A Certain Kind of Hero (15 page)

“I'm the first?”

“Paddlers probably stumble on it once in a while. I haven't been here since…” He considered for a moment. “I don't know when. And you're the first person I've brought here.”

“Can you believe it? A truly natural place.” She lifted her arms, spun like a pinwheel, then faced him, exhilarated as she walked backward toward the water's edge. “It was like this a hundred years ago, and two hundred years ago, and back, back, back….”

“Whoa.” His arm shot out, and he grabbed her hand. “You're about to back into the ice age.”

“It's not that cold, is it?”

“Right now the water's about as warm as it ever gets.”

“Can we go swimming?” Her face lit up, giving him a rare peek at the little girl in her. She lifted his hand toward the sky and danced under their arms, then ducked back and turned, drawing his arm around her waist as she backed up to him. “Do-si-do your partner,” she sang merrily. “Can we have a campfire?”

“I can make it
feel
like we have a campfire.”

She flashed a twinkling smile over her shoulder. “Hmm, yes, if memory serves—”

“I mean with a camp stove, which isn't as intrusive on the…” She looked a little disappointed, like a kid poised for a race and getting no takers. “Forget the memories, Raina.” Close to her ear, his voice dropped for another husky imitation of his favorite Eastwood line. “‘I ain't like that no more.'”

“Not at all?”

She turned slowly, and their eyes were suddenly locked in a heated stare. He wasn't going to chase her. He'd made that mistake before. He could run her down easy. He could give her a head start and still beat her, hands down, but he would end up losing.

He tucked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans and shrugged. “We can go swimming if you want. Like I said, the water's as warm right now as it ever gets, but I guarantee you won't last long.”

“How about you?”

A smile tickled the corner of his mouth. “I can outlast you.”

“You sure about that?”

“Try me.”

She stared at him for a moment, as though she were trying to decide just how she might interpret his challenge to her
advantage. Her sigh sounded like a concession to his staying power. “But no campfire?”

“I'll build you a fire.” He looked into her eyes and touched the yellow-gold hair that swept her shoulder. “What else do you want?”

“I want to be exhausted.” She closed her eyes. “I want to be able to sleep.”

Gideon wasn't interested in doing any fishing once Raina had made her wishes crystal clear. Supper consisted of the meal packs supplied by the outfitter. Over campfire coffee they watched the setting sun spill a purple wash across a tall cloud's lumpy belly. Above their heads a spray of pine needles made a dark etching against the salmon-pink sky.

He set up the yellow igloo-shaped tent, tossed the sleeping bags inside, then stripped down to his black briefs.

Raina took the hint, again wishing she'd thought to wear a swimsuit under her clothes. But her underwear would serve. Her bra and panties always matched, and neither was ever skimpy. By the time she had folded the rest of her clothes and set them on a rock, he was already in the water. Which was cold. Smooth and clear as glass, but
cold.

She waded in, carefully negotiating the slick, round rocks as she splashed a handful of cold water over the back of her neck to, as her mother had always said, acclimate her “cold receptors.” She was almost ready to submerge gracefully when a soggy mop of black hair sprang from the water, laughing like a distressed loon. The monster clamped cold hands on her warm arms and dragged her, yelping and flailing like a dog on an ice slick, into the depths.

Once the monstrous laughing and distressed shrieking toned down, they bobbed like two corks, face-to-face, chins skimming the water, circling each other, taunting and giggling like children. Below the surface they were locked together,
hands to elbows, hands to waist, now drifting at arm's length, now easing closer, knee sliding against thigh, thigh against hip.

“Told you it was cold.”

“You said it was as warm as it gets.”

He pushed his hair back. She did the same.

He grinned. “Told you it was cold.”

Her teeth chattered. “I'm not cold.”

“Is that purple lipstick you're wearing?”

Eyes, charcoal brown and crystal blue, glistened in the half-light of evening. Lips drew back in tight, waterproof smiles. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I learned this at a cosmetics demonstration once. ‘Always remember—warm water plumps, cold water shrivels.'”

