by Gaelen Foley
He searched her eyes as he considered. “Here’s a thought. Why don’t you come with us tomorrow on this raft trip? Might be kind of fun. We could talk while we row.”
“Paddle, dude. It’s called paddle,” Finn said as though offended, overhearing.
Harry just looked at him.
“Yeah, it’s kind of a pet peeve of his,” Jack drawled.
“You gotta get the lingo down, man! You don’t want to sound like a newb!”
Bea didn’t mind Finn’s playful banter this time. She was still hesitating herself, unsure what to say.
All the while, Harry just gazed at her, his cobalt eyes peering into her very soul, it seemed. Something flickered in their depths. She prayed it wasn’t pity.
No, something warmer, heating by the moment.
Smoldering male interest. Just like this afternoon.
Good, she thought in relief. Maybe that meant Chloe was right. If he thought she was cute, maybe he’d still help her. Unfortunately, the attraction was mutual, which complicated matters.
Her pulse skittered as his stare intensified, as though he were weighing her intentions; it seemed, this time, he was the one feeling skeptical of her.
But if he saw through her sudden change in attitude, he apparently decided he found it amusing. He glanced at Jack and Finn. “There’s room for her in the raft, isn’t there, guys?”
“You bet,” Finn said. “That would be awesome!”
“See that?” Harry said, glancing mischievously at her. “We’ll even have chaperones.”
Bea furrowed her brow. A fast-action whitewater rafting trip was hardly the romantic rendezvous she’d had in mind for bringing Porsche Guy to heel.
A dinner date, maybe, or a stroll around town, followed by an evening of slow dancing or whatever. As long as it ended in Harry tossing aside his boss’s orders and helping her instead.
Hey, he wanted ruthless? She could be ruthless, too.
Really.
This was not just her making excuses to herself for hanging out with “Mr. Cutie.” Gag, she thought, recalling Sharon’s nickname for him.
Whatever her vague notion of what shady romantic manipulation might’ve been, it did not include one of Finn’s infamous “thrilling tours.”
But Harry persisted, watching her with a hint of devilish humor behind his smile. “You really should come, Ms. Palmer. After all, that’ll give us plenty of opportunity to…bang out some ideas. Don’t you think?”
Chloe bit her thumb. Jack looked on with a huge grin now. The GQ model just smiled innocently at Bea.
Oh, you are the devil. Bea took it all in, her body feeling oddly hot and cold and jumpy. Damn it, he’s better at this flirting thing than I am.
All the more reason not to go.
How could she even be considering this? Blowing off a whole day at the height of the growing season? It was stupid. She had tons of work to do tomorrow. The lettuce needed transplanting. Potatoes needed to be hilled. Lance and the skater boyz would be coming over to work…
Chloe nudged her in the ribs, giving her an insistent look. Bea understood what her friend demanded, and in her heart, she knew it, too.
Oh, screw it. Lose the battle, win the war.
His irresistible half-smile threw down the gauntlet, and Bea could not resist the challenge. “I’d love to join you,” she said sweetly. “What time?”
“Ten o’clock at the adventure center?” Finn suggested, hands resting casually on his waist.
Harry and Jack looked at each other and shrugged.
“Sounds good to me,” said the marine.
“Peachy,” Bea said.
Harry flicked the subtlest of glances down her chest. “Can’t wait.” He tore his gaze away and turned to her best friend. “Chloe, it was so nice meeting you. Guys, thanks for this. Sounds like it’s going to be a blast. I’ll see you tomorrow. Hey, that reminds me—the girls’ drinks are on me.”
“Aw, that’s nice,” Chloe said as Harry tossed down another twenty.
“You drank water,” Bea mumbled. “Even I can afford that.”
“I heard that,” Harry said, giving her an arch look.
Laughing, Chloe smacked her on the arm. “It’s the thought that counts. I think what she meant to say is thank you, Harry.”
“Er, right. That, too. Thanks, Harry.” Bea, too, started laughing in spite of herself.
