by Jewel Allen
She regretted her harsh thoughts. The guy was just trying to be nice. Maybe making up for their prickly start.
She managed a smile back. “It is.”
He stared at her for a couple of heartbeats, making her nape prickle, and then he turned back to the lake. “Why have I never heard of this place before?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You live under a rock?”
“A rock?” His confusion turned into amusement. “Oh, that’s funny. Yes. That must be it. I live under a rock.”
“Is this your first time to these parts?” she asked politely.
“Yes.”
When he didn’t offer any more information, she stopped prying. Jangling the boat key in her hand, she gestured with her arm. “Come on. Let me show you where the boat is docked.”
She walked down the fiberglass dock, passing some houseboat renters pulling carts full of gear and food.
“Where are they going?” he asked.
“They’re unloading their houseboats. They either rent one or they own one docked here.”
“Do you rent those out too?” he asked.
“No. We just have our own private one.”
“And what is a houseboat like?”
She studied him curiously. He sounded so sheltered. “It’s like a fancy motor home. You know what that is, right?”
He pondered this for a moment. “Kind of like a tour bus?”
“Kind of. Except a tour bus doesn’t have bedrooms and such.”
“Oh,” he said, off-hand, “believe me; they do.”
She glanced over at him, not saying anything. Obviously, this guy had money to burn if he was talking about tour buses like he knew what they were like. Maybe he was an actor, though he didn’t look familiar.
Brooke went to the first boat slot on the dock where a plain white motorboat was moored.
“This is it,” she said. “Lazy Lady.” She braced herself for his haughty reaction. Surely he would say a snide remark about the boat, for its simplicity.
“This is the boat?”
He proved her right. She bristled at his tone and glared at him, folding her arms across her chest.
“Sorry,” he said, “it’s just, for that price, I expected something nicer.”
“It’s a rental,” she bit out her words, “and it’s high season.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t this be false advertising?”
“False advertising!” The gall of the guy. “Are you accusing me of not renting you a boat? This one is plain, yes, and a bit scuffed, but it runs, and it can get you around.”
His eyes glittered with mischief once again as he looked back at the boat. He was having fun at her expense, was he? She resisted the urge to walk away. Instead, she waited in frigid silence.
When he turned back to her, his expression was serious. “I’m sorry. I was just teasing you.”
“Well, I haven’t the time to joke around.” She tossed him the key, and he caught it. “Have fun.”
“Wait.” He glanced at the boat and back at her. “Aren’t you going to show me how to run it?”
Gritting her teeth, she got in the boat from the driver’s side. He got in after her and stood over her seat. She wished he wouldn’t crowd her. It was irritatingly distracting, smelling his spicy cologne and having him in her personal space, but she decided not to say anything.
“First, you turn the blower on,” she said, flipping down the switch, “and then after a couple of minutes, you turn the key in the ignition.” She waited and then turned the key. The engine came alive. After a few seconds, she turned it off. “Of course, you untie the boat before you go.”
“Could you zip me around the lake for a bit?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing. Was he trying to pick her up? But his face only wore a bland expression. “Just for a couple of minutes.”
“I would appreciate that.” He settled in the passenger seat.
She took a deep breath. The guy wasn’t too obnoxious, but why did he make her hackles rise so much? She really needed to relax. Pretend he didn’t get her all riled up.
“So first, turn on the blower,” he said. He flipped the switch on.
“Do you mind helping untie the boat?” she said.
He shot to a standing position, rocking the boat. “Of course not.” He reached with his long arms to untie the front and back. Brooke tried not to stare at the rippling biceps as he worked the chore.
“What do I do with the rope?” he asked, holding up the two white lengths.
“Just set them in that side compartment.”
He did as she asked and then she got up. “Why don’t you drive? That way you can get the hang of it while I’m here.”
He slid into the driver’s seat, and she could sense his eagerness. His eyes lit up as his hand traced the outline of the vinyl-covered steering wheel. Having already flipped the blower on, he turned on the engine and flashed her a look as though asking for permission. When she nodded, he shifted into gear. Forward.
“Stop!” she said.
He was gunning for the dock. Luckily, she was able to reach in front of him and get the gear into reverse so they barely bumped into the boardwalk. The boat rocked for several seconds.
Brooke held a hand to her face. “Don’t do that!”
He winced. “Sorry.”
When her heartbeat settled, she reminded him, “By the way, if anything were to happen to the boat, you’re covered by insurance. You checked the box at the office earlier.”
“Good.” He was looking at the dials on the dashboard as they glided out of the slot. She watched him for a few minutes as he maneuvered the boat out and into open water, this time going the right direction, observing a wakeless speed.
Once they were out of the wakeless area, they passed a larger boat which left huge waves in its wake, and he cut across the turbulence without hesitation. For one moment, they were planing over the water, and then he settled the boat again into a straight trajectory toward the open water and ramped up the speed.
She cocked her head, suspicion mounting within her. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
He gave her a sheepish look. “The near dock-hit wasn’t convincing?”
Her blood pressure spiked. “You mean you did that to make me think you didn’t know what you were doing?”
