Paradise Cafe

by Adrienne Staff

  “I think I w-want to lie down and—and close my eyes and wake up to find this … was all a horrible dream.” Dry, ragged sobs were gathering in her throat, and her faint, determined little smile wobbled.

  “Later. Come on, let’s try again.” Holding her against his side, he took a few steps across the sunny glade, Mike trailing them. “There, that’s better.”

  “Yes—I think so.”

  “Good. Then let’s get this show on the road.”

  Gently, he swung her back to his side and started off on a slow walk, talking softly. “Look at these pines. Did you ever see a forest this thick, untouched? Can you smell them? And that’s wild blackberry, there. It’ll bloom soon, and the berries are sweet as sugar when you pick them early in the morning.…”

  The sun was now directly overhead: Noon. It warmed the top of her head, dried her hair to a mess of sandy tangles, and lay like a blanket on her narrow shoulders. Her sobs faded to an occasional harsh hiccup, and her step steadied.

  “This is an old Ute hunting trail,” he said, using his voice like a sedative. “A hundred years ago they walked here, following the deer and elk.”

  She looked around, seeing for the first time the trees, the thick underbrush, the light filtering down like golden dust. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she said, “It’s pretty.”

  She knew he wanted her to talk, to relax, and she felt bound to try. “I—I’m from Florida, and we—we have pines there too. Lots of people don’t know that. And there are palms, and—and live oaks, and groves. Oh, nothing’s as pretty as an orange grove at first light. So green, and the scent of orange blossoms in the warm air—” Tears closed her throat. “I—I thought I’d never see any of it again.”

  “You will. You’ve got my word on it!” He slid his hand down her arm until he caught hold of her hand. “You’re going to be fine.”

  They followed the trail as it wound through towering pines that blocked the sun.

  “Here. Lean on me,” he said when she stumbled over a root. He could feel her exhaustion, the residue of her fear. Not waiting for an answer, he wrapped one burly arm around her waist. “Hang on, sweet thing. We’re almost there.”

  When the trail narrowed and angled downward, he explained calmly, “I’ll go first. Mike’ll be right behind you. Don’t worry.”

  She stumbled again as she heard the rising roar of the water below. The canyon wall was not nearly as steep there. It was strewn with boulders and an occasional clump of trees that partially hid the view, but Abby knew instinctively that the river was waiting below.

  “No!” She jerked free of both men. “Don’t make me go near the river. I won’t go down there.”

  Jack stepped in front of her, blocking the sight of the drop with his body. “It’s okay. Our camp is just below here.”

  “No!” She spun and clambered back up the trail, her words thrown over her shoulder. “I don’t believe you!”

  The two men exchanged a quick glance. In three strides Jack was behind her. He grabbed her by the waist and held her as she struggled against him. “It’s all right. Trust me.”

  “Let me go!” She pushed against him with her hands and head, trying to get away and back up into the safety of the trees.

  “Sorry,” he said, and lifted her up in his arms, trapping her against his chest.

  She screamed, hit at him with her fists, kicked and struggled like a wildcat.

  He just held her tight and half-walked, half-slid the rest of the way down to the river’s edge.

  At the bottom, his flock of tourists was waiting near his raft. Giddy from their own thrilling ride down the rapids and the unnerving sight of the girl in the water, they crowded around, worried and curious, knowing it could have been any one of them in her place. “How is she? Is she all right? Gee, look at her—”

  “She’s fine. Everyone go get some lunch,” Jack commanded.

  Abby heard the talk, the hush, the sounds of the others hurrying toward camp. Opening one eye, she peeked up at her rescuer. That determined little smile trembled on her lips. “I made a damn fool of myself, didn’t I?”

  “Hell, no. You were fine.”

  “Fine?” She blushed. “I was a wimp. Screaming. Crying. Oh, I never do anything like that, really. I just wish you’d never seen it.”

  “It doesn’t matter—”

  “It does to me.” She released her hold on his neck and looked away. “You can put me down now.”

