He nodded against her hair, swallowing hard. “It’s a nice view.”
Her smiled intensified in agreement, then dropped. “And thinking that when I finally land a faculty post, I won’t be able to continue on as the lead investigator at panther shaman. I’ll definitely miss it.”
Silence expanded for a moment. She felt his chest inflate against her ear.
“Yeah, I—” he murmured, about to say something further but stopping himself as if he’d rethought it. “When my brothers and I were boys, my momma used to sit up on the porch and sing to us or tell us stories about that mountain.” A chuckle raked his throat. “Been hiking up it more times than I can count. Trav lost his virginity up top there after his senior prom, and when Momma found out…man.” He shook his head and whistled a decrescendo. “One of the few times I’ve seen her spittin’ mad…”
His voice was laced with wistfulness, and Rose pulled her head back to gaze up at him, taking in the stark edge of his jaw against the moonlight as the music vibrated and his engine idled roughly, shadowed by darkness. His forehead was pleated with thought, drawing his brows together, though he didn’t add to the reminiscence.
“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat, pulling away. He turned toward the mountain to give it his full attention, jammed his hands into his pockets, and drew his brows together. “I guess maybe I shouldn’t talk about her, considering your mom…” The words trailed away on the air as if he thought he’d put his foot in his mouth.
“No, you definitely should,” Rose said, feeling a tug on her heart. Their connection, so close a moment ago, felt as if distance stretched between them now. What did he regret so much? There was more to it than just grieving his mother’s loss. There was sadness born of guilt, though why he felt guilty was none of her business. “I mean, have you ever talked about her with anyone?”
He answered her with a noncommittal shrug, then the corner of his mouth pulled up. He angled a sidelong look at her. His eyes twinkled with mischief, and though he didn’t regard her, he nudged her shoulder with his so she rocked off balance a step. She nudged him back this time, causing his gaze to come down onto her once more.
He glanced at her thoughtfully, when he was normally more confident, and brought the pad of his thumb up to swipe back an errant curl again.
“I best get back up to the house before your students eat me out of microwave popcorn.”
A laugh caught her off guard. “Funny, I’d forgotten about them for the moment.”
His cheek dimpled in a one-sided smile, and his thumb dropped. “Bad professor. Here, give me your phone.”
“What?” She furrowed her brow at the shift in topic.
“Give me your cell phone.”
She slipped her fingers into her pocket and pulled out the rectangle uncertainly. Did he want her number? Did she want to give it to him? She hadn’t given a man, other than a couple of friends, her number since Howie.
He took it from her, waking it up, and paused as he stared at her wallpaper, a photo of Sage hugging Peanut Butter. His eyes lifted to her again, unreadable energy shimmering in them.
“Put your password in so I can put my number in it,” he said.
Doing so, she handed it back to him with trembling fingers, and he opened her contacts, typing his name and number in. And did her eyes deceive her? Were his fingers trembling, too? Did he not give his number out to women?
He handed it back to her and swooped down to grab his hat and plunk it onto his head. He walked back to his Bronco without making eye contact, swiping his plaid off the hood and pulling open the door on a creak. He finally glanced back, though the brim of his hat marred his face in darkness.
“Cute kid. He lucked out… Looks like his momma.” He hoisted himself up and killed the music. “See you tomorrow, Morales.”
Thrusting the Beast into Reverse, he roared out of the campsite with his arm hanging out the window to feel the breeze. She stood alone in the darkness as his taillights receded, lost in her competing thoughts and stomach twisting with desire. She would see him tomorrow. She had a pot to evaluate. Part of her was nervous—things had shifted tonight in the way he’d danced her up, held her, and confided a sliver of himself in her. Part of her knew she wouldn’t sleep at all tonight, reliving this impromptu date in his headlights with the desert as their dance floor, wishing she hadn’t been too afraid to kiss him.
“You’ve got a lot more than a pot to think about, Rosalinda,” she muttered to herself, rubbing her bare arms as a shiver racked her frame.