Close to You (17 page)

Allie spun the map until the arrow at the top was pointing in the same direction. “So we want to be heading northeast.” She jabbed at the left-hand peak. “If we're on top of this, our destination is over that hill.” She pointed at a hill that appeared to be a couple of kilometers away. “But if we're on this one”—she pointed at the peak on the right—“our destination is over
that one.” She pointed at a hill farther east, then leaned back on her heels. “No pressure.”

She handed him the map and stepped away, the closeness of his presence unnerving her.

“That one.” He pointed to the left.

“You sure?”

“Of course I'm not sure,” he snapped. “Give a guy a break. I'm a farm boy turned IT entrepreneur. I've never even held a compass in my entire life, let alone used one to navigate across a mountain range dressed in a flipping medieval costume.”

It was disconcerting how much more attractive he became when he had his grumpy face on. Brow furrowed, eyes flashing.

“Cool down, Slugger. Just like to know what I'm dealing with.” She unscrewed the bottle of water in her hand and took a slug. “Want some?” She offered the bottle to him. He took it and knocked back a few gulps.

Unzipping the backpack, she put it back inside. “We're going to need all our limbs free to get down from here.”

“Do you believe in God?”

“Huh?” Where did that come from? Allie looked up to see him gazing across their surroundings. “Yes. Though I can't say we're on the best terms at the moment.” What would a God who created something so vast, so great, want with her? Especially when she'd managed to stuff up her life so monumentally by disobeying Him. “You?” She couldn't say why his answer mattered, but suddenly, it did.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “My family are big believers. Me, not so much. But then you see something like this and it's kind of hard to believe it's a fluke. That we're all here, that this”—he waved his hands
around—“exists because of millions of years of pure dumb luck and complete randomness.”

Allie stood and looked, really looked, at the beauty surrounding them. On one side, the majestic Tasman Sea stretched as far as the eye could see, the kind of blue you saw in movies and tourist brochures reflecting back at them.

On the other side, rocky mountains, grassy meadows, deep-green forests, and long plains stretched down the South Island. It was pretty incredible. Very incredible.

“I know what you mean.” One of the things that had first drawn her to Tolkien was the way he weaved in such amazing themes of faith. Redemption. Hope. Good overcoming evil. Right from the beginning in
The Silmarillion
, where the story of the creation of Middle-earth was an incredible allegorical retelling of the Creation and Fall in Genesis.

For the first time she realized how much sense it made that when her own faith was so frail and fractured, even her beloved Tolkien felt distant. A shadow fell over her, though she was standing in sunlight.

“You okay?”

She hadn't been okay for a long time, but for some reason Jackson's presence made the ache that much bigger, wider. “We should get going.” She turned around, dodging the question. “Lead on.”

Jackson took one final look at the map and nodded toward his right. “This way.” Lifting up the map, he started to fold it, but then a big gust of wind ripped it out of his hands and sent it tumbling across the rocky ground.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

They both ran. Allie made a mighty leap to jump on it, but
her toe missed the edge by a millimeter as the wind picked it up and sent it flying into the air like a paper airplane.

Jackson leapt, his fingers scraping the side of the parchment, before it danced out of reach. And out, off the side of the mountain. They both stood, frozen, watching as it wafted away. Gusts of wind made it seem like angels were using it to play chase: it landed only to be picked up and blown again. Slowly, it disappeared into a tiny line far below.

“You have got to be joking.” Jackson spat the words out, the clipped sound of them suggesting he was restraining the words he really wanted to say. He looked at her. “Why are you smiling?”

Why was she smiling? And when had being lost in the middle of nowhere with this guy become the most fun she'd had in ages? “Because that one cannot be blamed on me.”

* * *

L
ost. They were bone-numbingly, exhaustedly lost. No GPS. No map. Just two people wearing
Lord of the Rings
costumes wandering in the wilderness.

Allie's face bore a long scratch from a branch that had flung itself at her, and Jackson was limping after rolling his ankle on some loose rocks. To say they made a sorry pair was an understatement.

They had been walking for hours and had learned the hard lesson that things were often much farther away than they appeared.

“They'll be looking for us by now, right?” Jackson checked his watch. Almost three. Way past lunch. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled.

Allie looked back over her shoulder. “There are some muesli bars in the pack. Have one.”

“I'm good.” He wanted to conserve whatever they had in case worse came to worst. He'd eaten a good breakfast and wasn't in danger of starving anytime soon.

A sense of futility swept over him. According to whatever measure his uncle would be judging him by today, he'd failed. Not only that, but they might actually be in real trouble if the gathering dark clouds above them turned nasty.

