Reconsidering Riley (15 page)

Or maybe that was just Jayne. She couldn't
walk another step. Her feet seemed to think she'd taken them
dancing in stilettos a size too small. Her improvised hiking
ensemble stuck to her sweaty skin in more places than she cared to
consider. And she could positively
feel
the sunshine baking
down on her head, destroying the delicate balance of her blonde
highlights.

When she returned to the salon for triage,
Henri would probably think she'd been seeing another (incompetent)
stylist behind his back. He'd sure as heck never believe Jayne had
actually been
hiking
. She'd be branded a two-timer,
relegated to the unfaithful client hall of shame, given the wobbly
chair for appointments. This stupid outdoor adventure stuff would
be the cause of her first case of salon performance anxiety.

Determinedly, she dug out a cute baby blue
bucket hat from her pack and plunked it on her head. At least she
wouldn't go down without a fight.

Riley's shadow fell over her. She glanced up
from beneath her hat brim to see him offering her a drink of water.
Wearily, she accepted the pop-top bottle with thanks, trying not to
let their hands touch. She didn't succeed. Boy, was his skin warm.
And a little golden, too—the color self-tanner was meant to
replicate. Also, his forearms were very nicely muscled, with just a
hint of—

"Tired?" he asked.

Yipes
. Ending her reverie beneath his
all-too-knowing gaze, Jayne raised her chin.

"I just need a little break, that's all."
Because really, even while power shopping she stopped for the
occasional strawberry smoothie or sushi snack. Everyone knew better
than to simply march, grueling-journey style, from Nordstrom to
Macy's. "How about you?"

"Fine." He watched as she sipped from the
bottle. Then nodded toward her feet. "Shoes holding up okay?"

"Sure. It's my non-adjustable feet that are
the problem."

He frowned and hunkered down. Before she
realized what he was up to, Riley caught hold of her foot and
gently cradled it on the hard plane of his thigh. He bent lower,
examining the fit of her unflattering brown ATSes: all-terrain
shoes.

Insanely, Jayne immediately wished she were
wearing something seductive on her feet. Red T-straps. Toe-cleavage
pumps. Even a pair of plastic-daisy-decorated thongs. All the
better to impress the love 'em and leave 'em hunk staring at her
brown-shrouded tootsies. But that was ridiculous.

None of the sexy shoes she'd wished for
would even coordinate with baby blue wind pants.

Riley rubbed his thumb over her shoe's toe
box. "Does it hurt when I do this?"

"No, it tickles."

His mouth curved into a smile. A wonderful,
manly, aren't-you-adorable smile. But he went on examining the fit
of her shoes with an air of expertise, and his next words were
serious.

"Did you break in these shoes, like you were
supposed to?"

"Yes!" She had. Back home, she'd worn them
to Union Square and the Embarcadero several times. There was
nothing like window-shopping in a pair of ATSes while munching a
Powerbar to make a girl feel terrifically fit. "They've been fine
until now. Really."

"You probably have a pebble stuck in there."
Riley eased her foot onto the ground again and straightened. "You
might try undressing from head to toe until you find it."

"But it's only my shoe that's the
problem."

"Hey, it was worth a try." He winked, then
headed across the gully to welcome Mack, Doris, and Donna, who'd
just joined Bruce and Lance and Mitzi and Carla.

Shaking her head—and smiling despite
herself—Jayne watched Riley talk with the other adventure
travelers. There was something about him that captured her
imagination. There always had been. Maybe it was the knowledge that
he saw more exotic locales in a single month than most people did
in a lifetime. Or the realization that he could probably MacGuyver
his way out of the middle of nowhere with nothing more than a Swiss
Army knife and a postage stamp.

Possibly, it was the good-natured way Riley
accepted all his vagabond's adventures as though they were nothing
more than ho-hum ordinary life to him. Or the patient way he'd been
teaching her breakup-ees to sample that adventurous life
themselves. Whatever it was, the fascination she'd felt upon
meeting him was gradually stealing over her, all over again. Jayne
wasn't sure how to combat it.

Waitaminute
. Yes, she was! Back at
the lodge, she had the
Heartbreak 101
book to prove it.
Sure, at the moment her best seller was stashed beside her
forbidden battery-powered blowdryer, her plastic travel-ready
champagne glasses, her baby blue faux-mink mini pillow, her real
wardrobe, and the latest issue of
Vogue
.
But the
knowledge
that had enabled her to write that book
was here, in her head. Jayne was fully prepared to use it.

