Whitewater Rendezvous

by Kim Baldwin

  They enjoyed the view for several minutes in companionable silence before Sally spoke. “It’s Megan, isn’t it?” she asked gently.

  “Don’t go there.”

  “Why is she giving you the big chill?” Sally asked, refusing to be deterred.

  Chaz sighed. “Beats me.” There was a long silence. “She did kind of catch me…looking at her…you know, maybe a bit inappropriately…when I was teaching her how to roll.” She could feel a rush of warmth rise to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to. And it was only for a few seconds. I didn’t think much of it then, but maybe she was offended.”

  Sally put her arm over her friend’s shoulder. “I doubt very much whether you offended her just by looking at her. What can I do? Extol your virtues to her? In a very subtle way, of course.”

  “Subtle? You?” Chaz laughed. “Please, Sally, promise me you won’t say anything.”

  Sally withdrew her arm and playfully punched Chaz. “That’s not fair. I can be subtle.”

  Chaz laughed harder. “If you say so. But I still want you to promise me you won’t try.”

  “All right,” Sally agreed. “But if you change your mind, say the word.”

  “I know your heart’s in the right place,” Chaz said. “You’re always trying to play matchmaker, and bless you for that. But don’t meddle in this. I had a momentary lapse in judgment, that’s all. Okay, so she’s attractive. But even if she wasn’t a client, which she is…she is still not my type. We have nothing in common. It just bothers me that she doesn’t seem to like me much.”

  “If you say so.” Sally got to her feet. “I’m going to turn in. You coming?”

  “Soon,” Chaz answered. “‘Night, Sal. Sleep well.”

  “You too. ‘Night.”

  We have nothing in common at all. And you apparently can’t stand the sight of me. So why is it, Megan Maxwell, that I can’t stop thinking about you?

  Chapter Six

  Megan was so groggy from lack of sleep that she took no note of what time it was when she decided to get out of her sleeping bag. She just knew she had to get away from that appalling racket. She couldn’t take it one minute more. Justine might be one hell of a good friend and an exceptional reporter, but she could sure snore the paint off a wall.

  It was bad enough that she didn’t have an eyeshade. The tent helped to mitigate the light a little, and she’d rigged a half-assed blindfold out of a bandanna she’d brought along because it was an “optional and recommended item” on Orion Outfitter’s suggested packing list, God bless ‘em. But she had nothing to combat the cacophony of noise vibrating through her tent.

  First she’d flipped her sleeping bag around, so her head was at Justine’s feet. Then she’d stuffed rolled-up tissue in her ears and, over that, her fleecy hat. Then she wrapped her pillow around her head and burrowed into her sleeping bag. All for naught. She only got uncomfortably warm and claustrophobic. Justine’s particularly quirky snore—a long raspy wheeze, followed by a megadecibel snort, reverberated through her body regardless of how many layers she used to cushion her ears. It was like the tent was equipped with a surround sound system.

  Finally, when she could stand the Dolby snore no longer, she got up and went in desperate search of coffee. To her amazement, though apparently no one was up and about, a large thermos sat on a rock outside their tent, next to their steel mugs. She was delighted to find it contained hot coffee. And not just any hot coffee. A smooth Jamaican Blue Mountain, if she was any judge. And she was.

  She poured a cup, walked up the nearest rise to sit and admire the view, and began to feel better immediately. It was impossible not to. Such a vast and varied expanse of terrain spread out before her, it was hard to know where to look first. How far can I be seeing? Fifty miles, easy, in this direction. Maybe more. Nearly all of it unexplored.

  She quickly decided to institute the routine that she would use whenever they set up camp. First she took a couple of minutes to check all around her for anything moving. If something moved, it got a close-up look with the binoculars for identification. Then she sat down and studied the view in front of her with the naked eye. Big picture first. The whole landscape. Then in small parts, very systematically. Close in first, surveying for insects, wildflowers, birds. Siberian phlox. Ivory anemone. Then farther out. Oooh, that’s a peregrine falcon. Gray-blue above, kind of a cream color underneath. Definitely a peregrine. Very cool. Next, the horizon. She’d admire the sharp delineation of blue sky against the white mountain tops. Now and then she’d go for her binoculars if something struck her fancy.