His amused eyes turned somber. “I wouldn’t have been able to get a few minutes of tutorial from you otherwise, would I?”
She resisted making an impatient noise. He had wasted a lot of her time which could have been spent tidying up the ledger at the boat shop. Oscar needed all the help she could give him.
“Sorry,” he said.
She glanced over at him. His eyes held a repentant expression. He could be sincere, or he could simply be a very good actor. In a clipped tone, she said, “Do you mind taking me back to the dock?”
“Of course not.” His voice was subdued, as it should be.
He turned the boat around expertly over the calm water. “Not many people here.”
“It’s between a weekend and the start of a new camping week.”
Duke goosed the boat until they’d built up speed into a plane. Brooke flicked a glance at his profile, glowing with the sheer pleasure of their acceleration. She looked forward before he could catch her staring, but something within her understood what he was feeling. That potency of speed and the expanse of dark blue waters. She studied him again, but this time he was looking, and their eyes locked.
She turned her face and shook off the feeling of camaraderie. She wasn’t aiming to be his friend.
“I’m sorry I lied about not knowing how to drive a boat,” he said.
Startled at his apology, she gazed at her hands. “It was silly.”
“Was it?” And with that cryptic comment, he slowed the boat and cruised alongside the canyon briefly before turning to her. He glanced at the canyon walls and grinned. “This place is amazing. Are you sure
you want to head back?”
Brooke realized she had been enjoying herself, the mindlessness of being a passenger in this boat against the backdrop of a tourist attraction at low season. This was her favorite time of year—when everyone had gone back to school and the lake was quiet once again.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, please.”
He revved toward the direction they came. “I can see why you’d live in that small sleepy town.”
“The lake makes it all worthwhile.”
He studied her profile. “Have you ever lived in a big city?”
“The summer after high school, I visited an aunt in Colorado. She lived in a small town close to Colorado Springs.”
“Is that close to Denver?”
“About an hour and a half away.”
“I’ve been to Colorado. The Durango area is pretty.”
“I’ve heard it is.”
The ride had come to an end. He didn’t need coaching. He knew what he was doing and docked without incident. Brooke busied herself with the rope and catching one of the posts so she could jump onto the boardwalk.
“Thanks for coming out with me,” he said. His voice was soft, his eyes matching this gentler persona. She knew he was trying, and there were cracks in her defenses. But out of sheer habit, she cut off any possibility of a flirtation, switching to her businesslike self.
She nodded and untethered the rope, throwing it back on the boat’s carpeted floor. “You’re welcome.”
The boat engine gurgled back to life as he reversed out of the dock. Brooke kept walking until the sound grew fainter. She turned, and their gazes locked from the distance. He raised a hand and waved. After a couple of heartbeats, she raised her hand too.
Chapter Three
Well, that was interesting. Alvaro smiled to himself as he turned the boat and headed back out to the lake.
He may have overdone the John Wayne thing, but it was, admittedly, one of the funniest aliases he’d used lately. Understandably, Brooke started out prickly, but it appeared she had a softer side. He wanted very much to discover the woman behind her cool façade. Too bad it took him a boat ride to make inroads with her. He could have kept up his charade of not knowing how to drive the boat, but he’d been having too much fun being behind the steering wheel again to fake it. He felt at home here on the water. In Mondragón, surrounded by the sea, boating was a natural pastime.
After waving, he slowly puttered out of the no-wake zone. Once he was out of the buoy-marked area, he ripped out of there. The wind blew his hair around and made him smile. He hadn’t felt this freedom in ages. Here, no one knew who he was and didn’t care where he was going.
His thoughts returned to Brooke. He recalled the moment when he’d felt the power of the boat thrumming at his fingertips as it planed over the water. Then he’d turned to her, to see her eyes drinking him in with a curious spark. He could have capitalized on that, but doing so would have cheapened the moment. Maybe when he returned the boat later tonight, he could ask her out.
She would probably say no. Keep some distance between them. He’d have to come up with some fancy excuse as to why she should say yes. Maybe he’d say he’d appreciate the company.
He shook his head. He suspected she wouldn’t fall for that.
Sighing, he glanced down and saw a laminated map tucked in the side pocket by his seat. He slowed and then stopped. He pulled out the map and unrolled it. What a huge lake this was, with so many canyons and fingers that spread out like tentacles. He glanced around, wondering where he was, and saw a buoy marked “Moki.” At least he knew where to come back to. He put the map back in the pocket before driving the boat closer to shore to explore some of the fingers. He spent several hours puttering around the winding walls and peering through arches. Occasionally, he passed another boat, but otherwise, he had the canyon to himself. Pure bliss.
He entered a canyon finger and slowly maneuvered into it. The rock walls zigzagged deeply, like a mysterious maze. The gurgling sound of the engine at wakeless speed bounced echoed away and up into a sliver of blue sky.
At the end of this lake finger, Duke came upon a slot canyon, a gap between boulders that had tumbled down the cliffs. The small crevasse intrigued Alvaro. He slowed the boat and moored it on a sandbar.
