He nods. I expect him to stand up, walk away, but he just sits there. “What?”
A smile peeks through, and he flashes me his pearly whites just as the clouds move away from the sun. “Don’t you have a list for me today?” At my confusion, he adds, “An itinerary?”
“An itinerary?” I laugh. “You want an itinerary?”
“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” He’s teasing me. His eyes caress me the same as they did the day he arrived. I’m flustered. That heat rolls through my veins again, making me press my thighs together.
“Do you, ah, have any preferences for today?” I gather my wits enough to ask.
“Nope. I’m in your hands.”
I’m tempted to rub my hands together, but instead I open my computer. “How did the cooking go yesterday, by the way?”
Before we know it, he’s telling me the tricks for making good sushi. He’s also demanding I don’t schedule him in anymore classes or activities with Tiffany Keyes.
Oh yes. I’ve seen the woman.
I will definitely not schedule him with her.
He liked the cooking lesson. I already know he loves golf. I want him to try something else though. Immerse him in nature, with challenges and the concept that he cannot control everything that happens. I make a few entries into our activities report and send his schedule to my printer.
It doesn’t take long to print out, and when it’s done I place it in front of him.
He glances down and then up at me with both eyebrows raised.
“Be prepared to get wet,” I warn him.
Rafting.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Colt
I can’t believe she’s giving me another shot.
I almost left last night but then something surprising happened. A melody played in my head. Not an old song. Not something vague. A strong, powerful ballad. This hasn’t happened in way too long.
Before we got our first record contract I wrote music all the time. And then Randy and I would play it in his dad’s garage.
Composing provided the perfect outlet for the emotions trapped inside. Joy, grief, regret, love. I channeled all of it into my music and by the time we were “discovered”, had enough to release three separate albums.
I hadn’t come up with anything new in years.
Until last night.
So, I stayed.
Not sure I could have left anyway. Walked away from her forever. Instead, I took out my guitar, sat on the back porch of my cabin, and the melody flowed. Haunting sounds. Mature sounds. Randy would have loved it. I wrote it all down, recorded it on my phone and then played with it till after midnight.
Chorus
She lets me in when she lets me touch her.
Lost in her body, touching a whisper.
Watching her breathe, hearing her needs.
She’s an oasis. She’s where my place is. My whisper.
Bridge:
Find my whisper. Hear my whisper.
I shout to the world when she whispers my name.
I need to figure out the verses.
Today, I felt exhausted but refreshed in a way I haven’t for a long time.
And apparently, I’ll be feeling even more refreshed by the end of the day. Literally. I’ve never been rafting. I swim. I waterski. I kick ass on a jet ski.
She’s sending me down a series of class four rapids on the nearby Arkansas River. From my understanding, it’s an intense run. A few guys from the ranch are signed up, along with some younger women. They’re pumped.
Not just for the rafting, but they know who I am. They all want autographs. They’re excited to be on an outing with singing sensation, Colt Forrester.
I’m casual. Without thinking, I flirt with the two college girls who’ve attached themselves to me. I’m not interested. It just comes naturally.
Occasionally, from the highway, glimpses of the river come into view. I’m surprised to see so much white water.
And clueless, but open to a challenge.
As we drive to the put-in site, our guide goes over his standard safety speech again. Most of it’s practical but some stuff you wouldn’t necessarily think about.
If the raft feels like it’s gonna flip, get to the high side. Makes sense but good to know.
If you are unfortunate enough to fall in, try to swim back to the boat. If you can’t, head down the river feet first and use your feet to bounce off any rocks. He describes this as the “down-river swimming position.” And then he adds in all seriousness, “If you’re in a hole, don’t fight it. Curl into a ball and hopefully it will spit you out eventually.”
Ok-a-ay.
Some of the instructions are a little daunting. I’m the only first timer, and they joke about it.
I hope I live to have dinner with Charlie tonight. If she gets stood up by me it will be nobody’s fault but her own. I’d text her but my phone’s locked in the van.