  He held her in his arms for another second, then set her down gently. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed. It was a natural reaction; you were scared, wet, cold.” He rocked back on his heels, studying her. “And you’re still scared, wet, and cold. Let me get you some food, some warm clothes—”

  “I can manage now. I’m fine. Really.”

  “Sure?” he asked, knowing better.

  “Sure,” she insisted.

  He shook his head, grabbed his waterproof pack from the bottom of the raft, and led the way to camp.

  “Do I look all right?” she asked, tugging her fingers through her hair.

  “Why? Having your picture taken for the cover of Vogue?”

  “Sports Illustrated,” she teased back.

  His grin lit the sharp planes and angles of his face.

  For the first time, Abby really looked at him. He was exceptionally handsome, his face and body carved by sun, wind, and water into a harsh ruggedness. There was no slack to the man, no softness; even his eyes were the gray of rock, of granite. Dark brows, dark hair, dark glint in his eyes. But he had a Tom Sawyer grin.

  “Thanks,” she said, biting her lips. “Thanks for everything.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m just sorry it ever happened. But take my advice and go easy on yourself this afternoon.”

  “Oh, I intend to. I’m going to take a walk in the woods, sit in the sun, read a book—”

  “I was thinking more of a good, solid sleep: A shot of Scotch and out.”

  “But I’m fine. Really—”

  Her words were cut short by a screech from across the bridge that spanned the river there at Renner’s Ford.

  “Abigail, oh, Abby! Are you all right? Oh, Abby, you had us so scared!”

  Elaine came racing over the bridge, grabbed her, and hugged her tightly. She was followed by the guide who had been responsible for the accident and the two young men from Estes Park. “Heavens, I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again! Wasn’t that awful? Terrible? We got out right away and then I couldn’t find you and I didn’t know what to do, and I kept imagining all these terrible things, but there wasn’t anything we could do”—she glanced at her three companions for confirmation and raced on—“so we climbed up and followed the river, and my knees are all scraped, and I’ve got a thousand blisters, and then we saw you down there on the rocks. How did you ever get out of there? Jeff thought they’d have to call in a helicopter or something.”

  “He saved me,” she said, turning her pale, heart-shaped face to Jack. “I—I don’t even know your name.”

  “Jack Gallagher.”

  “Jack Gallagher,” she repeated, feeling her throat close with stupid tears. She shook her head, blinking hard, and held out her hand. “I’m Abby Clarke, and this is my friend Elaine Shaw, and these are—”

  He let go of her hand, finished with introductions. His pack was heavy, and he was hungry. And he had something to take care of first. “Excuse me. I’ve got work to do. And, Jeff—I want to talk to you.” He led the other guide away, then turned and called back over his shoulder, “Take care of yourself, hear me?”

  Abby nodded. She watched him stride away. There was dust in his dark hair, and his broad back was scratched and cut.

  That’s my fault, she thought suddenly, feeling again the slip of loose gravel, her rising hysteria. Sickness welled in her stomach, and the world spun.

  “Are you okay?” Elaine demanded. “Gee, I bet you were scared to death! I would have died, just died! When we saw you across the river, I almos
t fainted! Didn’t you hear us telling you to climb? We were screaming our fool heads off, and you didn’t even try.”

  Abby stared at Elaine, her chest aching with her shallow, teary breaths. Good old feather-headed Elaine. Abby shook her head in disbelief. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t even move.”

  “Then how the heck did he get you up that rock wall?”

  “He—he carried me.”

  “Wow! No kidding? Oh, I’d like to get my hands on that brawn!”

  Abby turned away, away from the river, away from Elaine, away from the two young men in their wet khaki shorts and polo shirts. “I’m going to get some dry clothes from the van. I’ll see you later.”

  “Yeah. Meet you at the food!”

  Leaning against the door of the van, she wondered briefly if she had the strength to climb inside. But she knew it would be warm in there. Quiet. She pushed herself up and staggered down the aisle. In her backpack were a change of clothing, a sweater, socks, an extra pair of tennis shoes, a hairbrush. Hugging the pack to her chest, she made it out of the van and to a lean-to marked: “Ladies Only: Keep Out, You Bums!”

