“What sort of challenge?” Miranda asked, using a twig to roll one of the coals out onto the tinder bundle.
“You’ll see,” was all Dane said to them. “And you’re all competitive people, so I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Miranda didn’t say anything. Was she competitive? She didn’t really fit the mold of the average camper on this trip—she wasn’t looking to learn skills that would bring her ahead in the corporate world, or learn about teamwork. She was here…well, she was here to bag the trainer. She gave Dane a thoughtful look. He was ignoring her this morning. It seemed a little off, given the mind-blowing interlude from last night. Hell, she couldn’t stop thinking about it…or the fact that he’d turned her down flat afterward.
She’d known he was skittish but his rejection had still come as a surprise. More than that, it made her determined. She was not going to go home with her tail tucked between her legs, wondering what might have been. Taking his rejection as the final word on things. Dane hadn’t been trying to hurt her last night. She knew that; she wasn’t being silly or emotional about this week. He was protecting his ass. She just needed to convince him that a week with her was far more enticing than a week without her.
It was time to change up her game. Perhaps she wasn’t being competitive enough. She began to think, devising a new game plan.
The team hiked for a short time once camp was broken—Miranda falling to the rear again. She didn’t mind. Not being in the midst of things gave her time to think, and she had a lot of thinking to do. Pete was chatty but she wasn’t all that interested, and her responses to him were short and noncommittal. After a while, he got the picture and stopped talking.
They entered a particularly rocky area, with a shale cliff off to one side. On the other side, atop the cliff, she could see an ATV trail, and she heard the sound of an engine in the distance. A flash of blue caught her eye as they ascended the ridge and as she watched, the blue team emerged from the woods a short distance away, led by Colt Waggoner.
For some reason, she wasn’t enthused to see them. Seeing Colt reminded her of what Dane had thought—that they’d set her up to flirt with him. That she’d been some sort of grand test that he’d failed. She frowned in his direction. If they didn’t trust that Dane was on the straight and narrow, they were going to ruin her plans to ruin him. If anyone was going to destroy his life, she wanted to be the one to do it. Dane was going to be hers to make or break.
Strange how that thought left a bit of a sour taste in her mouth this morning.
She blamed it on the camping.
A purring engine revved and a bright red four-wheel ATV sped up the trail, dragging a wheeled cart behind it. A woman was perched on the ATV, her sunglasses masking her expression and her shoulder-length curls sprouting from underneath a cheerful, decal-covered helmet. Brenna the assistant, Miranda remembered, and disliked it even more when both Colt and Dane’s faces lit up at the sight of her. “Got your gear, boys,” Brenna called out. “One gun for each person on your team and a hundred rounds apiece.”
Guns? Rounds? This did not sound like a good idea.
Forgetting their team lineups, the groups splintered and gathered around the ATV as Dane and Colt began to dig through the equipment cart that Brenna had lugged up the trail. Sure enough, there was a stack of what looked like paint-splattered rifles in the back, along with some boxes.
“What’s all this?” one man asked before Miranda could.
“Paintball competition,” Colt said, his expression cold and unfriendly.
Brenna chimed in for Colt, casting beaming smiles at everyone. “That’s right. Today is paintball day. Doesn’t have much to do with survival, but everything to do with teamwork. And it sure is fun.”
“Greaaat,” Miranda said unenthusiastically. A bunch of men running around in the woods shooting at one another did not sound like her idea of a good time. She eyed the others on her team—clearly she was the only one with reservations. The others looked positively giddy at the thought. She took the helmet handed to her and gave it a wary look—it was a full face mask with goggles built into the faceplate. “Are we playing paintball or heading to a Star Wars convention? Because I call dibs on the Boba Fett costume.”
Pete laughed uproariously at her joke, but the others just stared at her. Well, so much for that. Miranda put the mask on to hide the blush on her cheeks, took the dark red jumpsuit they handed to her, and zipped it over her clothes. This was apparently so she wouldn’t get paint on her own clothing. Thoughtful. There were enough jumpsuits for both the red team and the blue team. Brenna also passed out protective cups for the men.
“Can I have two of those?” Miranda asked, and Brenna’s eyebrows shot up. Miranda patted her br**sts, and the other woman laughed, but didn’t hand her a pair. Oh well. She finished dressing as Colt read off the rules of the game. It was a capture the flag game. Each time a team’s flag was captured, they would score a point. The team with the most points at the end of the day would win the special campsite. The others would just have to go to whatever campsite was the reject campsite.
Clearly the reward was the game just as much as it was the campsite. At least, it was for everyone but her. Alone time with Dane was the true reward, as far as she was concerned.
As Brenna distributed gear and counted out bullets to the teams, Colt gestured that Dane should join him off to the side. Dane swore under his breath. Great. Colt wanted to have a chat, and Dane didn’t feel like talking. He knew what this chat was going to be about. How are you handling your team? Miranda giving you trouble?