At least the walking was a bit easier at the moment as they traversed a ridge devoid of plant life. “We need to get higher—somewhere we can let off the emergency flares and be seen. They're all we have left.”

Allie looked at the sky and scrunched her nose. “I don't think those clouds are going to break soon, and we still have a good four hours of daylight left. I'm sure we can find our way before dark.”

Was she more nuts than a jar of Jif? “We have no idea where we are. We have no idea what direction we should be heading in. All another four hours is going to get us is even more lost.”

Not to mention there was no way he was taking the chance of them being stuck here overnight. He'd read that there weren't any really dangerous animals in New Zealand, but he preferred not to find out for sure.

Plus it got cold at night. And neither of them was dressed for that. Staying warm would require getting very cozy . . . On second thought, an overnight adventure was suddenly looking appealing . . .
Whoa.
He reined his thoughts back in.

Allie's top teeth worried her bottom lip. “I'm not going to be responsible for you having to quit because I'm a bad throw.”

How could this girl not think she was anything special? Her statement had been bothering him for hours. Though not nearly as much as the fact that he hadn't been able to find the words to explain how wrong she was.

“We wouldn't be in this situation if I was either a decent catch or could read a map and compass. Do we really want to keep going and take the chance they call in search and rescue for us, if they haven't already?”

She groaned. “Can you imagine? Oh my gosh, it would probably make the papers.”

“Why?”

She gestured at them. “Look at us. Two people lost in the bush, dressed as
Lord of the Rings
characters, with basically nothing to get us through the night. If search and rescue have to come find us, I'm so fired.”

He looked down at her. How was it possible that, with her hair all tangled from battling with scrub and her outfit streaked with mud and foliage, she was cuter than ever?

“You're not getting fired, because we're going to hike back up there and let the flares off.” He pointed back up the peak they'd just scrambled down.

“Come on, Jackson. Give us another hour. If we're still lost by then, we can climb that one.” She pointed to another hill in the distance.

“Allie.” He got right in her space to try and make her listen, attempting to ignore the way his senses lit up at being so close to her. “Whatever my uncle is judging me by doesn't matter. All that matters is getting you out of here safe.” Without his permission, his hand reached up and brushed a stray hair off her cheek. “I wouldn't be able to live with myself if we kept going
any longer and something happened to you.” She looked up at him from under long lashes, and the chemistry between them was undeniable.

Keeping his eyes locked on her wide green pools, he ran his hands down her arms and entwined his fingers in hers. Tugging her close, he leaned down and rested his forehead on hers. “Don't fight me on this, Allison Shire, because this is one fight I will win.”

Her body leaned into his for a second and the
thwack-thwack-thwack
of his heart pounding in his ears drowned ­everything around them out.

Allie jumped back, eyes springing wide open. “Do you hear that?”

Jackson jolted. “What? Hear what?”

“That!”

He heard it. What he'd thought was his runaway heart was in fact the sound of a chopper approaching. The one that now hovered above them, Kat waving at them from the front window.

If only he could tell them to go away.

Seventeen

“I
'
M COM
— A
RGH!
” A
LLIE TRIPPED
over her laptop cord and barely missed clocking herself on the bedside table as she tried to get to her phone before it went to voice mail.

She'd always had some klutzy tendencies, but since her day traipsing around the wilderness with Jackson, it was like what little coordination she did possess had gone on strike.

Walking into doors, pouring juice into her lap, dropping stuff—you name it, she'd probably done it.

She reached up from her prone position on the carpet, grabbed her phone off the bedside table, and answered the call without even looking at the screen. “Hello?”

Too late, she realized her mistake.
Please don't be Derek.
That was the last thing she needed when she was still trying to navigate her train-wrecked emotions.

“Hello. Is this Allison Shire of Southern Luxury Tours?”

“It is.”

“Ms. Shire, it's John Prescott here, from the Museum Hotel.”

“Oh, hi. What did one of them leave behind this time?”

An awkward silence, then a clearing of the throat. “Well, it's not so much what someone left behind, as what seems to be missing.”

She pressed her head back against the carpet. Of course it was. “Another robe? Just add it to the charge for the room and we'll sort it out.” It still surprised Allie that so many wealthy people seemed to have a thing for nicking hotel robes. It was why they had a standing order with all the hotels they stayed at to add any onto the bill.

“No, I'm happy to report all robes are accounted for.”

Allie pushed herself up off the floor and leaned against her bed. What now? So far the best she'd had was when a guest had stolen all the lightbulbs out of every room he'd stayed in. “Okay. Give it to me.”

“A lamp.”

