Heartbreaker (20 page)

“You … you!” Lynn sputtered furiously, slinging droplets of muddy brown water at him. “You did that on purpose!”

“I meant to tell you—kayaks—have a tendency to roll,” he gasped.

“A tendency to roll!” The paddle she’d been reaching for when it had happened floated in the water next to the kayak. She grabbed it, swung it at him. “A tenden—”

That was as far as she got. The kayak rolled again.

This time her stay underwater couldn’t have lasted five seconds. And this time she had enough presence of mind to hold her breath.

“Sit still!” His face was right in front of hers as he leaned over the kayak to steady it. He was laughing so hard he seemed to be having trouble standing upright. “Or you’ll roll again. Do you hear me? Sit still!”

“Sit still yourself!” Lynn snarled, and aimed a roundhouse punch at his nose. It never connected. The kayak rolled.

This time when he flipped it upright she sat still, rigid with temper and cold, muddy brown water pouring off her in streams. Her soaking hair was plastered to her skull. Her goose-down jacket had absorbed more water than a Bounty paper towel. She was drenched, drowned, freezing, and furious.

The only movement she dared make was a reflexive one to push the hair out of her eyes.

“Oh, Jesus,” he groaned, in apparent pain from having laughed so hard. Lynn eyed him with longing. He was dangerously close—but the thought of another icy submersion dissuaded her. He wasn’t worth it.

“Shut up,” she said through her teeth.

“That was the funniest thing I ever saw.”

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

“Just sit still until I can get in.” He was beside her, his good hand on the yellow plastic right in front of her, snickering as he pushed the kayak to shore, back end first. Lynn’s fists clenched. Just let her get her feet planted on dry land again and she would give him something to laugh about.

“Did anybody ever tell you you’re cute when you’re mad?”

“No, and nobody better unless he has a death wish.” Lynn clutched both sides of the cockpit and wished that looks could kill. If they could, he’d be toast.

“Now, temper, temper.”

“Screw you.”

He chuckled. She fumed. Had she really, just a little while before, imagined she
liked
him? She must have been nuts. She had never disliked anyone more.

She had never been attracted to anyone less. Handsome or not.

The back of the kayak touched shore, and they stopped moving except for the bobbing of the craft caused by the current. Lynn sat motionless, almost afraid to breathe.

“If you want to take off that wet jacket real quick, I’ll hold the kayak steady.”

Her jacket was soaked, icy wet, and felt like its stuffing had turned to lead. Pride dictated that she sit in it and sulk. Common sense—and considerations of both health and comfort—told her to take it off.

“You just want to dunk me again.”

“I won’t let it roll, I swear.”

“Like I really trust you.”

“Come on, Lynn.” He smiled at her, coaxingly, apologetically, the skin around his eyes crinkling. He was so close she could see every individual whisker sprouting on his unshaven cheeks, count every line in his face. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was unkempt, and she’d be willing to bet he had morning breath.

Even dirty and smelly, he was handsome, whether she liked to admit it or not.

“Don’t be childish,” he said. “I didn’t do it on purpose. You moved so fast I couldn’t hold on. Only having one working arm takes some getting used to, you know.”

Lynn gave him a skeptical look, but she took off the jacket.

“Now what do you suggest I do with it?” Not yet appeased, she held the dripping garment out by its collar like a grimy dog. She was shivering, still awash in muddy water.

“Leave it. There’s no chance it’ll dry within the next few hours, and we’ll be out of here by then.”

“So I freeze because of your sick sense of humor.” She tossed the sodden jacket toward the bank. It missed, landing half in and half out of the water, one sleeve stretched along the silt. The current caught it, pulling it out until it sank.

“No, I freeze. I deserve it. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

She glanced back at him to find that he was shrugging out of his jacket. He had to lift his hand from the kayak to get the jacket all the way off. Lynn stiffened, eyes widening as she clutched the cockpit’s padded sides.

It didn’t roll.

His jacket dropped in front of her, and his hand returned to the plastic. She breathed again.

“It really was an accident.” He sounded semi-remorseful. She looked up at him with suspicion. He spoiled it by grinning.

