Authors: Susan Vaughan
“Not just me, bro. We’re in this together.”
Northern Maine woods
Annie crumpled the Moosewoods Wilderness Immersion Expedition brochure. She shook it at the floatplane as it disappeared south.
A light breeze ruffled the clear water lapping at her feet. Gomagash Lake stretched wider than ten city blocks. It extended east beyond a trio of islands in its middle, the direction they’d be paddling. Just thinking about it cramped her shoulders.
The pilot had deposited them on this sandy shore. After helping unload the gear, he’d departed with a whirr of propellers and a dip of wings.
In the ensuing quiet, Sam Kincaid had dropped a bomb. Several, starting with the true nature of their expedition. Not only was there no chef, but the campsites were primitive and everyone would share the work.
All the work.
Canoe paddling she expected, but Wilderness Immersion? She didn’t dare contemplate what that meant in real terms.
A year ago, when Emma’s enthusiasm had convinced her to sign up for a week, she’d closed her eyes and written the check. After setting the date for this week, she bought the required equipment. She never investigated the “immersion” aspect of the expedition. Some journalist.
But she’d bet another week in a canoe that Justin knew. Thomas too.
“You look like you’re ready to pound somebody. The pilot? Not me, I hope.” Sam stood behind her, his mustache twitching with humor. How had he sneaked up so silently?
“No one.” She fought the urge to throw something at his arrogant face. “Maybe my brother. Maybe myself. I should have known I was heading into a northern version of
Deliverance
. No Chardonnay on the beach, right?”
He was too big. He dwarfed her and he stood too close, close enough for her to smell his sun-warmed skin—salty and very male. She refused to back away.
“Nope. Maine Guides aren’t allowed to provide alcohol. Too many potential problems. Drunks around the campfire.” He shrugged. “Though you could’ve brought your own wine.”
“Now you tell me.”
He put down the two large sausage-shaped bags he was holding. “Princess, I understand that you didn’t expect hardship. Wilderness adventuring is asking too much of a fragile flower.”
“Don’t call me princess.”
He stood quietly, arms crossed over his solid chest, eyeing her critically, daring her. He seemed to see inside her with those mocking eyes, light brown—no, dark gold like amber or fine whiskey, tawny like his hair and skin.
She chanced a glance at the others, who knew what they were getting into, perusing the chore list and loading the three cherry-red canoes. A storage shed at the edge of the woods held the gear not transported by air. She had no choice but to take part, but her insides knotted.
Emma, I’m doing this for you. But I need your help.
Annie poked Sam’s chest with her index finger. She tried to ignore the heat and latent power in those firm pecs. At least he’d buttoned his silly tropical shirt—softness over hardness.
“Fragile flower, my ass,” she said. She might hate every minute, every dip of the paddle, but she was no shirker. “I’m a Wylde, and no Wylde ever wimps out.”
“Sure you can hack it? These woods won’t be like your nice safe city. No coffee bar at the corner.” Challenge emanated from his pores. The man had a definite edge to him. No matter how he tried to convey a laid-back attitude, beneath that flirtatious exterior lay an angry core.
Nice safe city. If only he knew the truth. Annie gave a mental shudder at the Hunter’s last muffled words to her.
“You’ll see me, but you won’t know me.”
“Wilderness or city streets, I’m up to the challenge.” As long as Mother Nature wasn’t in a devilish mood.
He captured her hand, enveloping it in his big one. “So the princess has a competitive streak. Wanna make it a little more interesting?”
A bet. But not for money. The gleam in his eyes was for an entirely different prize. His heat seeped into her fingers and up her arm, threatening to infuse her with his sensuality, to cloud her judgment. She yanked her hand away. “No bets. I grew up with a father and brothers so competitive that the Sox and Yankees’ rivalry pales by comparison. I can field any pitch you send my way, Mr. Baseball.”
Sam’s smile staggered her senses. “You got it.” He winked. “You’re lucky this is Wilderness Immersion and not Wilderness Survival. You’d have to make it with only a fish hook and a tarp for a tent.”
