by Kari August
She jumped out of her seat immediately. “Yes, that’s a wonderful idea. Let’s do something.”
He studied her a moment. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one trying to come to grips with newfound, and strange and tangled, and—not all that wanted, quite honestly, since he still wasn’t sure how compatible they were—wonderful feelings.
Chapter Fifteen
Big, burly, former Seal Captain “Bongo”—he liked to play the drums—slid another coffee across the table to the handsome prior Seal Chief “Rooter”—who had been raised on a farm. Practically everyone associated with the Seals had pet names . . . or eventually acquired them. He was sure they would pick some out today before he and Rooter were done.
“So, who do we got? Are the final choices in?” Rooter inquired.
“Yep. Just received the list from the Assistant Producer.” They both leaned forward to get a better look at the names.
“And filming starts in a couple days?”
“Uh, huh.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Rooter knew him well. Bongo blew out a breath. “Well, the first pair seem okay. I think they’ll be the audience favorites.”
Rooter studied their descriptions. “Hey, this is good. Both almost made it to become Seals. Look at the fiery mop on that one. Let’s see. ‘Red’ had to quit after making it through the first weeks of training because a parent had passed, and he wanted to help the family at home . . . that’s okay. And the other . . . oooh, tough break . . . was sent home after just making it through the first week of training because of a bad slip—deemed unqualified to retry after he was still walking awkwardly months later.” He looked over. “That must have sucked.”
“Uh, huh. Now that ‘T’—I like that, for ‘Tough Break’—is doing better he wants to prove something to himself and the military I guess.”
Rooter kept reading. “Oh, no. Just what we want. A couple of personal trainers.”
Bongo smirked. “Yeah, I’m sure they will like nothing better than to prove that they’re toughies. One even came third in the Ironman.”
“Oh, then let’s call him ‘W’ for ‘Weakling.’”
Bongo chuckled. “Okay. And the other trains celebrities.”
“You’re making this too easy.” Rooter smiled. “He’ll be ‘C’ for ‘Cannes.’”
“C-A-N-S? Cans?”
“No, like the film festival. Don’t you got no culture?” He grinned.
Bongo laughed. “Oh, I thought you meant like a garbage can.”
Rooter shrugged. “So, what? Even better. He’ll be ‘GC.’” He went back to reading. “What the hell?” He looked at Bongo. “Who are the jokers in this pair?”
“Producer picks—he’s related to them somehow.”
Rooter read aloud. “Clarence York is married to billionaire heiress Charlena Haute. . . .” He looked over. “Hey, I know who that Charlena Haute is—she’s a beauty.” He kept reading. “. . . and he used to play sports.”
He glanced up again. “That’s it? That’s the only reason he’s qualified for this competition? ‘RichRich’ played sports? Sheeeiiit.”
“‘DoubleR’ looks as if he’s gone a bit to flab,” Bongo pointed out.
“Yeah, he’ll be gone in a day. But who’s his partner?”
“His English cousin, Richard York. But Clarence—who filled out their form—says he goes by ‘Dickie.’”
“Well, at least they saved us the trouble of finding a name for him—I wouldn’t change that one for the world.”
“Dickie is an actor who once sold cookies and clothes for women on a home shopping channel.”
Rooter gaped. “Are you kidding me? This was supposed to be a serious competition—at least of sorts.”
Bongo nodded. “Yeah, that’s what’s really screwed up. I think we should make a point of getting rid of those producer turds as soon as possible.”
“Make it a leeetle more difficult for them?” Rooter smiled sneakily.
“You bet.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Mags, wake up. Come on. Let’s go.”
She felt him nudging her. She was so tired. She just wanted him to leave her alone.
“Go away,” she replied even though she knew that was the opposite of what she had wanted last night.
Charlie chuckled. “You’ve made your feelings quite obvious, Duchess, but we have reservations to make.”
She blurrily opened her eyes and blinked up at him, standing over her at the side of the bed. Last night after a glass of wine each in the bar, they had become too worried about Waldemar, so they had returned to their room where they found him still resting. She had suggested just going to sleep themselves, and Charlie had agreed. She had proposed that, but had actually wanted to cuddle or kiss or, or. . . she wasn’t actually sure, but something.
Perhaps it had been all she had imbibed, making her amorous, but she had felt an attraction to Charlie like nothing she had felt for anyone before—as odd a choice as he could be. Oh, she had tried to reason herself out of it, but every time he just chuckled or smiled, she wanted to melt.
But what was she to do? How did a woman get a man to . . . without appearing like a strumpet? Her husband had always initiated their love making, and she assumed that Charlie would also—if he wanted to.
Feeling shy, she had adjusted their bed barrier again, while he was in the shower, but had positioned one pillow just slightly off so they could romantically gaze at each other—if they wanted to. After he got out of the bathroom, she had then showered and dried herself. She had hesitated over her luggage a moment, trying to decide what to wear to bed but had eventually put on the same outfit she had worn the night before. The pink sweater over her nightie was attractive to her coloring at least. And the pants would let him know that she didn’t give away her favors to just anyone.
She had demurely stepped out of the bathroom, and Charlie had taken one glance at her, and then groaned.
