by E. F. Jacks
Pauline
Later in the evening Ellis and I crowd into the tent and decide on sleeping arrangements. It will be cramped quarters tonight, and I want to set him straight about who will be sleeping where.
“We’ll sleep on opposite ends,” I announce. “We can pile up the luggage between us, so we don’t, you know, touch each other by accident at night.” The tension is a thick fog that surrounds us and blocks me from thinking straight.
The tent’s not much more comfortable on the inside than it appeared on the outside, but it kind of looks like a tepee, and if we both crouch we’re able to move around in some normalcy.
“Sounds good,” Ellis says. “I’ll go outside and get as much stuff as we can fit in here.” He pauses before he exits and looks back at me. “We won’t be able to squeeze all of it in here, though.”
“We can get most of it in,” I say, as he leaves. If I touch him by accident during the night, will I be able to let go?
We ate a quiet dinner by the campfire, which even now flickers like a hissing orange tongue outside the tent. Ellis says the fire’s bright flames will keep the forest animals away. Animals like coyotes. His jeans drying on a tree branch near the fire are a shadow through the tent’s semi-sheer fabric. After a while on the raft, I saw he was right about wearing sandals. The hiking boots held water any time the spray gushed over the side of the raft.
I’m thankful that I remembered to buy a sleeping bag at the sporting goods store before I left home. In Ellis’s absence, I take the opportunity to change into sweatpants. Pajamas seem too impractical for out here. In case I have to get up in the middle of the night to pee outside in the woods. Alone.
Ellis speaks to me in a low shout outside. “I’ll get up once in a while to add wood to the fire.”
There are no other campers on our side of the river, and I hear a hoot in the distance and jump. It hoots again. An owl. I giggle.
Ellis enters the tent with his arms loaded with our bags, and I stop laughing. “Everything okay in here? What’s so funny?” His neck and ears take on a reddish hue.
“Oh, it’s not about you,” I quickly say. “There was this owl…”
His eyebrow shoots up.
“Never mind,” I say.
Ellis made the fire with his bare hands, and his large hands now move past me as we arrange the sleeping bags far away from one another. His fingers are long, and from the view I got of them in the raft they’re callused on the bottom but smoother on top. What would those hands feel like gliding over my skin? I shiver imagining it. Rough and a little soft. The contrast would be amazing. I don’t think he’d be gentle.
Ellis whistles between his teeth and I look over at him. He’s watching me as though he caught me doing something naughty. “Are you all right? Your face is so red.”
“I’m fine.” I tilt my head away from him.
There’s a small smile on his face, like he knows I’ve been thinking about him in that way. He stacks our luggage in the space between our sleeping bags. The luggage might fall down and crush us in the middle of the night, but at least we won’t touch each other if one of us rolls over.
Ellis puts a lantern on his side, though outside the tent the fire still burns, giving us plenty of light. He zips the entrance flap and we’re secured for the night.
I hear him unzipping and crawling into his bag. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I breathe out, and yawn. My sleeping bag is cocoon-like, and after a moment I’m perspiring. I unzip the side and fold the cover so just my legs are warm. A faint sound like someone laughing rings out in the distance outside, and I turn on my side. “Ellis?” I whisper.
After a moment he answers, “Yeah?” His voice sounds groggy, as though I’ve woken him.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Never mind.” I watch him curl back into his sleeping position. Then I think I hear the noise again. It’s far off, but it bothers me. “Ellis, is someone outside?”
He wriggles out of his sleeping bag and gets up. “In the woods?” He unzips the tent and sticks his head out to check. Outside, the fire burns steadily.
He closes the flap and maneuvers back into his sleeping bag. “I didn’t hear or see anything, but if you did, it could be coyotes, or maybe there are some campers on the other side of the river. It’s pretty narrow at this part. We won’t hit the big stuff until later on.” He zips his bag closed, and it’s clear to me he’s in for the remainder of the night.
“Okay.” I put my head back and stare at the tent ceiling. The stars squeezing out of the vast dark sky are so radiant they gleam like little milk-colored gemstones through the tent’s top.