“My prayers have been answered.”
Still grinning, he retrieved the bags and held them up. “I have two-man tents that are really for one person and four-man tents for two people. We can cut down on equipment if you’ll share a tent with me.”
“In your dreams.”
“Well then, how about—"
“Not me. Nuh-uh. I ain’t doin’ it. No way.” Young Frank’s strident tone rose in pitch with his temper. “I ain’t doin’ no cooking and I ain’t digging no sh—"
“Francisco Howard Lopez, you stop right there!” Nora grabbed the boy’s upper arm. She looked as if she didn’t know whether to shake her son or paddle his bottom.
“This trip sucks!” The boy wrenched away and stalked off. He flopped down on a boulder at the water’s edge. He lowered his head between his bony knees.
All the adults stood in silence, paused in stowing the coolers and other equipment. Annie pursed her lips and blew out a breath. She’d come within a hair’s breadth of making a fool of herself exactly like this obnoxious brat.
“Whoo-boy,” said Sam in a low voice, rubbing the back of his neck. Then louder, “Listen up. Let’s finish getting these canoes set. You want everything secure so they balance evenly on the water.” He strode along the lake edge to check the canoe that the two men were loading.
The stocky man introduced as Carl said, “These canoes look like y’all whacked ‘em with a sledgehammer. Will they hold up?” His southern accent stretched
sledgehammer
into ten syllables.
Sam handed him a tent bag. “No problem. These Old Town canoes could make it through Class III’s.”
Class III’s. Something to do with white water. They weren’t paddling white water. God, if they were, she didn’t want to know.
Annie followed as far as her duffel. She slathered her exposed skin with sunscreen. At least the weather was summer hot. “Where’re we headed, Coach?”
At the nickname, he flashed a grin that curved his mustache and tingled the hairs on her arms. “Across Gomagash Lake to the northeast side. It’ll take an hour or so to our campsite.”
She didn’t want his grin. Or any flirtation from the same kind of self-absorbed, arrogant man she’d left behind in New York. She didn’t want anything except directions on how to survive the week.
Her bag sealed, she hoisted it. “Which canoe?”
“The first one. We’ll choose paddles when everyone’s ready.” His eyes narrowed, deepening the tiny lines around them. “I have something to do first.”
He headed toward the rebel, still hunched in a fortress of scrawny arms and legs.
Annie watched Sam lower himself beside the boy. Ringing the lake, the rounded domes of mountains rose beyond the rippling blue waters. She inhaled the pine and cedar scents in the air. Beauty and peace for some. Hostility for her.
Sucking in a preparatory breath, she slid a tentative, sandaled foot into the water. No shock. No numb toes. The gently lapping lake felt tepid. Warm. Maybe this trip—no, expedition, according to Sam—wouldn't be so bad after all. She fitted her duffel and sleeping bag into the canoe’s broad center space, already laden with the camp stove and a plastic crate. Then she went to help Nora stow a cooler.
“Sorry about my kid.” Nora avoided her eyes. “His dad just remarried, and he’s mad at the world.”
Heat crept up Annie’s cheeks. “He just needs time.”
She should’ve perceived that the boy’s anger stemmed from more than selfish temper. Apparently Sam had realized exactly that. He squatted beside the boy in quiet conversation.
Maybe the jock had more depth than she imagined. As Justin had said. Annie Wylde, queen of superficial judgments. She sighed.
By the time they had everything loaded up, Sam returned with Frank in tow. Neither reported on their one-on-one, but the boy looked doomed to walk the plank.
Now that Frank had at least joined the group, Sam seemed to ignore him. Had they made a bargain of some sort? Annie could only watch and wait.
Straightening out the kid was not her problem. She had her own—surviving the trip, fulfilling her promises to Emma. She busied herself with her gear.
Back in guide mode, Sam verified the canoes’ balance. He made sure each person had the right size life vest and paddle. He stuck an extra paddle in each canoe, then donned a vest. “Everybody zip and clip. Check that your canoe partner is secure too.”
