RiverTime

by Rae Renzi

  In an eye blink, everything can change. She’d heard that phase often enough, had horribly lived through it when she was young and had done everything in her power to not experience it again. Yet, here she was. It was enough to make her doubt self-determinism.

  The capricious breeze danced across her skin like fairy wings, and the sun-kissed rock was still warm under her bare legs. Mingled scents of the river and wildflowers soothed her, and with another sip of wine, the tension started to drain away.

  When she’d downed half a cup of the restoring liquid, the drink of gods—at least the Greek and Roman gods—things seemed better. Maybe that was the magic of self-determinism—the retrospective spin. Feeling in control was a state of mind, not a physical fact.

  Shelter, check. Food, check. Water, double check. Fire, check. She was intact, and her patient, or whatever, had not died. The environment was stunning, and she certainly appreciated the absence of human noise. Except for the wind and the roar of the river, it was peaceful.

  So what if she didn’t know exactly where she was? She was on the river, which was where she intended to be, only a little ahead of schedule. She took another sip of wine.

  Call it an adventure. A whopping, unplanned adventure. That she had an unknown, possibly unwanted, companion made it more venturesome, that was all. It wasn’t necessarily bad.

  By the time she finished the cup of wine, she’d come around to the opinion that another person here would be useful. Unless, of course, he turned out to be a hopeless bore (no chance), an unrelenting chatterbox (not likely) or a violent brute (not yet out of the question). Irritating jerk (proven) she could deal with.

  Who was he? Based on his appearance and what she had seen of his attitude—of which there was plenty—he wasn’t of the doctor-lawyer-stockbroker ilk. Didn’t fit the social worker-minister-teacher category, either. He could be a musician or an artist or a motorcycle mechanic. Any of those would fit. And, of course, drug dealer was not yet off the table. Something about him, though, seemed faintly familiar. Why, she couldn’t guess, because although she had no idea who or what he was, she was certain of one thing—their worlds were miles apart.

  Twirling a stray curl around her finger, she fervently hoped he wasn’t an escaped convict. Just because he had tattoos and an attitude didn’t necessarily mean he was a criminal…did it?

  Chapter Five

  Two thousand miles away, Reed Trabor sat across the desk from Senator Patricia Carr, steeped in satisfaction. She’d just offered him the position he’d hoped for. Now she leaned forward on her elbows to give him a complicit smile. Her voice was pitched low and soft. He edged closer.

  “As my aide, I’m afraid your hours will be long and your weekends won’t always be your own. Will this be a problem?” The air was ripe with expectation in the lushly appointed office. The décor was slightly masculine, which made all the more obvious the sumptuous charm of his new boss.

  “Not at all, Senator. I’m accustomed to long hours. It’s part of the job.” Reed wanted to keep that smile on her face. This job was everything he’d hoped for. Patricia Carr was one of the most influential senators on Capitol Hill—working as her aide would position him to interact with the current and future power brokers in Washington.

  “Very nice attitude, Reed, one I’m sure I’ll appreciate. And your fiancée? She understands the demands of this position?” Carr asked in a solicitous tone. “I’m afraid we’ve had more than one excellent candidate accept a staff position only to resign it in short order because of the impact on family—a terrible waste of time and money. I believe it’s only due diligence to make sure everyone’s expectations are realistic.”

  A snip of unease pinched his response. “I don’t anticipate any difficulties along those lines. Casey will have career demands, too.” And he was certain that when she returned from her somewhat poorly timed trip, she would, in fact, officially become his fiancée. It was really just a formality, and fiancée suggested more stability than girlfriend.

  “Yes, I believe you mentioned she’s in academic research. I understand one has to be very dedicated to survive in today’s funding climate.”

  Reed made a slight dismissive gesture. “She’d prefer to stay in academic research, but it’s not practical. Several large companies are pursuing her, as well. But of course, none of this will affect my goals.” New goals, he should say. Goals he’d have to break to Casey gently.