My mind drifts as I bask in the lull around me, surrounded by nature, erased of city sounds. Why did Ellis seem so intent on bringing me into the water with him earlier?
When he emerged from those bushes wearing just his black boxers, I feared my mouth would hang open if I stared for too long. So I’d pretended not to notice. But when he hurried along on his long legs, his body all smooth, lean muscle, with a light, natural tan, I noticed him all right.
And when he emerged from the water, I noticed how droplets clung to and glistened over his smooth, buff skin. The tattoo on his upper arm, an inky, twisting ivy pattern that reached across part of his chest.
I noticed every detail of his body including the generous bulge in his boxers. Impressive. I’m fantasizing. He can’t be doing anything more than playing friendly to the client and ensuring he gets a generous tip after the final leg of the trip. Not that I have money. The poor guy. I feel sorry I won’t be able to offer him a big tip. Perhaps he’ll take something else I could offer him as a substitute. A guy like Ellis wouldn’t be interested in someone like me for more than a hookup, and what frightens me more is that I might let him, if he ever asks.
I dream his lips are brushing mine in feather-like kisses, then rougher and forceful—it’s the contrast I’d like—and I open my eyes to find a mosquito humming around my mouth.
Chapter Five
Pauline
I wake up the next morning with a dry mouth and instinctively reach for the glass of water that I keep on my nightstand back at home.
My hand catches nothing.
I’m not at home. I’m with my guide inside a tent in the Canadian wilderness. I roll onto my side and groan. My neck is stiff from my body being pressed against one side of the tent all night.
I prop myself up and lean back on my elbows. “Good morning,” I say in Ellis’s direction.
There’s no response.
“Aren’t you up?” I say. “Ellis…” I kick my legs to rise and hit something. My breath catches in my throat.
He’s left his Marines sweatshirt folded at the foot of my sleeping bag. I feel to my right. The luggage mountain that separates us has shrunk. He’s taken his belongings from it. I look closer. His sleeping bag is nowhere in sight. And his lantern’s missing.
He’s abandoned me. I don’t know Ellis well enough to fully trust him, though from what I do know about him, he’s not dishonest. What will I do if he and the raft aren’t outside? Though our final destination farther down the river is a town, according to the brochures I perused back at home, the distance is too far to accomplish on foot, especially for a novice. If I have been ditched, I’ll have to turn around and walk back the way we came up the river. With my belongings, how long will it take me to walk back to where we started? I would have to leave most of my things behind. Even the beginning access point is a desolate track of dirt and sparse woods. What will I do once I get there? Who will I turn to for help?
I throw back the top part of my sleeping bag. Outside of my comfy, fleece-lined bag, the crisp morning air attacks my skin. I curse Ellis out loud the same time as I put his sweatshirt on over my sleep clothes. His sweatshirt is the nearest warm layer.
The flap is already unzipped and I head outside. I slide a look over to the low tree branch above the tent where Ellis’s
jeans were hanging out to dry the night before. They’ve been plucked off. My pace picks up to a sprint, then I halt in my tracks, my upper body going forward before my legs. I jerk back upright.
Ellis is calmly waiting by the loaded raft, dressed and grinning at me. The soft morning light, filtered through the infinite, clustered pine trees, hits me and I squint. To my right, our fire from last night is a smoky heap of ash.
“Good morning.” Ellis keeps that arrogant grin I’ve come to hate, and lust after.
He’s somehow managed to shave this morning, and there’s a nick with a little blood on his cheek. Even though I’m pissed at him, I yearn to cleanse the small amount of blood away and kiss his full lips. “You might want to get dressed already and pack up your stuff,” he says. “We should leave soon.”
Why does he have to be so yummy and such a hard ass? I narrow my eyes into slits and stare back at him. There’s not much I can do, because out here I’m so dependent on his knowledge and skills. And I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he frightened me. I turn around and head back into the tent.