Our equipment’s state of the art. Life vests, helmets. We’re all given paddles to assist the guide if necessary. I’m kind of getting pumped myself now. Excited.
For the second time in two days.
The sky is overcast, but it’s not raining. Rico, our guide, says it won’t matter anyhow. If we see a lot of lightning, we’ll get off the river. He doesn’t seem worried.
We put into the river at a relatively calm spot. Rico goes over the commands and everybody gets comfortable. There are six people in our boat, including myself and Rico. The two blond college girls from Stanford – I can’t remember their names – two orthopedic surgeons – Carter and Bill – and me.
I’m up front on the right side, Macy – that’s her name – climbs on behind me. Carter and Bill take the seats on the left, and the other girl sits in the middle.
Macey isn’t shy.
“I’m scared, Colt.” She coos from behind. “I’m so glad you’re up front.”
Rico rolled his eyes at me. “Pull your own, Miss Macey.” He hands her a paddle. “You picked the wrong trip if you want a pleasure cruise.”
At her obvious indignation, I nearly burst out laughing. “Tell you what.” I make a small effort to soothe her feathers. “You save me. I’ll save you.”
“You fall in, and I’ll save your sorry ass Forrester.” This from Carter. “I could use some free publicity.”
“How about none of us fall in?” The other girl – Kendra – pipes up.
“That works for me.” Rico’s eyes never leave the river.
Our first set of rapids is class three, according to Rico. I ask him how many times he’s done this run. He says hundreds. Probably thousands.
Us amateurs hear the soft roar before it comes into view. It sounds like a strong breeze blowing through the trees. As we near the white crests, the volume increases, sounding more like a waterfall. As we ease into it, my heartrate increases. The girls scream as our boat dips into the drop.
It’s more technical than I imagined. Rico avoids rocks but steers us into particular rapids to enhance the ride. Water splashes over the boat, over my head. It’s fucking cold, but my blood pumps fast enough it doesn’t bother me. When the river smooths out, leaving the rapids behind us, I’m having fun. Better than a roller coaster. It’s a major rush. We high five each other and Bill tosses us all a beer.
“That was awesome!” Macey’s fears have fled and her friend… Kendra, looks more at ease now too. Macey hasn’t given up on me. Considering I have no real interest, I find her nearly as amusing as she is annoying. She leans into me whenever she gets the chance. She’s slid right up behind me a few times, pretending it’s an accident.
Jesus Christ.
We ride through a few more class threes, and by now the girls have had more than a few beers. I switched to water after my first. I’m just not into that scene right now.
It surprised me. The lack of interest I have for the easy girl, the buzz.
The two docs are pretty cool. And Kendra seems almost apologetic for her friend. She admits to me that she’s
studying music at CU Boulder.
Overall, our little crew has become something of a team.
The ice is broken. I imagine Charlie encouraging this sort of “bonding.”
In my mind, I picture a pre-pregnancy Charlie on the raft with me. She’s likely done this run dozens of times. Only I can’t dwell on her, now. We’re coming up on our first section of class fours.
Before I can scope it out myself, I notice Rico’s concerned frown. Gotta respect this dude. I glance downstream. One of the boats up ahead has flipped.
“Hey, guys.” The tone of his voice grabs our attention. “We may need to be part of a rescue effort.” Rescue? Shit. At this point, I’m glad I’m not drinking. These rapids seem a lot bigger than what we just came through. I follow Rico’s gaze and see at least three yellow life vests bouncing around in the foamy crests. One looks like it may be a kid.
“Listen guys. Do exactly as I say.” Rico’s eyes are pinned down stream.
I’m alert. Ready to do what needs done. I can’t imagine swimming in these churning, raging waves.
We drop into a hole and the translucent peak of a wave looms over the boat.