  Carr smiled and stood. “Well, that’s good to hear, Reed. I’m sure it’ll all work out for the best. I’d love to meet Casey. Perhaps the two of you are free for dinner next week?” She came around the desk, her walk a symphony of movement, and held out her hand.

  Reed hustled to his feet. “Thank you, it would be our pleasure, Senator Carr. Casey’s out of town until the end of next week, but when she gets back we’d be delighted to go to dinner.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” she said in a honeyed voice. She touched him lightly on the arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Six

  Aspirin. One of life’s miracles. Casey washed down two of the little blessings with a cup of water. Bad enough that she had a slight hangover from the wine, but even worse were the aches and pains from the wild trip down the river the day before. Not a single neuron in her body wanted to be left out of the chorus of pain, it seemed.

  She stumbled over to the gear, got some water heating on the tiny camp stove and dug around in her pack until she found the package of ground coffee she’d salvaged from the raft. Making an attempt at normalcy, she went through the ritual of pouring hot water over coffee grounds, stirring it and watching it drip into a mug. The steam hung in baroque silver swirls in the chilly morning air before being whisked away by the wind. She put her face close to the coffee and breathed in the java-scented vapor.

  Heaven.

  Once she settled on the ledge overlooking the canyon with her cup of coffee, everything started to fall in place. It was lovely here, if one skipped lightly over the life-or-death survival situation. She sighed contentedly and let her mind wander.

  She wondered what Reed was doing. When she left, he’d been in the middle of job interviews, determined to land a job that would position him for a career as a political analyst, which was perfect. All the intellectual excitement of a career in politics without the public scrutiny. She envisioned them each eventually securing prestigious academic appointments, tucked away in the rarified environment of some Ivy League school. But together? That was the question.

  “Fucking birds.”

  Casey resisted snapping her head toward the refugee—the last time she saw him, he’d been wearing exactly nothing, which she didn’t need to see again. Eyes forward, looking at the canyon—not necessarily seeing it—she said, “Probably not at this hour. Mostly chirping for food, I’d guess.”

  He snorted, then folded his lean body onto the rocky ledge too close to her, hanging his bare legs and feet over the edge. Casey strained her eyes sideways, as far as they would go without actually turning her head, and saw a glimpse of brown—not skin, but shorts. He was clothed. For a second, she teetered between relief and disappointment.

  “There’s coffee over there if you want it,” she offered, ramping up the chirp in her voice as she edged an inch or two away from him.

  “How about some food?”

  “That would be good.”

  Neither of them moved. After a few minutes, he turned to her, eyebrows raised. “Food?” he prompted.

  “Oh. Look in the blue bag. There are crackers and peanut butter, and cheese and sausage. I’m not fussy.”

  “Wait. Wait a fucking minute. Are you saying I should make breakfast?”

  She glanced sideways at him. “Only if you’re hungry.”

  He stared at her for a beat, as if he imagined the weight of his gaze would suddenly cause her to jump to her feet and race off to do his bidding.

  When her bottom stayed
firmly planted on the ledge, he frowned. A few beats later he said, “Okay, fine.” He stood and walked over to the camp kitchen. Casey smirked.

  A few minutes later he handed Casey a bowl holding a piece of bread, a blob of peanut butter and a hunk of cheese. “You got a name?”

  She looked into the bowl and, giving him the benefit of the doubt, said, “Looks good. Thanks.” He acknowledged her thanks with a slight relaxing of his lips and a curt nod. “My name is Casey. Casey Lord.”

  “Casey. Hmm.”

  He seemed less sinister this morning. Blue lips and dead white skin might have made anyone look scary, but the night’s rest had replaced those unhealthy tints with warmer hues, though he still had dark smudges under his eyes. His hair, dry now, was a silky light brown and straight, except where it had kinked from being slept on. He hadn’t had a haircut in a while. Or a shave, either.

  “And yours?”