I dress and use bottled water and a washcloth to brush my teeth and wash my face. I think about designating one of my totes as a laundry bag. Screw that idea, because I won’t be doing much laundry out here, except for washing a few things in the river. But do I really want to hang my bras and panties up to dry in front of Ellis’s view?
And forget about applying makeup. Who am I going to impress out here? Him? Well, maybe. His exhale outside cuts through the tent. There isn’t time for me to put on makeup. I zip my bags and leave the tent carrying them.
Ellis is waiting to disassemble the tent and pack it up. He motions to my bags. “Can I help you carry those to the raft?”
I shake my head. It wasn’t right of him to worry me and make me think he’d left me. I huff as I walk, my arms straining under the weight of the luggage. I set my bags in the raft.
“Hi, there.”
At the booming sound of the unfamiliar masculine voice approaching us, I jump back from the raft.
A young guy in a green park ranger uniform and beige cowboy style hat strides toward us.
Ellis steps forward and shakes his hand before I can. “How’s it going?”
The ranger heartily accepts the handshake. “Are you folks having a good trip?” He’s tall and fit, with broad shoulders and a sexy half smile. A handgun is strapped to his waist.
I answer for us. “So far, yes. We started yesterday afternoon.”
He winks at me. “So you haven’t hit the hard part yet?” His dark red hair is cut short under his ranger hat. “I’m Mitch, by the way. I’m with the park service. I’ve got my kayak parked just down the river there.” He points behind a few low-leaning trees, abundant with green leaves, hanging over the river’s steady, gentle flow. “I heard you guys, and thought I’d check it out. You can never be too sure out here. Are you leading the expedition, miss, what is your name?” His grin isn’t intense and hungry like Ellis’s, but boyish.
“Pauline.” My face heats as Ranger Mitch touches my floppy hand and shakes it for me. He’s not bad looking. Mitch holds on to my hand for a little too long. “And I’m not the leader. Ellis is my guide.”
Ranger Mitch looks Ellis over, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, as if he’s confident of his own superiority. “Do you have a lot of experience?” He concentrates on Ellis’s face. “I want to be sure this young lady is in good hands.” He flashes me that charismatic grin again.
Ellis bristles. He’s not actually jealous, is he? “She’s in great hands.” His chiseled jaw hardens further, and his entire face takes on a stony expression.
Mitch crosses his arms over his chest and stands taller. He inhales and raises an eyebrow at Ellis from under his wide-brimmed hat. “Is that right? I wouldn’t have thought that.” He winks at me.
“You bet I’m good.” Ellis stalks away to the tent, as though he’s chosen to shake off the insult rather than argue.
Mitch removes his hat and tousles his thick hair with his hand. His sharp, brown eyes flirt blatantly with me. “Do you guys have a radio with you?”
“I’m assuming he does.” Mitch may be good-looking, but he’s got a nasty attitude, and is clearly making Ellis uncomfortable. I just want him to leave.
He lowers his eyes to his boots, and then focuses on me. There’s a lot of concern in his voice considering he doesn’t know me. Perhaps it’s hard for him to meet women while working out here. “Do you want me to ask him for you?” He takes a step toward Ellis by the tent.
I rush to block his path. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure he has a radio.” I try my best to smile sweetly.
He furrows his brow. “But you said you weren’t sure.”
“I’m sure now. Thank you, though.”
Mitch’s smile tightens into a straight line of annoyance. Irritation flickers over his face as he turns around and puts on his hat. My charm is no longer working on him now that I rebuffed his help. He speaks over his shoulder. “Call into the station if you ever need anything. I’ll keep an ear out. Good luck.”
When he leaves, I head over to Ellis by the tent. He’s breaking it down with force. I stand near his shoulder. “He’s kind of a jerk.” Mitch moves down the beach and through the forest back to his kayak.
“You can say that again.”
“Do you know him?”
Ellis pauses, and for a moment I believe he’s going to answer yes. He shakes his head. “Most of the rangers around here are friendly, but he must be new. Guess he thinks that just because he can carry a gun, he’s some kind of a big shot.”
