LOVE IN THE GREAT OUTDOORS

With two little girls and a demanding job, Charlotte Folsom’s plate is already full when she arrives in Sugar Falls. Hiking, fishing, rafting? Absolutely not her thing. But Chef Charlotte is on special assignment for her magazine, so she decides to make the best of it. Her river guide, Alex Russell, is rugged and hunky, and the camera loves him. For her, the jury is still out.

Alex has seen enough city sophisticates come to Idaho for his adventure vacations to know that Charlotte is not the woman for him. When a sudden storm leaves them stranded in the mountains, however, unexpected passion flares among the pines. The Mountain Man and the Magazine Mom? Unthinkable! Or just maybe inevitable...

“It makes sense why you wouldn’t want to get involved with the customers.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with it. I just like to keep my distance in general.” Alex sure wasn’t proving the truth of that statement, because as he said the words, he noticed that he’d somehow managed to scoot his sleeping bag closer to hers. “I like my life the way it is.”

“Of course you do,” she said, that sexy soft whisper back.

Another clap of thunder shuddered through the trees outside, and he found himself grasping the edge of her sleeping bag, tugging it toward him. He heard Charlotte’s indrawn breath. But she didn’t pull away.

“You live in your world and I live in mine,” he said, talking more to himself, wanting reassurance that despite their physical proximity, he still had some emotional boundaries left.

Their faces were inches apart. “You said it yourself, Alex. What happens out here stays out here.”

But what exactly was happening? He could navigate the wild mountain terrain in the snow without a GPS, but he’d never trusted himself to read women very well unless they provided him with a clear course.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, not wanting to question what exactly this was.

* * *

Sugar Falls, Idaho: Your destination for true love!

A Family Under the Stars

Christy Jeffries

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHRISTY JEFFRIES graduated from the University of California, Irvine, with a degree in criminology and received her Juris Doctor from California Western School of Law. But drafting court documents and working in law enforcement was merely an apprenticeship for her current career in the dynamic field of mummyhood and romance writing. She lives in Southern California with her patient husband, two energetic sons and one sassy grandmother. Follow her online at www.christyjeffries.com.

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To my happy little camper.

Whether it’s collecting pine cones, helping Daddy set up the tent or roasting marshmallows over the fire (despite the fact that you only eat the chocolate out of your s’mores), your enthusiasm for the great outdoors is immeasurable and so much fun to witness. I can’t wait for our next camping adventure. I love you, Peanut.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Alex Russell glanced over his shoulder at the silver four-door Jeep pulling up behind him, its color matching the clouds overhead, which in turn matched his mood. The decals plastered to the side of the vehicle were a brighter version of the ones stenciled on the raft he was stocking with dry boxes, paddles and waterproof bags.

His grandfather, who everyone in western Idaho—including Alex—referred to as Commodore due to the man’s expertise in navigating the Sugar River, hopped out of the driver’s side while the female passenger remained inside talking on her cell phone. Alex rolled his eyes. Exactly the kind of city slicker he’d figured.

But when Alex’s father called him this morning, hacking up a lung and complaining about a sore throat, Alex had immediately offered to take over as the guide for today’s whitewater excursion. While his dad could probably steer through these rapids blindfolded, let alone with a fever of 103, it wouldn’t be good for business to get the paying customers sick. It was bad enough that they had to expose the public to Commodore’s ever-present crotchetiness, but they really needed someone to run the shuttle between the put-in and pickup locations.

“I thought Dad said there were supposed to be five in the group today,” Alex said when his grandfather approached.

“S’posed to be.” Commodore had never been described as a people person and always kept a toothpick clamped tightly between his teeth, probably as an excuse to avoid talking. It gave his weathered face a permanent grimace, like Popeye smoking his pipe, and it gave Alex a permanent headache trying to communicate with the seventy-five-year-old man.

“So, what happened to everyone else?”

“Don’t know.” Commodore limped over to the raft, checked the carabineers and tested out the tautness on the slings harnessed near the stern. “Some of us mind our own business.”

Alex took off his polarized sunglasses, letting them dangle from the strap around his neck, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was tempted to remind his grandfather that this was their business, their family’s bread and butter. But that would only serve as an invitation to launch into another round of the ongoing argument about why Commodore was no longer allowed to do the bookkeeping for Russell’s Sports. “You gotta give me more info than that, Com.”

Com jerked the remaining half of his right thumb at the Jeep. “Gal’s name is Charlotte Folsom. Bankroller, far as I can tell. You want more than that, you can ask her yourself when she gets off the phone.”

Bankroller was the term some people in their small town of Sugar Falls, Idaho, used to refer to the tourists who vacationed on the mountain and, in the course of a weekend, injected plenty of their big-city dollars into the local economy. It probably wasn’t the politest thing to call the patrons that kept their small family company afloat, but Commodore wasn’t exactly known for his civility or his business acumen.

Alex looked at his watch. How long was her call going to take? He was surprised the woman even had reception this far upriver. “Is she allergic to the fresh air or something?”

“Not that she mentioned when she signed the release form.” His grandfather snorted before the last part, confirming that the old man was still miffed that his son and grandson had taken over the legal side of the business.