  Inside the air was close, stifling. Without warning, her stomach coiled in a knot. In another minute she knew she’d be sick. Quickly, she pulled open the door and stumbled out.

  Jack had been sitting on an overturned barrel with a cold beer in his hand, watching for her. Now he rose, waved the others back, and strode across the clearing. He caught her before she fell, and held her against his chest, cradling her gently. “Damn stubborn woman. I thought I told you to take it easy.”

  “I—I was just going to change my clothes.”

  “In there? I’d suggest you spend as little time in there as possible!”

  “But—but—”

  “Stop arguing with me.”

  That was all he said. Dark eyes flashing, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her up the path to a tent pitched in a circle of pines. Inside was a cot. He sat her on its edge and disappeared. In a moment he was back with a towel and a bucket of water. He waited while she splashed water on her face and neck, then washed her hands and arms, and splashed some more on her throat.

  “Not feeling too good, huh?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I’m ever going to feel good again.”

  “You will, if you’ll just listen to me. I’m talking from experience.”

  “Oh, you make a habit of rescuing drowning women?”

  “I make it a habit to see no one needs to be rescued! No, I meant firsthand experience; the river’s knocked me around a bit, too.”

  She looked up at him, too exhausted to ask questions. Everything ached. Everything hurt.

  She just nodded in surrender.

  “Here,” he said, pouring amber liquid from a bottle into a dusty glass. “Drink this.”

  She did, and gasped as it burned a path down to her stomach.

  “One more,” he said, filling it again and handing it back.

  Tears stung her eyes, but she drank it all.

  “Good. Now get out of those clothes. I’ll wait outside. And put on something loose and comfortable.”

  “But this is all I have,” Abby whispered, pulling a T-shirt out of her backpack.

  “Here.” He fished in a trunk and came up with a huge faded sweat shirt. “Try this.”

  Her arms felt heavy as lead and her head was beginning to whirl, but she didn’t dare disobey. She pulled off her wet and muddy clothes, including her bra and panties, and slipped into his sweatshirt. The heavy cotton hung in folds across her soft breasts and narrow waist, its ragged lower edge coming all the way to the middle of her thighs. She could see that her legs were scraped and filthy, her knee caked with blood and beginning to swell, but she couldn’t figure out what to do about it. Her feet were bare and cut. She must have lost her shoes and socks in the river—she couldn’t remember. The liquor had the world spinning; if she had to sit up for another minute, she would faint.

  Trying to keep the dirt off his bed, she leaned her head down against his pillow.

  All she wanted was the comfort of her own pine bed, the boards polished smooth by her father’s hand. And her quilt made from squares of calico and hopsacking, homespun and denim, and the one square of her mother’s wedding gown, yellowed now but the satin so smooth, smoother than anything she had ever touched as a child and therefore precious. She wanted it now. Needed to feel its warmth and promise of safety. Needed to be held and loved—

  “Ready?” Jack called from outside, scattering her thoughts.

  “Ready.”

  “Now,” he said, filling the door of the tent with his body, “sleep!”

  “Ah, a man of many words.” She laughed softly, liking him for his directness, his strength.

  “So I’ve been told.” He grinned back. “Good night.” He stepped close and began to unfold a blanket.

  “Oh, but I’m a mess! I’ll get your bed dirty.”

  “It’s seen worse.” He tucked the covers up to her chin.

  “But where will you sleep?”

  “You sure do know how to worry, don’t you? How the hell did anyone talk you into getting in that raft?”

  “I don’t even know how I g-got talked into C-Colorado!” she stuttered, her teeth beginning to chatter again. “Oh, no! What’s happening? I thought you said I’d feel b-better.”

  “You will. Later. You’ll probably feel worse for a while, but you’ve got to ease up and let it all out. There’s no other way to get rid of that kind of fear. Here, I’ll hold your hand for a while.”