  When she’d completed her meticulous inspection of everything she could see, she’d turn ninety degrees and do it all again. Those are sure some big birds over there. She adjusted her binoculars. Bald eagle! Two bald eagles! Three! Three! Many minutes later, she’d turn another ninety degrees. Oh, wow. Look at him go. That’s an arctic fox, I think. Big tail. Dark face, lots of brownish-blue fur. Yeah, that’s an arctic fox, for sure. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten so much pleasure out of her uncanny memory.

  She whiled away an hour and a half and drank three cups of coffee studying the view from their first campsite, and by the time she was done, she had decided it was a damn fine thing she’d come to Alaska, regardless of the bad memories it was dredging up. This really was a unique and unforgettable experience.

  She stood up and brushed herself off and only then glanced at her watch. It was just a bit before six thirty. No wonder nobody else was up. She knew she’d had too much caffeine to try to go back to sleep. Well, I really could do with a bath after all that paddling yesterday. I’m probably a little ripe, and my hair is not fit to be seen in. She refused to think about whom it might be that she needed to look good for. Arching her back, she groaned loudly. Her back, arms, and shoulders were still sore. I’m not in shape for this. I sit behind a desk too much.

  She was amazed to realize she hadn’t thought of work once since they got on the river yesterday. Grace will never believe it when I tell her.

  She went back to the tent for a towel and a change of clothes. Justine was still sawing logs so loudly that Megan didn’t worry about accidentally waking her. She scribbled a note that said she’d gone to the lake to wash up and left it on her pillow. There was one stop she had to make first. She detoured to the area where they’d left their food and some of their personal items in bear-proof cylinders and picked up her toiletries kit.

  Yancey and Justine had spent an hour at the lake the night before and reported it was too cold for bathing unless you were a polar bear or masochist. But they both managed to tolerate it enough to wash their hair. At least it was unusually mild, with temperatures that felt like the upper sixties.

  It was only a short walk, and she could see the lake through the trees the whole way, so her mind drifted as she trod slowly along on the soft moss. She inhaled long and deeply. The air is so clean here. The colors so vivid. Is that the angle of the sun too? Whatever it was, she felt more alive in Alaska, like all her senses had been enhanced.

  Before she knew it she had stepped out of the tree line and was at the lake. The water was deep and clear, and so absolutely calm it reflected the enormous mountain behind it in a perfect mirror, taking her breath away.

  “Wow.” The word escaped like a reverent sigh.

  “Awesome, isn’t it?”

  Chaz’s voice, so near and so unexpected, startled her so much that she dropped the bundle of clothes and toiletries she was carrying. As she picked it all back up, she glanced around but didn’t immediately see the guide.

  “Up here,” Chaz drawled lazily.

  She was six feet in the air, lying atop a large black rock, face up to the sun, as if she was on a beach in Florida instead of the Arctic Circle. Her head turned slowly toward Megan, her eyes concealed behind sunglasses. It was the only thing about her that was hidden. She was otherwise completely and utterly nude.

  Megan’s jaw dropped and her brain short-circuited for a moment
, as she tried to fully grasp what she was seeing. She was unable to speak. She couldn’t bring herself to look away.

  “Megan?” Chaz’s demeanor changed from languid torpor to concern, her brow furrowing above her dark glasses, her rosy lips pursed in worry. As she roused herself from her semislumber, she seemed to become aware that Megan, who was not, unfortunately, wearing sunglasses, was staring at her breasts, not at her face. She half sat up, reached for her towel, and draped it across herself.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be up this early. Does nudity bother you?” She turned to lie on her side, facing Megan, propped up on one elbow.

