She felt a trickle of hesitation in her spine, the familiar shiver that Campbell had told her to ignore. Squaring her shoulders and standing tall, she followed Logan across the dusty campsite to his truck. A trailer and boat dangled off a hitch in the back.
“Louisa,” Logan said and smiled. “Say hello.”
Daisy heard mosquitoes zero in on her ears and face. She batted them away but not soon enough. One left a small bump on her lower eyelid that itched like crazy. “Goddamn bugs,” she said, reached for her purse, and dug in. She’d forgotten her bug dope? Her Six Ways of Separation bug spray? A natural product?
She peered inside his truck with her good eye. A green cooler with a white lid stood open. Inside, ice glittered in the sun.
Logan slid one of his enormous paws into the cooler. “What’s your pleasure, little lady? Coors, Corona, Bud, pop?” He pulled out a Budweiser and cracked it open. The sound of fizz broke the silence.
“Something for the bugs?” she asked, her left eye twitching.
He dug in the cab of his truck and tossed her a small plastic container.
A fanatic label reader, she eyed the small print, 100% DEET. “No natural products?” she asked, handing it back. “I’m not putting any chemicals on my skin.”
“Suit yourself,” he laughed and slid the container into the front pocket of his blue jeans.
A minute later, her face was clouded by mosquitoes, and her eye was almost swollen shut. Every time she blinked, it itched like crazy. “If it’s no bother? Could I have it back?”
“First trip to the river?” Logan laughed and tossed her the bottle.
The bug dope was warm and had been near places she didn’t want to think about. She slathered her palms, face, neck, and arms. Mosquitoes disappeared. Maybe chemicals did have a place in the world. She took a deep breath and sighed.
“Feeling a little better?” Logan asked, letting his fingers trail her hand.
She shuddered. Get it together, girl, and now. You are alone. Remember that. “I got a ride from a guy named Frank,” she said quickly, wishing he was still around.
“Big guy? Local boy? Drives like a maniac? Face like a racehorse?”
“How’d you know?” Daisy asked.
“Fullback on my football team in junior high.”
“Ah.” Daisy didn’t doubt it. He was a big lump of a man.
“Well, Daisy, how about a Corona?”
“Thank you.” Beads of water clung to the ice-cold glass. She took a sip. Heaven. She eyed him over the top of her bottle. Not so bad, really, with those eyes and curly hair. Still, she wasn’t sure. His off-putting sense of humor made her wary. Where the hell was Campbell when she needed him?
“Ah, the pause that refreshes.” He drained his Bud. “Want another?” He threw his empty on the ground.
“That’s the Coke jingle.” She grinned.
“Observant little thing. So, beautiful, want another?”
“Not yet,” she muttered, scuffling her feet in her nowdusty, sparkly sandals. Campbell didn’t like it when she had more than one drink a day.
“My dad used to say a day goes better with beer.” Logan dug into the cooler. “Shit. I better not have too many. Tucker would be pissed if I drank it all.”
Daisy wrapped her fingers around the cold bottle and watched Logan pack his boat with fishing rods, boxes, and bait. Wouldn’t Campbell be surprised if she found him first? He was always begging her to take some initiative. Now was her chance. “Where you heading?”
“Do you mind standing out of the way? I need to back down the ramp.”
Daisy stepped toward the water.
“You waiting for a bus?” he asked. “I need more space than that, Daisy.”
“I’ve never been on a boat before, Logan.” She batted her eyes.
“Hold on, I need to find my wrench.” Logan dug behind his seat.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Daisy asked. “A ride, Logan. Take a pretty girl for a ride? How ’bout it?”
“Got it!” He tucked himself back behind the wheel, hooked his elbow out the window, and turned to look backward down the ramp.
“My boyfriend, he could be hurt. He’s all alone out there on the river.” She leaned into the window.
Logan kicked the engine over. A loud rumble filled the air, and he ground the gears into reverse.
Daisy hung on to the door. “Please.”
“And what would he think if he got here and you were gone? He’d be one sad puppy, that’s for sure.”
