more animalistic when they were out in nature. Or maybe it was his rugged attractiveness combined with his quiet confidence that filled Charlotte’s mind with the kind of lustful thoughts she shouldn’t be having.
He secured the fishing line to the inside of the raft and Charlotte tamped down the shudder that threatened to erupt every time she caught sight of the lifeless, glassy fish eyes of his catch. Even though she was familiar with prepping all kinds of food, she normally didn’t have to sit right next to something that had been alive just a few minutes before. To take her mind off the dead trout, the man’s use of the word dicey, and the way his hands had perfectly formed around her curves, she decided she’d ask some background questions for her article as he took the inflated bench behind her and they paddled toward the middle of the river.
“Have you had a lot of women, Mr. Russell?” Charlotte’s oar paused midstroke and she sucked in her breath, wishing she could pull the words back in with it. “I mean, are you used to women being with you?”
Oh, no. That hadn’t sounded any better. Thankfully, she wasn’t facing him and he couldn’t see the embarrassment heating up her face.
“In what sense?” Captain Hot Hands back there probably had plenty of urban females flocking to the wilderness looking for a little more adventure than what was offered in the brochure.
“You know what? That came out wrong. I was trying to ask about your clientele. I’m definitely better at answering interview questions than asking them.”
“But you’re a reporter, right?”
“Not really. I’m more of a lifestyle expert.”
“What the hell is a lifestyle expert?”
“I’m not exactly sure, to be honest with you. I started out posting some recipes in my sorority’s alumni newsletter—”
“Sorority?”
“Yes,” she said, trying not to sound too defensive. Charlotte wasn’t oblivious to people’s skepticism and mocking tones when it came to things like Greek life or beauty pageants. But she also wouldn’t apologize for her past or for the connections she’d made in that world, a world that had welcomed a very lonely girl when everyone else had shut her out.
“So,” she continued, “I started getting follow-up questions and comments asking about ingredients, which turned into questions about household tips, which morphed into interior decorating. Pretty soon, I had my own blog about home entertainment and Fine Tastes contacted me about writing for them. But most of what I do is really just creating recipes and coming up with ideas for room décor and throwing parties. That sort of thing.”
“So you’re more about presentation than about substance?”
She jerked back her head and frowned at him. “That’s probably the judgmental way of looking at it.”
“Sorry,” he said, his smirk back. “Nobody’s ever called me judgmental before.”
Charlotte didn’t know if she necessarily believed that. She’d seen the skepticism in his eyes—before he’d quickly covered them up with his sunglasses—when they’d been talking about her sixth grade canoeing skills back at the put-in location. She’d also noticed the way he’d frowned at the brand new water-resistant performance pants she’d bought especially for this trip before suggesting that they reschedule. Sure, the man had been very patient with her so far today when instructing her how to paddle and how to angle her body when they’d hit their first set of rapids. But he also reeked of no-nonsense skill and leadership.
Well, technically, he reeked of aloe-scented sunscreen and cool water and something much more manly and musky and way too arousing. She purposely looked at the dead trout as a way to refocus her attention.
“Has anyone ever called you evasive?” she couldn’t help the frustrated tone. “It takes forever to get an answer out of you.”
“I’m sorry. Can you repeat the original question?” She didn’t have to turn toward him to hear the grin underlying his words. He was teasing her about her awkward query and she sort of deserved it.
“Do you get many female customers?” Okay, so that wasn’t what she’d really wanted to know, but it was the only way she could save face and not sound like she’d been speculating on his relationship status.
“Of course. In fact, we had our first bachelorette party last August. My dad led that group and said it was one of the wilder and more entertaining trips he’d ever been on. This time of year, though, it’s mostly the adrenaline junkies and the experienced water enthusiasts who want to be out on the river. Later in the summer, when the current slows, we get a lot of families—usually on the lower rapids.”
She seized on the word families because Charlotte would feel a lot less anxious about the narrow canyon ahead if she could imagine a raft full of boys and girls playing and frolicking in this same river. “So it’s safe for children?”
“Absolutely, as long as they understand the risks and their parents keep an eye on them. I heard you mention child care earlier. I’m assuming you have kids?”
“Yes. Elsa is six and Audrey is five. They’re currently with my friend Kylie Gregson back in Sugar Falls. Your grandfather said he knew her and would stop by and let them know that we’d be back tonight.”
She felt the slight movement of him shifting in his seat behind her. “Pull your oar in for a second,” he commanded, his tone not as playful as it had been a few moments earlier. “I’m going to try to move to the center of the channel.”
She struggled with the conflicting desire to follow directions but to also be of assistance. “Shouldn’t I help paddle us in that direction?”
“Nah, the current is strong enough that I just need to steer us that way. But if you don’t mind, the line is slipping out of our friend there, and he needs to be resecured before we hit the rapids and your glamping meal bounces out.”
“Sorry, Trouty,” she said as she tightened the clear string through the dead fish’s gills, causing its mouth to gulp open wider. But just then the raft dipped and Charlotte barely looked up in time to see a fallen tree trunk caught between two boulders.
“High side,” Alex shouted and Charlotte froze. What did that command mean? “Jump to the other side,” he yelled again.
But she must’ve been too slow because when she lifted up to move, a wave caused by the changing current slammed into them and knocked the boat sideways. Charlotte felt her left hip bounce on the rim before she toppled backward into the water.
Icy cold pins stung her skin, but the shock of the frigid river was nothing compared to the rolls of turbulent waves pounding into her and spinning her body around until she lost all orientation and all sense of control. Air. She needed air. Logically, she knew bubbles rose to the surface, but there were so many damn bubbles going every which direction. She clawed at the current, trying to find her way until she grew dizzy with exertion.
Her thrashing foot hit a rock with enough force to catapult her back up, and she barely had time to feel the cool air against her wet face when her life jacket was practically yanked over her head.
It took her several seconds to realize that Alex had just pulled her back into the raft and she was face to face with Trouty, whose eyes were probably less bulgy than hers were by this point.
“You okay?” Alex asked.
No, she wanted to shout, but her trembling lips wouldn’t form the word. She’d almost drowned, almost orphaned her daughters. The unbearable thoughts of what could have happened churned inside her head, robbing her of speech. She’d never experienced such an all-consuming panic, such an intense fear. Yet all Charlotte could do was cough in response.
“Just hold still down there while I ferry us through this gate.” Charlotte had no idea what he’d just said except for the hold still part. And if she could convince her rapidly heaving chest to do that, she’d be fine.