“Shrivels what?”

“Skin.”

“You're tellin' me.”

“On the other hand, some movie stars soak theirs in ice water every day.”

“Their what?”

“Skin.”

“Hmm.” He shot a mouthful of water at her. “You don't play fair. You know that, don't you?”

“It can become a permanent condition.”

“What?”

She shot water back at him. “Shrivelment.”

“At least it won't show.” His return volley hit its mark. “Like those purple lips.”

They splashed around until it was almost dark, but in the end the shivering got to her first, and she waded ashore. Gideon used his hands to sluice the water off his arms and legs as he hurried to retrieve his T-shirt, jeans and flannel
shirt. Raina huddled next to the dying campfire, dripping and poking at the embers with a stick. He helped her efforts along by adding a few pinecones, which went up like Roman candles, torching the log he threw on for good measure.

“Don't stand too close to the fire.” He rubbed her briskly with his T-shirt. “I outlasted you, didn't I?” She gave him a tight-lipped stare, but he persisted. “Didn't I?”

Shivering, she nodded. “It k-kind of felt okay until we g-got out.”

“Here, put this on.” He handed her his flannel shirt, which looked voluminous hanging from her small hand.

She slipped it on, buttoned it, then executed the bra-removal-under-the-shirt trick, right before his very eyes.

“Slick,” he said, his voice replete with genuine admiration. He tossed a loosely folded sleeping bag on the ground close to the fire and, with a gracious gesture, offered her a seat. Then he stepped away from the firelight. He kept his back to her while he peeled off the wet briefs.

Raina was soon mesmerized by the play of shadows over his perfectly taut buttocks. She was fascinated by the smooth, easy way he stepped into his jeans, pulled them up powerful legs and settled them at the base of his long, tapered back. He zipped them as he returned to the fire.

And he caught the look in her eye, just before she glanced away.

She could hear the smile in his voice. “You didn't peek, did you?”

She lifted her hair off the back of her neck and gave her head a little shake. “I didn't mean to.”

“Right.” He chuckled, thoroughly gratified. “I don't have your finesse at stripping off wet underwear.”

“You don't need it. Doing what comes naturally is easy for you.” She used her fingers as a comb. “For me, there are
so many ifs, ands and buts. They're all in my head, I know. But—” She smiled wistfully. “See, there it is. That pesky old ‘but.'”

“The hell, you say.” He sat beside her, cross-legged on the sleeping bag, and extended his hands toward the fire. “You knew there would only be one tent. Which means we're going to sleep close to each other, unless you want to kick me outside in the cold.”

“Oh, no, of course not. We're roughing it.”

“You know what?” He turned to her and plunged his fingers into her hair, lifting it toward the heat of the fire. “All roughing it aside, I could make love to you so easy. If I started kissing you and touching you, it would come naturally. And I could make you forget all the ifs, ands and pesky buts.” He looked into her eyes and smiled confidently. “But I won't.”

“You won't?”

“No.” He scooted closer, his knees touching hers as he ruffled her hair. “I've thought about it, and I've decided not to.”

“Really.” She stared, partly amused, partly incredulous. “Just like that,
you've
decided—”

“Not to.” He watched her hair slide through his fingers, smiling complacently as though he had given it some style. “There, now, isn't that a relief? You can just put it out of your head.”

“It wasn't
in
my head. It was in
your
head.”

“Well—” his bare shoulders rolled in a shrug “—now it's not. Are you exhausted yet?”

“Exhausted?”

“We could take a run through the woods, and you could pretend I'm chasing you.”

“Gideon!” Her quick laugh betrayed barely curbed
anticipation warring with inbred hesitancy. She laid a finger against his chin. “You're teasing me, aren't you?”

“It's up to you to figure that out.” He tucked his chin and caught her finger with his lips for an impetuous nibble, grazing the tip with his teeth. He smiled, satisfied. “While I'm trying to figure out whether you're teasing me.”

“I'm not sure I like this game.”

