I hear the tightness in my voice and swallow hard.
“Tell me about it,” he coaxes.
I glance up at Beau for just an instant because an instant is all I can manage, and his eyes are as gentle as his voice. And I still feel safe—even if my throat’s gone tight.
I clear it. “There’s Broken Bow Lake, which is like twenty miles long. It’s man-made from when they dammed the Mountain Fork River. There’s places where the water is as clear as the ocean. People even scuba dive.” I chuckle. “We never did, but I swam in it every chance I got. Do you ever go swimming in the river by your house.”
My question surprises him. “In the Vermilion? God, no.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with it? Are there alligators?” A thrill of terror goes through me.
“Yes, but that’s not why I don’t swim in it,” he says, making a sour face. “It’s muddy and dirty.”
“Muddy and dirty?” I tease.
“Dirty as in polluted.” His nostrils flare in apparent disgust. “Everything on our streets drains to the bayou. So every cigarette butt, plastic cup lid, and dirty diaper some couillon tosses out of his car window winds up in The Vermilion.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Oh, gross. And people still litter? Even knowing it washes into the river?”
Beau rolls his eyes. “Like they’re being paid to do it.” And before I can comment, he says, “But you were talking about hiking with your dad. I want to hear about that.”
Tingles trail down my back and shoulders. I almost never talk about my dad—except for with Sally. And Ramon knows a little, of course, but he’s not one for going deep. Beau’s invitation is as rare as a solar eclipse.
And I feel like the moon. All that sunlight just for me.
I soak it in for a minute, and then tell him. “Moira used to work in a beauty parlor—anywhere else, you’d call it a salon, but in Broken Bow, it’s a beauty parlor,” I say in my Okie drawl.
“You’re so funny.” Beau chuckles under his breath. “That says it all.”
I’m gratified. “Anyway, she did hair and nails and worked every other Saturday, so when she wasn’t home, my dad would take me to Beavers Bend.” I wrinkle my nose. “Moira hates outdoor stuff, so we never went as a family.”
Beau nods as if this tidbit doesn’t surprise him. I don’t think anyone who knows Moira would be surprised, but Beau’s never even met her.
“We’d usually pack a lunch and hit Skyline Trail.” Just thinking of it has me smelling pine resin and Velveeta sandwiches. “We didn’t have a lot, but my dad’s most prized possession was his old Nikon. He’d sling that thing around his neck, hook a backpack over his shoulder, and off we’d go.”
I smile so big it hurts.
God, it hurts.
I swallow again, remembering the climb after the third Bee Creek crossing. How hard it was for me when I was little. Dad would sometimes have to piggy-back me before we reached the top of the ridge. For a moment, I close my eyes and see the back of his head. His long, dark hair used to tickle my nose.
I open my eyes. I can feel Beau’s gaze on me, but I don’t look up. I keep my own trained on the trail in front of me.
“He used to take pictures all day. He was really good. He’d shoot everything. The view from the top of the ridge. Lichen on a rotten log. Salamanders in a shallow stream… Me…”
The memory seems to pull my mouth in two directions. Like I could just as easily laugh or cry. “He loved those pictures. Whatever extra cash he had after paying bills and buying groceries went into developing and making prints.”
Moira used to give him hell about that. The money. But she liked the pictures of me. She used to ooh and aah over them. Just look at my baby girl! She could be a model. She must have said that a thousand times.
“Sounds like they were important to him,” he says, breaking me out of the memory.
I nod. “Yeah, he loved photographs.”
“I wasn’t talking about the photographs,” Beau says. “I meant the Saturdays with you.”
A gasp charges my throat. My gaze flies to his. “You think so?” The strangled question escapes me before I have a chance to tame it. A blush follows hot on its heels.
Beau holds my stare with his earnest one. “Yes, Iris.” I don’t know if anyone has ever spoken my name with such kindness. “I do.”
It’s almost too much. You know the saying, Kill them with kindness? It feels like I’ve sustained a mortal wound. Right through my heart.
