by Kim Baldwin
“Where’s the nearest phone?” she asked Chaz without preamble. “Or at least somewhere where mine can pick up a signal?”
Chaz pasted on her best professional smile. “There’s a phone at the lodge. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” She gestured toward the van, and without further ado, Megan picked up her bag and headed for the vehicle. What the hell is your problem? Chaz wondered, watching her go.
“Hi, Chaz, I’m Justine.” A slim, attractive woman with wild auburn hair and a ready smile approached and offered her hand. “I made our arrangements with Sally.”
“Ah, right. Good to meet you, Justine. You’re the one who’s done Glacier Bay, right?”
“That’s me. The rude one, by the way, is Megan.” She gestured toward her sullen companion, who had tossed her bag into the van and settled into a seat. “She’s not really as bad as she seems. She just hasn’t yet realized she’s on vacation. It’ll sink in.”
“Good to hear that.” Chaz smiled back at the redhead. She liked this one already. “Ladies? Shall we go?” she asked the rest.
The women piled into the van as Chaz loaded their bags into the rear storage area. Megan Maxwell’s duffel, she noted, was like her clothes—brand-new, right off a store shelf. And it was easily twice as big as any of the others. She had obviously well exceeded the what-to-pack list that Orion had sent to all the clients. It would be a challenge to get all the gear on the supply raft.
Soon they were underway, and the women began peppering her with questions.
“So what’s this river like?” Pat inquired from the front passenger seat.
“Oh, it’s a blast to run,” Chaz replied, her enthusiasm for their destination evident in her tone. “The first stretch will take us four or five days. It’s nice and easy, with fabulous scenery and all sorts of wildlife and birds. Give you a chance to all get comfortable with the kayaks, and those of you who haven’t done a lot of paddling can get some experience before we hit the faster water.”
“There are a couple of stretches of class IV rapids on the section we’re taking, aren’t there?” Yancey asked, from the second row of seats.
Chaz glanced in the rearview mirror, which happened to be pointed at Yancey’s considerable cleavage. She readjusted it to aim at the woman’s face. “Yes, near the end of the trip. And there’s a long stretch of class III in the middle section of the river, where it cuts through some steep canyons. But those of you without a lot of experience don’t need to worry—”
“I need to make some calls when we get to the lodge,” Megan interrupted Chaz from the back row. “I hope we’re going to get some time to ourselves before we have to be somewhere.”
“You’ll get about a half hour to check in and get settled in your rooms,” Chaz explained, trying to keep in check her growing irritation with Ms. Maxwell. She could already see this client was going to test her normally placid and easygoing demeanor. “We’ll meet in the dining room at six. During dinner, I’ll brief you on the trip and answer any questions you have. Tomorrow, you’ll be assigned your gear, and I’ll conduct training sessions for everyone in the creek behind the lodge. I expect that some of you won’t need much instruction from me, in which case you can use the time to get the feel of your gear.”
“You probably don’t need to spend a lot of time with Pat and me,” Linda said. “We’ve been kayaking together a lot. We just got back from doing the Middle Gauley in West Virginia.”
“That’s some great water, I’ve heard.” Chaz knew it wasn’t the most difficult section of the famed river—the area with class V+ whitewater—but you still had to be a skilled paddler to make it through the Middle Gauley.
“It was awesome,” Pat confirmed.
“So I understand you’re all friends, right?” Chaz asked.
“Yup,” Justine answered. “We work at different media outlets in Chicago. TV is a very small industry, really, and one where people change jobs a lot. So you get to know those who work in the same market you do. You cover the same stories, attend the same events and parties. Well, a few years ago, Megan and I started up a group called Broads in Broadcasting and invited a lot of women we’d met to join. I think we have a half-dozen media outlets represented. A bunch of us get together at a pub a couple of times a month to kick back and dish the dirt.”
“And every year, a few of us take a trip together. Last year, ten of us went to London,” Elise supplied. “We stayed at the Hilton.”