“Then why isn’t she getting out of the car?”

Yet, as soon as Alex asked the question, the woman opened the Jeep door. He noticed her hair first because it was the exact shade of his favorite dark chocolate– covered granola bar. It was styled as plainly and conservatively as possible, stick straight and cut in a uniform line just below her shoulders, with a headband holding everything but the thick sweeping bangs away from her face.

And what a face it was. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, her nose elegant and straight, and her lips reminded him of the cotton candy his dad bought him the first time they’d attended a minor league baseball game. They were pink and full and caused a spike in his bloodstream, like an instant sugar rush.

Man, something about this lady kept making him think of food.

“Hello,” she said, reaching out her hand. “I’m Charlotte Folsom. I’m terribly sorry for being on the phone when we arrived, but my editor had an update on my crew’s flight.”

“Your crew?” Alex asked, shifting his attention to the long, pale fingers clasped inside his. The ones that looked much too delicate to handle an oar.

“Yes. The producer, her assistant and the two photographers. They were supposed to fly into Spokane, but were diverted to Seattle because of a lightning storm. I don’t think they’re going to make it.” She looked up at the gray sky. “It’s not a problem, is it?”

“The weather or the lack of people?”

“Either.”

“Nah. Weather’s fine.” Commodore shifted his toothpick to the right side of his mouth. “And Miss Folsom’s rowed before, so you should be good to go.”

Alex’s untraditional upbringing meant that he’d learned to steer a raft before he’d learned to a drive a car. So he wasn’t concerned about his own ability to handle the river singlehandedly, but he would prefer having someone aboard who knew what they were doing. Unfortunately, every visiting tourist had a different definition of what constituted experience, and paddling through Class IV rapids required a lot more skill than most novices realized.

Not that he wanted to jump to any unfair conclusions about Charlotte Folsom, but Alex had been in business with his family long enough to recognize a greenhorn trying too hard to look the part. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d just cut the price tags off her athletic clothes this morning.

“How many times have you been whitewater rafting?” he asked, setting his sunglasses back over his eyes so he didn’t offend the woman with an inadvertent look of doubt.

“Oh, this is my first time rafting. But when I was in middle school, my bunk won the canoeing finals two years in a row at Camp Butterhorn.”

Commodore whistled around his toothpick as if this was some sort of accomplishment. Were they serious? Com knew better than anyone else that rowing a canoe at some fancy sleepaway camp in seventh grade was not the same thing as navigating a six-man raft down the roaring Sugar River. Actually, Alex was just assuming the camp had been a fancy one judging by the rock-sized diamond studs in Miss Folsom’s ears and the way she stood tall and poised in her overpriced, brand-new skin-tight paddling pants and bright pink, waterproof North Face jacket.

His eyes shot down to her left hand, noting the absence of a wedding ring on her finger. Not that he was interested in her marital status. Alex preferred his women a lot less frilly and way more down-to-earth. And the one standing before him, who’d given off that supermodel vibe even before she’d mentioned having a camera crew, looked more suitable to being on the cover of the Neiman Marcus holiday book than an REI catalog. He simply didn’t want anyone losing any valuable jewelry on his watch.

“Here’s that lip cream I was telling you about in the car, Mr.... I mean Commodore.” Her quick correction indicated that Com had already warned her that he only answered to the nickname. Then she reached into a small pack slung over her shoulder and pulled out a jar of something. “This will really help with the dryness and the cracks. I told you I never leave home without it. Just put it on like this...”

She dipped a finger inside the tiny glass container and then proceeded to spread some sort of balm all over her own lips. Alex sucked in his breath when she held out the open container to his grandfather. He waited for the old guy—who’d once walked out in the middle of a haircut when the new barber offered to apply a deep conditioning treatment—to let out a string of curses about beauty product nonsense. But Com scrunched his eyes into slits as he swiped his stubby fingers across his tightly clamped frown, reminding Alex of one of the kids he coached in Pop Warner who’d accepted his teammates’ dare to eat a spoonful of spicy red peppers at the after-game pizza party.

“Actually, maybe we should just reschedule this whole thing,” Alex offered and saw his grandfather’s squint deepen and the barely perceptible shake of the elder Russell’s silver crew-cut head. He wasn’t sure if Com’s reaction was to Alex’s suggestion or to the novelty of having a foreign—and probably highly expensive—substance applied to any part of his anatomy.

“We can’t reschedule,” she said a bit forcefully, and Alex had the sense that not many people said “no” to Charlotte Folsom. “My magazine is on a deadline. We were already rushing to get the article done last week, but then I had child care issues and one of our columnists came down with a horrendous case of food poisoning so we had to scrap his review of Indonesian food trucks. So if I can’t come up with at least a few shots and five thousand words on gourmet dining off the land, then next month’s issue will completely tank.”

Child care issues? So the woman had kids, but no wedding ring? Not that it was any of Alex’s business, he told himself as he rocked back on his heels. He didn’t mind making small talk with the customers, but he rarely found himself curious about anything beyond their skill level and whether he’d need to keep them from getting killed while participating in an extreme sport they shouldn’t be doing in the first place. It was only the unusualness of the situation that had him wondering why a lady as beautiful as Charlotte Folsom was single. In his experience, it usually meant that the woman was too much of a pain for any man to deal with.

