Page 7 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

Claire

If this weren’t so unbelievably embarrassing, it might actually be sort of romantic.

Handsome hero rescues damsel in distress and carries her, like the swooniest protector imaginable, down the wild mountain to safety.

But no. It’s not that at all.

He is handsome, which is clear even now that I’m so up close and personal. I’m piggybacking it, so my view is mostly of the back of his head. But I catch glimpses of his face when he dips his head to go under tree branches or to say something to me.

His hair is midnight and chocolate—rich and glossy, with a thin spray of the beginnings of grey. He has nice skin—no visible pores. His laugh lines are faint and distinguished. And he murmurs low to warn me when there’s a close branch or some other obstacle. Like he’s my personal protector .

“Duck your head a bit,” he says in my ear, as the scenery on both sides grows claustrophobically close. It wasn’t this way on the hike up, was it?

Back when life was good. Back when I had two, fully functioning ankles.

Much of the trail is open, with plenty of tallish grasses on either side. But this particular section is narrow, and trees close us in on both sides. Once again, my imagination leaps to a start as I dream about the quiet solitude of the area and this gorgeous man’s bulging biceps.

It’s a coping mechanism for my brain. Because I’m being carried down a mountain by a stranger, and it’s humiliating.

And I’m regretting all those days when I could have been working out at the gym in Longdale, taking care of myself. Because if I’d only known I’d have to be carried down a mountain like this, I would have lost some weight, if for no other reason than to give my rescuer a break.

The truth is, though, there’s no way I could have made it down the mountain myself with my ankle so stiff and hot to the touch. And even though I wish we’d called my brother-in-law, Oliver, to come help, it is what it is.

“Are you okay?” I ask Benson, aware that my face is very near his with my arms wrapped around his neck. My torso is crushed against his back, my legs in the stirrups of his arms at his hips, and there’s a whole lot of bouncing going on, what with the jostling of his steps as he’s going downhill.

Nice.

I should have worn a sports bra.

“Of course,” he says, and I believe him. Even though his breathing is a little strained, he’s not having too hard of a time. I’m impressed, but I’m also so dang mortified .

“I’m really sorry.”

“So you’ve said, several times.” He pauses to take a breath. “No apologies necessary.”

“Oh, and I’m making you talk, too. While you’re carrying me. Sorry.” All my sassiness is gone. I knew I was a brat earlier, even as I was powerless to stop it.

Getting injured is frustrating. My ankle hurts, which would make anyone short tempered, but then just knowing that Rich is not far behind, potentially watching me struggle…

well, it’s a lot. I can’t have Rich using my injury as fuel in his quest to get the city manager job.

He’ll tell his best pal “Doug” that I’m not cut out for the position, being crippled and all.

But right now, my brattiness is gone, I hope. It’s been replaced by a huge need to reprioritize everything in my life. And regret at how short I was with Benson.

“How about I keep my talking to a minimum,” he says, then another pause to breathe. “And you entertain me with stories about you.”

“Entertain you? Isn’t this all you need to know? I suck at hiking. End of story.”

He chuckles under my weight. I take a breath slowly. Maybe if I imagine myself as weighing less, it would somehow, magically be easier to do this right now.

“You don’t suck at it. You had an unfortunate accident, Claire.”

“I’m so sorry. First, I’m totally rude to you after I get hurt, and now you’re having to carry me down?”

“Stop apologizing, Claire.” His voice is insistent now. “It happens. It’s okay. ”

“I’m just so—” and then I stop myself. It’s fitting that as he’s saving my life, I should respect his wishes and stop saying sorry.

When I’m quiet for a while, the jostling of his steps the only sound, he speaks up again. “So, about you? You were going to tell me about yourself.”

I manage a laugh. “I wasn’t about to do anything of the sort. But circumstances being as they are—”

“That I’m carrying you, so you have to do what I say?”

“I guess—”

“Consider it like the whole, I’m driving the car, so I pick the tunes , thing. In this case, I’m picking you . You’re the tunes.”

Now he’s sounding a little more out of breath, and again, my stomach plunges to my toes.

I hate this. I hate it!

