Brit spent a great deal of the morning inspecting the changes in the landscape around the campsite after the violent storm. "Mother Nature" was definitely in charge of the canyon. Not only was the small pup tent gone, but rocks had been rearranged, evidence of the powerful forces of this wilderness. Around the camp, there were small piles or lines of stones made by streams rushing down the canyon walls.
There were remarkable changes at the river. Several of the boulders damming the water into the shallow pool where Brit had bathed yesterday had shifted or been moved entirely, so that the pool was no longer a separate entity from the river. Most amazing, though, was the water level. What was once a peaceful pool and shallow stream had doubled in size and now raged with remarkable speed and strength. Little whitecaps decorated the ripples.
It must have been nearly noon when Rudi and Yolanda emerged from the tent and began poking around the campsite. Brit ignored them and stayed away as long as she could. Facing Yolanda after yesterday's yelling match was the last thing she wanted to do. But, eventually, she decided she must. And she had to do the thing she most despised. Apologize.
Brit approached Yolanda stiffly. "We need to talk, Yolanda."
The always-confident TV star looked uncomfortable. "I have nothing to say to you."
"Maybe not, but I have something to say to you. Believe me, this is hard to do, but I feel it's necessary. We have a ways to go together, and it would be a shame to spend it like this."
"I thought it was pretty peaceful without us talking at all today to mess things up."
"You're right. And it'll be peaceful again soon," Brit promised and took a deep breath before she launched into her mini-speech. "Look, I'm sorry about the argument, Yolanda. I guess
I was in a bad mood. Like you, I was worried about Frank and upset about our own hopeless situation. Still, I shouldn't have yelled at you yesterday, and I'm sorry."
Yolanda stared at Brit a moment, then smiled slightly. "I did my share of yelling, too." Her dark eyes softened. "I like somebody who can apologize, Brit. That takes some guts."
"Hardly. I just had to do something about it."
"Believe it or not, this whole thing has me pretty upset, too. I know I'm hard to get along with; Rudi lets me know that all the time. So for others, outsiders like you, it's especially tough. You don't know or understand me. I'm temperamental. That's just the way I am."
"That's no excuse. What if I told you that's the way I am, too?"
Yolanda shrugged. "I guess we'd have some problems, huh?"
"You expect people to make exceptions for you because of who you are. But down here, everybody's the same. We're all in a bind until we're rescued."
Yolanda looked contrite and sat down on a rock. "I remember being sort of demanding when I was a little girl back in San Antonio. Even then, I wanted attention. Craved it. My papa would say that in our family of eight there was no room for one to be special. We all had to pitch in together. And we did. I didn't like it, but I did what was necessary. So, you see, I can." She grinned sheepishly. "I just haven't done it in a long time."
"Hey, I know you're accustomed to things being better back in Hollywood," Brit conceded. "You're used to having your way. This is hard for you, I know. But my life is better and easier, back home, too. That doesn't change the hard fact that here we are. Stuck together."
Yolanda toyed with a wet leaf that she picked from the rock. With a little chuckle, she suggested, "I'll bet I could write a doozie of a routine about this. About us and our arguments and our generally rotten situation down here."
Brit laughed lightly. "I'm sure you could."
"So, babe," Rudi broke in. "Do it. Go ahead and write it. That would be great."
Yolanda looked from Brit to Rudi, then back to Brit. A new gleam lit her brown eyes. "You wouldn't get offended if I made jokes about this? I mean, it hasn't always been funny. We've been in a dangerous situation. Still, it could be hilarious."
"We wouldn't mind at all," Brit said honestly. "I think we might enjoy a laugh or two at our-selves. We haven't done much of that lately, either."
"That was how I got attention in our family. We were very poor, and I made jokes about it. We laughed, and it was better." Yolanda's smile revealed a hint of the little girl who laughed her way out of poverty. "If I could get my hands on some paper, I would do it."
"I'm sure Jake has a spare notebook he'd share." Brit motioned toward the large tent. "Plus he has that laptop computer. Maybe he'll let you use it."
