“Yeah. Sure.” Lexi climbed out and got into the front seat.
Eric watched as the two men who’d harassed Victoria jumped into a rust red pickup truck. He didn’t want them doubling back with a firearm. When everyone else was settled, he climbed into the seat beside Victoria and buckled his seatbelt. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Hold on.” Taylor was writing something on a piece of paper. “I want to get their plate number and see which way they go so we know whether we’ve got a chance of running into them again down the road.”
“Good idea.” Eric reached over, took Victoria’s hand. “Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head, but Eric could see the red blotches on her arm where the bastard had grabbed her. They would become bruises.
Damn it.
Victoria looked over at him. “I’m really sorry.”
He massaged his hand over the red marks. “You didn’t do anything.”
Lexi turned to look back at Victoria. “It’s okay, Vic. No one blames you. It’s good you guys came along, because I was about to kick that creep in the shins.”
The rust red pickup truck pulled out of the parking lot, turned onto the highway, and sped away toward the junction with Highway 24.
Hell.
That’s the same direction they were headed.
As he started the engine, Taylor met Eric’s gaze in the rearview mirror, his unspoken message clear.
Keep your eyes open.
* * *
They madea quick trip to a nearby grocery store. Victoria stayed in the car, while Austin and Lexi went inside to pick up the things Victoria and Lexi had wanted to buy at the gas station. Then they set out for the campground, finding their way without getting lost or running into the bastards in the pickup again.
The site sat high above St. Elmo in a grove of old aspens, giving them an amazing view of Mt. Princeton and Mt. Antero. A little creek ran down a gully to the west, while the Arkansas River Valley stretched out to the east. A cool breeze blew in from the north, carrying the scent of distant rain.
While the women shaped beef into patties and Belcourt gathered wood for a fire, Eric and Taylor pitched four two-man tents—one for Lexi and Austin, one for Britta and Victoria, one for Winona, and one for Eric. Belcourt planned to hike off into the trees and sleep under the stars without a tent.
Eric pounded the last spike into the ground with a rubber mallet, his gaze moving to Victoria, who was slicing a tomato. “How did I end up by myself?”
“Moretti stayed home.”
Oh, yeah. “Poor Moretti.”
Eric didn’t blame him. He couldn’t imagine that he would feel much like rafting after a call like that. What a damned tragedy it had been.
“Are you going to be okay alone, or do you need a teddy bear?” Taylor grinned at his own stupid joke.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
Soon, burgers were cooking over the fire, the scent of sizzling beef making Eric’s mouth water. The job of grill master went to Winona, who had more experience cooking over a wood fire than the rest of them combined. It was a skill—one of many—she’d learned from her grandmother growing up on the reservation.
Victoria sat with the rest of them, following along with the conversation, laughing when everyone else laughed, but it didn’t take a degree in psychology to see that she was deeply upset by what had happened this afternoon. He could see it in the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes—and the way her gaze searched the periphery of their camp, as if making sure no one else was there.
Her reaction was more extreme than he’d expect from a woman who’d been randomly harassed by a stranger in a convenience store. Something that son of a bitch had said to her today had shaken her to her core.
Shit.
That fucker had believed he’d known who she was. He’d been so certain that he’d offered her money for sex on the spot. But there was no way Victoria had ever been a call girl. Yeah, she could be assertive and flirty, and she’d probably had sex with her share of guys. But a woman who didn’t want him to see her panties wasn’t the kind of woman who’d display and sell her body online.
They ate dinner at the picnic table and then gathered around the fire to make s’mores, the sweet scent of roasting marshmallows making the camping trip complete.