She lunged to her feet. "Time for the first
workshop, everyone!" she cried. Then, more quietly, "Ouch. I forgot
to check for that pebble."

Riley crossed his arms and leaned against
the Humvee-sized boulder at his back. Beside him, Bruce and Lance
did the same. Red-haired Mack only stared at the women just beyond
them, a quizzical look on his face.

"What do you s'pose they're doing?" Bruce
asked.

"Don't know." Riley shook his head. "This
do-it-yourself psychobabble stuff is all new to me. All I know is,
we're supposed to stop twice a day to let Jayne work her
anti-heartbreak voodoo."

Gathered in a circle amid the desert
landscape, Jayne's guidance groupies watched her expectantly. Each
women held something small and round in her hand, something printed
in a leopard pattern. While the men watched, Jayne smiled at the
group.

"Ready?" she asked.

They nodded, raising the things in their
hands with a practiced, synchronized gesture.

"Okay...primp!"

Suddenly, powder puffs were wielded.
Glittery, fluffy, and pink powders wafted in the air like a
sweet-smelling cloud. Then lipsticks came out. Mouths puckered.
Shades of red and tawny pink gleamed beneath the sunlight. Minutes
later, as quickly as it had begun, the confusing ritual ended.

"If you look good, you feel good!" the women
shouted in unison. They levered upward, high-fived each other, then
sat down in their circle again, all smiles.

The men gawked at them. Then at each other.
Their open-mouthed expressions said it all. There were no words to
describe the weirdness of this.

Lance was just young and cocky enough to try
anyway. "That's whack," he said, and schlumped off to play the Game
Boy he'd insisted on packing in.

"So
that's
what they do when they
disappear into the ladies' room together!" Bruce said. "Whoa. Who
knew?"

"Synchronized makeup." Mack smiled, turning
up his palms. "Cool! I guess you learn something new every
day."

Riley felt less sanguine. He'd been watching
carefully. If this was an example of Jayne's anti-heartbreak
techniques, they were even more incomprehensible than he'd thought.
They were downright perplexing. But on the other hand...they
couldn't possibly work, either. He felt his shoulders relax.

"First up," Jayne announced, "Reverse Romeo
Reflexology!"

Huh? He shook his head, in case he hadn't
heard correctly. And then, just when Riley thought things couldn't
get any more bizarre...

"Wait!" someone cried. The sound of heavy
footfalls came from the creosote-bordered trail beyond their
rendezvous point. There was a flash of bright-colored trail
clothes, the glare of sunshine off purple braces, and then, "I want
to try this one, too!"

Alexis burst over the gully in a scramble of
teenaged arms and legs. Panting, she slung her pack to the ground.
She grinned, hands on scrawny hips. Everyone stared at her.

Including Riley. "Alexis! What are you doing
here?"

"Trying a heartbreak recovery workshop,
looks like." She grinned at her uncle, confident in her certainty
that now, two miles away from the Hideaway Lodge, he wouldn't send
her back. "Did I miss anything?"

She stepped into the circle of women, waving
and greeting them. They made room for her to sit.

"You missed the turn back home," Riley said,
striding forward. "You can't come on this trip. Your gramps and
nana will be worried about you."

"I left 'em a note."

"Your mother will be worried about you."

"Puh-leeze." She rolled her eyes. "Nana can
prop up the phone on a pillow at noon, then hang it up five minutes
later. My mom will never know the difference."

Riley feared Alexis was right. Sadly.
Still... "You don't
need
a heartbreak cure."

A thirteen-year-old's world-weary sigh was
like none other. "And with attitudes like
that
around me,
I'll never get one, either."

Huh?
Riley frowned. He glanced at
Jayne, wondering what she thought of all this. A feminine
perspective might be just what he needed.

She gazed thoughtfully at his niece, her
head tilted sideways.
Uh-oh
. Riley recognized that look. It
was the Lost Puppy Look. The same look Jayne had gotten on her face
the day the two of them had discovered a scrawny, shivering,
soaking wet mutt abandoned on the beach near the Cliff House. And
although this time Jayne was unlikely to wrap Alexis in her sweater
and carry her on her lap all the way home for a bath and some puppy
chow...well, she obviously meant to help, all the same.