Groaned? What was that supposed to mean?
Then he had turned onto his side, punched his pillow and uttered, “Good night.” Kind of curtly.
While she had tossed and turned, he had fallen asleep within . . . well, at least an hour. He hadn’t looked at her with adoring eyes, he hadn’t whispered love words, he hadn’t even teased her with something obnoxious as usual.
Oh, and to top it off, he had snored.
Finally, when the first light had started to peek around the curtains, she had drifted off to sleep. Because after all, she had finally convinced herself, if he wasn’t going to be entranced by her, she certainly was not interested in him.
And now here he was annoying her again, trying to wake her up, reminding her once again of his presence. She just hated him. She really did, but she bothered to inquire, “Reservation? For what? Aren’t we leaving for Wind Cave?”
“Tomorrow. We’re staying here one more day because that was what I had planned, and why should I change my trip for someone who can’t—”
She sat up. “Can’t what?”
He seemed to have been on the verge of saying one thing but then changed his mind. “. . . who can’t appreciate the views.”
She frowned and stood up. “What does that mean? What gave you such an idea?”
He shrugged. “Well, if that’s how you feel, then I’m sure you won’t mind going rafting on the Snake River.”
“What’s rafting? You never told me.”
“A boat ride . . . it can get a little bumpy.”
She thought about how the French king had sent pirates to harass the ship she had taken across the Channel on the way to the marriage Louie XI had been against. Bumpy didn’t scare her after something like that.
She gave a determined look. “It sounds lovely. But what will we do about Waldemar?”
“It’s cool enough outside for him to stay in the truck with the windows partially down.”
“We should let him out now—”
“Already sneaked Waldemar out m
yself while you were snoozing like nothing—and I mean nothing—was bothering you at all.”
She glared at him. What was he implying? “Why should anything be bothering me?”
He smirked. “Why indeed? And you should be happy to note that since Waldemar has been so calm, I arranged for us to change to a quieter room tonight—so we can both just sleep.”
She glowered. “Sounds fine by me.”
“Yes, I figured you would say that. However, we cannot get the room until after our rafting trip, so pack up. We’ll take our things to the truck now and unpack them in our new room later.”
“Fine. Do we have time to eat before our boat ride?”
“Got you a carry out breakfast burrito. I’m sure that’s all you’ll require to feel satisfied.”
An hour later, Mags looked around at the large images in the sales room of the MadRiver Rafting Company. She had just changed, as Charlie had instructed, into some weird stretchy . . . wetsuit. Yes, that was what he had called it—which had puzzled her to do since they were just going on a leisurely boat ride.
But now as she studied the pictures before her, she realized that Charlie had not been forthcoming as to exactly what American rafting was. She loathed him. She really did. But she was not going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he had annoyed her once more—which gave him far too much pleasure.
“Coming, Duchess? Time to get on the bus that takes us to the river.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She raised her head royally.
Charlie glanced over at Mags, sitting securely next to him, wearing her life jacket, on the front bench of the raft. A stranger—some middle-aged bloke—sat on her other side. Behind them were parents with their teenage sons, and the guide was in the far back. The outdoorsy, thirtyish, guide had just told them that he would do all the steering, and they would do the paddling, with the exception of Mags because of the position she had chosen. Well, actually, that Charlie had chosen for them . . . because he knew that they—Mags—would get the wettest.
What was wrong with him? Why was he letting her rejection get to him? She could not have made it more obvious from the beginning that he repelled her. And if there had been any attraction on her part at any time, he had also realized that any intimacy between them would be a looong time coming.
But late last night they had smiled at one another over the lively music in the bar, and he had gotten some hope up—especially when she had suggested going to bed after they returned from the bar.
However, then she had emerged from the shower, wearing again that ridiculously confining outfit, and he had realized how foolish he had been. Finally, after an hour of wrestling with his frustrations, he had fallen asleep—no doubt helped by the couple beers and wine he had consumed. This morning when he had awoken, he had felt more like his reasonable self and had gotten out of bed, glimpsing over at her for a moment.
She was sleeping like a lamb—with surely no regrets as to how the night had progressed.
And yet, could he just let it drop? She wasn’t the first woman to rebuff him, after all. No, he could not. She brought this obnoxiousness out of him like . . . like . . . a flame could ignite gunpowder.
Sure, he could have just driven to Wind Cave today and then sent her on her way. But, no. He had wanted to take her on this rafting trip, knowing full well that she would not realize exactly what she was getting into. And then, when they returned to their hotel? Well, he would just calmly announce that he wanted to go to bed—and not have the bar to contend with below—and then he would turn his back on her.
Yessiree. He was done with this preposterous attraction to her. They would say their goodbyes after Wind Cave and that would be that.
But the guide was saying something more to them. “If anyone falls out—it can happen occasionally—just float like a ball. We will come to you and pull you back in. Everyone else should stay in the raft. Any questions? . . . No? Time to start paddling.”
The first few minutes, the water was . . . serene even. They observed a beaver, relaxing on the shore, and an eagle, taking flight.
