All I Ever Wanted (13 page)

Then Muriel said, “Well, I'm dying to get to the top. Shall we stop strolling and start making time? Dad, think you can keep up with me, old man?”

“Them's fighting words,” Charles said, releasing me. “Mark? Callie? You in?”

“Absolutely,” Mark answered.

“Um, I'll wait for my brother,” I said, glancing back at Fred and the rest of the gang, who were now maybe thirty yards behind. The stitch in my side was more like a quilt now.

“See you at the top, then,” Charles said, and with that, they forged ahead, long athletic strides. Bowie whined to go with the fast people, but the second they were a safe distance off, I staggered over to a relatively flat rock and collapsed, draping an arm over my eyes. These bike shorts were awful! Would that I could peel them off and jump into a shower right about now. Curl up in some clean pj's, watch a little
Deadliest Catch
and have indoor plumbing ten feet away.

“You okay?” Pete and Leila asked in unison as they approached, Damien just behind them.

“I'm good. Just resting a little,” I lied, peeking at them. Just cleansing and purging, more like it.

“You look like death,” Damien said.

“And you look like a monkey in those clothes,” I returned halfheartedly.

“See you at the top. Don't worry. We're almost halfway there.” Leila slapped my knee and kept going.

Almost halfway there. God, take me now! And how could those pale computer dweebs be in such great shape, huh?

Bwihhhhheerrrrgggghhh.
Ack! That one hurt! I pictured that notable scene from
Alien
all too clearly. If only the creature would just burst out and end my misery! Cleanse and purge, my God! Was childbirth like this? New sweat broke out on top of my old sweat, and I tried to breathe, Lamaze-like, through the pain. Too bad Hester wasn't around to slip me an epidural. Bowie looked up at me and smiled his doggy smile, and I managed to smile back.

“Hey, Calorie.” It was Freddie this time. “You got a beer?”

“No, of course I don't,” I said weakly. “I'm dying.” Bowie licked my face, attempting revival.

“I'll call your car,” my brother said.

I struggled to sit up. “You're such a sweet brother. If I die, everything goes to the nieces, okay? Nothing for you. Fleur, you're a witness.”

“Can do,” she said, sitting next to me. She was panting, which made me grateful. “I could murder a cuppa right now.”

Ian, however, seemed irritatingly unaffected by our little hike up the mountain. He ignored me (and I was grateful, as I didn't want yet another person commenting on those god-awful noises). Instead, he put his hands in the pockets of his hiking shorts—L.L. Bean, not the sweaty plastic kind—and surveyed the view. I surveyed it as well…the view of Ian, that was. Nice legs. I'd guess soccer as a child. Excellent ass. Lovely broad shoulders.

“What a view,” he said quietly. For a second, I thought he was referring to himself, but no. In the fun of my melting intestines here, I'd almost forgotten the lookout. Our particular stopping place overlooked Heron Lake, two thousand feet below. The water glowed a deep, dark blue,
and all around, pine and fir trees rose, the thick wall of green broken only by mighty falls of granite left by the glaciers thousands of years ago. The setting sun, though still strong, turned the towering cumulus clouds a rich, creamy gold against the paling sky. It was quite a sight indeed.

Gluuurrrreeeeggghhh.
I folded my arms against my gut, trying to muffle the noise, hoping the birdsong would camouflage it.

“What the hell is going on in your stomach?” Freddie asked. Once, I loved him. Now, not so much.

“I'm a little sick,” I whispered, glancing at Ian. Wondered if he might euthanize me right about now, put me out of my misery. There was no way in hell I was going to make it up to the top of the trail, not with an alien chewing its way out of my abdomen.
Squeeerrrrggh.
Bowie whined in sympathy, his tail thumping the ground.

“Well, do you want me to stay? Or should I keep going?” my brother asked.

“Keep going, by all means,” I said, waving in the general direction of the peak. There was no point in having him stay…he tended to laugh when people were sick or grieving, that kind of unhelpful, irrepressible, inappropriate laughter. “Get a ride home, okay? I'll meet everyone else at the restaurant for dinner.”

“Okay, sis. See you later.” Like a youthful mountain goat, Freddie practically skipped off the steepening trail. I should've brought Hester.