He looked pleased to see her loosening up, even if he was the butt of her little joke. “My pleasure.” He winked at her. “Goodnight, ladies. Guys.” He nodded farewell, then slung his jacket over his shoulder and strutted toward the door.
“See you tomorrow,” Bea called, but after he had gone, she shook her head, wondering what in the world she had gotten herself into.
And how, for that matter, any woman was supposed to look alluring in a frigging blue plastic safety helmet.
CHAPTER 5
“Dammit, Harry, what’s taking so long?” Curt complained on the phone the next morning. The boss was eager, but Harry swallowed back his irritation. He was already on edge, just thinking about the dire “adventure” he’d agreed to today.
Class-five rapids? Was he out of his mind? Why hadn’t he said no fricking way? But those guys were so full of confidence—like he was, as long as it concerned activities on dry land—that he had figured what the hell.
Maybe he had his own little streak of one-upmanship at times.
While his boss ranted on at the other end of the line, Harry’s mind wandered. Surely his childhood water phobia didn’t bother him anymore. He hadn’t even thought about it in years.
He certainly hoped he’d outgrown it by now—hell, it had been since junior high—otherwise, he might make a major fool of himself today.
Guess I’ll soon find out. It was not an unfounded fear in his case, but even if he’d started having second thoughts after accepting the invitation, once Bea had agreed to come along, his male pride had made backing out impossible.
At last, his boss finished his tirade.
“Curt, relax. We’re in good shape. Things have just gotten a little more interesting than expected.” After buttoning the only pair of cargo shorts he’d packed for this trip, Harry fell backward onto the squashy king-sized bed. He folded one arm behind his head, held the phone to his ear with his free hand, and crossed his ankles. “But don’t worry, it’s all under control.”
“Well, what’s the holdup?”
“The grandkid Ms. Reese told us about still needs persuading. She dug in her heels last night when we spoke, so I let her think that I was backing off. But no worries. We’ve got another…meeting today. I just need to spend a little more time working on her, and I’ll find my opening.”
The cowboy harrumphed. “Long as you’re making progress.” He was quiet for a moment, chewing on this. “Tammy never mentioned the grandkid was a she. What’s she like?”
“Oh, she’s a pistol, all right,” Harry said with a smile tugging at his lips, recalling how Bea had referred to Curt as Boss Hogg and Miz Tammy as the lavender queen. “Mid to late twenties. Tough. Feisty. Knows her own mind. Little firecracker. Came out swinging. She didn’t even think the offer was genuine at first.” He grinned to think of her marching into the Knickpoint last night to read him the riot act. “She thought I was bullshitting, trying to swindle her grandparents or something.”
Curt guffawed. “Shoot, country girls can be real spitfires, as I recall. Now, that brings back some ol’ memories… Hot damn! You need me to come down there and take this little filly in hand?”
Oh, God no. Harry furrowed his brow, not liking where this was going at all. “That won’t be necessary, sir,” he said.
“Well, you get it handled quick, then.”
“Will do. Like I said, I’ve got another meeting with her today to discuss it.”
If only I could figure her out. Harry gazed out the window from his bed for a moment.
It was a gray day, overcast. A hazy fog draped the mountain valley, givi
ng Harmony Falls an air of mystery that Beatrice Palmer shared, as far as Harry was concerned. She certainly did not follow the usual pattern he had observed in females. She hadn’t jumped at the money, for starters.
He flicked away his puzzlement over her and continued. “Like Ms. Reese said, the situation is a little tricky. But I’ll see the girl again today, and I think we should be all squared away by tomorrow.”
The cowboy seemed satisfied with that assurance for now, so he finally eased up. “Drop in on Monty’s place, since it looks like you’re gonna be up there for another day or so. Go have a drink at the Silver Oaks, see what kinda hubbub’s floating around.”
Thanks to Dana’s heads-up, Harry already anticipated this order. He rubbed his forehead, closed his eyes, winced.
Snooping around the five-star resort didn’t sound like the smartest thing to do so soon after the Christmas Goose incident. “Sir, don’t you think we ought to let Peter Montclair cool off a while longer?”
