River Rapture

by Vella Munn

  It wasn’t just the makeup. Her hands, white and slim, with long, perfectly shaped nails, always sported the latest nail color. At one time fingernail polish had been the last thing on her mind. As a child she’d been proud of her calluses. Weren’t calluses allowed within the doors of Chantilla?

  “I don’t like working here.”

  Traci clapped a hand over Michon’s mouth. “Don’t say that! The walls have ears. Come on, kid. Where else could we command the salaries we do and be nothing more than saleswomen? All that money and status and darn little responsibility. We have it made here.”

  “Do we?” Michon turned anguished eyes on her friend. “You know what I was thinking this morning? I was looking at the mannequins and thinking that that’s all we really are. Walking, talking mannequins. Put a voice box in those figurines, and they could do our jobs.”

  “You’re getting weird. You know that, don’t you?” Traci asked. “I’m not too crazy about the forty-hour week myself, but then my mind is on a certain man and what I’d rather be doing. What’s your excuse?”

  “I just met a man.”

  “Just? What about Paul? Forget Paul. What’s this man’s name?”

  “I don’t know,” Michon groaned. “Traci, I don’t know!”

  Chapter Two

  It was nearly six o’clock by the time Michon left Chantilla. The large parking lot was half empty at the dinner hour. The air had a crisp feel to it, thanks to a breeze that had come up from the north, but there was no erasing the city smells completely. Michon walked slowly to her car. This was her favorite time of the day—the eight frantic hours at the shop were behind her and she now anticipated a quiet evening. Paul hadn’t said anything about their getting together tonight, but instead of wondering how she was going to fill her time, Michon felt relief.

  There wasn’t anything wrong with Paul except that he wore three-piece suits, and Michon realized that every time she saw a man in a three-piece suit she thought of a clone.

  She could go home, but lately she’d felt confined in the two-bedroom apartment she was leasing. What was it? Was she going to get into one of her redecorating moods? Or wasn’t the apartment right for her?

  What’s wrong with me? Michon asked as she lifted her head to allow the breeze to play with her hair. How did I turn into a square peg in a round hole all of a sudden?

  It would be romantic to think that it was the stranger who was doing these things to her emotions. But Michon admitted that he was simply the catalyst that was making her finally face her dissatisfaction with her life. Her life had been clean and neat and orderly and in keeping with images formed by fashion magazines. He was like a cowboy thundering into a sleepy frontier town to shake its foundations. But the foundations weren’t as strong as she’d tried to make them, or they wouldn’t be so badly shaken.

  You’ve been working too hard, old girl. You need a vacation, she told herself as she wrestled with deciding between going home and dropping in at the deli near the supermarket.

  That was it. She hadn’t had more than two days off since she went to work at Chantilla. Where would she go if she could get a week or more off? There was always her parents, but seeing them would be like stepping back in time, when what she really needed was territory she’d never explored before. Her grandfather would have understood. He’d always listened to everything she said. But he was dead now and Michon was on her own.

  Michon dropped her keys back in her purse and took off for the deli. So what if she went off her diet? A woman couldn’t live forever on lettuce and diet bars, could she? Besides, she wanted to sit down and think about this vacation business, not have to worry about throwing a meal together. Swiss cheese, ham, rye bread. That’s what she needed to get her thoughts organized.

  She walked into the deli, made a mental note of the crisp gingham tablecloths over rustic tables, and stood in line to place her order. Even that disturbed her. How many lines had she stood in in her life? She took the number the woman at the cash register gave her and stared at it. That’s what she was—a number. One more minute and she’d run out of the deli without waiting for her sandwich.

  Michon shook herself, feeling almost afraid of her emotions. What was happening to her? Taking a number and waiting one’s turn was part of living in a city. There wasn’t anything she could do about it. Why couldn’t she accept that simple fact?

  Despite her colliding emotions, Michon gradually became aware that someone was watching her. Angrily she sought the source of that sensation. She wasn’t here to be picked up!