“Have fun,” I said, but he was already out of earshot. Bowie yipped twice, then began licking his front paw.

“So what were you chatting about with the BTR crew?” Fleur asked.

“Oh, nothing specific. We were just schmoozing,” I
said, glancing at her. “We'll have a real meeting soon, and I'm sure you'll be in on it.”

“Right.” She gave me a tight smile. While Fleur was a pretty decent coworker, I knew she didn't like that I was above her in the chain of command. She was five years older than I was, and there wasn't much of a ladder to climb at Green Mountain.

“Well, Ian, luv, we should push off,” Fleur said. “Mark'll get all humped up if
all
of us…” she paused, clearly unable to find a Britishism for her next phrase “…wimp out.” She glanced at me. “Sorry. Didn't mean to be a tosser.”

“That's okay,” I said. “Go on, have fun. Tell Mark I'll meet you all at the restaurant, okay?”

“Cheerio.” She hopped to her feet. “Let's go then, Ian, shall we?” she asked, extending her hand. Bowie leaped up, hoping to go as well, as he was more than capable of running up and down this mountain six or eight times without feeling the slightest twinge of fatigue.

Ian turned around from where he was still surveying the view. He looked at me for a long moment. “I'll stay with Callie,” he said.

“No, no!” I barked. “Go! Off with you! I'm fine.”

Fleur shot me a sharp look. “We really need to catch up, Ian,” she said, her accent evaporating.

“Go on, you two. I'm fine,” I said, trying not to pant (or moan).
Gooorrrreeeeccchhh.

“I'll stay,” he repeated.

“I really, really don't want you to,” I said firmly.

“I will anyway.” He didn't move, just stood there, hands in his pockets.

“Please don't.”

“I am.”

Fleur's eyes darted back and forth between us. “Well, then, I'll stay, too. Keep you company, Callie.”

“You go ahead,” Ian said. “It's your company's event, after all.”

My alien gave another squirm, and I flinched.

Fleur took a huffy breath. “Well, right-o,” she said. “See you at the base, then.”

“I may have to leave before then,” he said. “I'm on call at the animal hospital tonight.”

Her mouth tightened briefly, but she covered with a quick smile. “Well, I'll
probably
see you down there, at any rate. Great! Thanks for staying with poor Callie! You're a prince.” She made a move toward him, almost like she was going to hug him, but Ian just stood, hands still in his pockets, and Fleur retreated. The sound of her hiking boots faded within seconds.

Ian sat down next to me. “You okay?”

“I'm great, Ian,” I lied. “You don't need to stay with me.”

“Can I take your pulse?” he asked.

“No. I'm fine. It's just…I skipped lunch. That's all. I really don't need a nurse. Or a vet.”

He didn't answer, just stared off into the woods, which were lovely, dark and deep, just as Robert Frost said, and unlike the poet, I wouldn't have minded going to sleep right now.

The only sound was birdsong, the rustle of the wind in the pines and Bowie's slight snore. The alien seemed to be quieting down (please, God), and the sweet and piney breeze seemed to blow away that sick, foggy feeling bit by bit. My stomach emitted a small groan, but nothing like before.

“Maybe you could eat some grass and throw up,” Ian suggested. “Works for dogs.”

I glanced at him. He was still looking off into the woods, and I studied his craggy profile. “Thanks for the tip,” I said. “I don't suppose you have any Tums or anything.”

“Sorry,” he said, cutting his eyes to me.

I felt heat rise in my face. Those eyes were startlingly direct. “So, are you from around here, Ian?” I asked.

“I moved here from Burlington two months ago,” he said.

“Where'd you grow up?”

He looked back into the woods. “All over.”

“Army brat?” I guessed.

“No.” He didn't elaborate.

“So,” I said after realizing he was done with that subject. “Fleur invited you to our little thing.”

“Yes,” he said, reaching down to pet Bowie, whose tail thumped appreciatively. “I was under the impression that it was more of a town-sponsored thing. Open to the public.”

“Oh. Well, sorry for ruining it for you,” I murmured.

“I can't believe anyone would buy something called Cleanse 'n Purge,” he commented, raising an eyebrow.