When I told Beau about my dad leaving earlier, I left out the part about how I’ve wondered why he took off again after returning to Broken Bow. Did he come back because he heard we were gone? Did he leave again when he got my letters and knew I was looking for him? Looking for answers?
That thought crushed me at first. That he disappeared again because I reached out. But then I thought that maybe he’s not ready to face me. To explain why he left me. Maybe he’s not ready to give me those answers.
Maybe he needs to hold onto them more than I need to hear them.
So I won’t go looking for him. He won’t have to look hard to find me if he ever wants to.
I don’t know if that will ever happen. All I know is that Beau Landry just gave me something I’ve been aching for: a reason to believe that even though he left, my dad loved me.
When I can breathe, I force the words out. “You are nothing like what I expected.” The confession is raw, just above a whisper.
Beau’s watchful eyes smile. “You, Iris Adams, are the last thing I expected.”
We stare at each other. If this were a movie, this would be when the boy and the girl kiss. I know the part as well as I know my own reflection. Just lean in and tilt my chin up and meet my co-star halfway. I’ve done it a dozen times.
But this moment has something none of those had.
My heart pounds, and my mouth goes dry because, unlike all those other times, I want to kiss the man in front of me. I want it like crazy.
And that’s what snaps me out of it. Because this is not a scene for a movie, and Beau Landry is not here to kiss me.
So I go where I always go to steer clear from an awkward moment. With a joke.
“I know, right?” I say brightly, taking a determined step out of kissing range. “’Nobody ever expects the Spanish Inquisition.’”
Beau’s eyes widen a fraction. “Monty Python.” But to my disappointment, he doesn’t laugh. “That’s funny.”
Except he doesn’t sound amused.
“Points for catching the Flying Circus reference.”
His mouth turns up, but I have the sickening feeling he’s forcing a smile out of politeness.
“Should we keep going?” I ask, because I don’t want him doing anything out of politeness. Especially not spending the day with me.
His brow creases. “Of course. We haven’t even gotten to the best part.”
We start walking again, and I can’t help myself. “What’s the best part?”
“You’ll see.”
I let go of a little breath in relief. Okay, maybe my Monty Python joke fell flat, but he sounds like he’s still having a good time.
The trail narrows, and bamboo that stretches above our heads begins to crowd us on either side. I call Mica to stay at my heels, and Beau and I walk single file, him in the lead. The bamboo tunnel is hushed and eerie and goes on much longer than I like.
I focus on Beau’s back. It’s a lovely back and one, in this particular moment, that inspires confidence and security. Even so, when the bamboo opens up, and I can see hills and forest on either side of us, I sigh in relief.
Beau looks over his shoulder at me. “Claustrophobic?”
“Just a little.” I cock a brow at him. “That wasn’t the best part, I hope.”
He laughs, for real this time. “No. I promise.” He nods toward the trail ahead. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here, but it shouldn’t be too far… In fact, you might want to put Mica back on the lead for this.”
I call Mica to me and clip on his leash. “He’s being so mysterious,” I stage whisper to my dog. Watching Beau, Mica flicks one ear.
“All will be revealed soon.”
And he’s not lying. Within minutes, the trail makes a sharp turn to the right, and I freeze, the sight too stunning to take in all at once.
A Louisiana swamp spreads out before us, ghostly cypress trees draped in moss as far as the eye can see. And right down the middle of it, where I’m sure we’re bound to go, is a simple, wooden boardwalk mere feet above the water.
No railing on either side. Just planks. Maybe four feet wide. Barely wide enough for us to walk side by side.
Sunlight pierces the canopy and dapples the water’s surface, but the water is dark, dotted with carpets of green algae, hiding God knows what underneath. My stomach clenches at the thought of falling into that.
“A-are we gonna cross it?”
I tilt my gaze up to Beau to find him gently smiling. “That’s the plan, but we don’t have to.”