At least, he hoped that was how the conversation would go.
He jogged over to the tree line and nodded at Colt. “How’s your team doing?”
Colt shrugged, his tall frame relaxed as he leaned up against a tree. “It’s doing.” He looked at Dane expectantly. “You?”
Dane shrugged and glanced back at his small group. They were crowded around the ATV, laughing and teasing one another as they were handed equipment. Miranda seemed to be in high spirits like the rest of them, but she kept glancing over at him, as if curious as to what he was doing. Damn. He hoped Colt didn’t notice her watching him. He turned back to Colt. “They’re all right. They’re learning. It’s not quite what I expected, but it’s not bad either.”
Colt crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles on his forearms flexing. With his lean build, ever-present dog tags, and high-and-tight haircut, he wore his U.S. Marine background like a badge of honor. It always made Dane slightly uneasy. He’d had a very different path than Colt to get where they were today. And while he tried very hard to rid his life of everything hockey, Colt still lived his life as if he were in the marines every day. He grunted now. “They’re soft.”
“They are civilians,” Dane said dryly. “If they were efficient killing machines, I doubt they’d need our class.”
Colt grunted again, scowling as he stared out at the team. The friendliest of instructors, he was not. He wondered how Colt’s team was faring with the monosyllabic trainer. He knew Colt well—he’d take a bullet for his brother—and the man knew survival like the back of his hand. Teaching and conversation, however, were not two of his strong points. Colt nodded at the teams gathered. “Yours are worse than mine.”
“I don’t doubt that,” he said with a half laugh. “I had one try to pass off a dead fish as his catch.”
Colt’s glare swiveled and turned to Dane.
He scowled at the ex-marine. “What?”
Colt’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you happy?”
Oh, here we go. The interrogation begins. “I’m not. Fuck off.”
“You just giggled.”
“Fuck you, bro. I did not giggle.”
Colt snorted. “Like a schoolgirl.”
Dane elbowed Colt, hard, and was rewarded with his grunt. “Not f**king giggling. I’m just enjoying myself.” When Colt still looked skeptical, he added, “I like being out here in the wild again. Reminds me of Alaska. Sometimes I miss Alaska. We didn’t have a care in the world up there, you know?”
It was a half lie. While he enjoyed being out in the wild, the reason he felt so relaxed and calm lately was largely due to Miranda. He liked being around her, liked seeing her smile. Liked feeling her h*ps rising under his. Liked that flushed, startled-with-pleasure look she got on her face when he licked her. But if Colt knew that, he’d kick Dane’s ass for f**king up their new business. Colt liked a rigid adherence to rules. He wouldn’t understand a deviation. So Dane watched and waited, hoping that Colt would shut up and go back to his team so he could go back to his.
But Colt only grunted. “Alaska was cold. Hated that. Made my dick shrivel.”
Dane grinned and clapped his friend on the back, then leaned in. “I don’t give a shit about your dick.”
Colt punched him, and Dane punched back, back to being friends and ribbing each other like nothing had ever changed.
The bullhorn clicked on and Brenna’s chirpy voice screeched over the trees. “If you two are done beating the crap out of each other, can we please play some paintball?”
Bags full of paintball ammo, bottled water, and PowerBars, as well as other miscellany she didn’t recognize, were handed out, and the teams shouldered their packs and readied to go into the woods. Through her lashes, she watched as Dane stripped his shirt off before putting on his jumpsuit. Watching his nak*d back gave her all kinds of ideas, and she smiled to herself as he zipped up and then turned to his team.
Oh, she had lots and lots of ideas suddenly.
The blue team set off into the woods as Brenna called instructions after them. “Stay on this side of the stream,” she warned. “Don’t rove out too far. You all have a fifteen-minute start before I sound the air horn that tells you to begin. No stealing ammo…and no nut shots!”
With that command ringing in their ears, the red team set off as well. George was elected the leader—despite his gray hair and a MFA in business administration, George was also a passionate paintball player in his spare time, so he’d been elected the team captain. Miranda had thought Dane would assume the position of leader, but he was happy enough to let the others take charge. Perhaps this was part of his training plan as well—letting others take the initiative.
Clever and subtle. She had to admit, she liked that in a man. Too bad it was Dane Croft who housed those qualities.
George led them over a few hills and through the trees. They ran across a hill—heavily treed and with a sandy ridge that was sloughing away due to erosion—that George declared to be the perfect spot to plant their flag. They did so, and then he began to direct orders. “All right—we need one person to stay at camp at all times to guard the flag. Miranda, that’s you.”
She snapped out of her musings and glared at George. “Why is it me?”
He looked as if he was going to comment that it was because she was female, and then thought better of it. “All right, Pete, you can stay at base this round. We’ll take turns. Plenty of time to score points. All we need to do is get to ten first.”