“Okay, okay, you need to save your breath. And please, anytime you need to take a break, just put me down. I’m sure your arms are getting tired.”

He gives a slight shake of the head, his focus straight forward, sorting out any knob or rut that could send us both flying. A quick shiver travels down my spine. I grasp the neckline of his shirt.

“I don’t need to put you down. I’m in the zone and we can’t interrupt that.”

How is he so jovial? Like helping me is making his day?

“Right,” I say. “But if your arms start to swell…”

“My arms are fine. The only thing swelling up is your ankle.”

He has a point. His arms look entirely fine. Bulged, sinewed.

So, see? Fine.

“You’re probably right.” It hurts pretty bad. And as careful and gentle as he’s being, the jostling of every step isn’t exactly easy on my injury .

“So, anyway, um, like I said before, I’m the assistant city manager of Longdale, and I’ve worked in the city offices, in one capacity or another, for nine years.

And Rich? Well, he wants to become city manager, but I do, too.

We sort of have a rivalry going on. In the most professional, adult ways. It’s a thing, but it’s barely a thing.”

“I gathered that,” he says with a grunt.

“What? You could tell? Am I that easy to read?” A lock of my hair has escaped my ponytail and sealed itself to his collarbone. I pull it away gingerly, careful not to mess up his groove as he traipses.

He doesn’t respond either because he agrees with me or he’s just out of breath. Let’s be real, it might be both.

“Okay,” I continue. “Note to self: tone down the rivalry with Rich McClain. Got it. Although, to be fair, it’s usually him that’s so precious about it, but I won’t get into that.” I lower my voice. “Especially since he’s on this hike right now.”

I should shut up about Rich. Ugh. And I really should finish my application for the city manager position. I’ve started on it, but I keep redoing it and my resume. Tweaking. Perfecting.

“Anyway, another thing about me is I’m obsessed with my niece, Elizabeth.” I try to smack my forehead, but I don’t want to let go of Benson and fall off. “But of course you know that. She’s your niece, too. Isn’t she the cutest little thing?”

When he grunts his agreement, I go on. “The family has grown. It’s not like I spend much time with the Tates since it’s Sophie’s family, not mine. But yeah, they’re great. ”

I wait and then remember it’s inadvisable for him to speak, so I go on. “Sophie and I were raised by our grandparents after our mom passed away. Yesterday would have been her 56 th birthday.”

His grunt is softer, sort of like an apology.

“I barely remember her now. She’s been gone a long time. I miss her, but our grandparents are great. They and Sophie haven’t always gotten along too well, but things are better now. Getting married and giving them a great-grandbaby has helped a lot.”

Which is interesting. For the longest time, I was the one who was close to them. We had fun together. Playing rummy and Hand and Foot. Traveling to Yellowstone in their Winnebago. Going shopping. All the things.

I’m not a contrarian like Sophie. I’m a people pleaser and my favorite people to please are my grandparents.

But lately? They’ve been asking me about my career, and they usually mention a city admin job opening in Boulder or ask me to join the campaign team for a local politician, for, as they say, “research for the future.” My future is always on their mind.

Which is hard. I put enough pressure on myself, I don’t need it from them, too.

I doubt they’d ever want to know that, deep down, I just want to find a nice, sexy man to marry and have babies with.

I want that. I do. I’m not ashamed to admit it, even though my grandparents have so much more on their minds for me to do and be.

Except, the realization hits me. I don’t want to admit that’s what I want. It’s too vulnerable to put myself out there, to say to the world, yes, Claire Lawson wants to find a man and settle down. Because it hasn’t happened.

It’s just easier to pretend that my grandparents’ dreams for my career and my life are my own .

“This is kind of an awkward question.” Benson pauses to breathe, “But do you have a boyfriend?”

“Whoa. That got personal real fast.”

“No, I mean, am I going to have to apologize to someone about being so…up close and personal with his girlfriend?”

So, he feels the up close and personal thing, too, does he? A shiver trickles through me.

“No apologies necessary. I don’t really date.”

“Why not?”

I purse my lips together. “Well, besides the fact that there aren’t any eligible men here in Longdale, I’m focusing on my job right now. I can’t be distracted.”

