Attractive Nuisance (Legally in Love Book 1) (10 page)

What was he talking about? Camilla believed she could do anything if she worked hard enough. She could get into a good law school, get a steady job, win cases, make the world a better place. “I’m pretty sure hard work and dedication can get me anywhere I ought to go.”

“No, no. I don’t mean it that way.”

“Then, pray tell, what do you mean?” How dare he stand in her bedroom and stomp on her ego? This guy. She couldn’t believe how much she had to endure from him. Why did Falcon insist on this date? She might have to give him a talking to as soon as the promotion was finalized.

“Sorry. I just think you are pretty amazing, and you might not have an accurate mental image of yourself.”

He did? She didn’t? Of course she did. Or did she? She opened her mouth to protest, hanging it gaping much like that of the poor Gila trout in her photo, but Zane interrupted her.

“Sorry. We actually don’t have time to discuss this. We can talk more on the drive. Do you got a jacket?”

Got. Yeah, she did got one. Whatever. Nobody was perfect. But the question was, what kind of imperfections were excusable on an everyday basis? Grammar? Probably—for most people. And it wasn’t like he was saying “ain’t.” Although, she did let fly with a few ain’ts here and there in her day. She shoved him away again, this time shutting the door, and finished doing up the buttons on her shirt. Zane. What did he mean she didn’t have an accurate picture of herself? What did the rest of the world see that she didn’t? She was short. Her hair could use more body. She tried hard at everything. What else was there?

Zane began knocking on the door—and didn’t stop.

“Fine. Fine! I’m coming.” She snapped up her sweater and headed out to the lifted, sparkly purple truck of her dreams. The bad ones. Where monster trucks really became monsters and ate her in her sleep. Yeah, tonight she’d be sleeping in the belly of this beast.

It took some real mountain climbing to get herself aboard the truck. “You have a name for this thing?” Thank goodness for handlebars.

“Not yet. I’m just babysitting it for a friend until he gets back from Afghanistan.”

“Is he in the war?”

“Garrett. He was a soldier, back when. But now he’s a civilian contractor.”

What did that mean? She heard it all the time and had no idea, which fact reminded her that her life could get pretty narrow sometimes. There were people out in all corners of the earth doing other things of great and small importance, and she had no idea what. She should.

Wait. So this wasn’t Zane’s truck after all.

“My buddy Garrett calls this thing Baby.”

Same as Camilla called her car. Whoa. “That’s a big baby. Probably needed forceps for it. Poor birth mother.”

“I told him to leave it sky blue, but he drank too much one weekend and hired a guy to do the sparkling purple night sky.”

“It’s…” How could she be diplomatic? She couldn’t. “…Memorable.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

The pronouncement hung in the air for a bit, and then both of them burst into laughter.

When Camilla caught her breath, she asked, “So you didn’t choose the paint job? Oh, I have to admit, this truck was saying things about you I’m not sure you’d want said.”

“Believe me, I know.” They pulled out of the driveway and onto the road.

So. This was their first date. It was coerced, sure, but it was official at last. And now that she knew Zane didn’t purposely lift a truck and paint it purple, maybe Camilla would let the date begin.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Voir Dire

Time flew as Baby took the mountain curves. Their idle chitchat wove a spell for fifty miles. Being lawyers, they could argue about anything: about which franchise of fried chicken tastes best (he swore up and down it was Church’s Chicken, and she would fall on her sword for the Colonel—what was wrong with Zane’s taste buds that he couldn’t tell superiority when he met it?), about TV shows from their childhood (she claimed Boy Meets World was much better than the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and Zane almost pulled the truck over so they could duke it out.) But being lawyers, they could make all their points and then walk away with a handshake and no residual emotion. Mostly it was all for show. Except her disgust at his lack of respect for the Colonel. That might linger. But maybe he could be converted. A side by side taste test. That’s what they needed.

As they’d spiraled up one mountain and down the other side, Zane told her about his stint in the army, which was where he’d met the owner of Baby, as well as his good Prospector’s Inn pal Wyatt. Zane did one tour in Iraq.

“What was that like?” Camilla honestly wanted to know. She’d never been close enough to anyone who’d seen battle to ask that kind of a question.

“It makes you appreciate what you have, especially people you can count on.”

Huh. That must be how he felt about Wyatt. And Garrett. She wondered—was she someone anybody could count on?

“We had a buddy die. Nolan. It jarred me, and I guess it kind of changed how I saw everything.”

“How so?” She didn’t ever think this guy, with his attitude of messing around all day, never trying, would have this other side. “Did it make you buckle down and go to law school because life is too short? And you wanted to make a difference?”
Please, say yes.
That attitude would match her own values so perfectly. She could totally see herself with someone who had that life view—even if he was slow to letting it take hold all the way through him.

Zane burst out laughing. “Law school because life is too short?” He laughed louder. “You’re kidding, right?” He kept laughing, to the point where all the warm fuzziness he’d made her feel started evaporating. “Oh, you are so sweet, Camilla Sweeten. I can never quite get enough of you. I never know what you’re going to say next.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed in exasperation. “Okay, then. In what way did it change you—if not that?” He’d better astonish her with something good, or the rest of this forced date was going to be chilly for him. How could he laugh her to scorn like that?

“You were on track with at least part of it. I realized life is short. And I decided I couldn’t take everything trivial so seriously and I have to keep everything lighthearted. If I’m doing something, I have to enjoy it. I have to find a way to make it … fun. I know, court isn’t exactly a traditional barrel of ‘fun,’ per se, but it’s possible to make my own enjoyable circumstance.”

She frowned, “So why law, then? Why prosecution, of all things?” If not for justice, why pursue it? He was right about court not being the traditional top answer if on a game show like
Family Feud
the topic was “Name Ten Fun Things.” “It can’t be the money. We work for the county.” It’s not like the two of them were pulling in the same kind of salaries as people who hung out a shingle and ran their own practices or worked for a big firm.

“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.