Whitewater Rendezvous

CHAPTER THREE

Even though she’d technically been on vacation for more than twenty-four hours, Megan still felt every bit as stressed as she did in the newsroom. Perhaps even more so. For not only was she having to worry long distance about what might be happening back at WNC, she was more unsettled than she’d expected by the abrupt and radical change in her surroundings and routine.

She’d spent nearly every bit of her thirty-fi ve minutes of getting-settled time on the phone with Grace, putting out brush fi res and briefi ng her assistant on the few things she’d remembered on the plane. So she barely had time to drop her duffel bag in her room before she had to meet the others.

When she arrived at the dining room, she spotted her friends sipping cocktails around a long table, framed by an immense picture window. Beyond were the mountains of the Brooks Range, their snowcapped peaks cast in the golden alpenglow of the lowering sun. It was a beautiful sight, but Megan’s eyes were drawn to the dark-haired guide, seated at the head of the table, who at the moment held the entire group’s attention.

The guide said something that made everybody roar with laughter, and Megan frowned, unexpectedly disappointed she’d missed the punch line. They smile the same, too, she realized. That easy, charming, suck-you-in, you-can-trust-me grin. Every time she looked at Chaz, she was struck anew by the uncanny similarities. The same long legs. The same thick, silky hair. She remembered the feel of it between her fi ngers. A cauldron of emotions welled up and churned within her, throwing her off balance. Chaz defi nitely unnerved her.

She detoured to the bar to fortify herself with a double martini, downing half of it on the spot. But she still felt unsteady on her feet when she joined the others.

• 43 •

KIM BALDWIN

“Sorry I’m late,” she muttered as she took the empty seat they’d left her, halfway down the table next to Justine. She was grateful she had the menu and the view to distract her. She told herself it would be a lot easier if she just didn’t look at Chaz.

“I recommend the rainbow trout, with asparagus and roasted garlic mashed potatoes,” Chaz was saying. “That’s the specialty of the house.

Paul gets the fi sh in fresh every day from local Inupiat fi shermen.”

Of course she has to have a great voice too. Rita had started out in radio, and Chaz could have gotten a job there as well, Megan decided.

They both had bedroom voices, as they called it at WNC—that low, seductive, breathy quality that draws in viewers—especially male viewers—who happen to be channel surfi ng. Okay, so I do have tolisten to her. But I don’t have to look at her. At least, not much.

After they placed their orders with the waitress, Chaz outlined the next couple of days.

“After dinner, I’ll pass out garbage bags and dry bags to everyone.

You’ll need to repack all your clothes and your sleeping bags, double bagging them fi rst into the garbage bags and then into dry bags. Sally will take the big bags of gear and all the food and equipment on our supply raft. You’ll get a small dry bag to keep with you, that you can put essentials into—snacks, camera, bug head nets, sunglasses. Oh, and you can leave your luggage here at the lodge if you like, until we get back. Just check it at the front desk.”

The double martini was fi nally helping her to relax. But Megan kept her eyes on the scenery outside, steadfastly refusing a niggling temptation to glance in Chaz’s direction every ten seconds.

“Tomorrow morning after breakfast you’ll get the rest of your gear—PFDs—that’s Personal Flotation Devices, or life jackets, which you must wear at all times in the water…” Chaz’s mellifl uous voice trailed off, as if she was seeking an acknowledgement from her audience, but Megan would not look her way. “You’ll also get paddles, helmets, neoprene gloves and boots, and dry suits…and then we’ll spend some time fi tting you with boats.”

“What kind of boats do you have?” Pat asked.

“We mostly use Dagger Crazy 88s,” Chaz replied. “They’re stable, responsive, adjust easily, and clients fi nd them to be about the most comfortable. And they’re good if you have to portage—they only weigh about twenty-eight pounds. But we do have a few others—a Riot

• 44 •

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14