“I'm not sure I do, either, but we seem to be playing it.” With a forefinger he traced the arrowing neckline of his shirt until he hit the buttoned juncture in the shallow valley between her breasts. “How 'bout if we just sit by this fire you wanted me to build for you and swap hungry looks?”

“You're being difficult.”

His deep chuckle sounded ominous with the darkness so close about them. “It comes naturally.”

She mirrored his move, tracing the thong he wore around his neck until her finger reached the small leather pouch that hung to the middle of his chest. “What's this?”

“Just a…” He glanced down, as if he'd forgotten. “It's my medicine bundle.”

“Is the contents a secret?”

“The contents is personal.” He slid his hand over hers as he raised his brow. “Can I ask a favor? How good are you at massaging away an awful ache?” He ignored her wide-eyed double-take. “Do you know how long it's been since I did this much paddling? If you plan to go back the way you came, you need to give your workhorse a good rubdown.”

“Oh. Oh, certainly. Why didn't I think of that?” She scooted around behind him and started thumping his shoulders with tension-busting karate chops. “Actually, I'm quite good at this. I took a course. Would you rather lie down?”

“I think it's better if I stay semivertical.” His chin dropped to his chest. He closed his eyes and briskly ruffled his own
wet hair. “If I fall asleep, there's no tellin' what I might miss out on.”

“Try to relax, then, and give me the high sign when I hit on something that needs extra attention.”

“The high sign it is,” he said with a chuckle.

Her hands were more skilled than he'd anticipated. Her ministrations lulled him into total witlessness, and the sounds he made as the tension drained out of his neck, his shoulders, then his back, were unintelligible groans of pleasure. When she was done, she let him drift euphorically, his forehead pillowed on his knees. After a while he turned his head to the side and watched the mesmerizing dance of the remaining gold flames, listening to the pine wood crackle and the crickets chirp.

A sudden, long, drawn-out canine call brought his head up slowly. Even in the North Woods, this was a rare treat.

“Coyote?” she asked.

He inclined his head toward the sound, then shook it only slightly. “Timber wolf. Listen.” The lone howl started low and rose slowly, stretching skyward. Then others joined in, and the distant darkness came alive with the woeful chorus.

“Are they far away?” she whispered, peering into the blackness beyond the orange flames.

“Can't tell.” He bounced a playful fist against her flannel-covered thigh. “What, do you think I'm a bat?”

“No, but…” The wolf song filled the night. “There must be dozens of them.”

“Half a dozen, tops. No two hitting the same note.” He listened for a moment, letting the performers demonstrate. “See? If they do, one changes to a different pitch, so they sound like a huge pack.”

“But they do sort of harmonize.” She let the sound have its
way with her body, and her shoulders did the hoochie-coochie. “It sends shivers up my spine.”

“Damn. I wanted to do that.” His hands claimed her shoulders, and he turned her away from him. “Let me give it a try. You did a little paddling. I'll give you a little massage.”

“I guess I am a
little
sore.”

He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “You were great, by the way.”

“Really?” She rolled her head from side to side in response to the muscle-kneading he was doing at the base of her neck. “It was good for me, too.”

They hardly spoke as they arranged their sleeping bags side by side in the little tent. The slow, easy way they'd approached each other in the warm glow of the fire had been good and right, and now she wondered when and how he would make his move. For, of course, it
was
his move. He'd planned it. She hadn't. It would take her
almost
by surprise, and she would find it impossible to resist.

The sound of a zipper brought her head up quickly. He was opening the rain flaps, admitting the moonlight through the tent's mesh screens.

“Too much air?” he wondered.

“Oh, no,” she said quickly.

“Your hair's dry, isn't it?”

She nodded.

He undid another zipper. “I get claustrophobic in these things. I hate it when it rains and you have to close them up.”

“Me too.” Actually, she'd never given it a thought.

He went to his bed. She slipped her legs into hers. He turned to her, slid his fingers into her hair and touched his forehead to hers. “Nice and dry,” he muttered. “Still warm from the fire.”