“Bull,” Lynn growled. Her turtleneck was soaked too. Putting a dry coat on over a wet shirt was stupid. Too mad—and too cold—to be modest, she yanked the turtleneck over her head and stuffed it down in the cockpit near her feet in case she needed it later.

“Lo-ove that Wonderbra,” he said, even as she thrust her arms into his too-big, blood-stiffened jacket and pulled it around herself. Still warm from his body, it felt wonderful. Glaring at him, Lynn hugged it close. Until that moment she had not realized just how bone-cold she had been.

“Listen, Little Joe, I’ve had about enough of your jokes. If I were you I’d keep my big mouth shut.” She zipped the coat.

“Or …” He was moving down the craft, his hand sliding over the plastic. Lynn couldn’t see him any longer—she was afraid to turn her head to follow his progress—but she could tell he was grinning. She sat very still.

“Or as soon as I get out of this bathtub toy, I’ll kick your butt to next Tuesday.”

He laughed out loud, pushed the kayak out from the bank, and jumped in. The kayak rocked violently under his weight. Lynn was so mad she didn’t even flinch.

She just hung on to the sides as they nosed out into the current and were pulled downstream. The kayak bounced over the bumpy water. Icy droplets blew up from the river to splash her. Sounds behind her told her that Jess was steadying the craft with his paddle.

A porcine porcupine stared at them from the tangle of undergrowth on the bank before waddling up a tree. A squadron of sparrows, flying low, sailed over their heads to vanish upstream. Lynn caught a glimpse of something large and dark—a grizzly?—shuffling away from the bank.

“Here’s your paddle.” Jess nudged her, then passed the paddle to her over her shoulder. “Dip, raise, dip, raise, from side to side, kind of like a seesaw. Let the paddle grab the water and pull.”

Lynn hated to let go of the sides long enough even to grasp the paddle, much less try to follow Jess’s instructions, but she did. The thought that sustained her was, Jess was in the kayak with her now. If she drowned, so would he.

It would almost be worth it.

As she rather expected, the kayak didn’t roll. Not with Jess in it. He would make sure of that.

Dip, raise, dip, raise. Let the paddle grab the water and pull. First one side, then the other. Lynn quickly got into the rhythm of it. Though no praise was forthcoming from the back, Lynn was proud of herself as the kayak shot smoothly down the center of the river.

“Good thing we’ve got this current from the spring runoff to pull us along. It doesn’t make any difference whether you know what you’re doing or not.”

This raised-voice observation made Lynn grit her teeth. For a moment she was tempted to turn and bean him with the paddle. The thought of unbalancing the kayak was enough to dissuade her. Vengeance would have to wait for dry land.

She couldn’t tell whether he was paddling or not. The craft felt stable, and it was his weight that was holding it so. At the thought a grin tugged at her lips.

“At least you’re good for something,” she called over her shoulder.

“What’s that?”

“Ballast.” She snickered, glad to be giving as good as she got.

He said nothing. Lynn resumed her paddling as the thick stands of alder and willow that had taken so much time and effort to wade through flew past. Kayaking, she decided, sure beat walking.

As long as the blasted thing didn’t roll.

Along with a bobbing branch and a trio of ducks, they barreled around a bend in the river.

“We need to start pulling toward the side. Rotate your body toward the bank,” Jess instructed. “Now let the blade lock into the water and pull.”

Lynn tried, feeling clumsy. But it seemed to work. The kayak nosed toward shore.

Rotate your body, she repeated to herself. Lock and pull.

They hit with a bump that was jarring. Lynn almost dropped her paddle, but she managed to hold on to it as the plastic underside of the craft lurched over the rocky river bottom with a gritty screech.

A quick glance up at the riverbank revealed the same wild snarl of undergrowth they had been passing all along.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Lynn asked over her shoulder. An awful thought had just occurred to her: What if they couldn’t find Rory? The tall, straight tree trunks looked the same on all sides, like a crowd risen for a standing ovation. The under-story of vines and ragged bushes and deadwood looked the same too.

“See that big boulder up there?”

Lynn nodded.

“I made a mental note of it because I knew we’d be able to see it from the river. About a yard past and two yards to the left of that boulder is where we left Rory.”

“I’ll go get her.”