“This will certainly be a change of pace,” Chaz remarked dryly.
The women—all but Megan, who was staring out the window—chuckled at the understatement.
“About half the group are your typical I-can’t-be-without-my-hairdryer-and-makeup gals, Pat said. “They tend to sit out trips like this one.”
“The other half are more adventurous,” Yancey added. “We want to get away from the city when we get some time off.”
“So we’ve compromised,” Justine said. “A posh trip one year, an outdoor adventure the next.”
“How do you decide the destination?” Chaz inquired. Quite an interesting concept, she thought, glancing at Megan in the mirror. Which type of woman are you? Megan was staring out the window but seemed entirely self-absorbed, and Chaz wondered whether she was seeing any of the beauty of their surroundings. She sure looked out of her element here.
“When we started the group, every member wrote down a destination or type of trip, and we put them all in a jar,” Linda explained. “We draw one every year. If we select a ritzy location on a year we’re supposed to do an adventure trip, we put the slip back in the jar and keep drawing until we get it right.”
“How many are in your group?” Chaz asked.
“Oh, gosh, close to thirty, I guess,” Justine said. “Although most are in it only for the occasional socializing. A lot of the ‘Broads’ are married with kids and can’t get away for long trips.”
“So none of you fit into that category?” Chaz inquired. “Married with kids, I mean?” She noticed several of the clients exchange looks with each other—Pat and Linda, Elise and Justine.
“I’ve got a hubby at home,” Yancey answered. “And two boys who love getting a week or two alone with Daddy each year. They get to eat McDonalds and Pizza Hut every day and stay up late.” She laughed.
“What about you? Are you married, Chaz?” Linda asked.
“Nope. Never married. Never close.”
She glanced up to find Elise staring at her in the rearview mirror with a raised eyebrow and flirtatious grin. Chaz couldn’t help smiling. So Yancey’s straight, but Elise sure isn’t. And Pat and Linda are definitely a couple. Justine might be a lesbian, too, she thought, but her gaydar was less certain on that one. And who knew what Megan’s deal was—she was still staring out the window and seemed totally removed from the rest of them.
“What about Sally?” Justine asked. “Didn’t she say she was attending her daughter’s graduation?”
“Mmmhmm. Chelsea is graduating from Washington State. Sally and her husband Tom also have a son named Nathan, who’s a sous chef at a fancy Seattle restaurant.”
“Sally and I became phone pals setting up this trip,” Justine said. “She has a right wicked sense of humor, doesn’t she?”
“That she has,” Chaz agreed. “And a practical joker, too. I advise all of you to check your sleeping bags the first night out for rubber snakes and spiders.”
“Oh, great,” Megan mumbled from the back. “I’m back in summer camp.” It was the first acknowledgement that she’d been paying attention to the conversation.
“Lighten up, your Majesty,” Justine chided, snickering.
“Your Majesty?” Chaz repeated.
“Our auspicious friend back there has quite a reputation among her underlings at work…some of whom refer to her as the Royal Ice Bitch,” Linda supplied, grinning.
“Oh, come on, guys,” Megan grumbled, but the explanation surprisingly brought the first smile to the woman’s face and seemed to crack her
cool exterior. Chaz tried not to stare at her in the rearview mirror. She felt a flutter of something unexpected in the pit of her stomach. She’s an altogether different woman when she smiles.
“We can kid her about it, you see, because we all know what a softhearted ol’ gal she really is,” Yancey added.
“Will you all stop talking about me as if I’m not here?” Megan complained good-naturedly.
“Although she can be pretty intimidating when she has on her I’m-a-vice-president! mask,” Yancey went on.
“Before I knew you, I thought you had no sense of humor,” Linda admitted. “But boy, when you have a few tequilas…”
“That’s enough!” Megan rebuked, but she was still smiling. Chaz noticed a slight flush to the woman’s cheeks. There’s certainly more to her than meets the eye.