  Bother me? Hell, yes, it bothers me. But she certainly couldn’t say that. Her mind struggled to come up with a suitable reply while her eyes, of their own accord and totally without her permission, burned the image she glimpsed of the naked Chaz into her memory. Legs that went on forever, athlete’s legs—with firmly muscled thighs and calves that complemented the buff upper body she’d been staring at the prior afternoon. A flat plane of stomach, not a tan line in sight. Her breasts were not too large, but they were round and firm and inviting, the dark areolas standing out like the center ring on a target, pulling her eyes to them. The triangle of dark hair below testified that Chaz had indeed been born with that rich, vibrant chestnut brown everywhere.

  Photographic memory indeed. She was doomed.

  “I’m fine. Just fine,” she managed after several moments.

  She forced herself to look away—at the lake, at anywhere else. It really made no difference. She was still seeing that absolutely delicious body in her mind’s eye, and she knew she would for a very long time. But at least she might hope to appear outwardly a bit more composed. No way did she want Chaz to have any idea what effect she was having on her. What the hell is the matter? I’ve certainly seen naked women before. Lots of naked women, as a matter of fact. She took a deep breath. Then another. Yeah, but not like her, some part of her whispered. Even Rita. In the nude, they look nothing alike, really. Rita never looked this good. She realized her hands were trembling. She gripped her bundle of clothes and towel tighter to herself to hide it.

  “I can’t believe it’s this warm.” Chaz lay back down, face up to the sun. “Wind’s from the south.” She kept the towel draped across herself. “I went for a run and then I had to take a swim, I got so hot.”

  Stop with the double entendres, Megan wanted to say, but she knew they were unintentional. Frankly, she didn’t think it was that warm, not let’s-sunbathe-nude warm, but maybe anything above freezing was balmy to an Alaskan.

  “Did you find the thermos of coffee?” Chaz asked.

  She’d forgotten all about that. So you’re my secret caffeine benefactor. Gotta give you points for that. “Yes, I did, thank you. Excellent blend.”

  “Glad you approve.” Chaz smiled. “Personally, my morning coffee is my most important meal of the day.”

  “I was a bit worried about that part,” Megan found herself admitting. “I was absolutely expecting terrible burned coffee, or instant, or something.”

  “I use a French press out here, with beans I roast myself. The results aren’t bad. I also brought an old-fashioned stove-top espresso pot, any time you’re interested.”

  So she’s a coffee connoisseur too. “Thanks. I may take you up on that.”

  Megan began to relax a little as silence fell between them. This isn’t so bad. I’m fine now. As long as I don’t look at her.

  On the one hand, the more time she spent with Chaz, the more she saw the differences between her and Rita. She was thinking less about Rita by the day. But now I’m thinking about Chaz, instead. And seeing her naked sure isn’t gonna help that. She had absolutely nothing in common with this woman. Well, except for coffee, maybe. She stole a glance up at Chaz.

  Her face was relaxed and her body still, except for the slow rise and fall of her chest. Megan thought she’d fallen back asleep, but it was hard to tell with those damn sunglasses on. She felt suddenly reluctant to bathe as she’d planned. The thought of Chaz perhaps watching her from behind those shades was a bit disconcerting. Later. I’ll come back later.

  Backtracking quietly the way she’d come, Megan returned to their campsite. She could hear Justine’s snoring from thirty feet away. I bet everyone else will have heard her, too. No one will want to switch tents. Perhaps she’d start sleeping outside the tent. They’d been warned the mosquitoes could be ferocious in Alaska in June, but she’d seen hardly any at all thus far.

  *

  The swarm from hell arrived an hour later, just as they were getting ready to eat breakfast. Sally had cooked bacon and eggs and fresh muffins, and they were all just sitting down to enjoy them when a cloud of hungry mosquitoes found them, enveloping them and biting at every inch of exposed flesh, which was abundant on this unusually warm morning. The skeeters flew into their ears, buzzing their torment as they raised welts in a hundred places at once.

  Guides and clients ran to their tents and dove inside. They’d all been complacent about the mosquitoes. None of them had their head nets with them, and the few who’d bothered applying repellent had done so in much too cursory a fashion to impede the little buggers at all, so no one escaped unscathed. The sound of zippers rang through the air, along with a litany of cursing as all eight of them sought sanctuary.