  An odd expression crossed his face. He looked away. “Call me Jack.”

  “Okay, Jack.”

  The sun’s rays lanced through the fog that had settled in the lower regions of the canyon, taking the edge off the brisk morning air. Subtle washes of color emerged where the sunlight touched the canyon walls. The only hint of the flood, at least from this vantage point, was the churning muddiness of the river below and a slight earthy overtone in the wind.

  They ate and drank their coffee in silence, gazing out over the river. Jack said nothing, did nothing, but his presence pricked at Casey’s tranquility, as if he at once demanded her attention and warned her off.

  Jack put aside his emptied bowl. “Thanks for pulling me out of the river.”

  “It was nothing.” Casey tossed her leftover crust of bread in the air. A gust sailed it over the ledge.

  “Sorry you feel that way.”

  “I meant it wasn’t personal or anything. I’d do it for anyone.”

  “Yeah, well, you did it for me.”

  “Oh, I’m always rescuing…well, not people so much, but animals for sure—I even rescue fruit flies who end up in my wine.”

  “So, I rank right up there with bugs,” Jack said after a few beats.

  “No…I mean, yes. That is, you know, any kind of animal, really, including insects, which are animals, actually.” She was blathering. Embarrassed, she snapped her mouth shut.

  Silence stretched out between them.

  “The tattoos.”

  “What? What about them?”

  “They make you nervous.”

  “No, no, not that.” Casey paused. “Well, okay. They do, a little. But in a way, I find them kind of reassuring.”

  “Like how?”

  “Well, they’re like fair warning to other people that you might be kind of…that you might have…let’s say, a wider range of values than they do. It lets people choose if they want to approach you.”

  “So, you mean I’m not a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  “Exactly.”

  Jack grinned. “Just a straight-up wolf.”

  After breakfast Jack disappeared into the tent. The wind had cleared away the vestiges of the fog on the river and brought with it a hint that rain might be on the way. With that in mind, and wondering what rain would mean to rescue efforts, Casey went down to the raft for more supplies.

  The rocky trail wound down to the edge of the tributary, an easy walk in spite of the wind, much easier than it had seemed yesterday. The early morning coolness had brought out the scents of rain and mud and, faintly, cedar, borne on the gusty breeze that plucked at her curls. Casey dawdled along the way, noticing the myriad small wonders of nature—a tiny lizard scurrying off the trail, a single beautiful white flower, jewel-toned rocks. Ironic that it took a disaster for her to appreciate these little beauties. It wasn’t as if nature didn’t occur everywhere, but she had been caught up in her single-minded pursuit of education and career for so long that nature had almost ceased to exist for her. Until it had slapped her in the face.

  The water was still high, even in the sheltered cove behind the peninsula of boulders. The raft, rocking in the waves, listed to the right. A few well-placed pokes revealed that one of the pontoons was flaccid. Miraculously, the cargo looked intact. Casey released the elastic ropes and lifted the tarp to examine the goods. Most of the bags contained clothes and personal gear, but she found some other useful things, including folding camp chairs and several waterproof tarps. Neither of the food lockers had leaked, but in one of them a plastic bottle of ketchup had come open during the rough ride, coating everything with pungent, sticky sludge.

  She found a small towel in someone’s bag and set to work. Most of the food was salvageable with a quick dunk in the river or a wipe of the towel. They wouldn’t starve, at least today. And by tomorrow, surely help would arrive. Unless it rained.

  When the towel was too ketchup-soaked to be useful, she hopped out of the raft to rinse it. As she leaned down to swish it through river water, the crunching of footsteps sounded on the rocky trail.

  “Don’t move,” Jack said from some distance behind her. His voice was tight.

  “Why no—”

  “Don’t…fucking…move. Snake.”

  Casey froze. She heard a couple of snaps, a thunk, a few quick steps. Something started thrashing around almost at her ankles.

  “Into the raft. Now!” Jack snapped out.