You did grab his daughter’s ass, after all.
Curt must’ve detected his apprehension. “Come on, Harry! They kicked me outta the place, not you. Tammy dropped by there last night to plant some seeds about our newest venture. I just wanna hear what kind of reaction we’re gettin’.”
“Okay, if that’s what you want done.” Harry stifled a sigh and dragged his hand over his chin, debating whether to shave before his big whitewater adventure.
Mainly, he wanted off the phone. He had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment than chasing down gossip from Curt’s frenemy. Namely, warding off terrifying thoughts of being sucked into the undertow of a raging river, unable to breathe.
Memories of that awful incident years ago whirled through his mind and left him feeling queasy. “You know what, Curt, I gotta roll. I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve got some news,” he said, and quickly turned his phone off.
He decided he could shave later and would instead wander down the street to find a cup of coffee, maybe check out the old bookstore, and pick up a trail map at the adventure center before his perilous journey.
Just then, his room phone dinged. It was the front desk letting him know the lunch he’d ordered was packed and ready to take on his journey. “You’re the best, Sharon,” he said. “I’ll be down in five minutes to pick it up.”
At least he’d had the foresight to pack a few t-shirts, he thought, pulling one over his head. He had envisioned a hike to the falls, maybe a jog through town. The furthest thing from his mind had been bobbing over boulders on turbulent waters in an oversized rubber ducky that no one could control, or placing his life in the hands of a wild card who clearly liked to party and a giant ex-warrior who could probably snap somebody’s neck with one silent move.
But they seemed like good guys, he admitted. He’d enjoyed hanging out with them at the pub last night.
Patrick Finn had gone out of his way to include him. Interesting guy, a lot more complicated than he let on. Harry was pretty good at sizing people up, and had sensed a lot of restless, churning depths beneath Finn’s rowdy, free-spirited surface.
By contrast, Jack Brand, the pub’s owner, was just plain solid, a rock of a man. Though he’d been laidback last night, Harry had noticed him keeping a protective eye over everyone in his bar—intense, in charge, and clearly capable of serious intimidation, should the need arise.
Between two such experienced outdoorsmen, Harry decided he had a reasonable chance at surviving this day. Above all, he would not make a wuss of himself in front of the alluring Beatrice Palmer.
An hour later, Harry, together with Finn, Jack, and Bea, hoisted the orange vessel of death off the trailer and set it on the riverbank, then each took a bright blue helmet off the van.
Bea looked great in the golden morning sunshine, and Harry knew he had his work cut out for him today, winning her over, but it was all he could do to stay focused and try to keep her from noticing his dread. That was all he needed—for her to go from judging him a con man to a coward.
He could do this. People did this all the time, even kids. He had resisted the urge to look up the stats on how many people died whitewater rafting each year, but the question lingered, swirling around in the irrational part of his mind.
Trying to act normal, Harry steadied his trembling fingers as he clipped the helmet strap in place under his chin, then tightened his life vest so that it bear-hugged his ribcage. He took a yellow paddle from Finn’s river scout guide and tour group driver, Carlos, and gripped it so hard that his palms sweated, despite what seemed to him an unseasonal chill in the air.
“Everything all right, Harry?” Bea asked, glancing curiously at him as she chose a paddle for herself.
As she clipped her helmet into place, somehow managing to look adorable in the ugly thing, Harry feared she detected his nervousness.
“I’m good,” he lied with a smile, and drew a deep breath. Beyond her, the Onatah River gushed, silver streaks and white hurricanes slamming against steep granite slopes. Oh my God, we’re all gonna die.
Harry couldn’t remember if his will was up to date.
Finn, mirrored shades in place and a few sandy curls sticking out from under his helmet, marched out into the water, and seemed to become a different person—calm, cool, commanding.
Standing knee-deep in the current, Finn turned and began giving orders to his three crew members. “Jack and I will sit in the rear. I’ll be back there, river left, steering,” he explained with authority, “and I’ll make sure we don’t crash headfirst into any boulders.”