“I never got it when people say that.”

“Why not? You can’t imagine someone wanting a career more than wanting to be with you?” Oh, no. My sauciness is back in full force.

I have got to stop.

He swallows and there’s a puff of air from his throat, like a sigh. Maybe I’ve hurt his feelings.

“No.” He sighs again. “Isn’t the dream that a person can have both? Being in love with the right person can be an asset to one’s career.”

“It depends on the person and the career. Sometimes there are track records that people pay more attention to, though. There’s a certain stigma in my department that if you’re a woman and you get married, you’re going to quit and have a family.

The last several city managers have all quit within a couple of years of getting married. I can tell it bugs the mayor.”

“That’s unfortunate. For you, I mean.” He gives a half a chuckle. “If you wanted to date, you should be able to do so. ”

“It’s okay. I’m good with singlehood.”

“Let’s switch topics, then. What’s your favorite breakfast cereal?” he asks.

I grunt out a laugh. “Peanut Butter Crunch. And yours?”

“A combo of granola and Fruity Pebbles.”

“Mixed together? Seriously?”

He manages to laugh. “At least my bowl of choice has some oats and fiber and nuts and stuff. Yours is plain sugar.”

“And yours has artificial colors up the wazoo.”

Not that I particularly care about my artificial color intake. I probably should. I really should since I’m turning over a new leaf and getting in shape, a resolve that has suddenly ratcheted in intensity with this whole handsome man hauling me off the mountain debacle.

“What’s your favorite food?” he asks.

“Burgers.” I know exactly what I like when it comes to food. With my life plans? Not so much. “I’m guessing you’re a pizza guy.”

“Who isn’t a pizza guy?” He grunts. “But my favorite is probably a three-way tie between tacos, lasagna, and—” he pauses to breathe. “My mom’s cornbread.

“We should stop and let you take a break,” I say.

“We’re almost there.”

“We are not almost there. We have at least fifteen more minutes. Come on. You need to hydrate. I can’t have you collapsing on us right now.”

His mouth twitches and he licks his lips. But he still doesn’t stop.

“Benson, you need water. You’re not weak for stopping.”

When he doesn’t respond, I push harder on his shoulder until he stops at a clearing, a place where the trail is wider. The whole front of my body slides down his back—his solid, large, manly back. He is attractive . He’s a few years older than me, but he’s still got it in spades.

I sort of stumble as he lets me down, and I take a hard stab with my foot to stabilize myself. I hiss in pain and he groans, steadying my arms. “Sorry, I should have warned you I was setting you down.”

I lick my lips. “No. I’m alright.”

After he makes sure I’m okay leaning up against a tree trunk, he stretches his neck, arms, and back. My injury isn’t my fault. But it’s also not his fault that he has to do this, either.

He takes his phone out of his pocket. “I have service now. Are you okay if I text Oliver? You’re going to need some help getting around once we make it down.”

“I’ve already completely lost every ounce of dignity I have, what’s another person knowing?” I have cell signal as well, so I text Sophie and Inez, trying to keep my cool as I give them the bare bones of the story.

A few people from the hike pass us as they head down. Did I somehow miss Rich and his wife? That would be nice. I cannot appear weak and helpless around Rich McClain.

We only rest a couple of minutes before I’m in Benson’s arms again, his competent stride back into our familiar rhythm.

Heavy steps behind us tell me we, unfortunately, didn’t avoid Rich.

“Heard about your injury, Claire,” Rich says.

“I told Al I’ll take over as guide on the descent.

We’re about a half-mile away from the bottom.

” Rich steps up and matches Benson’s gait.

He pats Benson’s shoulder. “How you holding up, buddy? Need me to take a turn?”

No. No, no, no. This is bad enough, but Rich carrying me down would kill me dead. Completely and irreversibly dead .

“I’m actually enjoying it,” Benson tosses back over his shoulder, his gaze flicking in my direction. There’s nothing teasing in his tone or in the look in his shining, dark eyes.

I ignore Rich’s whistle and Liesel’s laughter. Because as crazy as his words are, part of me wonders if he actually means it.