Again, not his business. What was his business was Russell’s Sports and how to turn a better profit this year. Thanks to Commodore’s refusal to book a corporate retreat last year and some bad online reviews of his grandfather’s customer service, the company’s savings account was at an all-time low.

Last week, his father had mentioned something about a San Francisco–based magazine booking them for some sort of photo shoot. Having no interest in any publication that didn’t contain ads for Bass Pro Shops or Cabela’s, Alex had just chalked the whole thing up to some travel article that might garner them some free publicity. Suddenly, this was sounding like more than he’d bargained for.

“Wait, back up.” He ran a hand over his face, his palm scratching against the dark-brown stubble on his chin. “What’s the point of going through all the effort of staging a photo shoot if the model is the only person who showed up?”

Miss Folsom slid her oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses off and Alex found himself looking into eyes that weren’t quite purple, but weren’t quite blue. “I’m not the model. The food is the model.”

“What food?” Alex looked back at his grandfather, shrugged as if to say, not my problem, then turned and walked over to the Jeep, presumably to grab more gear out of the back.

“Mr. Russell, I work for Fine Tastes. It’s one of the top cooking and home entertainment magazines in the industry. I thought our producer had explained that we’re doing a feature article on glamping and resourcing foods indigenous to the wilderness areas in order to create gourmet al fresco meals.”

“What the hell is glamping?” Commodore called out from behind the tailgate before Alex could ask what al fresco meant.

“It’s glamorous camping,” she said, then beamed a wide smile at his grandfather. “I know it’s an oxymoron, but it’s all the rage right now with urban families.”

“Sounds moronic, all right,” Commodore said, carrying over a bright orange bag then rubbing his lips together. It was tough to tell with the bobbing toothpick, but it almost seemed as though the old guy wasn’t quite frowning. Maybe that lip balm contained some magical ingredient that cured personality disorders.

The woman laughed, a throaty sound that was both way too feminine and way more genuine than he’d expected, and Alex stared at his grandfather, trying to determine what it was this particular lady had done to make the cantankerous Commodore Russell fall so completely under her spell.

He tried to stop his judgmental thoughts, reminding himself that not every woman from an overpopulated metropolis was his mother. Nor did many women take the time to pick a few fallen pine needles off his grandfather’s flannel shirt as the man passed by.

Alex asked, “So, what exactly is the goal for this two-day excursion if you don’t have your crew to help with the article?”

Because he was only supposed to be here as a guide. He certainly wasn’t going to glamp it up with her or otherwise assist in—what did she call it? Resourcing indigenous foods? Sure, she seemed sweet enough toward Com, but Alex could already see her as the type to start ordering him around, treating him as some sort of low-level assistant who was there to do the job of her entire crew.

“Frankly,” she said, turning that wide smile on him, “since time and weather are already a potential issue, I don’t see the need to make this a two-day excursion. We can just make a few stops along the river and stage a couple of scenes for the pictures. Then, if you don’t mind me conducting an informal interview of sorts, I can pick your brain and get a good enough idea of what the experience would be like so I can convey that to our readers.”

Alex looked up at the gray sky again. “Honestly, I don’t even know if we have one day. What does your old knee say, Com?”

His grandfather reached down to pat his arthritic leg, which was usually a better weather forecaster than most barometer stations. “Should hold off until tonight.”

“You sure?” Alex asked, noticing the subtle wobble of the toothpick.

“Sure as death and taxes.”

“When was the last time you paid taxes?” Alex mumbled under his breath. It was now a running joke among family and friends that Commodore Russell wasn’t always on the most hospitable terms with his neighbors or the IRS, which was why Alex and his dad kept the old man away from the financial side of the business, as well as many of the customers. Of course, that running joke was also the reason why they really couldn’t afford to cancel this trip. The beginning of the season was right around the corner and Russell’s Sports needed all the positive publicity it could get.

“If I’m wrong, then you get a lil’ wet,” Com said, a firm challenge in the man’s clear green eyes. It was no secret that Alex inherited his tan coloring and his competitive athletic spirit from the paternal side of the family. As well as his dry lips, apparently. He pulled out his plain store-bought lip balm and swiped it on, wishing the familiar gesture would sooth his apprehension, as well.

“Please, Mr. Russell,” Miss Folsom said, her eyes taking on a darker, more serious hue. “Just for a couple of hours. I know it’ll be more of a challenge for you than for me, but I have a friend watching my daughters back in town. I had to pull them out of school and make all kinds of alternate travel arrangements so I could make this article work. Plus, I told them Mommy was going to bring them back a wilderness treasure and I would hate to disappoint them.”

He had no clue what a wilderness treasure was, but Alex was a sucker for a challenge. And for kids. It was why he volunteered as a coach for almost every recreational league in town and ran a youth day camp during the summers. He was also a team player when it came to the family business and didn’t want to let his dad down.

So, against his better judgment, he decided not to disappoint anyone. “Let’s get the rest of your gear. I’ll explain the basics to you while we load up.”