I may be scared, but I’m no chicken. Turning back is not an option.
But, yeah, I’m scared. The boardwalk stretches so far out of sight I only think I see it’s terminus, but who knows? It could go on for miles. It’s so quiet, it feels like we’ve left civilization far behind.
I wonder how often the rangers check these boards? It seems like this humidity would be prime for rot. What are the chances I’ll step through a decaying board and land on top of an alligator?
Okay, probably not that good.
Not nearly as good as me just falling off the side. Either side. Since there’s no railing.
I gulp.
“H-how deep is the water here?”
Beau frowns a little. “I don’t know. Probably not that deep. Maybe five feet.”
I’m 5’3.
A shiver runs over me at the thought of disappearing under the surface.
“I’m not letting you fall in,” Beau says.
I like his certainty. Still, my track record is not so great.
“Your uncle and his elbow might disagree.”
Beau tries to trap his laugh, but it comes out as a sniff and a cough. He clears his throat. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t laugh.”
I give a half-shrug. “I meant it to be funny. I mean, I’m serious, but serious can be funny.”
His wry grin is priceless. “My uncle and his elbow might disagree.”
My laughter echoes over the water. Beau beams.
I bite my lip. What a sight.
“You won’t let me fall in?” I double-check.
His eyes are brighter than sunlight on water. “I won’t let you fall in.”
My shoulders relax just a little, and Mica takes it as a sign that we’re ready to go. He pulls the lead, but I anchor my heels. “Whoa, boy,” I caution. Then I look back at Beau. “What if Mica sees a turtle or a snake or something and takes off after it? He’ll go flying and I’ll fall in.”
Without another word, Beau takes the leash from me with one hand and grabs my hand with the other.
“I won’t let you fall in,” he says for the third time.
And with his hand wrapped tight around mine, I believe him.
Chapter Seventeen
BEAU
We start off slow. Despite my promises, Iris is still scared. There’s no hiding it. I can feel her hand trembling in mine.
I squeeze tighter.
She squeezes back.
Bon Dieu, but this feels good.
We step onto the boardwalk, her dog in the lead with his nose to the ground and his tail whipping back and forth. No telling what he’s scented. Raccoons. Nutria. Opossum. I keep his leash taut. I’m not letting Iris fall in, but her dog’s not going in either.
Not that he would. He seems pretty smart and used to being in the natural world.
But we take it slow.
“Oh my God,” Iris mutters under her breath, somewhere between terror and awe. The cypress swamp is pretty awe-inspiring. There’s just enough of a breeze to lift the Spanish moss, giving the trees the illusion that they are ladies’ shawls, swaying in a slow dance.
But when I look at Iris, she doesn’t have her eyes on the trees or the swaying moss or the surface of the water. She’s watching her feet, hawk-eyeing each step.
I stop.
Gripping my hand tighter, she looks up at me. Her pupils are pinpricks of fear and focus. “Why’d you stop?” Panic cinches her voice.
“You’re watching your feet.”
She blinks. “So?”
“And you’re missing an amazing view.”
She blinks twice. “I’m afraid if I don’t watch my footing, I’ll trip on one of these boards and—”
“You think I’d let anything bad happen to you?”
The question comes from some subterranean place in me. Like an underground cave I’ve never explored but I know exists. It’s been there all along.
Right next to the conviction that I want her to fear nothing when she’s with me.
Iris squeezes my hand as the light in her eyes changes, those pupils darkening, blooming. “No,” she says, her voice lilting around a growing smile. “I don’t.”
Her eyes stay locked with mine, and for a moment, time stops. We stand on an open bridge in the middle of a swamp in the heart of a forest. And I know she’s telling the truth.
Iris trusts me to keep her safe.
It’s like someone’s handed me the sun to carry in my arms.
I don’t want to pull my gaze from hers. Instead, I want to pull her mouth to mine. The urge is maddening.
But we are touching, our bodies inches from each other. Almost as close as when we dance. It should be enough.
