Saving Allegheny Green (14 page)

He crouched by the fire, his attention thoroughly focused on the job at hand.

My gaze strayed from his hand up his arms, to his shoulders, then down to his muscular behind and fabulous legs. In those shorts he looked hotter than the hard-body UPS guy who delivered our supplies at work. The nurses fought to sign for his packages.

I thought about kissing him. Would he be a good kisser? How was his technique? Was he one of those grab-you-and-go-at-it types? Or was he as controlled in his lovemaking as he was in every other aspect of his life? Would my knees go weak with desire? Or would his lips be a mild diversion and nothing else?

I was dying to answer those questions, but fear and common sense held me back. I couldn’t kiss him. Not here. Not with the kids a few feet away. Not when I was still uncertain of his feelings for me.

Would there ever be a right time for us?

“Here we go.” He brought me the most perfect marshmallow ever cooked. Nicely tanned on the outside with a few bubbles but no burned spots.

I reached for it.

“No, no.” He took his fingers and gently tugged the marshmallow from the skewer. “Open up.”

I parted my lips.

And then his fingers were touching my mouth. Rough manly fingers that felt too damned good against my skin and filled my head with dangerous thoughts. I snared the marshmallow between my teeth.

The marshmallow tasted exquisite. I was embarrassed by the automatic, low, sexy sound I made at the delicious flavor.
I inhaled sharply and accidentally swallowed the thing whole. It lodged in my throat.

I coughed lightly, hand over my mouth, trying to be ladylike at first.

“Ally?” Conahegg loomed above me, concern and firelight sculpting shadows across the hollows of his cheeks. “Are you all right?”

I splayed a palm over my chest and tried to nod reassuringly, my neck muscles working furiously to push the marshmallow along. I must have looked like a sand crane trying to gulp down a too-big fish.

“Are you choking?” he demanded, dropping to his knees behind me.

I tried to speak but couldn’t. I raised one finger indicating he should give me a moment.

Desperately, I tried to suck in air but that only seemed to wedge the marshmallow tighter. My head was starting to ache. I could feel the veins at my temples bulging. I made a noise like, “kakakakak.”

“You are choking.”

Then before I could signal that it might be a good time to institute the Heimlich maneuver, Conahegg’s big hands were around my waist, his fist knotted against my diaphragm.

He gave a short, explosive thrust and the marshmallow flew from my throat and landed in the fire with a hissing sound.

I inhaled deeply and wiped saliva from my chin. So much for romance.

“Thanks,” I croaked.

“No more Marshmallows Conahegg for you,” he said in a shaky voice.

After that, there was nothing to do but call it a night.

T
HE BOYS, CHATTERING
like tree monkeys, awoke before dawn. All they talked about was finding the secret underwater caves. I groaned and rolled over onto my side, my back stiff from the ground, my midsection tender from Conahegg’s impromptu administration of the Heimlich maneuver the night before.

My, Sheriff, what strong arms you have.

I was confused about my relationship with Conahegg. I wanted him and yet I didn’t. I yearned for his kisses but yet the thought of making love to such a masculine guy scared me witless.

Bottom line?

I was terrified.

Afraid to trust him. Afraid to trust myself. Afraid to let loose. Afraid of getting hurt.

Ah. There was the rub.

I’d had boyfriends before. After a fashion. I’d been kissed. I’d had sex.

But I’d never had real intimacy. I’d never snuggled next to a man confident that he was mine, that I didn’t have to worry. I’d never spilled my darkest secrets to a man, confiding to him things people didn’t even tell shrinks. I’d never whispered those three powerful words—I love you—to a man.

Part of it was because of my family. How could I get intimate with a man when my family always came first? But I’d
started thinking that maybe part of the fault lay with me. Had I been using my family as an excuse, a buffer against my fears of intimacy? Maybe I needed them as much as they needed me.

The thought was revolutionary.

Most importantly, what was I so afraid would happen if I fell in love and why?

“Ally? You up?” Conahegg stuck his head in my tent, a good-morning grin on his face”.

My heart caught.

“Who could sleep with that noise?”

“Those boys are wound up tighter than fresh boot camp recruits on their first leave.”

I groaned again. “It’s too early in the morning for Marine analogies.”

The smile deepened to include his eyes. “Rise and shine.”

I lifted a hand to my tousled hair. I must look like hell. “Aye, Aye, sir.” I gave him a mock salute and crawled from my sleeping bag.

I hated not having a shower but I did sponge bathe with bottled water, a washcloth and one of those complimentary bars of soap you pick up in hotels. Neither the boys nor Conahegg bothered with even a spit bath. They were wild river men, they didn’t need no stinkin’ soap and proceeded to tell me so repeatedly. They didn’t have to say anything. I could smell them.

The boys stripped off their shirts and went around like extras on the set of
Lord of the Flies.
Luckily, Conahegg kept his shirt on. Undoubtedly, he didn’t want me choking on a breakfast sausage.

“Okay, troops,” Conahegg said when the sun had risen to a respectable zenith and the young heathens had gulped down the eggs and bacon he’d cooked. “Time to pack up the canoes. It’s off to the caves.”