* * *

They were only two miles downriver and Charlotte wished she hadn’t convinced herself, let alone her stoic rafting guide, that this was a good idea. What Charlotte hadn’t told the Russell men was that she desperately needed this article to help launch her career to the next level by—hopefully—winning a shot as a permanent contributor for a nationally syndicated cooking show. Sure, doing freelance writing for Fine Tastes had been a blessing after Mitchell had gone to prison, leaving her to raise their two daughters alone. But after some of the webisodes on her personal blog started gaining upward of 400,000 hits per day, her editor and several local news channels back in San Francisco were now referring to her as a younger, fresher Martha Stewart, and if Charlotte could turn her home and lifestyle brand into a success, then she’d finally be able to prove to her parents and her ex-husband that she was more than something to be paraded about at cocktail parties and charity events.

“Let’s pull out here,” Alex Russell finally said from his higher perch on the raft behind her.

Thank God. Charlotte had been under the impression that she was in decent shape since she did Pilates regularly and ran for thirty minutes on her home treadmill every day. But her upper arms felt like they were on fire after only an hour of paddling.

The boat was too big for just the two of them, but they needed the extra supplies she’d already packed to make the photos look more legitimate. Initially, she’d thought it would be easier and quicker to just take off in the inflatable raft with the well-muscled outdoorsman who gave new meaning to the phrase ruggedly handsome and whose masculine appearance reminded her that when she’d divorced her husband two years ago, she hadn’t divorced her libido. But even if she put her physical reaction to Alex Russell’s looks aside—which she could easily do—there were other complications to being out in the middle of nowhere, cut off from everything she was used to.

Charlotte had never left her children alone overnight, and although her friend Kylie had offered to host the girls for their first-ever slumber party back in the town of Sugar Falls, Charlotte was relieved they’d be cutting this two-day excursion short. Not that she didn’t appreciate the natural beauty around her—or the one in the boat with her—she just didn’t feel comfortable being out of communication with her daughters in case something happened to them. Or in case they needed her.

Kylie had laughed at the fact that Charlotte arrived in town last night with eight suitcases, half of the stuff belonging to her daughters. But she didn’t want them to be without their favorite blankets, stuffed animals, markers, pajamas—long sleeved for cooler weather and shorts if it became too warm—Junie B. Jones books or unicorn puzzles.

It would’ve just been smarter to postpone the whole weekend. Or call it off. The colorful Victorian buildings in the quaint mountain town where her friend lived housed plenty of antiques shops and homey restaurants that could have filled the pages of her magazine with food and decorating ideas.

But then her article wouldn’t have been much more interesting than a destination travel piece, and the career she’d been trying to build would never gain traction.

Plus, she’d recently read an autobiography by a woman who, years ago, had left her life as a political speechwriter to travel to Idaho to commune with nature and find herself. The book opened Charlotte’s eyes to how people could learn to adapt with the barest of necessities and find beauty all around them.

But clearly, that author had lived a more unfettered life than Charlotte, who’d had to decide whether to leave behind her kids. Charlotte had debated whether or not to go during most of the ride to the site, and then again for several minutes before they’d finally launched the raft and waved goodbye to the senior Russell, an interesting character who liked putting on a show of being ornery and gruff.

Now, though, her decision had been made. She was out here on this beautiful river, which was way more choppy and rock-filled than she’d expected, and she would make the best out of the situation.

Even if her arms turned to al dente linguini from rowing so much. This was nothing like sleepaway camp, and she’d bet the river jock sitting behind her had struggled to keep a straight face when she’d stupidly boasted about her experience.

“Can I give you a hand with that?” she asked the younger Russell when he hopped out of the raft and waded through the knee-deep water to pull the raft toward the pebbly shore. She may not be much in the paddling department, but she was used to doing everything for herself and for her girls back home. Charlotte hated being taken care of, or worse—having someone think she needed to be taken care of.

“Nope. You’re the customer.” The man’s sleeves were rolled above his forearms and she tried not to stare at the defined muscles as he easily maneuvered the whole thing, including her and the heavy supplies, close to a sturdy-looking overgrown bush submerged in the water.

Besides some initial instructions and an overview of the local terrain and hidden dangers lurking beneath the river’s surface, her guide hadn’t been too talkative up until this point. And Charlotte had been concentrating so hard on her paddling—and not plowing them into a submerged boulder—that she hadn’t asked many questions. In fact, her clenched jaw was almost as sore as her arms.

“You don’t have to treat me as a customer,” she said, trying to gracefully climb out of the raft while he secured the rope tie to one of the thicker branches. “I know the circumstances are not ideal and I’d like to pull my own weight.”

“Miss Folsom,” he started, but she quickly interrupted him.

“Please, call me Charlotte. Being called Miss Folsom reminds me of when I was in boarding school and would get called to the headmistress’s office.”

He took off his sunglasses and let his smoky green eyes travel up and down the length of her body before saying, “You don’t really strike me as the type to get into trouble.”

Really? Because she sure felt like she was in trouble just by the way his tone had seemed to grow in exasperation as the afternoon wore on. Charlotte unbuckled her life vest, thinking it had suddenly grown too tight. “I’m not.”