Ah, dang it. Humiliation and me—no bounds. “Bowie, would you please bite Dr. McFarland?”

Bowie rolled onto his back.
Here's my stomach, in case anyone's in a scratching mood,
he was clearly saying. I obliged, since I couldn't think of anything else to do.

My GI distress seemed to have subsided. “I should probably head down,” I said. “I'm feeling better. Thanks for waiting. You can join the others.”

“I'll walk with you,” he said, surprising me. He stood up, offered his hand and, after a second, I took it.

It was a good hand, callused and warm and strong, what you'd expect from a man who made animals better. A current of electricity ran up my arm and straight to my groin, and it took me a moment to realize that Ian had let go, though my hand was still extended. Blushing yet again, I put said hand to use, grabbed Bowie's leash and started down the path.

“This is a beautiful spot,” Ian said.

“You should come back,” I said. “Think that view's pretty now, wait about six weeks.”

We walked along in companionable silence, my stomach still somewhat sore but without the lancing pain of earlier. Bowie sniffed and tugged until I decided to let him off the leash, so he could bound ahead.

“Nice dog,” Ian said.

“Thanks. How's Angie? She's not a hiker?”

“I didn't realize dogs were allowed,” he said. “But she's fine. Thank you.”

I swatted at a few mosquitoes, which were attracted to my sweat, as I was clad in plastic. Something BTR's research and development might want to work on. I glanced at Ian, who looked as cool as if we were in Siberia. Those Arctic eyes were just about the same color as the sky today. Ian was tall, too, about six-two, and I had a sudden urge to see him without his shirt. Bet it was nice under that shirt. Bet he looked pretty damn—

“So. Your boss. Mark,” Ian said, interrupting my lustful thoughts. “That was the guy you were crying over in the DMV?”

My jaw clenched. My stomach, too, resulting in another gurgle. “Yes,” I said tightly. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. It was a memorable day, that's all.”

“Indeed,” I muttered. He didn't say anything else. A
mockingbird trilled above us. My stomach twinged as if answering, but no sounds emerged, thankfully. “Do you have any siblings, Ian?” I asked after a few minutes of silence.

He glanced at me as if assessing my ulterior motive in such a devious and personal question. “Um…yes. I do. Alejandro.”

“Ooh, I love that name! Wasn't Zorro's name Alejandro?”

“I don't know.” His mouth pulled up one side.

“Alejandro McFarland. I wouldn't put those two names together.”

“We have different fathers. His last name is Cabrera.”

“Better,” I said. “Is he gorgeous? He sounds gorgeous.” I was rewarded by a quick smile, complete with attractive laugh lines fanning out from his rather shockingly lovely eyes. Pleased, I blushed a little and looked away.

“Callie,” Ian said, “when you mentioned doing some PR for me, how would that work?”

Well, knock me over with a feather! “Is business down?”

“A little,” he said, not looking at me. “What did you have in mind when you came into the office that day?”

I had nothing in mind, Ian, as I was, in fact, checking you out.
“Um, well…basically, we'd make you seem really…approachable.” He didn't say anything. “I'm sure you've heard people tell you over and over again how great and sweet and wonderful Dr. Kumar is, which is all absolute fact. So, of course, you're going to look a little, er, frosty compared to him. Don't worry. We'll make people like you.”

He gave me a veiled look. “By which you've just implied that people currently don't.”

“Oops.” I laughed. “No, no. Well, we'll make them like you more. Don't worry. That's a specialty of mine.”

He said nothing.

“See, we'd turn you—Ian, this standoffish guy who dislikes single women—into the human equivalent of a golden retriever. Warm, fuzzy, affectionate. The warm and fuzzy campaign. It'll be great!”

“I don't dislike single women, Callie,” he said coolly. “I just don't appreciate them wasting my time by pretending to have a sick animal.”

“Touché, Dr. McFarland,” I answered. “Not that I'm copping to anything, of course.”

“Nor do I want to pretend to be something I'm not,” he continued, his words clipped. “I'm a capable vet. That should be enough.”

“Right, Ian. But if business is slacking off, then you might just have to…market yourself differently. Not be different. Just try a little harder, because I'm guessing that while you're smart and know your vet stuff, maybe you're not so, um…relaxed with people.”