A cheer went up and they set to work, busy as ants, folding
tents, stuffing backpacks, carting ice chests. Try getting ten boys that excited about arithmetic or cleaning their rooms.

The morning sun shimmered brilliantly on the water’s surface as we cast off and I was surprised to discover that I was as excited as the kids. All my life I’d heard tales about these underwater caves. Supposedly, you entered the caves from the river but once inside you could climb out of the water and onto the rocks.

Sanchez Creek meandered through the ranch land and narrowed so much at one point that we were forced to get out and carry the canoes. Conahegg had us singing Marine songs as we marched and I realized I was having a good time.

We put back into the water a quarter of a mile later. Conahegg took the lead canoe and I had the pleasure of watching him row. His lean muscles glistened from sweat and sunscreen. His swim trunks rode his slim waist. He looked powerful as a cheetah and twice as deadly.

Once he turned his head to look back at me, and caught my eye. The pure sexual energy in his stare almost caused me to drop my oar. What did he think of me? Did he imagine me naked, in his bed? Just as I fantasized about him?

Heat swamped my body. I clung to my paddle and rowed so fast we bumped into the canoe of boys in front of us.

For another hour we were at it, then, we heard a faint rushing noise. We paddled around the bend to investigate and emerged from the creek into a wide crystal-clear pool. I hadn’t been here in a very long time.

“Cool,” the kids exclaimed. “A waterfall.”

It wasn’t a waterfall as in rain forest waterfall. Rather it was a small cliff where part of the river diverted and trickled over an outcropping of jagged rocks, forming the pool.

“Everyone listen to me,” Conahegg said. “We’re going ashore.”

“Here?” I turned and looked at him.

He held up the map. “I thought you said you knew where the caves were.”

“Well sure, of course I do,” I lied through my teeth. Couldn’t have Conahegg thinking I made claims I couldn’t substantiate. “But it’s been a long time. The terrain has changed.”

From the look on his face, I knew he knew I was lying but he had the good grace to let it go.

“Canoes to the bank.” He motioned with a finger.

We beached the canoes and got out. Conahegg gave the boys another wilderness lecture. He even took a hunting knife from his backpack and showed them how to turn a stick into a spear for hunting or fishing. They were mesmerized by his survival training stories and hung on every word.

Truthfully, he was fascinating. As he talked, it was easy to imagine him in the spit and polish military. Shoulders back, chin out, flint eyes straight ahead. Doing his duty, putting his life on the line for his country. I wondered what rank he had achieved. Let’s face it, I was practically drooling.

I watched him with the boys, and I found myself wondering why, at age thirty-five, he wasn’t married with a passel of kids of his own. I mean, many women would find him attractive if you went in for those macho, hard-ass, soldier-boy types. And he seemed to love teaching these kids and they lapped up his attention like kittens at milk.

“Okay, men, are we ready to search for the caves?” he asked.

In answer, they beat on their chests with fists and grunted manfully.

“First you must listen to me very carefully. We’re going to be taking off our life jackets because you can’t dive with them on. Is everyone a strong swimmer?”

Ten heads bobbed in unison and ten life jackets went flying
through the air. Conahegg took off his shirt and I had no words to describe the beauty of his ripply chest. Suffice it to say, I was not disappointed.

He rigged his hunting knife and a waterproof flashlight to his belt. “All right. You guys stay right beside me. Ally?”

“Uh-huh?”

“You coming?”

Eleven pairs of eyes rested on me. Was I going to be a wuss and stay on the shore or was I going to be part of the gang?

“Why sure,” I said with more bravado than I felt. I shimmied out of my shorts and T-shirt, stripping down to the one-piece bathing suit I wore beneath.

I raised my head to find Conahegg’s gaze riveted on my butt and legs. Finally, those long hours on the StairMaster were paying off.

He realized I caught him in the act of ogling my body but he didn’t look away in embarrassment. He held my stare. Sunlight dappled a surreal pattern across the water, across our skins. It seemed we were the only two people alive. Never mind those pesky kids. In that moment I knew exactly what was on his mind and it didn’t have anything to do with underwater caves or Junior Adventurers or advanced survival techniques.

More like advanced sexual techniques.

He was a bold man with bold appetites.

Yikes!

“Ready,” I said, snapping his attention back to the moment.

He narrowed his eyes, swallowed so hard I could see his jaw clench with the effort of reining himself in.

Hey, what can I say? I was flattered.

After peeling his gaze from me, Conahegg herded us to the water’s edge and gave us instructions on where to dive. The caves, according to his map, were hidden beneath the waterfall.

I was panting, overwhelmed by what had passed between
us. If we had been alone, I’m certain we would have had sex right there in the grass. The urge was that damned strong.

But I forced myself to ignore my stoked libido. If he could behave so could I.

We jumped in, Conahegg leading the way. The pool, warmed by the noonday sun, welcomed us in its embrace. We dog-paddled for a bit, then Conahegg had us get into a circle and tread water.