  “Oh, you d-d-don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I’m just cold.…”

  “Damn stubborn woman,” he said, and climbed into bed next to her. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up against him.

  She rubbed her face against the front of his shirt. “What if this is a dream and I’m still down there?” she wailed. “Please—please save me.”

  He held her tighter, wrapped one hard leg around hers to stop her shaking, and stroked her hair. His hand was cool, his body warm and solid and wonderfully real. “It’s all right,” he whispered into the top of her hair. “All right, I’ll save you.”

  He held her until she fell asleep.

  Two

  “Ow! Oh, no—ow!” Abby groaned, rolling over. Everything hurt, from her toes to the ends of her hair. She vaguely remembered a warm body next to hers, a pair of strong arms holding her, but now she was the sole occupant of the narrow cot. Trying not to move anything but her eyeballs, she peered around the dim tent: Empty. Outside a jay screeched, and the wind sang in the pines.

  Suddenly all the aches and pains meant nothing. It was morning, and this morning was a present she had not expected to see. It was better than the rag doll in her Christmas stocking when she was six, the pink prom dress her mom had sewn and left wrapped in tissue on her bed. All the wishes and hopes and disappointments of her life faded against the golden light that filled the tent with dancing motes. Dust fairies, her mother had called them so many years ago. Dust fairies. Well, this morning she could believe in anything!

  Stretching her arm out to touch the golden light, she flinched in pain. And when she sat up, the world did a quick little spin. Abby closed her eyes and counted to ten, fighting down the dizziness by sheer willpower.

  “There, that’s better,” she assured herself, blinking to clear her vision. But things looked just as bad—worse, really: She was filthy; her arms and legs were scratched and caked with dirt, one knee raw and swollen; and her feet were grimy. All in all, she looked like the most woebegone ragamuffin to ever come out of Hooper, Florida!

  Dismay quickly gave way to fear. The previous day swept back, with all its terrible memories: The water, the rocks, the cold, the panic. She felt her heart leap to her throat, her throat tighten with tears. She needed someone to hold her, to reassure her. But there was no one there who knew or cared how she felt. She was all alone.

  Care
fully she stood up and with trembling fingers reached into her backpack, pulled out her wallet, and opened it to the little plastic folder full of pictures. There was her mother’s tired, steady, resolute gaze; her father’s weary, loving smile. Seeing them, Abby drew a deep breath and reached down into herself for the strength that had carried through hard times before. With a stubborn lift of her chin, she pulled shorts on under the sweat shirt and pushed open the tent flap.

  The first thing she saw was the upward sweep of mountain against an azure sky. The second was Jack Gallagher, straddling a fallen log, intent on the map in his hand. Her heart did a little flip. See, girl, you’re not alone: he was there watching over you.

  As he looked up, smiled, and walked toward her, Abby saw again the hard ruggedness of the man. And she saw, too, the power of his stride, the square cut of his jaw, the unwavering self-assurance of his gray eyes. Abby felt a shiver travel up her spine. This man could have come from another galaxy, he was so different from anyone she had ever known: Imposing, unnerving, bigger than life. There were no soft edges, no slow and easy southern ways to soothe her nerves. Instead he awoke a startling excitement in her.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, breathing hard. “Oh, my.” Then, “Good morning!” she called loudly, with brave enthusiasm, staring at a point somewhere just to the left of his handsome face.

  Jack Gallagher took one look at her, dirty, bedraggled, still half-asleep, and felt again that unexpected tightening in his gut. He thought he had slept it off. Thought it was just her helplessness, her needing him, her innocent courage that had him thinking crazy thoughts. But one look at her and here it was again, like a good right to the jaw. Crazy!

  “Morning,” he answered. He stopped a safe distance away, because he wanted to touch her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, I’m just fine now. Honest.” She met his eyes and smiled. “Isn’t it a gorgeous morning! I’ve never seen trees this tall. Or heard so many birds, or—”