After locking up the storage shed, Sam waded in knee deep. “Even if you folks have paddled canoes before, a refresher on steering can’t hurt, especially for the person in the stern.”
At some point, he’d changed from flip-flops to water sandals like her Tevas. Only much bigger. At least size thirteens. To suit his long, muscular legs and tight buns. She tore her gaze away from his derrière when he eased into the first canoe, the one where she’d stowed her gear.
Oh no, she’d be paddling with Mr. Baseball.
***
Sam tried to hide his amusement at Annie’s shock when she realized he'd placed her with him. He watched her stifle a huff before climbing into the front of the craft. “All set, or does that yellow life vest clash with your outfit?”
“Only with my mood.” She sent him a look to match her tone. She clipped the vest, then slipped on her sunglasses against the sun’s glare.
After some steering practice and a lunch of ham sandwiches, apples, and brownies, everyone packed bottled water and snacks in their net day-bags. The party shoved off from the shore and pointed the canoes east.
Sam listened to the wind rustling the pine branches and the plash of canoe paddles. Tiny purple and white flowers poked up in the marsh grass at the water’s edge. He inhaled the fresh scents of clear water and damp earth. Damn, he loved the Gomagash Wilderness. From a zippered pocket in his life vest, he extracted a cookie.
Popping the treat in his mouth, he lifted his face to the warmth of the sun. He dipped his paddle, gliding the canoe forward to lead the way. A few dark clouds hovered in the northwest but posed no threat. A light westerly helped them along. A good omen.
To maintain their course, he switched sides with his paddle in a smooth motion that didn’t miss a beat of his companion’s slower rhythm.
Occasionally he turned to check the other two canoes following them side by side. The two men had partnered up, leaving mother and son together in grim silence. Carl Pulsifer was a Richmond, Virginia, contractor. His initial skepticism had shown him to be a glass-half-empty kind of guy, not just a good ol’ boy ready for good times away from the business.
Ray Hadden, a computer programmer, had an intense manner that unnerved Sam. “I want an adventure vacation. Can you deliver?” he’d asked. Sam had blathered the company line about the wilderness experience and had promised to do his best.
Nothing Sam could do about Frank’s attitude for the time being. Maybe the kid would work out some hostility with his paddle. His mom wanted to reach him, but didn’t know how. And the princess...
Annie plied her paddle in the twenty-foot canoe’s bow, her spine as rigid as a tent pole. At least she wasn’t blind to the beauty around her. More than once she stared at the mountains and checked out a duck lolling in the shallows.
Sunlight on the ruffled surface of the water threw sparkles across her cheek when she turned. She had kiss-me lips, fine features, and a determined set to her jaw. She radiated almost as much attitude as the kid, mostly directed toward Sam.
The woman needed to loosen up, enjoy the scenery, go with the flow. His gaze swept down her slim back to a lush flare of hips. Okay muscles, but canoeing would lay new demands on gym toning. Initial stiffness should ease before they hit the rapids on Eagle River.
Leading the expedition meant avoiding sex with her. She wasn’t built like those anorexia poster girls he’d dated in Boston. Hers was a real body—trim with enough softness to hold on to.
Too bad the timing wasn’t right for a brief, hot affair. He sure had nothing to offer. They had little in common, but he liked her spunk, the spirit in her silvery eyes. Sparring with her added relish to this hot-dog trip.
Shadows lurked in the depths of those eyes. Shadows that might be the real reason behind this trip. “Yo, princess, rest for a minute. Don’t throw out your arm the first day.”
“Don’t call me princess.” She lifted her paddle and laid it across the gunwales.
He grinned. “Registration form says you’re a reporter for the
Messenger
. Too many deadlines stress you out?”
She laughed, a warm, husky chortle that kindled sparks in his groin. “Something like that.” She offered nothing more, shifting to dip her paddle.
He could read that signal without a team book. Subject in foul territory. But he hadn’t struck out yet. He patted his vest in search of another snack. “Justin and I were buddies back in school, but I didn’t meet any more of the family until today. Your folks still live in Cape Elizabeth?” The bedroom community to Portland was one of the ritzier suburbs.