"Okay. I'll ask him. I'm glad we had this little talk, Brit." Spontaneously, Yolanda gave her a quick hug. "I feel better,"
"Me, too,” Brit said and hugged her back.
“Now, what's for lunch? Rudi and I are starved."
Rudi responded as he sorted through the box of food Jake had left out for them. "There's oat-meal or canned tuna."
"Uggh! Come on, Rudi. Let's find something more appetizing." She motioned for him to fol low her into the tent where they could go through more supply boxes.
Brit laughed, knowing that they wouldn't find anything more exciting than a jar of crunchy peanut butter or packaged noodles.
Feeling a sense of relief after her conversation with Yolanda, Brit climbed back up into the little cave that had been her shelter from the rain with Jake. Actually it wasn't such a bad place to curl up with a book. There were some warm memories associated with the place, like when Jake had snuggled close to her. She brought a soda and some peanut butter crackers to nibble and her only book.
Brit was always surprised at how the chill of the early morning melted into extreme heat by midday. She removed Jake's long-sleeved shirt and rolled it up for a pillow. Then she slipped Jake's baggy jeans and mud-coated socks off, and wearing only his tee shirt, stretched out her legs, and wiggled her bare toes in the sun. Ahh, she thought as she settled back. This is much cooler.
She had tucked Gran Bonnie's book into her purse with plans to reread it on the flight to L.A. Fortunately the old book had survived the crash, which made it more special than ever. Soon Brit was transported back to another era. A young woman named Bonnie was trying to resist, but helplessly falling in love with a handsome Indian named Knife Wing. So engrossed was she in Bonnie's life that she didn't notice when Jake returned to camp.
Unable to concentrate on the petroglyph handprints or chipped flint artifacts he found in the Indian ruins, Jake quit work early. He could only think of creating a pair of moccasins for Brit and how it would feel shaping the leather to her slender, bare feet.
When he entered camp, the place appeared deserted. But it didn't take him long to find his trio of charges. He could hear Rudi and Yolanda talking and laughing down by the river. And he spotted Brit tucked away, high in the little cave. He smiled to himself and grabbed what he would need for the moccasins from the tent.
Brit looked up, startled, when his boot scraped a stone. The expression on her face was absolutely peaceful, almost as if she were mesmerized or possibly asleep. Her delicate, doll-like features were relaxed, seemingly on the verge of smiling, but not quite. Her blond hair was rum-pled after a couple of days of being tossed about and combed with only her fingers. It was, to him, quite sexy that way. Admittedly, he was intrigued with her. She was the most appealing woman he'd met in a long time. And, with her bare legs stretched out beneath his tee shirt, her appeal was definitely sexy.
"Hi." He tried to sound casual as he climbed up beside her. But the sight of her knotted his stomach and he felt slightly nervous and tight. "Can I join you up here in the eagle's nest?"
She smiled softly, and he wanted to touch that gentle face. "Sure. The eagles have flown, and it's just me."
"Did I wake you?"
"No, I was reading." She checked her left wrist out of habit, then grinned at herself. "My watch broke in the crash, but aren't you off work early?"
He leaned against the sandstone wall which arched above them. "That's one of the bennies' of this job. No time cards to punch."
&
nbsp; "No clocks, therefore no time. Only the sun."
"And the moon," he added. "The natives moved by the earth's natural rhythms. Sometimes that's best. Your body adapts to it quickly and easily." He took the sheet of leather and began cutting it to the shape of her ruined shoes.
"What are you doing?" She peered curiously at his handiwork.
"This will be the flat part that fits your sole. Then I’ll add a curved piece to cover your foot. Last will be a tube for your ankle."
"How neat," she marveled as she watched his careful hands measuring and piecing. "Seems so simple."
"Except for this part." He began stitching the sections together with a thin cord. "The Indians usually bead these pieces for decoration before they start. And they use leather strips for sewing instead of cotton thread. But this is all I have, and I think they'll suffice as long as you're here."
