Lost in You by Lorelei James Page A

exactly were you expecting?”  
    “A nightly campfire with cowboy sing-alongs. Horseback riding through flower-filled meadows. A grumpy old man everyone affectionately called ‘Cookie’ scrounging up a kettle of baked beans. The only ones eating well on this trip are the mosquitoes.”  
    “Spare me the drama. This is backwoods hiking.”  
    “Well, I didn’t know that.”  
    “It was spelled out on the damn brochure. How did a woman like you end up here anyway?” A beat passed. His slow, knowing grin was worse than his disdain. “Aha. I get it now. Was this adventure your boyfriend’s idea?”  
    “ Ex -boyfriend,” she spit out.  
    His gaze lingered on her white silk tank top permanently discolored gray by sweat stains. “You seem better suited for a bed and breakfast in wine country.”  
    “Instead, I’ll spend another night sleeping on pinecones and deer poop with a man whose idea of conversation is grunting.”  
    When his eyes flashed, she backtracked. “When are we going to get back to civilization?”  
    “If we hurry, we can catch the group before they start the trail ride in the morning. If not. Who knows?” He uncapped his canteen, never breaking eye contact as he took a small sip. “None of this would’ve happened had you not drifted off from the main group. How did you get so lost in such a short period of time?”  
    She shrugged.  
    “What were you doing?”  
    “I was looking for—” Her mouth snapped shut. No way was she confessing that humiliating tidbit, even if it was a normal bodily function.  
    Even if bears regularly did it in the woods.  
    “For what? A Starbucks?” His disgusted gaze zeroed in on her red leather ankle boots. “Or perhaps a Saks? No wonder your feet hurt.”  
    Lacy thought she’d been limping pretty discreetly. “For your information, Captain Caveman, I ordered these boots from Eddie Bauer. The premier outfitter of all outdoor enthusiasts.” Not that you’d know , she added a mental raspberry. He probably fashioned his attire from the skins of animals he’d trapped. And killed. With his bare hands.  
    “Figures you’d have blisters, ordering from that useless yuppie store. And for the last time, my name isn’t Ranger Prick or any of the other creative monikers you’ve been muttering behind my back. It’s Becker.”  
    “Whatever.”  
    He unhooked the compass and studied it. “It says we’re going the right direction…” He squinted at the sun, the woods behind them and the sandstone cliffs rising on both sides of the canyon. He gave her a once over. “So why does it feel like every time I look at you that I’ve stumbled into a secret passageway to hell?”  
    “Back at you, Pecker .”  
    His mouth tightened. “Look, Lacy. Break is over. We need to get moving before the sun drops behind those cliffs.”  
    “Your compass tells you that? Let me see it.”  
    “Be careful. Not sure I can find the way out of here without it.”  
    Becker reluctantly handed the compass over.  
    Lacy studied the gadget for several minutes, as if it contained a map.  
    “What does it mean when—”  
    He sucked in a sharp breath. “Put down your hand. Slowly.”  
    “What now?” He wasn’t having a cow about her simply touching his precious compass, was he?  
    “Don’t move.”  
    “Move. Don’t move. Make up your mind. I am so sick of being bossed around. First, I got conned about this lousy trip, and now I’m stuck with you, Mr. He-man-woman-hater—”  
    “Shut-up,” Becker hissed. He inched sideways from the log, his movements deliberate and steady as he reached into his backpack to ease out a small shovel. “You can boss me all you want in a minute. Right now, don’t talk. Stay still.”  
    “What is it?” She slid her butt lower toward her blistered heels.  
    “I said. Do. Not. Move.”  
    Lacy froze at his serious tone and the concentration on his face. For once he wasn’t pretending to ignore her.