“Dig in! Now! Hard!” Rico shouts above the roaring cauldron of crashing waves. I’m rowing hard. Our craft jerks and Kendra slams into me. I grab her before the water pulls her in. She’s flailing in the middle of the boat as I dig my oar into the river. We’re on top of the giant rapid. I can barely reach my paddle into the water. Feels like it’s six feet below the boat.
“Colt!” Rico’s yelling at me. “Grab him when we go by. We only have one shot.” I barely hear his words before I see the glossy head of a kid bobbing just ahead of the boat. Bigger rapids materialize downstream. And rocks. Lots of rocks.
I shove my paddle under the seat, lock my feet, and lean down. The kid’s eyes are fucking saucers. He’s scared to death. He’s too far away. “Swim to me! Come on kid, swim!” My voice spurs him into action. Almost. Almost.
I grab hold of the top of his life jacket and fling him onto the boat. Now both the kid and Kendra are tumbling around helplessly on the rubber floor. One of the other guys pulls Kendra into her position. Rico’s eyes remain focused up ahead. Grim but determined.
“Another one!” he shouts. We drop about ten feet and dip behind another swell of the raging river. I feel like Rico’s steered us closer to a wall than he normally would. This swimmer is a woman. Her eyes are closed. I lock my feet in again and hang over the side. She doesn’t appear to be conscious.
“Closer, man!” I shout without letting her out of my sight. “Closer!” The wave breaks on us as my fingers wrap around her vest. I heft her into our boat just in time to prevent both of us from being swallowed by the wave.
Somehow, we make it through the rapid set and then everything falls eerily calm. Rico steers the boat into an eddy while one of the surgeons attends to the limp woman. Rico shouts at other guides. Telling them we got two.
Eventually, word spreads that all the swimmers are out. The other boats assist in righting the capsized craft, but we’re heading for the next take-out. When the woman comes to, relieved laughter breaks the tension. The kid’s okay. The woman’s okay. We all breathe sighs of relief.
Rico slaps me on the back, shaking his head. “You’re fucking amazing,” he says to me. “I can’t believe you’ve never done this before.”
I’m so impressed with this guy, I can hardly stand it. He kept his head, kept his boat upright, and maneuvered exactly where we needed to go. I toss him a beer. “Ditto,” I tell him with a grin.
Holy shit.
When we get to the take-out, an ambulance is waiting. We’re paid guests, but our group feels like more of a team. We assist with the gear and climb into the van.
Holy shit, I think again.
Maybe I should stick with cooking classes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Charlie
Rico checks in with me after the raft trip. I’m a little horrified to hear about the harrowing experience they had. It was Colt’s first raft trip, and I didn’t want him soured on it. Rico says Colt was amazing. He saved a woman and a kid.
“Seriously?”
Rico nods. “In the thick of Devil’s Hole, like a pro. The Billings chicks were all over him. Talk about making their vacation.” He hands me his clipboard, which includes a full report of the outing. I’m a little stunned. I vaguely remember two scantily dressed college girls who’d checked in yesterday. One, the daughter of a senator, the other her friend. Tall, thin, twenty-one. Of course, they were all over Colt. The question burning in my throat, though: was Colt all over them? I know his reputation. I know how powerful his charm can be – first hand. Not to mention his looks… Even if he wasn’t a celebrity, he’d catch any woman’s eye.
And now he’s a hero too…
Stop it Charlie. He’s just a guest.
I’ve made that run about twenty times. Devil’s Hole is what makes it a class four. I want to read the report but I’m running late. If I want time to shower before meeting Colt. I need to get back to my cabin.
And I want to look my best. I want to… I’m not even sure what I want – or what to expect. What does an eight months pregnant woman expect on a date?
One who’s experienced more lustful thoughts in the past forty-eight hours than she has perhaps, in her entire life?
I rush back to my cabin. Shower, shaving practically everything from my waist down. What I can see, anyway. I slather on lotion, spritz perfume and apply what I hope is the perfect amount of makeup. Since I’m running out of time I weave one long braid that dangles down my back.
