Whitewater Rendezvous

not let’s-sunbathe-nude warm, but maybe anything above freezing was balmy to an Alaskan.

“Did you fi nd the thermos of coffee?” Chaz asked.

She’d forgotten all about that. So you’re my secret caffeinebenefactor. Gotta give you points for that. “Yes, I did, thank you.

Excellent blend.”

“Glad you approve.” Chaz smiled. “Personally, my morning coffee is my most important meal of the day.”

“I was a bit worried about that part,” Megan found herself admitting. “I was absolutely expecting terrible burned coffee, or instant, or something.”

“I use a French press out here, with beans I roast myself. The results aren’t bad. I also brought an old-fashioned stove-top espresso pot, any time you’re interested.”

So she’s a coffee connoisseur too. “Thanks. I may take you up on that.”

Megan began to relax a little as silence fell between them. Thisisn’t so bad. I’m fi ne now. As long as I don’t look at her.

On the one hand, the more time she spent with Chaz, the more she saw the differences between her and Rita. She was thinking less about Rita by the day. But now I’m thinking about Chaz, instead. Andseeing her naked sure isn’t gonna help that. She had absolutely nothing in common with this woman. Well, except for coffee, maybe. She stole a glance up at Chaz.

Her face was relaxed and her body still, except for the slow rise and fall of her chest. Megan thought she’d fallen back asleep, but it was hard to tell with those damn sunglasses on. She felt suddenly reluctant to bathe as she’d planned. The thought of Chaz perhaps watching her from behind those shades was a bit disconcerting. Later. I’ll come backlater.

Backtracking quietly the way she’d come, Megan returned to their campsite. She could hear Justine’s snoring from thirty feet away. I beteveryone else will have heard her, too. No one will want to switch tents.

Perhaps she’d start sleeping outside the tent. They’d been warned the mosquitoes could be ferocious in Alaska in June, but she’d seen hardly any at all thus far.

O

• 85 •

KIM BALDWIN

The swarm from hell arrived an hour later, just as they were getting ready to eat breakfast. Sally had cooked bacon and eggs and fresh muffi ns, and they were all just sitting down to enjoy them when a cloud of hungry mosquitoes found them, enveloping them and biting at every inch of exposed fl esh, which was abundant on this unusually warm morning. The skeeters fl ew into their ears, buzzing their torment as they raised welts in a hundred places at once.

Guides and clients ran to their tents and dove inside. They’d all been complacent about the mosquitoes. None of them had their head nets with them, and the few who’d bothered applying repellent had done so in much too cursory a fashion to impede the little buggers at all, so no one escaped unscathed. The sound of zippers rang through the air, along with a litany of cursing as all eight of them sought sanctuary.

“Bastards!”

“Damn it! Get off me!”

“Nasty bloodsuckers!”

Then there was the frenzied clapping of hands, as they all sought to eradicate the tiny beasties who’d snuck in and were trapped inside the tents with them.

“They got me everywhere,” Yancey moaned. It was so pleasant out, she’d gone to breakfast in what she’d worn to sleep: loose-fi tting shorts and tank top.

“Join the crowd,” Pat hollered from the next tent. “I am so going to itch.”

“I hope somebody else brought a lot more hydrocortisone cream than I did,” Elise yelled. “I’m going to go through this tube I brought in about three hours!”

“We’ve got plenty,” Sally called back.

“What do we do now?” Justine asked. “Our breakfast is getting cold!”

“Sorry, ladies, I’d bring your breakfast to you, but we can’t have any food in the tents,” Chaz’s voice rang out. “Not in bear country. Cover up your arms and legs and dig out your head nets and repellent.”

“Oh, shit,” Megan groaned. “I left that stuff in my toiletries kit, out by the cooking area.” She turned to Justine, who was digging through the contents of her small dry bag. “Do you mind getting it for me while you’re out there?”

“Soon as I fi nd my head net,” Justine said. “And my gloves. I’m

• 86 •

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