“Then we’ll find him first.”
“Hey, little girl, the answer is no. I’m no Boy Scout. I’m here for a reason, to go fishing. There’s supposed to be some good sturgeon out there.”
“Then teach me how to fish.” Daisy couldn’t believe she’d just said that. She’d seen “Fishing With Frank” on the Discovery Channel with Campbell and it was disgusting.
“You got to bait your own hooks, Daisy, but tell you what. I’ll clean what you catch. Deal?” Logan’s eyes twinkled in the late afternoon light.
“Deal,” Daisy answered. She wondered about the wisdom of getting into a boat with someone she didn’t know. And who drank. On the other hand this was the second time in one afternoon she was doing something new. Campbell would be proud.
Logan backed the truck down the water, released the boat, and drove back up, the empty trailer banging and rattling all the way. Daisy watched with fascination. She could never do that. He came back, holding two fishing poles and a blue Tupperware container.
“For you,” he said, tossing her a rod.
Startled, she stood back, grabbing it at the last moment. “Thanks.”
“Bait!” he said proudly, holding up the container.
“I’ll get my bag.”
“I’ll be waiting for you.” He wandered back to his boat, a cheerful bounce to his stride.
Trying to convince herself she’d made the right decision, Daisy ran up the ramp to retrieve her duffle bag in the middle of the campground. It was still sitting there, on its patch of dried grass, but now it was surrounded on all sides by trucks and trailers and RVs.
In the distance, the flag popped in a breeze. The door to the trailer was propped open with a rock. The hubbub amazed her. Coal Banks had been so empty before. Now that it was heading into late afternoon, all the boaters would be coming in soon. She had to hustle if she was going to surprise Campbell before he came in.
Off to the side, she saw a canopy hung with a banner with the words “Have You Been Saved?” written in green letters on a white background. A man and a woman were setting out chairs nearby.
Daisy knew all about religion, and it was no friend of hers. She knew what would happen if they saw her.
“Going somewhere, hon?” a woman asked, standing in front of her in an enormous, flowery dress. Small blue eyes behind wire-rim glasses, open face, kind smile, brunette hair piled high on her hair with combs and a number-two Ticonderoga pencil.
The woman took a step closer and touched her arm. “Name’s Berniece. What’s yours?” She tightened her grip on Daisy’s arm. “It’s never too late to be in His hands.”
“I appreciate your kindness, ma’am,” Daisy said. “I’m sorry, in a bit of a hurry to go fishing.” She looked around the woman, and hoped Logan was still waiting. She started toward the ramp, and the woman kept pace in her sensible shoes.
“Let me walk with you,” Berniece said.
“I’m fine, really,” Daisy answered.
“There’s no understanding the ways of the Lord,” Berniece whispered. “But I bet He doesn’t want you going in that boat.” She stood her ground, ample chest heaving.
Daisy narrowed her eyes. What else did this biddy know about her? Too much already. She craned her neck, trying to look down the ramp.
Berniece took a step closer. “Oh, he’s still there,” Berniece said, tightening her grip. “He’s waiting for you. But go with him and you’ll be sorry.”
“Leave me alone.”
Berniece panted in Daisy’s ear. “You can do what you want, honey,” she puffed. “It’s a free country, of course.”
“Damn right,” Daisy said, hands on her hips. She tapped her toes. Logan was undoing the ropes between the boat and the shore.
“But before you get in that boat, it would be prudent to heed my warning,” Berniece whispered. “If you go, you’ll never come back.”
“You’re just a jealous busybody,” Daisy replied. “I’m going, whatever you say.”
Vroom! The engine burst to life, propeller blades churning water. Logan peered down, adjusted something.
“You’ll wish you hadn’t,” Berniece said, her voice low.
“Get offa me!” Daisy cried and pulled away.
Down at the bottom of the ramp, the engine noise dropped to a soothing rumble.