What I put on this body of mine, is a different matter altogether. I grab my phone. Hmm…
Me: You made it out alive, I hear.
I go back to my closet and examine my choices until my phone sounds with a text.
Colt: Disappointed?
I want to make a joke, but my heart won’t let me.
Me: Pleased.
The bubbles bounce around a few seconds and then stop. What’s he thinking? Has he changed his mind about taking me out?
After what feels like forever, he responds.
Colt: I’ve called for my truck. Are you ready?
Damn. Damn. Damn. I’m walking around in nothing but my bra and panties.
Me: Where are we going? I don’t know what to wear.
Colt: Wear something sexy.
Me: I’m not sure what that means at this stage of my life.
Colt: Tight. Short. Low cut.
Okaaaaaaay.
Me: LOL Give me 10 more minutes then.
Colt: Take your time. You’re worth the wait.
My world feels more colorful, even just texting with him. I want to send a heart emoji, but that’s too much. I send a thumbs up and go back to my wardrobe.
After five more minutes, I settle on a knit, off-the-shoulder red dress. It’s brazen. I don’t believe it was intended for a woman whose waist was larger than her bust, but it meets all of Colt’s criteria. And I must admit, the affect pleases me.
I slip my feet into a pair of strappy sandals. I want to wear heels but my balance isn’t the same these days. Since its mid-September, I opt for a sweater, grab my purse, and then rush out the door.
His truck, a shiny black pickup, is parked in the round-about drive outside the offices but I barely notice it.
My eyes are drawn to its owner, the man lounging against it. With such a perfect male specimen, I can hardly look anywhere else.
He’s tamed his hair somewhat, not completely. I’m glad. Steely eyes watch me approach with unnerving intensity. He’s wearing a jacket and tie with a white button-up shirt and jeans. The man would look good in everything. Or nothing. I want to touch him. Press my body against him.
He seems to read my mind and a glint of wickedness enters his gaze.
When I’m just a few feet away, he steps forward and grazes his lips behind my ear. “You look fucking sensational,” he growls.
All the butterflies are jumping, and my girly parts want to skip dinner, ignore my current body issues, and go back to his cabin. His cologne is subtle. It teases me. I imagine running my lips down his chest, following the V in search of his manly treasures…
“Thank you.” It comes out as a whisper. His nearness almost robs me of speech. He opens the door and assists me into the passenger seat. A perfect gentleman. I strap on the seatbelt while he goes around to the other side.
This feels like a date.
Is it?
He climbs into the driver’s side and starts the engine. A smile dances on his lips.
“What are you thinking?” This is one of those questions men seem to hate, but it escapes anyhow.
He glances my way. “You really want to know?”
“I do.”
“I’m thinking…” He looks both ways before turning onto the main road. “…that your baby’s father has to be the biggest ass to ever live.” He presses on the gas, gaining speed. “Unless you sent him packing, in which case I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard. Except, I really don’t. His loss is my gain tonight. What happened?”
It feels perfectly natural to tell him about Brent. Where to start…? “Brent was one of Whiskey Creek’s assistant managers.” Colt shakes his head at this information. “We dated for about five months. It felt pretty serious, you know? So…” I can’t really tell him about the condom problem. Can I?
“So?” He nudges me.
I blow out a long sigh. “Let me ask you a question?” I’m curious. “Is there really that much of a difference for men to have sex without a condom, as opposed to wearing one.”
Colt’s answer is immediate. “I wouldn’t know.”
“What?”
“I’ve never had sex without a condom.”
We drive in silence for almost a minute, the scenery virtually unnoticed by me. “Never?’ I ask.
“Never,” he confirms.
“Hm.” This information gives me pause to reconsider everything Brent ever told me.
“Good old Brent convince you he wasn’t getting enough satisfaction?”
Mile High Madness: Six Colorado Contemporary Romances Page 27