“Me, either. Every time Griff calls, I wonder if he finally popped the question. My older brother always was a little slow on the uptake.”
“Three months is slow?”
Sawyer shrugged. “When it’s right, it’s right. Why wait?”
“To make sure you aren’t making a colossal mistake.” Her hands clenched in her lap. “Sometimes people aren’t what they seem on the surface. It takes time to ferret out their true nature.”
His eyes narrowed. “Wow, you really have been dating the wrong type of men.” He tapped his chest with one long finger. “What you see should be what you get.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“So, what do you want to know about the Wilde men?”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Ainslee mentioned Griff is some sort of underwater treasure hunter?”
“He salvages artifacts from sunken ships. So, yeah, treasure hunter pretty much sums it up.”
“That’s kind of cool. What about you? Do you raft year round?”
“May through September are our prime months. I spend winters on the family ranch in Wyoming.”
“Oh, yeah? Doing what?”
Sawyer’s cheeks took on a pink hue—or maybe it was just a glow reflected from the fire. He cleared his throat. “I help with the ranch work…and I whittle.”
Her feet slipped off the edge of the chair and hit the ground. “You whittle?” A mental image of Sawyer in a rocking chair on a wide front porch, pocketknife in hand, a long gray beard…her mind boggled. “Aren’t you a little young to whittle?”
“I don’t believe there’s an age restriction, but I’ll admit my grandpa got me started. I let a harmless hobby grow out of control a few years back when I started a collection of gnomes and goblins—”
“Oh. My. God!” She bounced straight up from the chair and fisted her hands on her hips to stare down at him. “Are you S.A. Wilde?”
“You’ve seen my work?”
“Seen? Try lusted over.” She let out a moan. “There was this little hobbit…adorable. Nearly broke my heart to walk away from that shop without it.”
“So, why did you?”
“Hello, that hobbit cost more than my rent. An S.A. Wilde figurine doesn’t come cheap.”
“They do take a while to make.” His voice took on a defensive edge. “Each one is hand carved and painted, completely unique, not stamped out of a mold.”
She sat back down. “They’re amazing. The expression on that hobbit’s face…” A long sigh slipped out. “You’re very talented. Why do you do this?” She waved toward the river.
“I need the activity. I’d lose my mind if I had to sit still twelve months a year.” He poked one of the sticks in the fire with the toe of his sneaker. “The two sides of my life balance each other and keep me fresh and interested in both careers.”
“You really have your act together. I’m a little envious. I—”
“Sorry to interrupt, but I wasn’t sure which tent…” Charles Monahan stopped beside them and flashed a quick smile. “After a day in the sun, I’m exhausted. I try to stay in shape, but I guess I’m not used to so much fresh air.”
Sawyer stood. “Paddling burns a lot of energy, but after a good night’s sleep, you’ll be ready for another big day.” He glanced toward the congressman who was drinking beer and laughing at something, Yancy, the TV cameraman had said. “You’ll be bunking with Walton in the larger green tent. The two boys can share the red one.” He paused. “If that works for you?”
“Sounds fine.” Charles turned away and nearly ran into Dwight, who’d stepped up behind him. “Whoops, didn’t see you there.”
The kid rolled his eyes. “I have to share a tent?” He tossed a hard look over his shoulder at his cousin, reading a book with a headlamp on the far side of the fire. “With him?”
“Everyone’s sharing except Devin.” Sawyer’s voice was tight. “We don’t have room in the rafts to carry a dozen tents. You can bunk with your dad if you’d prefer.”
“Unbelievable!” Dwight sighed. “I’m not sleeping with my old man. He snores loud enough to wake the dead.”
“He does?” Charles’s tone was resigned.
“Let’s see if we can work this out…” Sawyer headed toward the area where the tents were staked out with Charles and Dwight following.
Rising to her feet, Devin went in the opposite direction to settle on a large rock near the edge of the river where the rushing current partially drowned the sound of raised voices. Not Sawyer’s, whose tone remained low and even. She couldn’t help wondering if anything shook the calm he projected. She would have been tempted to smack Dwight upside the head and tell him to suck it up. If Walton had done it a few times through the years, his son might not be such a self-entitled punk.
Then again, being single and childless, what did she know about parenting? If her biological clock had ever started to tick, observing Dwight in action would have turned it off in a hurry. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at the stars and counted her blessings. Not the least of which was fate bringing her here to introduce her to S.A. Wilde, of all people. Talent and strength, all in the same impressive package. A smile curved her lips. Getting to know him much better was even more attractive now.
By the time their river adventure was over, she’d be hard pressed to even remember Porter’s name—if the man now defusing what could become a nasty situation among his customers lived up to her undoubtedly unrealistic expectations about what could be done in a sleeping bag. After the rafting trip ended, she’d walk away with a satisfied smile on her face and put in the soul-searching she’d promised herself before she thought about seriously dating again.
Without a doubt, one of her more brilliant plans.
Based on a couple of heated glances she’d intercepted today, she was pretty sure Sawyer would be happy to accommodate her.
“Should I leave you to your meditation, or are you in the mood for company?”
