“Uh, thanks,” she managed a little sheepishly once she was stable again.
“Okay.” Mickey wondered how deep her reservoir of anger might be once tapped. He hoped that it had mostly run its course. “Let’s talk through how to attack this rapid.”
“I can’t even see it with all this whirling around.”
Mickey waited for the eddy to spin them to the right position, then he nudged her boat sharply forward. It slid smoothly ahead to bump lightly against the big rock that defined the downstream edge of the eddy and would offer the best view of the run. The motion had kicked his boat back-end-first past the eddy line and out into the river current. A couple of quick paddle strokes and he was able to join her.
Her scowl was back, but she didn’t explain why.
Mickey decided that ignoring it was the safest policy. He pointed his paddle at the rapids.
“Once we peel out across the eddy line here, you want to aim for the big downstream V. See the clear green water?”
At her tight nod, he continued quickly.
“That will shoot you past those two big rocks, but don’t worry, these rapids aren’t big enough for there to be any keeper holes.” He decided that his description of getting caught in one of those had been a poor choice of mid-trip stories. A keeper hole trapped kayaks, kayakers, and—if it killed them—their bodies in dangerous churning backflows that were almost impossible to escape. Rescues from keeper holes typically required a team with ropes or a river raft that was far bigger than the specific hole—the method his dad had used to save him the one time he’d thought he was strong enough to break out of one on his own.
“Thank God for small favors. But what about that?” Robin aimed her paddle at the little waterfall.
“The Tea Cup?”
“You’re calling the Mighty Furrow of Death and Destruction a Tea Cup?”
“Sure. See how it squeezes between the two big rocks? And then it dumps through in a smooth line as if you’re pouring tea?”
“And then it kills me.”
“Let me show you a trick.”
“Can I kill you afterwards?”
“Sure.”
“Okay then.”
“As you go off the Tea Cup—”
“Mighty Furrow of Death and Destruction,” she insisted. “MFDD.”
“—lean back and try to lift up the bow by kicking your legs upward. It’s mostly a hip move, and I know from experience you have really amazing control of your hips.” That got most of the smile he’d been looking for. “It’s called a Boof.”
“So you want me to Boof the Tea Cup before I kill you for leading me into the hungry maw of the Mighty Furrow of Death and Destruction?”
“Exactly!” He anticipated her swing this time, caught her arm, and used it to drag her against him. She melted into his kiss just like she did every time.
He forced himself to let go of her before he totally lost his head and ended up dunking them both. The water really was cold and hadn’t stopped slithering out of his hair and down his back.
“Follow right behind me and do what I do as exactly as you can. Once I’m through the drop, I’ll clear off to the side and wait for you at the bottom of the Tea Cup just in case you bungle the Boof. But you won’t. You’ve taken to this more naturally than anyone I’ve ever taught.”
* * *
And with one of his smarmy grins, he was off and Robin was digging in to stay in his wake. Ever so impressed with his own teaching abilities…yet he had somehow convinced her to follow him.
They “peeled out” across the eddy line and her gently whirling Pool of Everlasting Safety was lost behind her before she even had time to say good-bye to her imaginary grass hut or the sneering sheep who watched over it.
Paddle left, paddle right. Twist around the rock. Drop into the downstream V—which was like tipping a Firehawk into a steep dive. They accelerated so fast that it snapped her head back.
The MFDD zoomed into the foreground of her sight line.
She almost missed copying Mickey’s little sideways jog to line up in the center of it, and then he was gone, flying out into space flat and level, paddle raised over his head in both hands like a banner of triumph.
A sound broke briefly louder than the rushing waters. It might have been a Whoop! of delight. It might have been a scream of terror. She knew which hers would sound like as she went over.
Then he disappeared vertically out of sight, perhaps plunged forever into the murky depths of the crystal clear waters.
Deep breath, Robin. Last moment of existence!
The roaring water was intensified…magnified…explosively loud in the narrow cleft of rock. And then the water went smooth, accelerating so quickly that again she was slammed against her cockpit’s back band. At the last moment, she remembered to pivot her hips upward, trying to kick the sky.
Her kayak shot out into space—straight and true—and she was flying!
For an instant she hung weightlessly above the stream. The water rushed by far below her.
Mickey paddled idly backward off to the side of the landing pool, looking up at her with a huge smile on his face.
And then gravity took her.
She plummeted ten feet straight down.
Hit the water so hard that the boat disappeared underwater right up to her chest.
For a moment only head, shoulders, and upraised arms—she didn’t remember lifting her paddle in exactly the same triumphant way that Mickey had—were clear of the river. And spray spewed outward in a beautiful plume in every direction.
Then, like a cork, the kayak once more lofted her above the river, though by only a few inches this time, before she smacked back into the water again. She dug in with her paddle to control her line, and Mickey shot forward to join her.
Side by side, they raced down through the lower rapids.
It took Robin a moment more to recognize that the sound echoing off the canyon walls, a high note over the quieting basso roar of the river, was her own laughter.