"I really appreciate this, Jake. How many people get handmade moccasins?"
He shrugged. "How many crash-land in the Grand Canyon and live to tell? What are you reading?"
"My great-grandmother's book." She held it up so he could see the title. "This is the one they're making into a movie. I happened to have it in my purse to read on the trip, so I could be familiar with it when I got to the set. I'm supposed to be a consultant on the movie." She chuckled ruefully. "Funny thing happened on the way to L.A."
"You fell into a great hole in the ground." Jake took a stitch and pulled it through the leather.
"It's been an interesting experience," she admitted. "And, contrary to what you might believe, not altogether bad."
"Oh yeah? You like camping with no adequate clothes or equipment?"
"True. It would have been better if this had been a planned trip. But life doesn't always work that way."
"You're learning." He finished the shoe part of one moccasin and started on the ankle section. "Where did your great-grandmother's story take place?"
"Not so far from here, actually. Bonnie ran a trading post somewhere on a remote stretch somewhere between Arizona and New Mexico."
"Is it a good story?"
"Very. It's mostly a love story." Brit thumbed through a section she'd just read. "What's strange is that she writes about their monsoon rains and her descriptions are quite similar to the storm we had yesterday. Violent and cold. She even mentions the fresh way everything smelled afterwards."
"What does she say? Read it to me."
"You sure you want to hear it?"
"Yeah, I like history. I explore it every day."
"Yeah, I guess you're right." Brit scanned several pages until she found the one she wanted to read aloud.
"Knife Wing warned me about the dangerous monsoons."
Brit paused to explain. "Knife Wing was a Zuni leader and friend who saved her life that first winter by bringing food. I don't think they're lovers yet at this point."
"They become lovers?"
Brit nodded.
Jake motioned for her to go on.
Brit cleared her throat and read.
"But I thought I would have enough warning before a bad storm, so I took Sara, who was almost two, in the wagon to a small canyon to gather sunflower seeds. Before I knew it, the sky turned black and a cold, vicious wind blew away the summer's heat."
She looked up at Jake and smiled. "Sound familiar?"
"Exactly." He let the moccasin rest in his lap while he listened. "It's been that way for centuries. The weather patterns, the sight of rain or lightning in the distance, the rainbows arching from horizon to horizon, all are part of what gives us our connection with the people who lived here in the past."
"In a way, knowing gives me a connection with Bonnie, too. Now I know exactly what she's talking about. And I'm glad so that I can understand her better." Brit turned back to the book.
"I tried to reach the wagon, but it was too late. Ice pellets beat down on us, and I couldn't see the road. Out of the cold mist Knife Wing appeared and hid us in a small cave where we were protected from the storm. Rocks crashed around us as if they were a scourge sent from the heavens."
Brit paused to smile at Jake, then went on. "And when it was over, our world was washed clean. Even the bushes gave up their sweetest fragrances in thanksgiving for the much-needed water, and the creek swelled with happiness."
Jake returned to his crude sewing. "That's great, Brit, a real part of history. What I wouldn't give for an account like this from the natives I'm studying who lived in this area."
"There's nothing?" Brit let the book rest in her lap.
"Nothing written. Only petroglyphs."
"Petroglyphs? What are they?"
"Etchings in stone that depict animals they encountered or killed and certain elements of their lifestyles, like tribal or religious figures, enemies, or symbols."
"I'd love to see them."
"You can. When we go to the ruins tomorrow." Jake snipped the last thread and held the finished product up for her inspection. "One down."
"Hey, that's remarkable. It actually looks like a moccasin." Brit sat up and scooted closer. "Let me try it on."
"Let me help." Jake reached for one foot and slipped the soft leather sheath over her toes. Cupping her heel gently with his hand, he worked the body of the boot snugly onto her foot. "There, how's that?" As the moccasin slid over her ankle, his hand naturally moved to her smooth calf.
"Feels wonderful." She admired the handcrafted boot. "And it fits. I'm impressed."