They entered the bush community of Winterwolf, a block-long cluster of buildings that included a small gas station/convenience store, a one-room school, tiny post office, and a handful of homes, and at the end of the street, their destination—a quaint log and stone building whose sign out front proclaimed it the Stony Creek Lodge.
“We’re here,” Chaz announced, pulling into a parking spot in front. She shut off the engine and turned in her seat to address her clients. “Sue and Paul Bartlett own the place. They’ll meet you inside and show you to your rooms. We’ll gather in the dining room at…” She glanced at her watch. “…six? That gives you thirty-five minutes.” She said the last directly to Megan, who nodded and reached for the door handle. “There are no phones in the rooms,” she added. “But there are pay phones in the lobby.”
“Thanks,” Megan mumbled before getting out and hurrying inside. She was so intent on her call that she left her bag in the van.
Chaz retrieved it, surprised by its heft, and followed the clients inside. She spotted Megan facing away from her on a phone in the corner of the empty lobby, and headed toward her to drop off the bag. Chaz paused when she overheard part of the conversation. It was impossible not to. An obviously exasperated Megan was nearly shouting into the phone. Chaz didn’t want to interrupt.
“You’re going to have to make these calls yourself,” Megan was saying. “Use your best judgment.” She listened for a moment. “Stop!” she interjected, raising her voice. “Deal with it! I’m on vacation and I’m turning my BlackBerry off!” She hit a button on the device and took a deep breath. Then another. She turned to find Chaz staring at her from six feet away and jumped a little.
“Eavesdropping, are we?” Megan inquired without humor.
“Sorry,” Chaz stammered, embarrassed. She dropped the duffel and headed to her room. Why did you let her get to you like that? You weren’t eavesdropping. She couldn’t understand why the two of them seemed to be mixing like oil and water, but that had to change. They were going to be spending an awful lot of time together, and she wanted both of them to enjoy the experience.
As senior guide, Chaz would take the lead kayak, scouting the river and assisting the less-experienced clients as needed through the tough spots. Sally would bring up the rear, rowing their gear and supplies on a large raft.
Chaz had to figure out a way to improve her rapport with Megan, the sooner the better. Maybe an opportunity will present itself.
*
Megan’s stomach clenched involuntarily as she watched the guide depart. Well, that was extremely rude of me, she admitted, instantly regretting her words. She was only bringing me my bag, and I nearly took her head off. She sighed. It was just that she’d only been gone one day, and already things were going to hell at work. Okay, and maybe it’s weirded me out a bit that she looks so damn much like Rita.
For nearly five years, she had successfully avoided thinking very much about the woman she had married. She worked sixty to seventy hours a week to fill her waking hours with distractions, and when the memories refused to be ignored—when her cheating ex popped up on TV or in a magazine—Megan escaped with sex or alcohol. But now here was Rita’s twin, and she had nearly two whole weeks ahead with the woman. Far too much time to remember what she’d fought so hard to forget.
Chapter Three
Even though she’d technically been on vacation for more than twenty-four hours, Megan still felt every bit as stressed as she did in the newsroom. Perhaps even more so. For not only was she having to worry long distance about what might be happening back at WNC, she was more unsettled than she’d expected by the abrupt and radical change in her surroundings and routine.
She’d spent nearly every bit of her thirty-five minutes of getting-settled time on the phone with Grace, putting out brush fires and briefing her assistant on the few things she’d remembered on the plane. So she barely had time to drop her duffel bag in her room before she had to meet the others.
When she arrived at the dining room, she spotted her friends sipping cocktails around a long table, framed by an immense picture window. Beyond were the mountains of the Brooks Range, their snowcapped peaks cast in the golden alpenglow of the lowering sun. It was a beautiful sight, but Megan’s eyes were drawn to the dark-haired guide, seated at the head of the table, who at the moment held the entire group’s attention.
The guide said something that made everybody roar with laughter, and Megan frowned, unexpectedly disappointed she’d missed the punch line. They smile the same, too, she realized. That easy, charming, suck-you-in, you-can-trust-me grin. Every time she looked at Chaz, she was struck anew by the uncanny similarities. The same long legs. The same thick, silky hair. She remembered the feel of it between her fingers. A cauldron of emotions welled up and churned within her, throwing her off balance. Chaz definitely unnerved her.