“Hey, Logan!” Berniece yelled, her voice echoing off the distant cliffs. “You hear me, Logan? You hear me now?” She yelled louder. “Thomas at the police station told me you’d be paroled soon. Three times a charm, don’t you think? Ready to take your troubles to the Lord?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Monday, afternoon on the river
E.B. AND LAURA
“Where’d you learn to handle men like that?” E.B. asked.
Laura wouldn’t say. They were moving slowly, E.B. paddling, while Laura, dawdling along in the bow, barely taking a stroke. He kept talking about geographical features of the landscape, but she didn’t care. Not while Tucker was still alive. Not when someone could hear him scream. He was as slippery as snot and twice as nasty. She’d never escape him just like she’d never escape that asshole Harry who was probably still waiting for her in Fort Benton. Here in the godforsaken wilderness she was a whopping big target, about to be brought down.
She’d been lucky. So far. But sooner or later she’d have to answer for her sins. She tucked her legs up to her chest and stretched her back.
“Laura?” E.B. asked. “You okay?”
“My hair’s such a mess. All this wind and sun.” She hoped he’d take the hint and change the subject. He didn’t need to know her history; he didn’t need to know a thing about her.
What could she tell him about why she had to take selfdefense classes? That she often had to walk to her car at three in the morning? That Stella was robbed at gunpoint and almost kidnapped even though she’d been armed? What it felt like to be examined, studied, eyeballed by men who moaned? How the place smelled rank?
How ’bout she tell E.B. about how customers stuffed money in her thong; the aggressive ones who snapped the nylon and tried to grab a peek, the ones who tucked in tenderly, and the others, gentle and shy, who just threw money on the stage? How much should she tell him about that? How much money she made? Or the way that money helped her buy a nice place in Brentwood? Then what would he say?
If she told him, he’d look at her as if she were dirt—except the part where she bought a house. But she wasn’t pieces of things; she was all those things. Her success and dancing fit hand-in-hand like her feet in well-fitting Manolo Blahniks or Christian Louboutin high heels. Smooth as sunshine and twice as nice.
She deftly steered the bow away from a branch floating a few inches below the water, peeked under her arm back at E.B., and waved. He looked kind of cute. Endearing. Sweet. Kind of wonderful. Until he found out her history.
“What’d you do, pump iron? Pull cars with your teeth?”
“I work out at a gym five days a week. Sometimes more.” She laughed. That much was true. Worked out to the point of tears, of throwing up. All the girls did, but she did it more.
She could tell him that, at least. Her shoulders hurt. The fight with Tucker had taken it out of her.
“Bet you can bench-press one hundred and fifty pounds.”
“Not quite. I took a couple of self-defense classes from this guy. It was no big deal,” she muttered. “Think it’s going to rain?”
The silence between them was something she could hide in.
She took a few strokes. Big deal? Those fights with Tucker were a huge deal. She flicked a mosquito off her knee. She heard her instructor Sifu Lee’s voice in her head. “Work on your hitting,” he used to say, “harder, harder.” Was that hard enough, Sifu? I knocked him silly. She wanted to thank him and tell him he was right, but he could have taught her more. She dropped her hand into the river. She needed to dip her feet in there too; they hurt.
“Women around here—they don’t beat up men,” E.B. said.
He sounded worried. Like wondering what kind of woman she was.
“I’m not a friggin’ Amazon, if that’s what you’re worried about. LA’s a tough place to live—and to work.” She heard a whoosh. A bunch of birds, bigger than the sky, rushed over her head. “Quick. Cover your head. They’ll poop on us.” She ducked.
“Those are eagles, bald eagles. Ever seen one? Don’t hide.”
She could hear the smile in his voice.
Laura peered up into the brilliant blue sky. “Jesus. They must be six feet, wing to wing.”
“River’s full of them.”
“Beautiful white heads and black wings. Hey—did you see that? With a smidge of yellow at the tips of their beaks. Like makeup. And they’re not bald at all. Who would’ve known?”
“Exactly.”
“When did we start on this trip? That was . . . just yesterday? This place is—I’ve never been anywhere like this before, ’cept Griffith Park, but that’s in LA. You can drive there.”