“In my experience—” he walked to the rear of the raft and unstrapped one of the boxes of supplies his grandfather had tied down before driving off and leaving them all alone “—when people go to the principal’s office, it’s because their teachers can’t handle them.”

“Well, in my case, it was typically because my parents were too busy to handle me. No, not like that,” she said quickly when she realized that sounded even worse. “I didn’t need handling. I was usually called into the office to find out that I’d be staying on campus during holiday breaks.”

“Your parents still around?” he asked. She would’ve thought his thick baritone voice sounded a bit annoyed if he’d lifted his head out of the open supply crate long enough to look in her direction.

“Well, they’re alive, if that’s what you mean. Mother is in Paris, and the last time I spoke with her assistant, she said my father was in Dubai on business.”

Mr. Russell, who’d yet to return the courtesy of inviting her to use his first name, raised his head, and Charlotte immediately recognized the sympathetic look in his eyes. She’d seen it all her life. Poor little rich girl, abandoned and unloved. Poor little Charlotte, who had to go home with the school employees for Christmas vacation because her parents were vacationing out of the country. Poor little Charlotte, who was so desperate for love and acceptance, she married the first guy who showed a speck of interest in her and ended up betrayed, bankrupt and on the cover of every newspaper in Northern California when her ex-husband was sentenced to ninety-eight years for wire fraud, money laundering and various investment schemes.

“Actually,” she continued, before he could make one of those pitying comments or pretend to feel sorry for her, “it ended up working out to my benefit. Normally, students weren’t allowed in the dining hall after meals, but Mrs. Jackson—she was the head chef—decided I made an eager pupil. My love of cooking started there and I wouldn’t trade the knowledge or the experience for anything.”

Perhaps her smile was a bit too cheerful, because the handsome guide looked up at the clouds billowing overhead and must’ve decided she needed his sympathy anyway.

“My lunch lady was named Mrs. Snook and, trust me, nobody wanted to go into her kitchen after hours. So I hope you have something other than sloppy joes and tater tots planned for your staged photo shoot.”

“I don’t suppose you could catch us a fish real quick while I forage around for some fresh herbs and root vegetables?”

“Real quick, huh?”

“I would do it myself, but I’ve never been fishing before and I figured it would take you twice as long to have to teach me. Unless you’d rather do the foraging?”

“Nope,” he said, the smirk on his lips much more tolerable than pity. “I absolutely do not want to do any foraging. What’s wrong with just slapping a striped bass on the cast-iron skillet and calling it a day? Or, better yet, we could open one of the pouches of tuna we keep in the emergency kit.”

She couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose at the mention of canned fish. “Well, the whole point of the article is to demonstrate the ability to create a five-star dining experience in the wilderness. I know it’s not the easiest route to take, but since the purpose of the photos is to make ordinary things look more desirable, I have to put a bit more effort into the presentation.”

“Nothing wrong with ordinary things looking ordinary, either.”

She wasn’t sure she’d heard his grumbled words correctly. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” he muttered. She’d noticed that he’d also slathered on sunscreen before they’d left and kept a green ball cap with the team name Comets pulled down low on his head. After seeing his grandfather’s hard-earned, but sun-damaged skin, it was easy to see why Alex was more careful to protect his own.

Her guide pulled out a fishing pole that had been strapped inside the raft. “I’ll catch a fish, but I’m not comfortable with you wandering far from the beach. Rule number one is stay within sight.”

“I’ll stick close by.” The promise would be an easy one to keep. Charlotte wasn’t a fan of being alone and she was even less a fan of being alone and lost in the wilds, no matter how breathtaking they were. She tilted her neck to take in the tall pines and rugged green landscape. “It’s absolutely beautiful here. I might take a few pictures of the scenery.”

“Just don’t try and make it look too desirable,” he said, as he tied a hook to the end of his line. “Last thing we need is a bunch of city folks wanting to come up and beautify the land.”

Commodore—she still smiled when she thought of the older man introducing himself by a nickname she’d only ever associated with yachting—had made virtually the same plea on the drive to the put-in location. Like grandfather, like grandson. Of course, Charlotte could understand why the locals would want to keep their pristine rivers and mountains exactly the way they were. The views were amazingly spectacular. But the remote area also lacked all the modern conveniences of San Francisco.

She pulled her waterproof pack out of the raft and looked inside at the disposable box encased in a clear plastic shell. Commodore had said, in not so many words, that it had been left behind by one of their previous guests. This wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind when she’d asked for a waterproof camera, but she couldn’t very well expect them to have professional photography equipment on hand just because her crew hadn’t showed up with theirs.

Charlotte would get better quality shots from her cell phone, which was also in its own plastic case, bought specifically for this trip. She checked the signal, hoping for a text from Kylie saying the girls were okay and doing well. But there was still no reception. She’d left a message for them before they’d launched into the river, and Commodore said he knew the Gregsons and would personally stop by Kylie’s house to make sure her friend got the message.

She took some shots of the river and the mountains in the distance, then studied the dark, damp soil for any clues as to what may be growing nearby. Good thing she’d studied up on the local plant life because the last thing she wanted to do was ask Mr. Preserve-the-Land for more help. She looked back to where he was balancing on a boulder, holding a fishing pole and far enough away that he couldn’t hear her gasp of breath at his handsome profile and masculine stance.