She jumped then gripped the rock to keep from tumbling into the river. “Oh, wow. You startled me.”
“Sorry.” The young guide, Roman, didn’t look sorry. His lips curled up in a smile as he planted his feet and crossed his arms over a down vest patched in spots with duct tape.
“Avoiding the fracas?” She angled her chin back toward the campsite.
“They’re playing musical tents. I figure I’ll sleep wherever they dump my gear, so why contribute to the confusion?”
“I’m sure Sawyer will come up with a solution. He seems good at smoothing over problems.”
“Him and the congressman, both. The guy went into immediate diplomatic mode to deactivate the situation. He probably doesn’t want that journalist telling the whole world his number one son is a little shit.”
“You don’t like Dwight?”
Roman shrugged. “I don’t like his type. I always had to work for everything I ever wanted. My…dad sure as hell didn’t baby me. That kid gets the world served up on a platter.”
“True enough.” Devin studied the tight line of his mouth. “It may be a little clichéd, but you’ll undoubtedly be the better man for it.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have appreciated a few breaks now and then.” He let out a breath. “Whatever. I probably shouldn’t make rude remarks about your boss’s son. My boss would probably fire my ass if he knew.”
“Then I won’t tell him.” Devin rubbed her arms as the evening chill penetrated her sweatshirt. “Do you enjoy your job?”
“It has its perks.” He pushed shoulder-length blond hair out of his eyes and gave her an up and down look. “Want to ride in my raft tomorrow?”
She glanced past him, and her gaze landed on Sawyer heading their way. “Nope.”
Roman’s snort of laughter caught her off guard. She returned her attention to him and smiled.
“Gotta love a woman who knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to speak it.”
&
nbsp; “Glad you aren’t offended.”
He took a few steps back. “Why would I be? I only go after what I want when I stand a shot at getting it. Good night, Devin. Sleep well.”
“You, too.”
Sawyer spoke quietly to his employee as they passed then continued down to the river’s edge. “Everything okay?”
“Sure.” She scooted over on the rock and patted the spot beside her. “Are the sleeping arrangements worked out?”
“Jon is now bunking with Gregor and Roman in the largest tent, and I gave the one we vacated to Walton and moved it out of earshot of the others.”
She frowned. “So, you’re sleeping with the brother-in-law?”
“Charles is sharing a tent with his son. Said he doesn’t see Alex enough since his divorce, apparently a bone of contention with his ex-wife. Dwight has his own digs. Everyone’s happy.”
“Maybe my math is shaky, but…”
His teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “Nothing wrong with your addition. I’ll be bunking by the campfire. Sure as hell beats sharing with Dwight. I’ve known that kid since the day he was born. Let’s just say he hasn’t improved with age.”
“Geez, something we all agree on. If you get cold—”
“I won’t.”
She slid off the rock and gave him a long look. “Then I guess I won’t offer to share my tent with you.” She squeezed his shoulder then stepped away. “Good night, Sawyer. Sweet dreams.”
Chapter 3
The unmistakable sound of retching penetrated Sawyer’s sleep-fogged brain. Shit. He sat upright in his sleeping bag to peer into the unrelenting blackness of a moonless night. Nothing disturbed the silence except the steady rush of water and his own pulse drumming in his ears. Had he imagined it? Dreamed someone was in distress?
A low moan followed by more gagging answered that question. Scrambling out of his bag, he felt for the flashlight he’d left on the ground beside him, clicked it on and shielded the bright beam with his other hand. The last thing he wanted was to wake the whole camp. Walking carefully to avoid falling over obstacles, he followed the sounds until they stopped again.
Flashing the light toward the edge of the woods, the beam caught a broad back and up-ended ass covered by a pair of tighty whities. The only one in camp that large was his godfather. He rested on hands and knees, his whole body shaking.
“You okay, Walton?”
Stupid-ass question. Of course he isn’t okay.
“Sawyer?” The voice broke on another round of heaving.
His mother had held his head and stroked his back when he was a kid with the flu. The last time he’d been sick, his at-the-time girlfriend had fled while he puked his guts out in the bathroom. The kicker was a note left on the pillow telling him to call when he wasn’t contagious. He hadn’t bothered. Surely some middle ground was appropriate in this situation.
When the current bout of nausea ended, Walton straightened and turned. “Damn. Did you come over here to shoot me? I’d appreciate it if you would.”
“Afraid not, but I can offer you some of that pink crap if you think it might settle your stomach. We keep a bottle with the first aid kit.” He directed the flashlight beam down low.
“Nothing left in there to settle.” His godfather wiped a shaky hand across his clammy forehead.
Sawyer shifted from foot to foot then jammed his free hand in the pocket of his sweatpants. “Can I help you back to your tent?”
“Let’s give it a minute—just to be sure I’m not going to start up again.” Walton let out a deep breath. “Shit. Something sure didn’t agree with me.”
Stepping over to the nearby tent, Sawyer lifted the flap and flashed the light around the interior. Spotting a jacket, he pulled it out and brought it to the man huddled on the ground. “Here. Put this on.”
“Thanks.” Walton slipped his arms through the sleeves then pulled up the zipper. “I don’t know what the hell happened. The nausea hit me with no warning. I barely made it out of the tent in time.”