“Stay here with Ally for a moment,” he told the boys. “I’m going to check things out first.”

We waited. The kids splashed each other. I floated on my back, enjoying the day and indulging in very naughty daydreams about me and Conahegg.

In a couple of minutes, Conahegg returned. “It’s here.” He beamed. “Come with me.”

And we did. Taking deep lungfuls of air, then diving under the water, one after the other, following the leader. We went down, down, pushing past the rocky overhang.

Then we leveled out and angled to the right. Just when my lungs were starting to ache, Conahegg veered upward and we popped like corks into the deepest darkness I have ever experienced. The sound of twelve people gasping resounded in the confines.

And then a shaft of light.

Conahegg played his flashlight along the walls of the cave. “Here’s a place where we can get up,” he said, guiding us to a large flat rock that lay half submerged, half out of the water on the cave floor.

The kids pulled themselves up and I obsessively counted heads. Eight. Nine. Ten. I relaxed.

It was at least a dozen degrees cooler inside the cave than it had been outside. My hair was glued to my face and I had to drag it from my eyes with a palm.

We huddled on the cave floor, acclimating ourselves to our new environment. Conahegg continued to play the flashlight beam over the ceiling.

“Bats,” he said, pointing out the sleeping creatures to the kids.

Denny’s friend, Braxton, squealed in fear but Conahegg quickly reassured him that he was safe from them.

“How did they get in here?” I asked. “The bats don’t swim underwater.”

“There’s got to be an outside entrance, Aunt Ally,” Denny supplied and I felt proud of my smart nephew.

“That’s right,” Conahegg replied. “Probably a small hole farther inside the cave.”

“Can we explore?” one of the boys asked.

“No,” Conahegg’s voice was firm but kind. “It’s too dangerous without the proper equipment.”

Suddenly, I found myself thinking additional recalcitrant thoughts. Like what if it were Conahegg and I alone in the cave with an air mattress and a glass of wine? His body and mine entwined in the inky darkness, our inhibitions liberated by vino.

Knock if off, Ally. There are children present.

“Okay, troops, time to head back.”

It amazed me how they followed his command so completely. If their parents could see their sons, they wouldn’t believe the change.

Conahegg killed his flashlight. “On the count of three,” he said. We took a deep breath of the dank, musty air and dived into the water.

Seconds later, we broke through back into the pool, the kids grinning, filled with the excitement of adventure. I counted heads. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.

I counted again. Still only nine.

Apparently Conahegg was counting, too. His eyes met mine. “Who’s missing?” he asked.

“Denny.” I meant for my voice to sound calm, but it came out reed thin.

“Get the other kids ashore. I’ll find him.”

My heart was beating so hard my blood thundered through my ears. My brain spun horrifying images. I had to reach into the depths of myself and dredge up my nursing training to remain in control.

“Out of the water, boys,” I shouted, slapping my palms together. “Move it, move it.”

The gaiety of the moment instantly vanished. Faces solemn, the boys swam ashore, their gazes cast over their shoulder at the waterfall.

Dear Lord,
I prayed,
please let Denny be all right.

“Get your life jackets on,” I said, to keep them busy. I paced the banks and wrung my hands, I felt so utterly helpless.

Then, when I thought I’d never see either of them again, Conahegg broke through the water’s surface, Denny clutched in his arms.

Conahegg’s bare chest expanded like billows as he sucked in air. He swam for the shore, Denny cradled in the crook of his elbow.

My nephew’s face was far too pale and I could not see his chest rising and falling.

Dear God, please.

Conahegg reached the bank and passed Denny to me. I gathered him in my arms, then laid him out flat on the ground. He wasn’t breathing but he had a heartbeat. I started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

I felt as if I were standing outside my body, watching myself work on Denny. It was an eerie sensation, as if I had disconnected from the physical plane. I wondered if this was how Aunt Tessa felt when she channeled Ung.

In a matter of a few seconds Denny coughed up water and
his eyes flew open. He inhaled sharply, then began to cry, his small nostrils flaring.

I hugged him to me and rocked him gently. The other boys, solemn little soldiers, stood silently around us. Conahegg lay on the ground, his body shaking from the effort of Denny’s rescue.

“What happened down there?” I croaked after a very long moment.

“His foot got tangled in some weeds,” Conahegg gasped. “He couldn’t get loose on his own.” He paused. “Luckily I had my knife and cut him free.”

“Yeah, but you lost that cool knife down there,” Denny murmured. “You oughta go back for it, Sam.”

“Water’s too murky,” Sam replied. “Besides, we need to get you home.”

I laughed nervously. “Who cares about an old knife? The only thing that matters is that you’re safe.”

I clenched my jaw. I could see the awful scene on the projector of my mind. The vicious slimy green weed wrapping around Denny’s ankle, pulling him down. Minutes before we’d been happy and laughing.

And I’d been having lustful thoughts about Conahegg. How could I have been so lackadaisical, so irresponsible? I knew how tenuous life was. Not only from my nursing experiences but from finding two dead bodies in the last two weeks. I’d recklessly dropped my guard and look what happened.