Whitewater Rendezvous

CHAPTER FOUR

Chaz glanced at the bedside clock as she stretched awake and was startled to fi nd it was already seven. She rarely slept that late, but she had found it more diffi cult than usual to fall asleep the night before, preoccupied with thoughts of Megan.

She’d had rude clients before. Business tycoons who were full of themselves, spoiled rich kids who never had learned an ounce of common courtesy. She had always dealt with them easily. Kept on smiling. Killed them with kindness. But this one…this one really bothered her, and she wasn’t entirely sure why.

Craving coffee, she dressed and headed for the dining room. She was surprised to fi nd Megan already up, sipping coffee and enjoying the view from one of the big comfy chairs in the lobby.

“Good morning, Megan,” Chaz greeted her, determined to break her rude client’s distant coolness. “You’re up early.”

“Force of habit,” Megan replied glumly. She glanced over at Chaz as she said it, but made no further attempt to engage her in conversation.

Chaz took the hint and continued into the dining room. Damn.

What the hell is her problem?

Megan watched Chaz depart out of the corner of her eye, mentally chastising herself all the while. She hated being rude, but at the moment she seemed unable to respond in any other way to the guide. Every timeI see her, it all comes back. It was like tearing the scab off the most agonizing moments of her life, exposing the raw pain of betrayal all over again.

She was also feeling particularly cranky because she hadn’t slept well. The room’s blackout curtains had worked well enough to keep out the midnight sun, but worries about work had kept her tossing and turning until late into the night.

• 51 •

KIM BALDWIN

And then there was the dream. Part memory and part imagination.

Rita’s face and body, then Chaz’s. She’d bolted awake at two in a tangle of sheets, sweating though the room was cool, her mind working furiously to remember, her body as tensed up and tight as the drawstring of a bow. It had taken her ages to fall back asleep, half afraid she would have the same dream again, half afraid she would not. Even then, her body was still in a different time zone, so she was up for good at fi ve thirty and had downed half a pot of coffee by the time Chaz found her in the lobby.

O

At nine, after everyone had eaten breakfast, the women all trooped back to the conference room where Chaz distributed their gear for the trip. Each client was fi tted for a dry suit, PFD, helmet, spray skirt, and neoprene gloves and boots. Then each got a paddle, a water bottle, a Ziploc bag of snacks and power bars, and an emergency whistle to clip to her vest. Chaz also passed each woman a rescue throw rope, coiled into a small fl oatation bag.

After suiting up, they followed a narrow foot trail down to the creek behind the lodge, where their boats were lined up in a neat row.

Chaz paired them up with the kayaks according to size and skill level, and spent time making minor adjustments to thigh braces, hip pads, and seats until everyone was comfortable.

“I really wanted the blue one,” Megan griped as Chaz knelt down and leaned into the cockpit of a bright yellow Dagger Mambo to shorten the foot pedals for Megan.

“This is a more stable boat for beginners,” Chaz said amicably.

When she fi nished what she was doing, she leaned back on her heels and looked up at Megan. “And I like to have the lesser experienced clients in the bright colors, so I can pick you out more easily when we get in the rougher waters.”

“Oh.” Megan’s pout began to evaporate.

“Want to get in for me, see how it feels?”

“Sure.” Megan stepped into the kayak and eased into the seat, bracing her arms on the sides of the cockpit so she could slip her legs into the forward space of the boat. Chaz had set the foot pedals perfectly.

• 52 •

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