“Maybe those tequila shots you were doing with Liam and Yancy weren’t such a great idea.”
“I’m not drunk. I only had one shot plus a couple of beers with those boys, just to establish a rapport. I’m not stupid enough to overindulge in the presence of the media, for Christ’s sake.”
“You certainly sound sober.” He flashed the light beam. “You’re getting a little color back in your face. Feeling any better?”
“I am.” Planting a hand on the ground, he pushed upward.
Sawyer helped him to his feet then held on to steady him when he swayed. “Easy does it.”
“I’ve got this. One foot in front of the other, right?”
A grin slipped out. The fact that Walton could joke about the situation showed his strength of character.
“I don’t think you’re ready for a marathon, but you should make it back to your tent without a problem. Good thing, since you’re way too heavy to carry.”
“Well, thank God for that.” The man took another wavering step forward. “I don’t need anyone else waking up to snap pictures of my fat, white ass. That kind of publicity would kill any momentum I have going into the election.”
“Hey, at least you still had on your briefs. If you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have stuck around. There are limits to my goodwill—even if you are my godfather.” When Sawyer held back the tent flap, Walton collapsed inside.
He rolled onto his back, one arm covering his face, and took a few shallow breaths. “Now that I’m here, let’s hope I don’t have to make another quick exit. I may pull on my pants when I work up the energy, just in case.”
“I’m sorry you’re feeling so rotten.”
“All I can figure is I ate something bad.”
Sawyer frowned. “That doesn’t make sense since we all ate the same food at lunch and dinner, and no one else is sick. At least I haven’t heard anyone else get up.”
“I always did have a sensitive stomach. Hopefully I got whatever it was out of my system.” He let out a shuddering sigh. “But maybe you should toss any leftover potato salad, just in case. I had two helpings tonight.”
“I’ll do that.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, are you going to be all right? I can stay if you want me to.”
“God, no. Go back to bed. I’m just thankful I have my own tent and didn’t wake anyone else.”
Sawyer retreated a step. “Let’s hope you’re feeling a lot better in the morning.”
“I doubt I’ll be much use paddling tomorrow.” Walton grimaced. “Not that I was particularly useful today. Devin might have been right when she told me I bit off more than I could chew with this trip.”
“She told you that?”
“The woman isn’t afraid to speak her mind.” He struggled to sit up. “I saw you sneaking a few peeks her way. If you’re inclined to make a move in that direction, you’d better watch yourself.”
Sawyer stilled with his hand on the flap and the light directed into the tent. “Oh?”
“Yep, she won’t sugarcoat what she says, and she doesn’t put up with any crap. Also, she isn’t big on forgiveness. Tends to cut her losses sooner rather than later.”
“I don’t have a problem with the direct approach, not that it matters. Doesn’t seem like your aide and I have a whole lot in common. Although I do enjoy her quick wit…and great legs.”
Walton snorted then pressed a hand to his stomach. “Oww, don’t make me laugh. Go away, now. I want to get some sleep.”
“See you in the morning.” Sawyer dropped the flap then zipped it closed before making his way back to the campfire.
A few embers still glowed in the ashes. He added a couple of dead branches, waited until they caught fire and then held his hands above the flame to warm. When rock scraped against rock followed by a muffled curse behind him, he glanced over his shoulder. Clicking on the flashlight, he caught Devin in the beam.
She covered her
eyes with her hand.
“Sorry.” He turned off the light. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Sure.” She kept her voice low as she approached. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Walton was sick. He suspects food poisoning.”
“Is he okay?” She touched the sleeve of his sweatshirt then held tight. “Should I go check on him?”
“I think the worst is over. I just left him, and he was hoping to get some sleep.” When she shivered, Sawyer slipped his other arm around her to pull her closer to the fire. “Are you cold? How come you’re up at this hour?”
She leaned against him. “I had to go pee. Geez, not exactly what you want to tell a cute guy in the middle of the night. I guess I should have put a jacket on over my pajamas. It’s chilly out here.”
He grinned and tightened his arm then glanced down at her in the flickering firelight. “I don’t mind keeping you warm. Besides, you wouldn’t want to cover up those dancing penguins.”
“Laugh all you want. Penguins are what’s cool in flannel this year.”
The grin broadened. “I like you, Devin. You have a quirky sense of humor.”
“I’ve been told I’m one weird chick, so I appreciate the fact that you get me.” She covered a yawn. “If you’re sure my boss doesn’t need his hand held, I guess I should go back to bed.”
“Me, too. Uh, about that proposition you didn’t quite make earlier…”
What the hell am I doing? Asking for trouble? Shut up and go to bed. Alone. As he’d told Walton, Devin was all wrong for him.
“The offer to fill you in on the long version of how I met my boss?” Her low voice held a husky, teasing quality that sent heat sizzling through him.
He pried his gaze away from the firelight dancing over her mouth with its full bottom lip to focus on what she’d said. “Huh? Wait, I remember now. Not exactly what I was talking about, but…never mind.”
She touched the hand he’d fisted at his side. “About the tent sharing…”
Wilde Side Page 3