She detoured to the bar to fortify herself with a double martini, downing half of it on the spot. But she still felt unsteady on her feet when she joined the others.
“Sorry I’m late,” she muttered as she took the empty seat they’d left her, halfway down the table next to Justine. She was grateful she had the menu and the view to distract her. She told herself it would be a lot easier if she just didn’t look at Chaz.
“I recommend the rainbow trout, with asparagus and roasted garlic mashed potatoes,” Chaz was saying. “That’s the specialty of the house. Paul gets the fish in fresh every day from local Inupiat fishermen.”
Of course she has to have a great voice too. Rita had started out in radio, and Chaz could have gotten a job there as well, Megan decided. They both had bedroom voices, as they called it at WNC—that low, seductive, breathy quality that draws in viewers—especially male viewers—who happen to be channel surfing. Okay, so I do have to listen to her. But I don’t have to look at her. At least, not much.
After they placed their orders with the waitress, Chaz outlined the next couple of days.
“After dinner, I’ll pass out garbage bags and dry bags to everyone. You’ll need to repack all your clothes and your sleeping bags, double bagging them first into the garbage bags and then into dry bags. Sally will take the big bags of gear and all the food and equipment on our supply raft. You’ll get a small dry bag to keep with you, that you can put essentials into—snacks, camera, bug head nets, sunglasses. Oh, and you can leave your luggage here at the lodge if you like, until we get back. Just check it at the front desk.”
The double martini was finally helping her to relax. But Megan kept her eyes on the scenery outside, steadfastly refusing a niggling temptation to glance in Chaz’s direction every ten seconds.
“Tomorrow morning after breakfast you’ll get the rest of your gear—PFDs—that’s Personal Flotation Devices, or life jackets, which you must wear at all times in the water…” Chaz’s mellifluous voice trailed off, as if she was seeking an acknowledgement from her audience, but Megan would not look her way. “You’ll also get paddles, helmets, neoprene gloves and boots, and dry suits…and then we’ll spend some time fitting you with boats.”
“What kind of boats do you have?” Pat asked.
“We mostly use Dagger Crazy 88s,” Chaz r
eplied. “They’re stable, responsive, adjust easily, and clients find them to be about the most comfortable. And they’re good if you have to portage—they only weigh about twenty-eight pounds. But we do have a few others—a Riot Nitro 58, a couple of Mambos for beginners, and a Necky Orbit Fish, if you’re familiar with those.”
“I’ve tried the Fish,” Pat said. “They’re nice boats.”
“You’ll get to try them out down there.” Chaz pointed out the window to the wide, deep creek that ran behind the lodge. “I’ll go over paddling fundamentals for those of you who need it, and you can spend the late morning getting a feel for your boat. Then after lunch, we’ll have some individual training sessions to make sure everyone knows how to do a wet exit and an Eskimo roll, and I’ll spend some time with those of you who need extra help on anything.”
Individual training sessions. Megan’s heartbeat picked up a notch at the thought of spending alone time with the guide. I hope to God I pick this stuff up fast.
“Sally will be back right before dinner tomorrow,” Chaz told them. “We’ll turn in early so we can get going right after breakfast. We’ll be ferried to the Odakonya in two groups by Twin Otter. The trip there takes about a half hour.”
“How far do we go each day?” Elise asked.
“We’ll spend four to six hours a day paddling, on average.” Chaz glanced down the table at Megan, who seemed to be off in her own little world, staring out the window. “We don’t want anyone to get so sore they aren’t enjoying themselves, and we want to give you plenty of time to do day hikes to get up where you can really see the surrounding scenery and wildlife. So we keep a flexible agenda. We also have a day built in to take it easy, or to stay off the water if the weather turns foul. That’s the one constant up here—the weather can change in an instant.”