It’s not.
Counting the drive, I’ve been with her for almost three hours today, and that’s not enough either. I don’t want this day to end.
But she’s here to get away. To get into nature, and now I understand what it means. She can stop thinking, stop criticizing herself, stop worrying when she’s on the trail and in the woods. She’s present and peaceful.
Except for right now. And I’m the one who’s here to help her enjoy it. Safely. Not maul her like a feral pig.
“Look around,” I make myself say. “Take it in.”
She squeezes my hand and tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. These are nerves, I know, but they wreck me again, and I allow myself the indulgence of squeezing back.
“Go on,” I whisper, nodding toward the expanse of wet wilderness just over her shoulder.
Iris smiles a nervous smile, and then, with the silly, ramped up expressiveness of a performer, she widens her eyes and slowly peeks behind her. Clutching my hand tight, she lets her shoulders and then her hips follow the movement until she’s facing the right side of the bridge.
This side is all swamp. It’s hard to see now, because the trees are leafed out in full and the moss is so thick, but about a quarter mile that way, land wraps around this inlet. In the opposite direction, past the cypress trees and their knees is Lake Chicot. This is easier to glimpse as water mirrors the sky and ripples move over the surface.
But I watch neither water nor woods. My eyes are on her. As we stand motionless, Iris visibly eases. Her shoulders drop, and her chest expands. Her eyes are still wide, but with a softer cast, taking in the green gloom of the swamp.
Her profile is a study in loveliness. The day’s humidity has speckled her delicate nose and upper lip with tiny droplets of sweat. Her ripe lips are softly parted in wonder. Here, under the patchwork of sunlight through the trees, I see just a dusting of light freckles on her cheekbone I’ve never noticed, not even up close to her in the dance studio. But they seem to reflect the gold in her eyes.
The line of her jaw and the shape of her chin are solid, not shrinking, giving her profile feminine, regal strength. She could play Cleopatra or Helen of Troy if she wanted. Audiences would bow in reverence.
If I snapped a picture of
her right now and showed it to everyone I know, they’d agree with me. She’s the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen.
But that picture wouldn’t show even half of what makes her beautiful. Not her humor. Or her innocence. Or her trusting heart.
It wouldn’t show the lost look in her eyes when she talks about her dad or the way her nostrils flare when she argues. It wouldn’t show—
Iris gasps. “Is that—” Her hand becomes a vice around mine. “Is that an alligator?”
I tear my gaze from her and look to where she’s pointing. At first glimpse, the shape looks like a submerged log, but that’s nature’s camouflage. No doubt, the two bumps breaking the water’s surface are the beast’s eyes. He’s a ways off, and though he’s no giant, he’s nearly full-grown. The barely visible ridges on his back show off his length, a good six or seven feet.
“Yep. Good eyes,” I say.
She gasps again. “Is he going to chase us?”
I’m not fast enough to swallow my laugh. “No. He’s probably not going to move at all. More than likely, he’s digesting his breakfast or waiting for lunch to swim by.”
I feel the shiver that moves through her. I give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “He doesn’t want anything to do with us.”
“What about Mica?” she asks, her voice high and anxious.
“Well, Mica’s not in the water, so we’re good.”
Iris snaps her wide eyes at me. “They eat dogs?”
“They eat anything that moves. Even other alligators.” No point in sugar-coating it.
She looks at the alligator, who’s a good fifty feet away, and then back at me. “And you’re sure he’s not going to climb up here and chase us?”
“Impossible,” I say, keeping my smile under as much control as I can. “Alligators can’t scale trees or bridges or boardwalks.”
She stares at me for a while. I stare back.
“Okay.” She drops her right shoulder and slips off her pack. “Grab onto me,” she says, dropping my hand.
I choke on air. “What?”
“Grab me.” She reaches into a side pouch on her pack and pulls out her phone. “Hold onto me so I don’t fall in.”
Two-Step Page 17