This wasn’t the type of scenery she’d originally envisioned when the magazine had booked her trip. And she would die of shame if he turned in that exact second and caught her snapping a photo of him. But how could she pass up the chance? The red plaid shirt couldn’t hide his athletic build any better than the thick dark stubble on his jaw could hide his handsome looks. Alex Russell looked exactly like every woman’s dream of a rugged mountain man come to life and Charlotte told herself it would’ve been sloppy journalism to not capture the alluring image.

She knew what her readers wanted, even if she was only providing the perception of an ideal setting with an ideal man. The key word was perception. Charlotte had absolutely no idea what kind of man Alex Russell was. And she knew from past experience that it would take more than a couple of hours on the Sugar River to find out that he probably wasn’t anything like he seemed. Nobody ever was. She glanced down at the clock on her phone. Good thing she had a job to do and two loving daughters to hurry back to. She didn’t have time for disillusionment today.

Chapter Two

“Here’s the deal,” her guide said less than ten minutes later, as he walked toward Charlotte with his fishing pole resting on one of his broad shoulders. She had to command the air to exhale from her lungs.

Alex glanced down at her dirt-creased fingers, the ones that had been digging up wild ginger roots in the fertile soil, and, embarrassed, Charlotte wiped them clean on her pants. “This rain isn’t going to hold off for much longer. I know you’d prefer to make things look as realistic as possible, but I think it’d be safer for us to shove off and try to get a few more miles downriver before we do much more.”

“What about the fish?” She swallowed, trying not to look directly into the bulging dead eyes of the trout he’d easily caught.

“We can cook it when we stop next. Back at the put-in, I went over the map with my grandfather and gave him an itinerary of sorts, just in case things get dicey and someone needs to come looking for us.”

Dicey? That didn’t sound good. Blood rushed to her feet, giving Charlotte the urge to put these too-snug hiking boots in motion and run back to Sugar Falls. Her children had already lost one parent, so to speak, and Charlotte didn’t believe in taking any unnecessary risks. She flexed her toes, telling herself she really did need a few more pictures. Besides, the sun had just broken through, and while she was no weather expert, it surely would hold off a little longer.

“There’s an inlet farther down with a nice clearing to set up a pretend camp,” he added. “And it usually has decent phone reception.”

Phone reception was all the convincing she needed.

“You’re the expert,” she said. And realized she meant it. For someone who’d practically raised herself—if one didn’t count the revolving door of au pairs and boarding school staff—it was a foreign feeling for Charlotte to willingly give over control of her environment to another person. Yet, so far, she’d felt reasonably safe in Alex Russell’s capable hands. Well, not in his hands, literally, but more than a few times, she’d looked at his strong, tanned fingers maneuvering the oar and wondered how many women on whitewater rafting vacations had volunteered to ride next to him.

“Just let me make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.” She pulled her laminated list of supplies out of the small pack strapped around her waist and ran her finger down each item.

“I thought we went over that thing several times already, back when we loaded the raft.” They had, and he’d been extremely patient the first time she’d reviewed it. Now, though, she was getting the feeling he didn’t appreciate her ability to always be prepared. Probably because he was rolling his head back the way Audrey did whenever Charlotte told the five-year-old to pick up her My Little Ponies before she could have dessert.

“We did, but I don’t like to leave anything to chance.”

“Well, it’s not like we could simply row ourselves to the nearest department store in the event you forgot something. Besides, you haven’t taken anything out yet, so it should all still be there, right?” He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, the gesture similar to his grandfather’s earlier, and Charlotte fought the impulse to reach up and straighten his collar.

“Hopefully.” She smiled, but didn’t apologize for her organizational skills. It only took a moment before she nodded and walked quickly toward the raft, getting her expensive new boots soaking wet in the process, since the filled raft was too heavy to pull entirely onto shore and had stayed shin-deep in the water. She had one leg over the side, but her sore arms and bulky life vest made it somewhat difficult to heave herself back in. She froze the second she felt his hands on her hips and suddenly her mistake in footwear wasn’t the only thing she felt foolish about.

“Here you go,” he said, lifting her up as if she was as light as one of her daughter’s plastic toy ponies. Because she wasn’t expecting the help—or her body’s response to his touch—her knee jerked, causing her leg to slip on the outer edge of the bow. Without dropping her, Alex shifted his hands so they were cupping her rear end and gave her a final boost inside.

When she finally scrambled onto her seat, Charlotte didn’t know what was warmer, the intimate places he’d touched her or her blushing cheeks. After Mitchell’s betrayal, she’d vowed to never fall so easily for a man again. But there was something about the fresh air and the natural isolation of the land around them that must be drawing her to the reserved river guide. The self-discovery book she’d read about camping suggested that peoples’ hormones were heightened and more animalistic when they were out in nature. Or maybe it was his rugged attractiveness combined with his quiet confidence that filled Charlotte’s mind with the kind of lustful thoughts she shouldn’t be having.