“Thought the river would grow on you,” E.B. said, taking a long stroke.
Laura watched one of the eagles soar and land in the top of a dead tree. She wondered if it had a nest there and whether it was full of chicks. What would it be like when they took their first flight . . . would they feel the same way she felt on the river? When they dropped and suddenly took flight? Or would they just fall?
Behind her, E.B. felt like he’d just started the trip. There was never enough time. He wanted days, weeks, months. With the river. With her. He wanted to remind her that she hadn’t wanted to come at first, but that seemed harsh. Telling her how beautiful she was, how capable and vulnerable and wonderful and different, was too scary, even for a big guy like him.
“Hey, watch out. You’re steering us into the reeds.”
With a deep stroke, E.B aimed them away from the marsh and toward the center of the river again. He’d been staring at her again. Lost someplace he hadn’t visited in a very long time. He wondered how he could get closer to her.
He was a little afraid of her, of her power. Laura was stronger than Ms. Fitzhugh, the girls’ coach at Loma High, who looked like a semi, bench-pressed two hundred pounds, and made all the boys jealous.
He let the canoe glide toward shore. They had an hour or two before Hole-in-the-Wall campground, where he thought the others would probably be waiting. It was a big spot with a broad view of the river. Campbell would be pacing and nuts with worry, but after all this time he could wait a little longer. E.B. couldn’t hurry, not now. Not when he was with her.
They pulled up on the sandy shore, sat down, and he slid his eyes over in her direction, then looked away.
He’d seen those women with their kung fu moves on TV, but what he couldn’t figure out was how Laura had managed to subdue Tucker twice. She sure didn’t look that strong. “Laura, you thirsty? Comfortable? Need anything? Feeling all right?”
“Fine, for the moment, yes.”
To Laura, E.B. had an easy way to him, a solidness, something she’d never seen amongst those sleazy men in LA. Going home in a few days was going to be hard. She didn’t want to change their fragile peace, the tingle she was starting to feel when he was near.
“You paddle well now. You’re a quick learner,” E.B. said.
“Thanks.” She looked at her dusty toes in her flip-flops that had gone through so much with her on the river; she was amazed she still had Beth Ann’s little shoes.
“You live in Holl
ywood? Beverly Hills? Beautiful downtown Burbank?”
“Heavens, no. Brentwood.” She peered at the river below, moving steady, the color of a macchiato. Her favorite drink.
He followed her eyes. “In winter, when it’s forty below, when you walk on the snow, it crackles like Styrofoam.”
“What makes you so blue?” Reading men’s faces was easy, falling in love with them was hard.
E.B. smiled awkwardly. “I’m all right.”
“Not just a bad harvest, then?”
“What brought you to the river?”
Tell him about Harry and his thugs? Hell, no. “I needed a change. A guy told me about the big skies in Montana.” That much was true. “I came to Great Falls. And then Campbell—he was very persuasive.” So were Mike and Harry, she thought. “Campbell said you needed a partner. I didn’t know what to expect.” She laughed. “What makes you happy, E.B.?”
“Happy?”
“I thought so. You’re the saddest person I’ve ever met.”
His struggle for words touched her heart.
“It’s a ton of work to run a ranch,” he said finally. “Your work, does it take a special skill?”
“You’ve got to do something in the winter, aside from stare at the walls, I bet. I saw a ton of churches on my way over from Great Falls. You one of those fundamentalists, Holy Rollers? Speak in tongues?” she asked.
“Me, no. Never been my style.”
His face clouded. She’d hit a sore spot.
“Does performing make you nervous?”
“I bet you were an altar boy, always kissing up. Cute.” “Presbyterians don’t have altar boys,” E.B. said. “I was just asking. I’m not judging you.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“Must be hard, every night, performing sometimes when you just don’t feel like it.”
“I talk too much. My best friend Stella always says so.” She spun on her heels. “It’s a job, E.B., just a job.”
“But you never told me what kind of performer.”
“Does it matter?”
He gestured for her to climb in the canoe. “Not really.”
Montana Rhapsody Page 16
