Whitewater Rendezvous

can’t be. She stared, disbelieving, unable to move.

“Are you all right?” Justine asked in a low voice.

Megan couldn’t answer, her mind busy cataloguing the differences, no matter how small, as if to reassure herself that this could not possibly be Rita, fi ve years older and with a shag haircut instead of the long, straight locks she’d had throughout their relationship. No, this woman was taller, at least fi ve foot ten, and defi nitely had a more tautly muscled physique, especially in the shoulders and upper arms. Slightly smaller breasts, too, though well-rounded, like Rita’s. And no bra. Rita neverwent out in public without a bra. And though the hair was the right shade, a deep chestnut brown, the eyes were entirely wrong. Hazel, with yellow fl ecks, instead of piercing blue.

Still, there was much that was the same. The high cheekbones, the almond complexion, the expressive eyebrows and full lips surrounding a perfect white smile. It was such an uncanny resemblance that Megan could not tear her eyes from the dark-haired guide, or fi nd her voice to respond to Justine’s gentle inquiry.

“Welcome to Alaska, ladies,” the blond guide said in greeting.

“I’m Sally Travis and this is Chaz Herrick. We’ll be leading you on this adventure.”

Her friends stepped forward and began introducing themselves, but Megan hung back, fi ghting the overwhelming urge to fl ee. I shouldnever have come. This is a really, really bad omen.

O

The look on the client’s face was indecipherable. But something was defi nitely wrong with Megan Maxwell. Chaz could see it. And damned if it didn’t look like it had something to do with her. The woman hadn’t taken her eyes off her since the moment she’d turned around. Those expressive green eyes reminded Chaz of a deer caught in the headlights: bewildered, vulnerable. And then, something else—she looked… angry, almost. What the hell?

Chaz had no time to try to decipher what the woman’s problem was—she was immediately occupied with greeting the other clients.

The fi rst to introduce themselves were the two who had been fi rst off the plane. They looked to be a bit older than the others, though both seemed to be in excellent physical shape.

• 35 •

KIM BALDWIN

“Hi, Chaz, I’m Pat Palmer. Good to meet you.” The butch shook her hand fi rmly, then turned to put an arm around her companion. “And this is Linda Ferris.”

A compactly built woman with blue eyes and dark hair tinged with hints of gray, Pat carried herself with an athletic grace, and her muscular shoulders and forearms evidenced her many hours in a kayak. She wore a T-shirt with the words OCOEE RIVER embroidered on it, and bungeed to her duffel was a top-of-the-line, take-apart crankshaft carbon fi ber paddle, expensive but extremely light and ergonomic. Chaz had one like it.

It was equally obvious that Pat’s partner was the other experienced client. She’d brought along her own high-tech paddle as well, and Linda Ferris had tucked her curly brown hair under a well-worn baseball cap that read “Kayakers do it rapidly, then roll over and do it again.”

Linda greeted Chaz with a big smile. “Sure am looking forward to this.”

Next to introduce herself and shake hands was Yancey Gilmre, the only blond among today’s clients. “Hey, there. Good to meet ya.”

Yancey was built like a Barbie doll, with trim hips, a narrow waist, and surgically enhanced breasts that strained against the confi nes of her redand-black-checked fl annel shirt.

“Welcome, Yancey,” Chaz said, trying to keep her eyes from straying to the blond’s ample assets. All of Yancey’s gear, she noticed, from her duffel bag to her clothing—most of it Patagonia—was well-used but well-tended. This woman had also obviously spent a lot of time in the out-of-doors.

The introductions were interrupted by a shout from the pilot. “Hey, Sally! We better get going!”

“Sorry, ladies, but I have to leave you in Chaz’s expert hands for the moment.” Sally picked up her bag. “I’m off to see my daughter graduate, but I’ll be back tomorrow night.” After a nod of encouragement and a quick wink toward her partner guide, she took off toward the plane at a trot.

Ah. So that’s the story. Megan caught the wink and immediately surmised that their two guides had a thing going on between them. She still hadn’t recovered from the shock of Chaz’s uncanny resemblance to her cheating ex. Looks the same, probably acts the same. A slut, justlike Rita was. I shouldn’t be here. I should be back in Chicago. That

• 36 •

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14