He secured the fishing line to the inside of the raft and Charlotte tamped down the shudder that threatened to erupt every time she caught sight of the lifeless, glassy fish eyes of his catch. Even though she was familiar with prepping all kinds of food, she normally didn’t have to sit right next to something that had been alive just a few minutes before. To take her mind off the dead trout, the man’s use of the word dicey, and the way his hands had perfectly formed around her curves, she decided she’d ask some background questions for her article as he took the inflated bench behind her and they paddled toward the middle of the river.

“Have you had a lot of women, Mr. Russell?” Charlotte’s oar paused midstroke and she sucked in her breath, wishing she could pull the words back in with it. “I mean, are you used to women being with you?”

Oh, no. That hadn’t sounded any better. Thankfully, she wasn’t facing him and he couldn’t see the embarrassment heating up her face.

“In what sense?” Captain Hot Hands back there probably had plenty of urban females flocking to the wilderness looking for a little more adventure than what was offered in the brochure.

“You know what? That came out wrong. I was trying to ask about your clientele. I’m definitely better at answering interview questions than asking them.”

“But you’re a reporter, right?”

“Not really. I’m more of a lifestyle expert.”

“What the hell is a lifestyle expert?”

“I’m not exactly sure, to be honest with you. I started out posting some recipes in my sorority’s alumni newsletter—”

“Sorority?”

“Yes,” she said, trying not to sound too defensive. Charlotte wasn’t oblivious to people’s skepticism and mocking tones when it came to things like Greek life or beauty pageants. But she also wouldn’t apologize for her past or for the connections she’d made in that world, a world that had welcomed a very lonely girl when everyone else had shut her out.

“So,” she continued, “I started getting follow-up questions and comments asking about ingredients, which turned into questions about household tips, which morphed into interior decorating. Pretty soon, I had my own blog about home entertainment and Fine Tastes contacted me about writing for them. But most of what I do is really just creating recipes and coming up with ideas for room décor and throwing parties. That sort of thing.”

“So you’re more about presentation than about substance?”

She jerked back her head and frowned at him. “That’s probably the judgmental way of looking at it.”

“Sorry,” he said, his smirk back. “Nobody’s ever called me judgmental before.”

Charlotte didn’t know if she necessarily believed that. She’d seen the skepticism in his eyes—before he’d quickly covered them up with his sunglasses—when they’d been talking about her sixth grade canoeing skills back at the put-in location. She’d also noticed the way he’d frowned at the brand new water-resistant performance pants she’d bought especially for this trip before suggesting that they reschedule. Sure, the man had been very patient with her so far today when instructing her how to paddle and how to angle her body when they’d hit their first set of rapids. But he also reeked of no-nonsense skill and leadership.

Well, technically, he reeked of aloe-scented sunscreen and cool water and something much more manly and musky and way too arousing. She purposely looked at the dead trout as a way to refocus her attention.

“Has anyone ever called you evasive?” she couldn’t help the frustrated tone. “It takes forever to get an answer out of you.”

“I’m sorry. Can you repeat the original question?” She didn’t have to turn toward him to hear the grin underlying his words. He was teasing her about her awkward query and she sort of deserved it.

“Do you get many female customers?” Okay, so that wasn’t what she’d really wanted to know, but it was the only way she could save face and not sound like she’d been speculating on his relationship status.

“Of course. In fact, we had our first bachelorette party last August. My dad led that group and said it was one of the wilder and more entertaining trips he’d ever been on. This time of year, though, it’s mostly the adrenaline junkies and the experienced water enthusiasts who want to be out on the river. Later in the summer, when the current slows, we get a lot of families—usually on the lower rapids.”

She seized on the word families because Charlotte would feel a lot less anxious about the narrow canyon ahead if she could imagine a raft full of boys and girls playing and frolicking in this same river. “So it’s safe for children?”

“Absolutely, as long as they understand the risks and their parents keep an eye on them. I heard you mention child care earlier. I’m assuming you have kids?”

“Yes. Elsa is six and Audrey is five. They’re currently with my friend Kylie Gregson back in Sugar Falls. Your grandfather said he knew her and would stop by and let them know that we’d be back tonight.”

She felt the slight movement of him shifting in his seat behind her. “Pull your oar in for a second,” he commanded, his tone not as playful as it had been a few moments earlier. “I’m going to try to move to the center of the channel.”

She struggled with the conflicting desire to follow directions but to also be of assistance. “Shouldn’t I help paddle us in that direction?”

“Nah, the current is strong enough that I just need to steer us that way. But if you don’t mind, the line is slipping out of our friend there, and he needs to be resecured before we hit the rapids and your glamping meal bounces out.”

“Sorry, Trouty,” she said as she tightened the clear string through the dead fish’s gills, causing its mouth to gulp open wider. But just then the raft dipped and Charlotte barely looked up in time to see a fallen tree trunk caught between two boulders.

“High side,” Alex shouted and Charlotte froze. What did that command mean? “Jump to the other side,” he yelled again.

But she must’ve been too slow because when she lifted up to move, a wave caused by the changing current slammed into them and knocked the boat sideways. Charlotte felt her left hip bounce on the rim before she toppled backward into the water.