“Sure you wouldn’t rather stay here with the kayak?”

At the thought of sitting in that kayak without Jess, Lynn grimaced.

“No, thanks.”

She didn’t mean to let the thing roll with her again if she could help it.

“You might need these.” Her boots were passed over her shoulder one at a time. It was a struggle, but despite the tight quarters Lynn managed to pull them on.

Given the slippery nature of the craft and her flat-on-her-bottom position, disembarkation wasn’t easy, but she managed to get to her feet and step out into the water.

As her weight left it, the kayak rocked dangerously in backlash. For an instant Lynn watched, hopeful that it would roll.

No such luck.

Jess grinned at her as if he had read her mind. He sat in the second seat, his paddle balanced on top of the yellow plastic in front of him and braced to hold the kayak in position. It was clear that he’d been paddling with his good hand, using the kayak as a fulcrum, while the less mobile hand simply held the paddle in position.

The Marlboro Man as kayaker.

“Hurry,” Jess said softly, holding her gaze. “Or I just might leave without you.”

It was an empty threat. Whatever his faults, and they were many and varied, Lynn knew that he would not leave them. He had proved himself—oh, God, the brochure’s wording was popping up in her mind again—
utterly reliable
.

Lynn thought about that as she scrambled up the steep bank and clawed her way through the willow thicket.

Throughout this whole awful ordeal Jess had never failed to come through for her and Rory. When they had fallen down the cliff, who had come after them, saving their lives at no little risk to his own? Jess. Who had carried Rory all that distance from the cliff to the mining camp in the teeth of the child’s crush on him and her own suspicions about his motives? Jess. Who in the face of deadly danger had grabbed Rory and run with her, instead of simply taking care of number one? Jess. Who had shown them the way to the cave where they had spent the night, though he was wounded and bleeding badly? Jess. Who had come up with the kayak and the plan that might very well save them all and worked to make it happen despite his injuries? Jess.

He could have left them on the cliff; he could have abandoned them last night. He could still take off without them and have a much easier time saving merely himself—but he wasn’t going to.

Lynn was as sure of that as she was of anything in her life.

Whatever his faults, she knew Jess would do his best for her and Rory until they were all safely out of this mess.

The Marlboro Man as hero. In Jess’s case, reluctant as she was to admit that maybe she’d been wrong, the reality was living up to the hype after all.

As Jess had said, the wall of ferns was visible immediately once she had made it past the boulder and glanced left. Frothy tendrils poured in a lush green waterfall to the pine-needle carpet. Stately evergreens rose all around like sentinels. A shaft of sunlight sparkled off dust motes in the air.

Rory was as invisible as she had been when they had left her.

“Rory,” Lynn called softly, conscious of an eerie feeling that the trees had ears. “We’re back. We need to go.”

Rory did not answer. Perhaps she had fallen asleep, Lynn thought. Approaching the ferns, she bent and swept them aside with one hand.

Rory was not there.

As she stared at the empty nest where she had expected to find her daughter, Lynn realized what had been wrong with this picture all along: The forest was too quiet.

Except for her own breathing and the hushed rustle of the wind in the trees, there was not a sound.

Not from a bird. Or an insect. Or an animal.

Lynn sensed a presence to her left and whirled. Not three feet away, her daughter stared at her with enormous blue eyes. A man was behind her, portly, black-haired, and balding. Like Rory, he was crouching behind a large pine, partly hidden by the undergrowth. His hand pressed tightly over Rory’s mouth, clamping her to him.

A black, businesslike-looking pistol was trained over Rory’s shoulder, aimed right at Lynn’s head.

“W
HEN DID YOU TAKE UP
with the Judas?” The man was wearing a stained white dress shirt, open at the collar, and a pair of black pants. He had the merest trace of a southern accent. His voice was soft, his tone conversational. He was frowning as he looked Lynn over, but not in a particularly menacing fashion. More as if he found her puzzling.

Not quite understanding what he was talking about, Lynn tried a smile. With her hair wet and her face dirty, clad in a goose-down jacket big enough to be a dress, Lynn realized that she looked far different from her normal self. Usually she could count on racking up a few brownie points for appearance where men were concerned. Not today, as was clear from his lack of response to her smile.