Allie almost fell back over. “Excuse me?”

“One of the bedside lamps.”

It didn't beat the lightbulbs, but it was up there. Especially if her memory served her right. “But aren't they quite large?”

“They are.”

Well, she had to give a certain tweenager points for creativity. “Let me guess. Esther Johnson's room.” Allie didn't even want to know what other ill-gotten souvenirs she might have stashed in her bright-pink suitcase.

A hint of a smothered laugh came down the line. “Correct. I realize this is a little awkward, but we'd quite like it back if possible.”

Allie sighed. Given what hotels charged for pre-loved robes, she didn't even want to think about what a designer lamp would be billed at. “I understand. I'll take care of it.”

They closed their conversation and Allie added
find stolen lamp and courier back to Wellington
to her mental to-do list.

She'd just gotten to her feet and put her phone back on the table when it rang again. There was more? “Yes.” The one word came out exasperated. Harassed.

“Hello. Is this Dr. Allison Shire?” The accent was English. Male. Proper. Older. Her posture suddenly got better without her even thinking about it.

“This is she.”

“Dr. Shire, it's Dr. Everett here. You may not remember me, but I was one of your thesis markers.”

No, it couldn't be. “As in Dr. Lance Everett?” Not remember him? How could she not remember the man many considered to be the world's foremost Tolkien expert?

He chuckled. “That would be me. I'm not sure if you're aware, but I've recently become head of the English faculty at Oxford.”

“No sir, I wasn't.” The man was a legend. She had attended a multipart lecture by him once where he'd recited the entire
The Hobbit
verbatim; there was nothing the man didn't know about Tolkien and his works.

She pulled her phone away and looked at the screen to see if she was being pranked by one of the few people who knew her well enough to come up with such a joke. An international number flashed up at her.

She cleared her throat. “How can I help?” Not the smoothest of responses, but better than what could've fallen from her mouth:
Do you know who you're calling? Are you sure you've got the right number?

“Well, I'm hoping you might be able to assist me.”

Huh?

“I have an opening in my department for a full-time ­English-literature lecturer in the next academic year with a strong focus on Tolkien. Our usual lecturer is going on maternity leave in September, and I need someone who can take two or three courses. The university hasn't been able to keep up with demand since the first
Rings
movie came out. We thought it would abate after the last
Hobbit
movie but it just hasn't let up. Anyway, I was going through some CVs that the department kept on file from previous job applications, and yours was in there.”

Allie was momentarily struck dumb. She'd applied for a job that was way out of her league over a year before. Having never heard anything back, she'd assumed it was the Oxford version of laughing at her stupidity for even trying. Just like with the twenty-seven other lecturing jobs she'd applied for all over the world and not gotten. Academia was a very small world. “I see.”

“Yes. Your credentials are excellent and your thesis was first-class. I contacted Auckland University and the department was kind enough to give me access to some of your lectures online. They were excellent, so I was just calling to give you the details in case you would like to consider applying?”

Her breath had stalled. “For a job? Lecturing at Oxford?”

“If you are the successful candidate, yes. I need to be clear though. It will be a fully competitive process. I'm just selfishly making sure we have the best possible pool of candidates to select from. It would be a twelve-month contract initially, starting late September. No guarantees of anything beyond that.”

She struggled to formulate a coherent thought over the
sound of her brain turning to white noise. “You know I haven't been in academia for a couple of years?”

“Yes. I understand you've been getting some real-world Tolkien experience, which I think is most advantageous. Too many lecturers have never left our hallowed halls and experienced life from the great outside. Obviously, if you did apply and were selected for an interview, the panel would have some questions about your sabbatical.”

That was an overly generous way of describing it. “Okay.” She hadn't been in a lecture hall since the day it had been strongly suggested she take some unpaid leave until the Derek situation blew over. Apparently one of your lecturers being publicly accused of bigamy wasn't the kind of attention the university was interested in. It hadn't exactly helped that her lecturing skills had also fallen apart after her husband's other wife told her in front of two hundred students they were married to the same man. Fighting a panic attack every time you stepped into the lecture hall did not exactly help your teaching ability.

“So would you be interested in the role?”

Would she be interested? In going back to the country where she'd gotten her PhD? In getting to work in academia again? In never having to lead another tour? In finally having direction with what to do with her life? Um, yes. Then she heard the words, “Can I get back to you?” coming out of her mouth.

“Of course. I realize this was unexpected. However, we will be acting with reasonable haste on this. Applications will be closing end of next week. You can find the details on our website. Feel free to contact me if you have any further questions.”

“Of course, I understand. Thank you.”