  It was the stranger from the park.

  He was watching her from a table near the front window, eyes steady, his mouth betraying nothing of what he was thinking. For a moment Michon did no more than acknowledge the warm feeling that washed over her at the sight of him. She hadn’t lost him! At least not yet.

  But did he want to talk to her, see her? Maybe he was waiting for someone else. Suddenly shy, Michon gave him a tentative smile and turned to stare without seeing at the woman preparing her sandwich. Inside she was torn between tears and laughter. He was here! Later she’d ask herself why it mattered so much.

  She didn’t look at him again until she had her sandwich in its bright plastic container in her hand. There were empty tables near her, but his eyes were drawing her toward him, bringing her to stand next to his table. “Hi” was the best she could come up with.

  “Hi. Sit down. That looks better than whatever you were eating for lunch.”

  “You’re right about that,” Michon acknowledged as she positioned her legs under the tiny table. Their legs brushed. “This is no way to stay on a diet, but it sure smells good.”

  “Why are you on a diet?” he asked as he bit into his own meal. “You’re skinny.”

  Skinny? It wasn’t exactly a compliment. “The whole world’s on a diet,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want to think I wasn’t playing the game. Besides, if I ate the way I wanted to I’d have to buy a whole new wardrobe.”

  “You wouldn’t if you exercised enough.” The way he was staring at her gave her the uneasy feeling that he was measuring the amount of muscle on her frame. “Exercise burns up the calories.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “I’ve tried running, but by the time I get off work, the streets don’t look very inviting or safe. And those health clubs are so expensive. So I diet.” Michon wrinkled up her nose. “Let’s not talk about diets. What are you doing here?”

  “Shopping, or trying to.” He stretched out in his chair and momentarily closed his eyes. “I’m going to lose my mind if I have to do much more of that. I hate shopping in the city. At least I got most of the gear I’ll need. I’ve never taken a bunch of teenagers before. It’s a whole new ball game.”

  “Wait a minute. What are you talking about? No”—Michon held up her hand as he started to open his mouth—“first things first. My name is Michon Lycan. What’s yours?”

  “Chas. Chas Carson of Carson River Tours. I don’t usually come into the city, but I had to meet with my tax man today. I decided to try to pick up some supplies while I was here.” He shook his head. “It was a mistake. I spent half the day lost.”

  “At least you found your way to the shopping center,” she said, thinking how much Paul hated having to admit he was ever less than totally in control. “That can be quite an accomplishment, what with all the construction and crossroads around here.”

  “I guess. Give me Canada’s Great Fish River any day. That I can handle.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Sorry. There I go again. Actually it’s called the Black River after an English navy captain who explored it in 1834. But the Indians called it Thlew-ee-choh-dezeth or Great Fish. That trip took over forty days, and we had to be flown in to the headwaters before we could begin. The land is virtually uninhabited. I’ve never enjoyed anything more.”

  Michon heard the note of wonder in Chas’s voice and met his eyes. They were shining with a light she’d never seen in
her own. “It sounds exciting,” she offered.

  “It is. It’s a lot different from what I’m planning now. I’m not sure which I like the most.” He shook his head. “Except for the money, I’m still not sure why I agreed to take all those kids.”

  They were carrying on a conversation, talking like friends and not strangers. Did he have any idea how she was enjoying the exchange? “Let me get this straight,” Michon said, forgetting to eat. “You’re a river guide. Is that it? How in the world did you become that?”

