“C’mon, Gillian,” Tucker chided. “You never really fail at something until you’re dead.”
“There’s something else Celeste would say,” Caroline observed.
Maisy shook her head. “Actually, that sounds more like Angelica to me.”
Gillian scowled at Tucker.
He encouraged her with a steady, confident look. “You can do it.”
Around her, three other students got their fires. She exhaled a heavy sigh and picked up her bow, twisted the spindle into position, and went back to work, moving her arm in a sawing motion.
“Atta girl,” Tucker said before turning to help first the lawyer, and then the car dealer. Afterward, he returned his attention to Gillian. He hunkered down beside her. “Keep a straight back and bowing arm. Keep that bow flat and level. Like this.” He reached out and adjusted her tools. “Remember to use the whole bowstring. Speed isn’t as important. Slow and steady.”
“My arm is going to fall off,” Gillian complained. “My knee is killing me.
She pouted like a schoolgirl. He wanted to nip at that bottom lip of hers. “Apply more and more weight on the handhold, Gillian. Keep your back straight. Arm up.”
“I am.”
He moved behind her, reached around her, and repositioned her bow. He placed his left hand atop hers on the handhold, his right hand over hers on the bow and demonstrated the proper pressure, the slow and steady pace. He smelled the spicy scent of her perfume, and the silky texture of her hair brushed his cheek. Fire flared inside him.
“I see smoke,” Maisy cried excitedly.
He hoped she was looking at Gillian’s fireboard and not his crotch.
Torture. This was pure torture. With a note of hoarseness in his voice, Tucker said, “You see the black dust that’s formed in your notch since you’ve been bowing? You’re making progress.”
He released her and backed away. “If it keeps smoking, you may have a coal.”
“I won’t be able to lift my arm for a week.”
“But you’ll be warm.” Tucker watched the thin wisp of smoke rise from the notch in her fireboard. “Okay, Glory. I think you have your coal.”
“I do?”
“Think so. Set your bow drill aside and fan it with your hand.” As she followed his instructions, he added, “There you go. See how it holds together in a clump? That’s your coal. Now, gently transfer it to your tinder. Hold it up and blow gently. Gently. See, it’s glowing red. Keep blowing, Glory. Long, sustained gentle breaths. There you go. There you go.”
The tinder in her hands burst into flame. “I did it!” she exclaimed. “Look, I have fire! It’s gonna burn my hands!”
“No, it won’t. Gently add it to your fire lay.” When she did so, he added, “Now, kneel over and blow. Not from the top. Keep it low. There you go.”
She was down on both knees with her chest on the ground and her round ass in the air. Tucker had to jerk his gaze off that sweet temptation when she looked up at him, her blue eyes glittering with pleasure. “Thank you. I didn’t think I could do it.”
“My pleasure. I knew you’d do it.” Smoke comes naturally to you.
* * *
Gillian survived Survival 101. Just barely, and only because Tucker’s was one of the few wilderness schools around that didn’t require overnight camping, and she had reserved a room at the Fallen Angel Inn and taken advantage of their hot tub.
That night, she’d dreamed of a jungle and Tucker playing Tarzan to her Jane.
Sunday afternoon, she’d trudged toward the car at the end of the day with her thoughts a whirlwind. She was exhausted, yearned for a bath and her bed, but at the same time, she dreaded returning to Redemption and reality.
She needed to put her disturbing Tarzan dreams aside and deal with Jeremy being back in town.
At home, soaking in a tub of hot water and nursing a glass of wine, she reflected on the thought that had occurred to her first on Saturday. Maybe she should attempt to adapt Tucker’s lessons to coexisting with her ex in a small town. He’d used the acronym S.U.R.V.I.V.A.L. at the end of class today. It might do her good to adapt it to her situation.
“S,” she said aloud. “Size up the situation.” Well, she’d been doing that ever since the breakup. Nothing new to size there.
U was: Use all your senses. Guess she could try to be aware whenever she was out and about in town so he didn’t take her by surprise, and she ended up back in another bathroom. She could look for him, listen for him; she knew his scent. Be hanged if she’d taste him or touch him, though.
R: Remember where you are. That was easy and paired with U. Out in public in Redemption, she’d need to be sniffing, seeing, and listening.
V: Vanquish your fears. Now, that one was more of a challenge. She had to recognize and acknowledge her fears to vanquish them, and she hadn’t managed to do that. Her gaze shifted to her glass. Maisy would say that was what wine is for. Gillian lifted her glass and took another sip.
I was for Improvise. She frowned, unable to relate it to her situation, so she skipped to the second V for Value living. According to Tucker, that meant focusing on at least one of your reasons for living and not giving up. That was easy to do in a survival situation, but in a relationship one? She’d have to think about it.
Next, A: Act like a native. Tucker’s theory there was that natives were best of the best, that the fittest—us—had survived. That the very fact we walked the earth instead of our line having died out meant we had the right stuff to survive. “Another one that needs thinking about,” she muttered before taking another sip of wine.
That brought her to L: Live by your wits, which Tucker had said meant feeding inspiration and thinking outside the box. Gillian thought he’d gone a little Zen by the time he got to the second part of the acronym, and she came up dry on L too. So that left her with S.U.R.
“Batting less than .500,” she muttered in a glum tone before lifting her feet and allowing herself to slide down the tub and sink beneath the surface of the bathwater.
Just as the water closed over her head, she heard the echo of Tucker’s voice in her mind, clear as a bell. You’ve never really failed at something until you’re dead. On its heels came her mother’s voice. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.
Hmm. Maybe S.U.R.V.I.V.A.L. wouldn’t help her with Jeremy, but perhaps the life lesson here was to climb back on the proverbial bicycle and give another relationship a go. It was something to think about.
She levered up from the water and reached for her shampoo and remembered Tucker’s kiss in the cave. She wasn’t ready. She still wasn’t ready.
But maybe she would be ready someday. Maybe if she could figure out the rest of the word, the V.I.V.A.L. part of S.U.R.V.I.V.A.L., she could move on.
She finished shampooing, conditioned, rinsed, and climbed from the tub. Twenty minutes later, with her hair dry and wearing her Next Chapter Bookstore sleep shirt, she climbed into bed and patted her mattress. Peaches accepted the invitation and jumped up onto the bed. Meeting her puppy’s loving gaze, Gillian spoke in a solemn tone. “One thing is for certain. The first step in my S.U.R.V.I.V.A.L., Peaches, is to not hide in the bathroom the next time I see my ex.”