He reeled off his e-mail address and phone number, which she managed to jot down before he closed with a cheery “Good day, Dr. Shire. I look forward to hearing from you.”

She tossed her phone onto her bed in a daze.

“Can I get back to you?”
Two years ago, this would have been a dream come true. More than. It would have been the dream she didn't even dare to dream coming true. So why hadn't a resounding
yes
come out of her mouth?

A possible escape hatch had opened up right in front of her. An answer to all the prayers she hadn't had the audacity to even think. Why on earth would she be hesitating to walk through it?

* * *

“W
hat's going on?” Jackson nudged Allie with his elbow as they stood in line to order coffees for the group, who were all happily situated at a large table in the bustling café.

In a couple of hours they would be relocating to Christchurch. Even he'd heard of the largest city in the South Island after watching the news about a devastating earthquake in 2011 that had killed and injured hundreds of people. It was also the second-to-last stop on the tour. He couldn't believe it had only been two weeks since the day Allie had marched into his life in her ugly hobbit outfit. Nothing in him could grasp that, in less than a week, their paths wouldn't have any reason to cross again. Ever. Unless he created one.

Allie gave no sign she'd heard his question. Maybe it had been drowned out by the loud coffee machine and staff yelling orders. He tried again. “Is everything okay?”

The girl had been operating like a zombie all morning and
this was the first chance he'd had to find out what had happened.

“What do you mean?” She barely glanced at him, her glazed eyes flickering for a split second before she faced the back of the person in front of them again.

“I mean, you may be present in body, but you are most definitely not in spirit. What gives?”

The line inched forward and Jackson craned his neck, trying to see what was taking so long. The girl at the till ran her fingers through her hair, looking flustered as she jabbed at buttons.

Good, the longer this took, the longer he had Allie to himself. He turned his attention back to the cute redhead at his side.

A breath puffed out of Allie's parted lips. “I had a phone call this morning. A job opportunity. I think. Sort of.”

Jackson tried to pretend his heart hadn't changed rhythm at her words. “Cool. Where?”

“Oxford.”

He racked his brain. The name sounded familiar and his knowledge of New Zealand geography had progressed markedly in the last couple of weeks. “That's down south, right? Near Christchurch?”

That got a reaction from her. Even if it was a frosty glare that could have frozen fire. “Oxford University.”

His mind struggled to process what she was saying. “As in
the
Oxford? In England?”

“Yup.”

He tried to frame his next question in a way that wouldn't be offensive. “So um, how did your name come up?”

She rubbed her forehead. “I applied for a job there a while ago. He said they'd kept my application on file.”

It was in moments like this he realized how far his feelings for her ran ahead of what he actually knew about her.

“Hold on. Where did you do your doctorate?” The line suddenly leapt forward. They were next up to order. Seriously? It had picked right now to get moving?

“Cambridge.”

“As in
the
Cambridge?”

She looked at him. “Yes,
the
Cambridge. Also in England. On a full scholarship for what it's worth. Where did you think I got it from? Bought it off the Internet?”

His mouth opened but nothing came out. From the heat rising from his neck, he was pretty sure he was turning as red as a traffic light.

She looked at him with incredulity. “Seriously?”

“Um, to be fair, the first time we met it was at the airport and you were in a hobbit outfit holding a sign with my name on it. That doesn't exactly scream doctorate from one of the world's most prestigious universities.” Too late he realized how bad that sounded. “I mean, you must be the only tour guide in the world with . . .” He trailed off, realizing he was digging his verbal pit of doom even bigger.
Stop now, Jackson.

She looked at him. “So you think tour guides must be dumb?”

He held his hands up. “Never said that.”

Her face contorted. “Yeah, well, I may be
just
a tour guide, but at least I'm not trying to leech money off an old man under false pretenses because of poor taste in girlfriends.”

Ouch.
Her accusation hit him with the sting of a scorpion's tail. “Tell me how you really feel, why don't you, Allie?”

Her eyes widened, her face looking about as stricken as he felt. “I—”

“Hi, what can I get you?” The person in front of them had gone and the girl at the register was smiling at them. Then she seemed to realize she'd found herself in the middle of something and looked down and started straightening up the jars of cookies lining the counter.

He couldn't believe only a few seconds ago he had been trying to work out how he could pursue whatever it was between them. “You know what, I think I need some air. I'll get Hans to help you with the coffee.”

He turned around and walked away, heart thudding against his rib cage, fists clenched by his sides. What did he care what she thought anyway? How could he have been so stupid again? Let a woman in and she turned around and smacked him in the face with his vulnerability. Never again.