Not Even for Love(38)

Without Reeves.

Hot, prickly tears stung her eyes and she turned her head toward the lake, where the bright sunlight reflecting on the water would provide an excuse for her streaming eyes should anyone notice them. She couldn’t let Reeves know. Steeling herself against him would be difficult if not impossible, but she must do it. He couldn’t ever guess how she felt. In reminiscence, he could tell his buddies that she had been attractive, that she had been “easy,” but he would never be able to tell them that she had been a fool.

She jumped guiltily when Helmut spoke her name. “Are you finished?” he asked, indicating the now cold roll and chocolate.

“Y … yes. I guess I wasn’t very hungry.”

“Then let’s be off.” Helmut picked up the basket that one of the hotel’s staff had brought out to him and led them down the steep steps toward the waiting limousine.

“Jordan, you haven’t commented on Reeves’s costume. He looks like one of us natives, doesn’t he?” Helmut asked.

She looked at Reeves as if noticing him for the first time. “Yes, he does,” she said brightly.

Reeves grinned. “I went shopping yesterday and came away with these.” He indicated the lederhosen. “I only hope my knees don’t get cold.” His smile was so boyish that Jordan’s heart swelled and she forgot the resolution she had so recently made.

She looked down at the long, lean legs with their rock-hard muscles. His knees were sprinkled with dark, springy hair. She remembered kissing them on that rain-drenched night they had spent together. She had been kneeling beside him, leaning over. Her hair had swept across his thighs. He had caught the silky skein in his hand and told her how good it felt against his skin. Her cheek had rested on his thigh.

Unbearable heat bathed her body as she raised her eyes to Reeves’s face. He must have been remembering the same incident, for his eyes fairly smoldered with green fire. The hostility of that morning dissolved and they smiled at each other with recollection of a shared secret.

Then, as Reeves watched, the radiant glow in Jordan’s eyes dimmed. Her smile diminished to a sad grimace, then vanished altogether. She turned away quickly.

His camera case, her backpack, and the picnic basket were placed in the trunk of the car and they got into the back seat. Henri let them out at a convenient spot where there was a gradual grassy incline into the foothills. “It’s not too arduous,” Helmut said, smiling genially.

Indeed it wasn’t, even loaded down as they were with their cargo. Families with small children trooped up the hill, enjoying the Sunday outing. Sweethearts, more interested in each other than in vigorous exercise, strolled with arms around each other’s waists up the hill. A group of adolescent boys was playing with a soccer ball. One would kick it up the incline several yards. When it rolled back down, another would kick it, and so on. It looked like an exhausting effort and Helmut said as much.

They climbed, resting periodically, for about two hours until they reached a plateau at the timberline and decided that it was an ideal place to spread their lunch. Helmut had brought a blanket from the trunk of his car and now spread it out on the grass that was already losing some of its verdure due to the lateness of the season.

Jordan eased off her backpack and set it on the ground. Reeves deposited his camera case nearby after first taking out the Nikon. He plopped down on the blanket, but not in a relaxing posture. Instead he began snapping pictures of Jordan and Helmut with the mountain scenery in the background.

They rested for a while, chatting and teasing each other about their lack of physical prowess and stamina, before Jordan began unloading the picnic basket. She was swatting away two pairs of impatient hands that pilfered the dishes as soon as she uncovered them when two young men raced up toward them. They were both dressed in jogging shorts and tank tops. They were wearing hiking boots, which seemed incongruous to their runner’s garb.

One of them heaved a deep breath and asked Helmut in German, “Are you Mr. Eckherdt?”

Helmut sat up from his half-reclining position and answered affirmatively. The young man reached into the waistband of his shorts and extracted an envelope that was now somewhat soggy with healthy perspiration.

At Helmut’s quizzical expression the young man rushed to explain. “Your chauffeur gave me this to bring to you. I’m a marathon runner in training. When he saw I was going to run up here, he asked me to find you and give you this message.” He looked toward his companion, who nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” Helmut said, and dug in the pocket of his pants. As he shook hands with the young men, he pressed a bank note into each of their palms.