* * *
“How about we just stay here and never leave?” Robin looked up at the sunrise light glinting off Denali. The mountain seemed smaller, less daunting now than it had before. The river flowed by only a few steps from her feet, where she sat on the grassy bank.
The river had gone lazy and, except for a few little sections, was going to be an easy float into town, which lay just a few miles away.
In just a day and two nights, she had become immersed in this life. Okay, it had drawbacks. Hanging the food in a tree at night. Sleeping with a loaded rifle that Macy had loaned them—a big, nasty, bear-killing rifle. Knowing that if she left the relative protection of the valley and its constant soft breezes that she’d be eaten alive by mosquitoes.
But right now there was warm sun, amazing views, and a very handsome man cooking her breakfast over an open campfire beside a burbling river.
“You call it, Robin, and I’ll build us a cabin here in the woods.”
Right. Like that was going to happen. Living under a blanket of snow and ice for six months or more of the year. Her Tucson blood would freeze in her veins and she’d be a permanent icicle long before spring melt out.
“Nice thought, but I’ll bet this place is idyllic for about three weeks a year.”
“Longer, but I think it’s more the company than the environment.” He handed her a plate stacked high with pancakes drowned in maple syrup.
“How?”
“Old camping secret.”
“You can tell me but—”
“—I’d have to marry you.”
“Good luck with that.” She took a bite and it was amazing, better than anything at Phoebe’s, and breakfast was their specialty. They had the richness of whole wheat and the intense flavor of the tiny wild strawberries she’d seen him picking earlie
r. He’d even packed along maple syrup and butter without her noticing. “Damn, these are good, Hamilton. You should use these as an audition when you do find someone you want to marry. Audition, hell. Use it as a closer. Totally killer.”
There was a pinch at the thought of another woman having Mickey Hamilton, but Harrow women didn’t wed. But if she was looking for the perfect candidate to give her a daughter and continue the Harrow line, Mickey just might be that.
She took another mouthful and glanced over at him. He was frozen with a forkful of pancake halfway between plate and mouth. He looked as if he’d been dipped in plastic.
“What?” There was something working across his face.
For all his guyness, Mickey was lousy at hiding his thoughts and feelings—such a straight-up, honest guy. Emotions flowed easily across his features…but she had to be reading this wrong. She bit down on a sour berry.
“Oh no, Hamilton. No way are thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“What am I thinking?” His voice was low, almost dangerous.
“Look here now. We’ve had some great sex and a lot of fun. That’s all I’m looking for. A summer with maybe a few more fires in it and a great lover in my bed. That’s it. That’s as deep as Robin Harrow goes. Shallow, fast-moving current, that’s me.” She pointed at the river, which ran slow and deep by their camp.
Mickey narrowed his eyes at her. He opened his mouth, but she held up a threatening fork to warn him.
“I’m serious. You’re wonderful, Mickey. Perhaps the best man I’ve ever met and definitely the best I’ve ever bedded. And when I’m ready to have a kid, you’d be a prime candidate. But I come from three generations of single women. We absolutely do not—”
Something clarified in his features.
“We do not…” She tried to continue but couldn’t find the words she’d meant to say when confronted with the suddenly self-assured look on his face.
“I love you, Robin.”
She tried to answer the flat statement past the tightness in her chest but couldn’t manage it.
“I didn’t know it,” Mickey continued in that same soft, reasonable tone that had coaxed her out of the safety of her eddy pool and back into the mad river. “But I do now that I’ve said it. There’s only one woman for me, Robin Harrow. You’re it. So I’m thinking you’re going to have to deal with it.”
“Deal with it! Deal with it? Are you fucking nuts, Hamilton? Look at me.”
“One of my favorite pastimes,” he said calmly. Perfectly calmly. The squint was gone and that little smile of amusement was back.
“Well, cut it out!”
“No promises on that. You’re an awfully attractive woman to look at.”
“Fine, look all you want. But take back that other thing you said.”
He shrugged and continued eating his pancakes as if this was in any way a rational conversation. Those blue eyes studied her.
Unlike her normal tendency, she knew that striking out at him wasn’t going to help a thing. Last time, she’d smacked him was in the helmet with her paddle…and he’d kissed her.
A kiss she’d quite enjoyed.
And something she so couldn’t deal with at this particular moment.
“Damn you. All I wanted was a simple, uncomplicated fling. Was that too much to ask?”
“Appears so.” He kept eating his stupid pancakes. She looked down at her own, missing only a few bites. It wasn’t pettiness that made her cast them into the river; it was that there was no way she’d be able to keep them down if she ate another bite.
Fish began poking at them as they drifted downstream. They’d be long gone before they reached Larch Creek.
She tossed the empty plate on the grass between them.
A look of sharp pain crossed his face. He looked from the empty plate to her face and back down.
She didn’t mean it that way, as if she was rejecting his delicious food just because he’d…said that thing he’d said. But she couldn’t bring herself to say anything else either. So she pulled her knees tight up against her chest and turned once more to stare out at the river.