  “How do any of us get started doing what we do?” He gave her a wry smile. “Do you really want to hear the whole story?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, I just hope it won’t bore you.” He stopped for a minute, as if organizing his thoughts. “I was always more interested in planning some adventure than in going to school. I took to scouting like a puppy takes to an old slipper. I joined the sheriff department’s search-and-rescue team where I was going to college. That really turned me on. I attended several workshops on wilderness survival, became a paramedic, did mountain climbing. The whole macho bit. But it wasn’t until I went canoeing as part of a wilderness expedition that I decided what I wanted to do with my life. I’ve been accused of acting like a little boy following in the footsteps of Kit Carson or Daniel Boone. I may never get rich, but at least I won’t wind up getting killed in some freeway accident.” He laughed. “I’ll probably wind up smashing myself against a submerged boulder.”

  Michon knew he was joking, but the thought of Chas Carson being dashed against a boulder in a foaming, angry river miles from any hospital sent a shudder through her. If she had her way, she’d wrap him in a terry cloth robe and hold him tightly against her.

  What was she thinking! Michon dipped her head, hoping her makeup hid the flames she felt on her cheeks. Chas Carson was hardly the kind of man who would allow a woman to dictate what he did with his life. Some instinct she didn’t argue with told her that. To stop her thoughts, Michon concentrated on getting Chas to tell her more about his unique way of life. “I’m trying to decide where someone like you would live,” she offered. “I have this vision of you eking out a primitive existence in a log cabin without electricity, splitting wood for the fireplace, cooking over an open fire.”

  Chas laughed. “Hardly. I own a home in Shady Cove, but I’m not there enough to give it the attention it needs. It’s too bad. It’s a unique house and I like it. If I don’t get the kitchen range repaired I am going to have to start cooking over an open fire. But it suits me. I’ll work on it this winter when Carson River Tours goes into hibernation. Of course”—a twinkle brightened the depths of his eyes—“that’s skiing season. I do a lot of skiing when I’m not helping the county’s search-and-rescue team look for lost skiers.”

  Michon closed her eyes to block out the contrast between what Chas was saying and the too-cute deli he was trying to fit himself into. Chas was right. He made a perfect modern-day Daniel Boone.

  “Am I boring you?”

  “What?” Michon’s eyes flew open.

  “You looked like you were falling asleep. I shouldn’t be rambling on about myself like that.”

  “Oh, no! I’m just trying to picture myself climbing into a—what is it—a canoe and doing what you’re doing. There are so many things people can do with their lives.” She sighed, feeling again the weight of her recent discontent. “I just wonder how many wind up doing what they were really meant to, what satisfies their souls.”

  “I don’t know.” Chas laid his hand on her forearm. “That’s a pretty deep subject.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” She didn’t think she’d be able to talk, now that physical contact had been made between them, but she felt it important to make the effort. “It’s been on my mind a lot these days. I need a vacation or something.”

  “Or something?” Chas’s eyes narrowed until they were mere slits, but that didn’t stop the dark light from showing through. “There’s no end to the possibilities in a statement like that.” His voice was even deeper than usual as he spoke.

  Michon started. Did he think she was referring to something sexual in nature? She’d been feeling unbelievably relaxed talking to a man she barely knew, but maybe he was getting an entirely different message. Did he think she was trying to tell him that she was available, willing? “I’m afraid you misunderstood me,” she said icily, drawing her hand away. “I happen to have a boyfriend.”

  Chas blinked. “I’m glad you have a boyfriend, but what does that have to do with what we’re talking about?”

  “I mean”—she stood up and started to turn away—“I don’t believe in one-night stands.”

  Chas stopped her before she could reach the door. He grabbed her arm firmly and yet gently and steered her outside where their fellow diners couldn’t hear. She thought about struggling but his touch effectively filled her muscles with a sense of inertia. He easily pinned her against the deli’s outer wall and forced her to meet his penetrating eyes. His voice was firm, almost rough. “I don’t know what’s got you all in a lather, but there’s one thing I want you to understand. I don’t have much use for one-night stands. If you misunderstood me, I’m sorry. I happen to enjoy talking to you. Can’t we keep it at that? Anyone who spends her lunch hour talking to a squirrel must have something interesting to say.”