  She didn’t argue but scrambled over the side and spun around to watch. A knife handle stuck out of the ground near Jack, who had pinned a snake, a muscular mass of twisty movement, behind the neck with the fork of a large stick.

  “Is this kind of snake poisonous?” Jack asked, his voice tense.

  She tried to see the pattern on the snake. Its twisting and turning made identification difficult, but the dry rattling sound it emitted made visual identification superfluous. As far as she knew, rattlesnakes didn’t come in a nonpoisonous flavor.

  “Um, yeah, it is.”

  “Fuck.” Jack was silent a minute, his mouth a grim line. The rattler continued to squirm and flip this way and that, flinging sand and rattling like mad; it was clear the stick wouldn’t hold the snake for much longer.

  Jack stepped around the wriggling snake while holding the stick at arm’s length. Then, in one fluid motion, he thrust away the stick and dove into the raft. Casey didn’t move fast enough—they both went sprawling on the bottom of the raft.

  “Oof!” Casey grunted when Jack landed on top of her…and stayed there. She pushed her hands flat against his chest to gain some breathing room, physical and mental.

  Jack raised himself up on his elbows and looked down at her, obviously in no hurry to move off her body. She became acutely aware of the heat of his bare skin on hers where her T-shirt had hiked up. He, of course, was naked on top. A rosy warmth started to creep through her, and, strangely, her mouth started to water.

  “You all right?” Jack shifted to the side. His bare legs slid across hers, a heated counterpoint to the cold surface of the raft. She tried to ignore the tingling in not-so-distant parts of her body.

  “I think so,” she huffed out. “Are you?” She avoided meeting his eyes, not certain what might show in hers.

  He shifted again, moving his hips to disentangle their limbs. His groin slid across her thigh. Casey felt him stir in warm agitation, felt her own body respond.

  “I’m fine.” His voice had gone husky. His melted-chocolate gaze slid slowly over her hair, her eyes, her mouth.

  Casey struggled up, scooting back and away from him. “Is the snake gone?”

  Jack gave her a long considering look, then turned his eyes toward the sand bank, the tiniest of smiles on his face.

  “I think you’re safe now.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jack watched Casey get to her feet and brush herself off. “Well, that was exciting,” she said.

  He didn’t know if she referred to the snake or to their physical contact. Personally, he’d take tangling with her over snake-wrestling any day. The look on
her face suggested she felt otherwise.

  “Do you think there are more snakes around here?” she asked, leaning over the edge of the raft and looking around.

  Jack could almost wish there were.

  “Don’t know.” He tried not to stare, tried not to eat her up with his eyes as she peered down at the ground, holding her honey-gold curls back with one hand. “But I don’t think they travel in packs.”

  She nodded distractedly. “Well, I guess we’re even now.”

  “Even?”

  She looked up at him, tilting her head, a smile in her eyes. “You know. I saved your life, now you’ve saved mine. We’re even.”

  He had a sudden urge to touch her, to run his fingers down the planes of her face, to cup her cheek. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Oh. It wasn’t anything personal. I’d do the same for any animal, even a…well, probably not a bug.”

  A bewildered expression passed over her face briefly, but then she laughed out loud. “I deserved that. Now we’re even twice over.”

  She turned away from him, still grinning, and jumped out of the raft.

  He watched her, soaking up the lightness of her laughter, the warmth of her sunny disposition. Considering their situation, her attitude was fucking amazing. He wanted to reach out and hold it in both hands, to let it seep into him, fill him up.

  The knife sticking out of the ground had captured Casey’s interest. She glanced up at Jack, a question on her face.

  He climbed out of the raft and walked over to her. “I didn’t want to hurt the snake. Only needed to take its attention away from you.”

  Casey looked down at the knife and up at Jack again. “You didn’t want to… How did you…? You can throw a knife that well?”

  Jack bent to pull the knife out of the ground. He wiped the blade on his T-shirt before he closed and dropped it into his shorts pocket. “Yeah, I can.”