Okay. Charlie couldn’t help being glad Mags was relishing the views, and smiling, as much as him.
But the first set of rapids appeared ahead.
“Keep paddling, everyone. This set is called the ‘Buzzcut’ for obvious reasons. Don’t worry, I’ll get you around it.”
Charlie and Mags glanced at each other a moment, wide-eyed. From the shore extended a huge rock, that if not avoided properly, would surely give that buzzcut it was named for.
The raft approached, and they kept paddling—the rock just in front of them. Charlie wondered why the guide was not steering them further away.
They got closer . . . and closer, now bouncing up and down over the rapids—both getting slightly wet.
Mags warned, “Charlie, watch out,” as he yelled, “Whoa,” when in just the last minute the guide steered them around the buzzcut.
Charlie couldn’t help laughing with relief as Mags grinned.
The water became smoother again for a while.
Suddenly, Mags pointed. “Look, Charlie.”
He glanced where she was gazing. A pair of river otters were frolicking in the current. He couldn’t help smiling at her again, despite all his frustrations.
But then Miss Know It All was at it again. Another conversation began among the raft—one of the teenage sons thought he had caught a view of a wolf on the shore.
Nobody else had seen it, and the guide implied it was probably a coyote.
The Duchess then spouted, “Well, if it was a wolf, he should be dealt with harshly.”
Charlie took extreme pleasure in proclaiming, “Wrong, Duchess.”
She looked over at him. “What do you mean? Those beasts attack viciously—”
“Wrong again!” He could sense the rest of the raft, staring at them curiously. Naturally, they didn’t know of their ‘wrong’ history together. “Since the wolf has been reintroduced back into Yellowstone, there has not been a single incident of them attacking a person.”
But she wasn’t done. “Well, perhaps, they have mated with gentler dogs or weaker coyotes—”
“Wrong again!” God, this was fun. “If you mean that they’re not Wolves Wolves—” Charlie was making this part up. He had no idea what the correct terminology was. “—like your Bison Bison, well, coyotes, dogs, and wolves are separate species that very much prefer not to mate with one another. Perhaps in the Eastern United States there are coywolves, but here I think they have plenty of their own type to get busy with—”
“Get busy with?”
“Yes. And furthermore, since the wolves are now controlling the elk population, more food is available to other animals. The bears are eating more berries now.” He was so glad he had read all about this before he had even started Out West. He grinned at her smugly as Mags narrowed her eyes.
Unfortunately, at that precise moment they hit another rapid.
“Keep paddling, everyone. This one is called the ‘Tabletop.’”
Charlie could not see why since they were bouncing so much over the swells. Suddenly a huge swath of water overtook him. He was clobbered and became drenching wet.
Mags glanced over at Charlie and giggled gleefully at his misfortune. She couldn’t help from thinking he had partially deserved that. But then another swell—oh, heavens—hit her directly on.
She sputtered, but found herself chuckling some more. He began laughing with her, and they gazed at each other warmly.
“People, pay attention. We’re coming to the ‘Big Kahuna.’”
The what? Mags looked downstream. Oh, no. This rapid looked really . . . they dipped low, then up, then low, then another gigantic surge of water suddenly appeared.
“Charlie, heeelp!”
Mags was thrown in the river. As she struggled against the current, she heard the guide implore, “Keep paddling, everyone. I’ll steer to her.”
She tried to stand
.
Charlie started waving. “Make a ball, Mags. Make a ball. You could get your feet stuck in the rocks then not get up at all.”
“Whaaat???” Mags could not process what she was supposed to do. She yearned for Charlie to just come get her, but she remembered he was supposed to stay in the raft. Then she took an unintended gulp of water and fought the river some more.
Through her splashing she heard Charlie suddenly yelling, “Coming, Maaags.”
So even though he was not supposed to do it . . . he jumped in.
Oh, she adored that man.
Charlie immediately bent his legs towards his chest and started floating towards her. “Like this, Mags. Make a ball.”
“Oooh.” She followed his lead and started gliding down the river.
But then she glanced behind herself. Somehow with his jump, Charlie had unsteadied the raft.
The guide shouted, “Get ready, people,” as the raft turned over. Suddenly, everyone was in the river . . . but at least she could see they were forming their balls. Several soon were clinging to the side of the raft or were nearly on shore.
Mags was kind of turning in circles now and Charlie gained on her. A minute later, they were floating in calm waters side by side. She looked downstream. Several people were at a landing—she supposed the intended end of the rafting trip—encouraging them on.
Within a couple minutes they crawled on shore. They stood and stared at each other a moment. She could hear their guide in the background, discussing what had happened with the guide that had led a trip before them. She could hear the reassurances that everyone was well.
She now had so much she yearned to say to Charlie.
Despite the commotion around them, Charlie could only continue gazing at Mags. She looked like a drenched rat. He felt guilty for having led her into this terrible ordeal.
Before she angrily exploded, he had to try apologizing. “Mags, I—”
She suddenly enclosed him in a tight hug. “Oh, Charlie. That was the most fun I have had . . . well, forever!”
“What?” Charlie gripped her back, surprised and pleased. “It was? I’m glad to hear it.”
