a hand down to haul me out of the muck.
I rolled my neck and wiggled my limbs before accepting his help up. “Yeah, I’m good. Just wounded my pride. Again.”
“You could have been hurt!” Derrick’s eyes were hard, a greater level of concern than I would have expected. “Why’d you do that?”
“You know Calder. Always a bet. I just wanted to win and figured this was my chance to prove I’m faster now.”
“You are.” Derrick’s face softened. “But you need to stop letting the others get your goat.”
“Why? It’s so much fun for them.” I tried to brush myself off and ended up only smearing more mud around and encountering several shallow scrapes on my legs and arms. “Ouch. God, this mud is extra sticky.”
“You’ve earned a bath in that big tub when we get back.” Keeping a hold of my hand, he helped me slowly make my way back up the incline.
“And an iced coffee, but this far from civilization I’m going to be lucky to get leftover drip coffee from breakfast, let alone anything fancy.”
“I will personally track you down something cold and sweet while you’re in the tub.” He smiled warmly at me. He was the sweet one. So sweet I almost couldn’t stand it. And far nicer than I deserved, considering I’d brought this latest disaster entirely on myself.
“You could—” I couldn’t finish my invite for him to join me because we’d reached the others and were quickly surrounded by a horde of kids.
“Eww. Uncle Arthur, you smell!”
“Stinky!”
“Yep.” All I could do was laugh with them. “See? Mud isn’t as fun as it looks.”
“Like I said, you’ve earned that bath.” Derrick shook his head.
“And a treat.” I was holding him to that.
“Yup. I’m going to find you something even if I have to go into town. And while I’m at it, I’ll find you something for those scrapes. None look that deep, but it’s got to hurt.”
What was truly going to hurt was never having a fake boyfriend this nice again. But I wasn’t going to let myself dwell on that, and instead I started dreaming up ways to get him in that tub with me. Muddy might not be the worst thing if it led to dirty fun.
Chapter Nineteen
Derrick
I should have stayed in bed with Arthur. But no, I’d had to have a fit of conscience and drag him hiking instead of letting him fake a minor ailment. And now he had an actual injury, which was in part my fault, because I’d talked him into going, but also I hadn’t talked him out of the bet with Calder. Or told Calder to stop acting like he was fourteen and Arthur some pesky nine-year-old. They were both adults, and neither had had any business racing up that muddy slope.