  Was he making fun of her? Michon felt foolish, confused because she still wasn’t sure whether Chas was speaking the truth, or whether this was his male way of throwing her off balance. “I’m not in the habit of having dinner with someone I’ve never seen before,” she admitted. “I wasn’t sure what kind of an impression you got from that. I—maybe I overreacted.”

  Chas shrugged and released her. He continued to stand before her with his legs slightly spread, thus effectively preventing her from moving away from him. “I agree. It has been a rather unusual experience for both of us. I don’t run across too many women in my line of work. My social skills in that department aren’t as tuned as you’re probably used to. Look, why don’t we go back in and finish dinner? I’m going to be living off freeze-dried foods in a few days. I’m going to make the most of my last meals in civilization.”

  Michon forced herself to smile as she thought of the limp lettuce and tasteless bread in her sandwich. “Of course. I’d hate to think I’d taken you away from a gourmet meal.”

  Chas cocked his head and rested his eyes on her again. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Why should I do that?” From his tone she couldn’t tell whether he was teasing or serious.

  Chas opened the door and stood aside as she stepped inside. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “I don’t see anything wrong with a sandwich for dinner. I’ll take the time for a fancy, expensive restaurant when I don’t have anything better to do.”

  Michon slipped into her seat and picked up her sandwich. “Do you really eat freeze-dried food?” she asked, feeling a little foolish about her behavior. Righteous indignation didn’t really go with the situation. She hadn’t meant to imply that she was making fun of his social skills. She wasn’t comfortable with the thought that they were misunderstanding each other this much.

  Chas gave her a thumbnail sketch of the type of food planning necessary for a week-long canoeing expedition for twenty teenagers. Michon tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but kept getting distracted. It was much more interesting to watch his habit of clenching his jaws at the end of a sentence, the expressive moves of his large calloused hands, the quick interplay of blue and black in his eyes. Michon allowed her eyes to glaze over slightly as she tried to picture him in a three-piece suit instead of his faded, unironed shirt. No. That was as unnatural as teaching wild animals to perform for a circus.

  “When will you be leaving? Where are you going?” she asked, suddenly aware that the conversation revolved around the fact that soon he would be kneeling in a canoe instead of sitting across from her.

  “In exactly eight days. The John Day River is
about right for the skills of the kids I’ll be leading.”

  “Have you ever done anything like that before? I mean, I know you’re a guide, but teenagers are so full of energy. They don’t always have their brains engaged. I don’t know if I’d have the courage to take that on.”

  “They’ve all had some wilderness training,” Chas explained. “It’s not as if they’ve never been out on their own before. And their teacher is going along, so he’ll be responsible for keeping them in line. He’s trying to get his wife to go along because we need a woman to ride herd on the girls. Just the same”—Chas paused—“I’m responsible for their safety. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

  “Do you think it could?” Michon asked in concern.

  “Accidents can always happen.” Chas explained that the teenagers were part of an experimental program at the local high school that was designed to develop further self-confidence in young people interested in outdoor activities. The students, ten boys and ten girls, had been involved with programs over the past year that were developed to improve their feeling of self-reliance by testing them both mentally and physically. “It’s part of the back-to-nature movement, I guess,” Chas explained. “Take kids off the city streets and see if they can survive and grow in an environment most people never experience.”

  What Chas said struck a nerve with Michon. She came to life. “I wonder if I could survive something like that?”

  “Probably.” Chas was staring at her hands. “But it’d play havoc with your manicure.”

  Michon looked down at her nails. She’d been to a professional manicurist a few times, but enjoyed doing her nails herself. Her fingers were long and white, topped with long, strong, polished nails. She’d never tell Chas, but her hands had resulted in more than one compliment at work. She was proud of them and managed to keep them in view when talking to a customer. She tried to picture them wrapped around a paddle or tucked inside a sweat shirt to keep them warm on a cold river morning. No doubt about it. They’d be out of their element there. She didn’t like admitting that.