Why did it have to get complicated? Most men would be glad to have her willing body and a summer of fun.
That was Mickey’s problem: he wasn’t most men.
* * *
Mickey stared at the empty plate between them on the grass after Robin threw his food away.
He loved her. It didn’t matter how briefly they’d known each other. What they had or hadn’t done or said. It was Truth and he knew it.
He loved her…but she didn’t love him.
Some great sex.
Was that really all she thought it was? Sure, it had started there. But he wasn’t an overeager and clumsy boy of sixteen losing his virginity to a girl whose name he no longer exactly remembered. He knew that sex did not equal love. But Robin, the person behind that amazing sexual punch, had dazzled him even more.
Calm.
He would be calm.
He finished his pancakes, wondering where the flavor had gone. Without comment, he took her plate, his, and the fry pan to the edge of the river and washed them clean.
While he was washing the dishes, the rest of her words came clear.
“Wait a minute!” He spun back to face her.
“What?”
“You’d purposely have a kid without a family?”
“Sure. I want a girl someday. Hopefully a cute one, like Emily’s kid, Tessa.”
“Emily and Mark’s kid,” he managed through clenched teeth.
“Well, sure. That works for Emily, but no way am I going to marry some guy to get one. Mom didn’t. Not Grandma either.”
“In what kind of screwed-up world does that make any sense at all? Sure, there are single parents out there, even never married ones, but it isn’t the kind of thing any idiot does on purpose.” Mickey tried to picture growing up without having his mother or his father. Even trying to imagine it ripped at his gut. He’d had plenty of single-parented friends, but he could see the damage it did. “You’d raise a kid without a family?” The anger was heating up inside, and he wished he hadn’t finished his breakfast, which was roiling in his gut like Class IV rapids.
“Worked for me.”
“Yeah. It made you fricking crazy.”
“No wedding, Mickey. No marriage. I’ll be no man’s wife. Crap! Now I sound like some stupid Irish ballad.”
“I’d no more give you a child to raise on your own than…than…” He didn’t have a worse than. “I grant that some women have no choice. But what your mother did and your grandmother before her, that was a choice. It was cruel and nasty and narcissistic.”
“No!” she shouted at him. “It’s because men are such assholes!”
Mickey knew if he said another word, it would be harsh and impossibly cruel and that he’d never ever be able to take it back.
It took more strength than he’d ever known he had to turn back to the cleanup along the bank. One of the plates was gone, sunk out of sight despite the clear water.
* * *
Robin stared at Mickey’s back.
She was right; she knew it. Maybe not right for his world but definitely right for her own.
It would have been better if she hadn’t just called Mickey an asshole, but that boat had already sailed. She could see that she’d hurt him, but he’d get over that. At least she hoped so.
But Mickey was different every single time. She’d expect one thing and he’d be another, time after time.
If he wasn’t going to get over it?
She looked upstream.
The high lake where they had made such love just two days ago was forever away from where she now sat. Beyond the uncrossable fall off the Mighty Tea Cup of Death and Destruction. That had been the idyll—near enough the c
losing bell of their relationship as more than fellow pilots, though she hadn’t known it at the time.
A moose and her calf had wallowed along the river’s edge not a hundred feet from their quiet camp last night. More birdlife than would ever visit the Tucson desert, migrated through, spending a minute, an hour, or a day before continuing their journey north. Or perhaps they were birds who had come to spend the summer. To stay awhile and breed in this valley. Even now they might be in the bushes all around them, making baby birds.
Not her. Not even with Mickey Hamilton. Ten minutes ago, she had never wanted to leave and now she couldn’t wait to get away.
She tried not to think of what lay ahead.
Instead, she simply did another thing that her mother had taught her. Robin began reeling in the strings. Mentally breaking her connection to those around her.
Jeannie, Denise, Vern…she would fly with them as she’d been contracted to do.
Mark and Emily…well, at least she now knew that the Night Stalkers truly deserved the respect she’d always had for them.
Mickey…how the hell was she supposed to cut him off? But her choices were limited, gone. Only one safe path remained down the river. She didn’t help him pack up camp or douse the fire or load the kayaks. She sat like a stone as if he had petrified her into a river boulder—the kind with a lethal keeper hole just around the corner.
He set her gear in front of her, and when he began pulling on his own spray skirt and helmet, she did the same.
They entered the water together.
It was a very quiet trip to Larch Creek.
Robin spent the time slowly folding in on herself. She tried not to feel as if she was sitting in a little eddy current, spinning quietly out of control while she went stark raving mad.
Chapter 11
Robin knew she was overreacting. Or at least not making sense to anyone other than herself.
Their triumphant return to Larch Creek from the wilds of Alaska should have been a time of stories and laughter. Of sitting around that big table in the town’s only restaurant and recounting the saga of the Mighty Furrow of Death and Destruction. Perhaps turn it into a ballad that would be passed down through the generations.
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