"So am I." When she raised her leg to inspect it closer, his hand slid further upward. He tried to concentrate on her foot, but his imagination surged to other parts of her anatomy as his fingers touched her knee.
"Are they your first?" She didn't move her leg away from his touch.
His throat constricted and normal conversation was difficult. "I made myself a pair, but these are the first for someone else."
"They're wonderful, Jake," she said softly. "I like them much better than those expensive Italian sandals. Thank you." Spontaneously, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
Her warm lips brushed his skin, kindling the embers of a smoldering, well-tended passion. Jake had prided himself in never letting go, never giving in to the desires that once drove him over the brink and into a mistaken relationship and marriage. But today, in the remoteness of this cave, in the sun, touching Brit's smooth feminine skin made him want to gather her to him, to hurl himself into her life without a backward glance.
Jake knew, though, that Brit was different. She was sensitive and smart and beautiful beyond question; she respected him, responded to him; she was here, warmed by the sun and willing. He turned his face so that their lips paired, and he pulled her roughly against him. He couldn't lose her, not yet, not until he'd tasted those sweet lips, touched her smooth skin, and quenched his masculine thirst with her eager and willing femininity.
Brit had waited for those lips, had dreamed of them caressing hers, yet nothing had prepared her for the jolt of desire that permeated her body, radiating to every limb and culminating in the center of her being. She curved against him, feeling the muscled ridges of his chest on hers, the firm strength of his leg bracing her side. His hand slid up her bare thigh, and she thought she would explode before he even touched her intimately. His lips traveled a sensuous path around her face, her eyes, her cheeks, her chin, back to her lips, murmuring her name with every soft pause. She leaned back against his arm and lifted her chin to give him better access to the pulsing stretch of her neck. His lips created a sweet, leisurely path, assuring her of his loving skills and silently promising more fulfillment than she had ever known.
Brit dropped the book and forgot everything except for Jake's lean, hard body capturing hers and the intensity with which she was responding to his sensuous promises. She wanted more, wanted him to touch her, wanted to know his body and if they could possibly get closer.
"Jake . . ." she murmured, arching her back and urging her aching breasts to him.
"Oh God, Brit ..." He p
ressed himself to her and kissed her lips again, this time probing them with the tip of his tongue and sending shock waves through her.
She opened her mouth, allowing the easy, rhythmic thrusting of his tongue, savoring the sweetness and losing herself in a remarkable overflow of passion. She was out of the crude cave, out of the Grand Canyon world, existing only with Jake, her body moving with his, her emotions surging with his. Every thrust sent shock waves through her and excited her senses to the highest point. She wanted him, badly.
They moved and shifted together, wrapping themselves in each other, kisses fiery, breathing heavy and hot. Closer. He buried his kisses against her neck, and she pressed the small of his back, relishing the masculine swell that teased her through their clothes.
His jeans were tight and uncomfortable. Only one thing would relieve that pressure; only one act would fulfill them both.
He slipped his hand between them, touching her feminine softness. "Brit, I need you."
"Oh Jake . . . yes . . ."
"Are you . . . protected?"
"Yes, are you -" She was referring to the pill.
She felt, rather than heard, his sigh. He was quiet a moment. Then, "Hell, no! I hadn't planned on this—"
"I have something for you," she admitted shyly. "In my purse—" It was a precaution she had always taken, even with Michael.
He cradled her head, rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs. "You are amazing."
She smiled, feeling flushed and warm, anticipating the culmination of the most intense sensuality she'd ever experienced. Ever. She could hardly wait. "Touch me, Jake." She closed her eyes.
In the moment of silence, of heavy emotion, of the highest anticipation, a sound echoed against the cave's sandstone walls. A frantic sound. A yell. The panicked yell of fear. A man's voice shouting, "Help! Help!"
Jake raised himself up and listened. All of his other senses were focused on the woman in his arms. But he heard something out of the ordinary. Something unusual. Something that rang deeply in his subconscious.
"Jake! Help us! Somebody! Quick! Oh God, help-"
A Rare Breed Page 7