  “Bastards!”

  “Damn it! Get off me!”

  “Nasty bloodsuckers!”

  Then there was the frenzied clapping of hands, as they all sought to eradicate the tiny beasties who’d snuck in and were trapped inside the tents with them.

  “They got me everywhere,” Yancey moaned. It was so pleasant out, she’d gone to breakfast in what she’d worn to sleep: loose-fitting shorts and tank top.

  “Join the crowd,” Pat hollered from the next tent. “I am so going to itch.”

  “I hope somebody else brought a lot more hydrocortisone cream than I did,” Elise yelled. “I’m going to go through this tube I brought in about three hours!”

  “We’ve got plenty,” Sally called back.

  “What do we do now?” Justine asked. “Our breakfast is getting cold!”

  “Sorry, ladies, I’d bring your breakfast to you, but we can’t have any food in the tents,” Chaz’s voice rang out. “Not in bear country. Cover up your arms and legs and dig out your head nets and repellent.”

  “Oh, shit,” Megan groaned. “I left that stuff in my toiletries kit, out by the cooking area.” She turned to Justine, who was digging through the contents of her small dry bag. “Do you mind getting it for me while you’re out there?”

  “Soon as I find my head net,” Justine said. “And my gloves. I’m not leaving any skin exposed for a second. I was going to spray my hands, but I put my repellent in with the bear-proof stuff.” She found the gloves immediately, but the head net was more elusive. She hadn’t unpacked it yet. It was still in its wrapper, and she didn’t immediately notice it had gotten lost between the pages of her book at the bottom of the bag.

  Megan could hear someone moving around outside the tent, but it was opposite the opening so she couldn’t see who it was. “Whoever’s out there, would you mind handing me my red toiletries kit out by the food?”

  Chaz appeared at the entrance to Megan and Justine’s tent a minute later. She wore a head net, draped loosely over a navy felt hat to keep the fabric away from her face. The hat looked quite dashing on her, Megan thought, netting notwithstanding. The rest of her body was entirely covered. The hand that held up her toiletries kit wore thin deerskin gloves that had been so long used they had conformed themselves to the shape of her fingers.

  That melt-your-heart smile that Megan was becoming increasingly fond of made its way across Chaz’s face, and a twinkle came to her hazel eyes, now blessedly free of the shades. “This is yours, too, right?” She held up the towel and clothes Megan had carried to the lake in her other gloved hand.

  Megan nodded. “Yup.”

  “
Pretty bad out here,” Chaz said. “Let’s coordinate this, to minimize enemy infiltration. On three—Justine unzips, I do a quick handover to Megan, Justine then zips back up. Ready, me hardies?” she added with the right touch of pirate inflection, her hands poised outside the zipper.

  Despite herself, Megan had to smile. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “Ready when you are, Gridley,” Justine added, getting into position.

  They completed the handover with mercifully few invaders getting in. “Thanks!” Megan hollered after Chaz as she headed back to the cooking area.

  “She’s not really very much like Rita when you get to know her, is she?” Justine observed in a low voice.

  “No. Not very,” Megan agreed.

  “Is it getting any easier to be around her?”

  Megan shrugged. “A little, I guess.” She dug in her bag for a long-sleeved shirt and long pants to change into, as Justine resumed searching for her head net.

  “She sure knows a lot about all the birds and flowers and everything else around here,” Justine said. “Both of them seem to really know their jobs.”

  “I wonder if she does this year round,” Megan mused aloud as she changed. “Doesn’t Orion take out snowshoeing and dogsled trips in the winter?”

  “Not Chaz,” Justine replied, pretending not to notice that Megan’s question only referred to one of the guides. “She’s a teacher.”

  “A teacher? Really?”

  “That’s what she told Elise.”

  Megan felt a tiny twinge of jealousy that Chaz was sharing details of her life with Elise, but she brushed it aside. “What age does she teach?”

  “Haven’t a clue. Aha! There you are!” Justine held up her head net in triumph.