His phone showed no service. Might as well leave it in the boat with his wallet in case he went swimming. There shouldn’t be anyone else around, but just to be on the safe side, he tucked his wallet, keys, and phone under the map. He took off his shirt and kicked his water sandals onto the floor. After rooting around in the boat, he found a long piece of coiled rope and a metal stake. Climbing on the V-shaped seat at the bow of the boat, he jumped onto the fine sand. It felt smooth and cool under his bare feet.
Tying up the boat, he studied his surroundings. This was sorcery. He was used to the most beautiful beaches of Europe, and this red dirt was definitely different and even finer than the sand at the most expensive resorts. And this rock around the lake—breathtaking. They formed tall walls with sheer cliff drops and interesting ridges. The sun turned the rock into a deep sienna hue. Sumptuous. There wasn’t a lot of vegetation here. That was one major difference from the green of the Mediterranean. This was desert, after all, but the landscape, despite its sparseness, was beautiful.
With all his eating metaphors, his stomach fittingly grumbled. He would go as far as this slot canyon would let him and then return the boat. The thought of sparring with Brooke again made him smile.
He walked over to the gap in the boulders where water swirled in its opening and squeezed through. Past that, the cliff walls closed in on the slot. Wading through ankle-deep shallows, he reached a spot that deepened into a cool pool. A strange insect he’d never seen before skimmed the water with skinny legs. For one moment, he wanted to tell someone, to share in the excitement of his discovery, and then he realized with a pang that he was alone. He wished he had the beautiful though feisty Brooke with him. He could have asked her what the bug was called.
Of course, he couldn’t have expected her to warm to him, not with their rocky start, and he wasn’t about to grovel. But something in him suspected she would soften and thaw if he were to ask her to explain the wonder of Lake Powell to him.
He swam across the pool, which ended with a boulder twice his height. On the surface, scratches attested to others’ attempts to scale it. What could be on the other side?
Positioning his grip where he could get a fingerhold, he started scaling. Water had stained the surface over time, making it slippery. This was going to take too long. He jumped back and studied his other options. To the right of the boulder was a gap of about a foot. He wouldn’t be able to wiggle through it, but he could wedge himself in it and scale up. If he were to push off on one side and keep a foot on the other, he could hopefully cantilever himself up and over the rock.
On his first alternate attempt, he slipped and fell with a splash in the water. He laughed at himself, relieved Brooke wasn’t around to see his epic fail. On second thought, maybe she’d feel sorry for him and rush to make sure he was all right, and he’d milk his little “accident” for what it was worth.
He tried two, three more times, each attempt getting him closer to the top. But each one still ended with him slipping and falling. Grunting with frustration, he put his hands on his hips and glared at the obstacle. He was no weakling. He could do this.
Reaching higher and keeping a constant climbing momentum, he scaled the rock. Two feet, three feet, four feet…until he could almost see over it. Just three more feet, and he could reach the top. How he would get down was a different story, but he would worry about that later. With a triumphant whoop, he grabbed the top of the rock to heft himself over. Instead of rock, his hand landed on a little patch of moss. Slippery moss.
What happened next seemed to take place in slow motion.
His fingers clawed the air as his upper body tipped away from the rock. His bare foot lost its hold on the rock, and he hur
tled down the way he came.
Somehow he landed on one foot, but it was unsteady at best. His other foot kicked out and sent him off-balance. He tumbled backward. Then his head hit something. There was a sharp pain and then blackness.
Chapter Four
Brooke spent the afternoon going through bills, fielding calls, and tracking down parts, and then there was a bit of a lull. She glanced up at the clock and realized with a little blip of gladness that it was time to close.
Then she frowned. Duke still hadn’t returned the boat. Maybe she should have emphasized that he had until seven to get the boat docked and the key to her. She bit her lip, hoping he would show up soon. She was ready to be done with the repair shop and get home to…
Pathetic as it was, there wasn’t much to come home to. Oscar most likely would still be working on a boat until late or until he felt like turning in for the night. She could maybe coax him into eating dinner with her, but he had simple tastes, and any of her attempts at a glamorous menu often went unappreciated. Not that he was a bad brother—he was really quite sweet—but he wasn’t wired to notice the finer things in life.
She sat at her desk for a few more minutes. If Duke came in after closing time, she would take his key back with a bit of a stern expression. She was already bracing herself in case he asked her out on a date, which of course she would flatly shut down.
She wasn’t going to say yes to dinner where everyone in Redding would be afire with gossip. Oscar would buddy up with him with a million questions.
Plus, who knew what he’d try afterward? He seemed like the type to stand there saying goodbye with the kind of intense expression that made a girl come alive wanting him. But not this girl, no. Brooke was not going to stand for such nonsense, even though her traitorous body would probably want a kiss.
Heavens, when was the last time she’d even kissed a man? Probably not since the high school graduation dance. Some of the guys in Redding just hadn’t seemed…kissable to her.
Duke seemed like the type of guy who knew he was a good kisser…and would be happy to add Brooke as one of his conquests. No, thank you.