Harry’s stomach plunged at his casual mention of doom.
“Jack knows how to take advantage of the river’s dynamics, so he’ll be able to pry us along and add power to you two”—Finn pointed at Bea and Harry—“who will be up front.”
Harry and Bea eyed each other skeptically but accepted their seating assignments without comment.
“Bea, Harry, you’re gonna be in charge of forward strokes. Don’t worry about obstacles in our way. That’s what I’m here for. Jack and I will keep us moving right along with the current.”
Harry was now cursing himself for agreeing to do this.
He had a pretty nice life and didn’t care to lose it. Last night, when the guys had offered to show him the famous Harmony Falls, he had assumed at first that a rigorous hike would be involved. Not this.
But it was too late to back out now. He shoved his dread down deeper and told himself to focus on Bea’s incredible legs. They looked phenomenal in those snug shorts, he thought as she climbed into the boat. He followed her long, lean muscles all the way up to settle happily on her curvy little ass.
There we go, thought Harry. That’ll take my mind off the river.
When she finally sat down on the raft’s front left edge, she shivered. “It’s chilly out here today. What’s going on?” she wondered aloud, snapping Harry out of his lustful daze.
“This isn’t normal?” he replied. “I thought it was just unpredictable mountain weather, the elevation.”
“No way, this isn’t normal at all,” she murmured, glancing at the sky. “It’s barely seventy degrees out here. It’s mid-July—it should be nearly eighty by this late in the morning.”
Well, she would know, Harry thought as they set off into the torrent. Now that she mentioned it, he realized how drastically the temperature had dropped overnight.
“Our little farmer girl is always worried about the weather,” Jack explained to Harry.
“This dip in temperature better not last too long,” she said worriedly as they bobbed through the river, gentle so far.
“Hey, but at least you got your new greenhouse all set up, right?” Finn said. “You’re okay for a cold snap.”
“Yeah. My tomatoes and peppers will be fine, but my snow peas won’t survive another night below forty.” She fretted as she scanned the horizon, sounding haunted with constant concern over Mother Nature’s whim.
Harry couldn’t imagine the insecurity of
having to rely on the weather for one’s living. Why was she putting herself through this?
She noticed his I don’t envy you expression and lifted her chin. “But I’ll take whatever comes. As farmers must,” she added proudly.
Her comment reminded him of his mission here today, and that, thank God, began to distract him from his twitchy irrationality. Oh, right. The whole point of this exercise in terror was finding the key that would persuade Bea to sell him the damn farm.
As he strove to focus on his goal, however stupid he might personally think Curt’s plan was, he was thankful for the friends’ few minutes of idle chat, along with the cool mountain air, and even for the bracing waves splashing over the bow every minute. Otherwise his crewmates might’ve seen the sweat pouring down from his temples. Instead, it gave him time to try to get his act together.
As they ambled over bigger and bigger waves, Jack, Finn, and Bea were simply enjoying the hell out of themselves, oblivious to Harry’s inner turmoil. Which was fine. That was exactly how he wanted it.
But he’d better think of something before this river got serious with them. The mystery of what it might take to win her over to his way of thinking worked to back off his anxiety. Think. Put yourself in her shoes. Never assume. For all he knew, there might be a part of Bea that felt trapped in her situation, obligated to her grandparents, the farm an albatross around her neck.
Maybe there was another, secret dream he could appeal to lurking behind those pretty topaz-colored eyes.
“So, Bea. Was there anything else you ever wanted to do besides farming?” he asked in a casual tone, his fear forgotten as he focused on her.
“Oh, definitely.” She smiled, glancing over at him with surprising warmth. “The first two years of college, I thought I was going to become an art appraiser at an auction house, or, if I was really lucky, a curator for an art museum.”
“What?” Harry could’ve fallen out of the boat. “You’re an artist?”
“Oh, no, I didn’t say that!” She laughed. “I have no talent whatsoever myself—and that’s okay. Just lots of enjoyment. Art appreciation. I started out an art history major, y’see.”