Jayne was generous to a fault. He'd almost
forgotten that about her. The only thing that could whisk her out
of her social swirl was someone who needed her—a friend, a hurt
kitten, a homeless saxophone player. She was perfectly willing to
help anyone out of a tight squeeze, whether that meant giving up
her time, surrendering her fur-free sofa, or tossing her last
dollar bill into a hat on the street corner.

Sure, sometimes she offered the saxophone
player a spritz of CK One to erase the
parfum du boulevard
.
And she grilled the prospective kitten adopters pretty hard. But
all in all, Jayne was a real sucker for a hard-luck case. Alexis's
dilemma looked like no exception.

"Sure, you can have a heartbreak cure if you
want one," Jayne told the girl, offering a reassuring smile. From
the depths of her pack, she retrieved a spare leopard-print compact
and handed it to Alexis. "Welcome to the group."

His niece accepted the compact solemnly. Her
eyes shined as she ran her fingers over its glossy surface.
Uncertainly, she glanced sideways at the group's guru.

Jayne nodded. "Go ahead. It's yours
now."

Alexis breathed out. With trembling fingers,
she worked the catch of the compact as the other women watched.

Riley watched, too, feeling out of his
depth. They were speaking some language he didn't understand—a
language made up of feminine gestures, coded compacts, and makeup
as relationship WD40. He was about to protest, to tell Alexis she
had to go back to the lodge right after the workshop anyway, when
his niece opened her new compact...and slowly smiled at herself in
the mirror.

He stilled. He could just glimpse Alexis's
reflection from where he stood, and it looked beautiful. Gawky and
self-conscious and painfully yearning...but beautiful. Riley didn't
have the heart to end what had so tentatively begun.

He cleared his throat. "You're carrying your
own pack," he told her gruffly. "Setting up your own tent, too. I
know you know how."

She glanced upward. The gratitude in her
eyes made him a hero. "Thanks, Uncle Riley. I
knew
you'd
understand."

Riley couldn't take any more. He waved his
arm in a curt gesture. "Bruce, Mack, you're in charge. I'm off to
check conditions up ahead."

Then he headed for the trail, leaving
everyone—temporarily—behind him.

When Riley returned, the rocky clearing was
pretty much as he'd left it. The gully still twisted through the
scrub brush awaiting a good hard rain. The boulders still baked
beneath the increasingly warm sunshine. But the unexpected scent
of... eucalyptus?...hung in the air. And the sight that greeted
him...the antics of his adventure travel group...well, something
bizarre was going on, that was for sure.

The women reclined on various flat-topped
boulders, their packs filling in for pillows. They'd abandoned
their hiking boots and all-terrain shoes; the footwear stood to the
side like a row of patient brown beagles. Regulation poly-blend
socks dangled from their foot-less uppers like lolling tongues.

Nearest to Riley, Carla sat cross-legged.
She grabbed hold of her foot and eased it into what had to be an
advanced yoga position, then began massaging it. "I no longer want
Paolo," she chanted. "I am free of cravings for Paolo."

"Marty is history," Doris said beside her,
looking as though she were concentrating fiercely. Her sister
Donna's foot was propped on her knee. She massaged its sole with
brisk efficiency. "We no longer need a handyman."

"
Never
needed a handyman," Donna
contradicted. "Ouch! Not so hard, Doris!"

Shaking his head, Riley continued further
into their temporary camp. Near the original "primping" circle,
Jayne sat demonstrating what had to be the Reverse Romeo
Reflexology technique to Alexis. Both of them were barefoot,
slathered from the ankles down in the lotion that must have been
the source of the Vick's Vapor Rub smell lingering in the air. They
waved sticky fingers as he passed.

Had he stepped into the Twilight Zone? A
place where foot rubs passed for anti-heartbreak techniques, and
nieces got away with whatever the hell they felt like, just because
their uncles were too mush-hearted to turn them down? Frowning
slightly, Riley headed for the Humvee-sized boulder that had been
the Man Zone this morning. Maybe if he found Mack and Bruce and
Lance it would restore some normalcy to this moment. They could
talk about football. Doritos. Big screen TVs.