I waver, then ask, “Do you have a gun?”
Ellis doesn’t answer me.
I look closer at him and decide not to push my question on him. “And you’ve never seen him before?”
“Not out here. Like I said, he must be new.”
“He’s still a jerk.” A corner of my mouth tugs up.
A glimmer of gratitude softens his face. With a sudden wince he drops the tool he’s been using. Eyes closed tight, he presses a hand to each ear.
“Ellis, are you all right?” I touch his arm.
“There’s this ringing noise in my ears.”
“Does that happen to you a lot? After coming back from the war? After my sister died…sometimes I get headaches.”
He shakes me off. “It hardly ever happens.” He turns his back to me and finishes taking down the tent.
***
Out on the open water the breeze is a relief from the sun. The river is less peaceful than yesterday, with the light wind creating small waves on its surface. Ellis is letting me sit in the back today, and his tall frame, with his wide shoulders, partially obstructs my view.
My hands and arms throb from gripping the paddle’s handle, from shifting it from side to side as I help move the raft smoothly in the water. If I set down the paddle, Ellis will have to pick up my slack. Although it’s his job to lead us and paddle, I don’t want to let him down. I want to prove just as much to him as to myself that I can take us down the river, too. Because that’s what Sam would have done.
Ellis smells of sunscreen. Either he brought his own, or he borrowed mine as I slept. Had he crawled over me while I was unaware in my sleeping bag? A slight grin stretches my mouth.
The air around us smells of fresh plant soil from the riverbank. So far, I haven’t seen large wild animals, but I have heard and seen birds. Flickers of iridescent colors graze the river’s surface around the raft.
“There’s a school of fish on your side,” Ellis says.
“I see them. What kind are they?” Someone like him must know these kinds of things.
“They’re salmon.”
“Can we stop? I want to watch them for a little while.” I’d like to take a picture of them, but I’ve been leaving my phone off to save the battery.
“Sure.” He reduc
es the speed of his broad strokes as I do, and gradually the raft comes to a stop.
It’s a perfect moment as the wind lessens, and the school of salmon passes beneath the stilled raft, resurfacing in a heart shaped pattern on either side of us.
Ellis chuckles. “Look at that heart. What could it mean?”
Heat scurries up my neck and my cheeks are inflamed. “It’s just a pattern. It’s nature’s coincidence.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
Just what is he implying? “Well, I would.” The tails of the salmon flit away, like bejeweled dragonflies underwater.
Ellis picks up his paddle as if he’s lifting a piece of foam, while I hoist mine like it’s a cement block, and resumes leading us through the water. I’m the customer, and while I would like to take the lead paddling before the trip ends, I would feel strange asking unless he offered. I wouldn’t want to tell Ellis to let me lead. His distinctly masculine presence makes me want to acquiesce to him. There is something about a guy who spends his time and earns his living in the outdoors, an old-fashioned, assertive ruggedness I could surrender to. If anything dangerous did happen out here, which I’m sure it won’t, I’m confident Ellis could protect me.
A blue raft appears up ahead of our vessel. Ellis speeds up to say hi to the group onboard. They’re a family wearing bulky orange life vests and matching safety helmets. In a raft that’s larger than ours, a man and a woman sit next to each other in front of two young blond boys, who I assume are their sons. From the kids’ identical appearances, it seems they’re twins.
Ellis slows down our raft alongside theirs. On the side of their raft there’s a black stenciled logo: a man wearing a Stetson with a paddle in his hand atop a horse. The horse’s mouth is opened in a toothy, comical grin.
The big, sandy-haired man waves to us from up in the raft. “Hi, folks.” He begins to stand up, then stumbles, and the woman seated with him catches his arm. He sits down again and thanks her with a smile.
The woman gives Ellis and me a glimpse of her bright white teeth. “Hi.” She’s a pretty, curvy blonde with a pleasant twang to her voice. She peers back at the two boys, who have her light hair color and soft complexion. “Say hello, kids.”