Icy cold pins stung her skin, but the shock of the frigid river was nothing compared to the rolls of turbulent waves pounding into her and spinning her body around until she lost all orientation and all sense of control. Air. She needed air. Logically, she knew bubbles rose to the surface, but there were so many damn bubbles going every which direction. She clawed at the current, trying to find her way until she grew dizzy with exertion.

Her thrashing foot hit a rock with enough force to catapult her back up, and she barely had time to feel the cool air against her wet face when her life jacket was practically yanked over her head.

It took her several seconds to realize that Alex had just pulled her back into the raft and she was face to face with Trouty, whose eyes were probably less bulgy than hers were by this point.

“You okay?” Alex asked.

No, she wanted to shout, but her trembling lips wouldn’t form the word. She’d almost drowned, almost orphaned her daughters. The unbearable thoughts of what could have happened churned inside her head, robbing her of speech. She’d never experienced such an all-consuming panic, such an intense fear. Yet all Charlotte could do was cough in response.

“Just hold still down there while I ferry us through this gate.” Charlotte had no idea what he’d just said except for the hold still part. And if she could convince her rapidly heaving chest to do that, she’d be fine. Or so she told herself.

* * *

Alex had seen plenty of people tossed into the water and he’d seen plenty of people slow to recover from the shock. But he’d never seen anyone so shaken up after the experience. Of course, being the guide, he couldn’t afford to stop the craft in the middle of a potentially dangerous situation to calm the passenger down. He usually let the others in the boat soothe the poor soul. But it was just him and Charlotte out here and Alex wasn’t so heartless as to ignore someone still in emotional distress.

“Tell me how you know Kylie,” he said, knowing the best way to get her mind off the incident was to keep her talking about anything but what was scaring her. It was also the best way to get his mind off the way the thin, wet fabric of her pants clung to her long shapely legs.

“We competed in the Miss Northwest pageant together,” she replied, her voice sounding as dazed as her wide-eyed stare.

Heaven help him. A sorority girl and a pageant queen. Unfortunately, he’d been right and Charlotte Folsom was the exact type of woman he went out of his way to avoid. His already wet hands went clammy. So, maybe he hadn’t been completely honest earlier when he claimed nobody had ever called him judgmental. Some of his best friends had married women just like the one trying not to hyperventilate on the floor of his raft, and those guys often laughed at his semijests that they’d crossed over to the dark side. The pretty women he’d dated in college required too much maintenance. The city women he’d refused to date required a fast-paced lifestyle he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy—or Commodore’s worst enemy, since Alex usually got along with everyone. Charlotte was a combination of both—beautiful and urban—and probably used to the finer things in life. Actually, there was no probably about it. She was a lifestyle expert for a magazine called Fine Tastes. Enough said.

Not that there was anything wrong with those types. They just weren’t for him. Just like the feel of Charlotte’s firm hips and curvy rear end wasn’t for him. Or for his hands. He’d felt her pause when he’d first touched her, wanting only to assist her into the boat after he’d secured the fish. Yet he’d experienced a tremor through his own body that had nothing to do with the frigid water. Had she felt it, too? Was that why she’d paused?

“How long was I under?” she asked, interrupting his inappropriate thoughts.

“Maybe twenty seconds,” he said, then cleared his throat.

“That’s all? It felt like forever.” He’d fallen out of a few boats himself and understood the sensation. It was always an adrenaline dump when a person found out they were never in as much danger as they’d originally thought.

She propped herself up on her elbows. “How’d you catch up to me?”

“You didn’t really get very far. The undertow helped. So, your girls are with the Gregsons?”

“Yes, do you know them? The Gregsons, not my girls. Obviously, you wouldn’t know my girls since you’ve never met them. Oh, my gosh, my poor girls.” When the woman’s voice shook, Alex cursed himself for trying to talk about a pleasant subject. “What if I’d died and never saw them again?”

“Listen, Charlotte. Your children are fine. And you’re fine. Focusing on all the ‘what ifs’ is no more productive than bouncing around in those rapids back there.”

Charlotte lifted her head enough to peek over the side. “Are we past them, then?”

“Yes.”

“Do we have to go through more areas like that one before we stop at that clearing you talked about?”

“Only two more.”

She shivered, and he wasn’t sure if it was just her subsiding panic or the wind that had picked up. Normally, they recommended wearing wetsuits this time of year because of the cool water temperatures. But because the more risky rapids were still miles away, he’d figured they could change into the uncomfortable things only if they decided to go that far down river.

He glanced down at her lips, which had gone from cotton candy pink to pale blue. Yet she didn’t utter a single complaint. Alex was a firm believer that if some tourist wanted a firsthand experience of the land, they should be ready for all the elements Mother Nature could dish out. But Charlotte Folsom was also just doing her job, and even if he didn’t appreciate the necessity of whatever a lifestyle expert was, he had to give the woman credit for her commitment and her work ethic.

He especially had to admire that her biggest concern had been for her children and he wondered if her daughters had any idea how lucky they were to have a mom who worried about abandoning them. Not everyone was as fortunate.

Besides, while he knew how to put up a good front and calm down a customer, Alex was pretty sure his heartbeat was still bouncing along at the same tempo as the rapids behind them. He talked a big game when it came to people being tough enough to survive the vast wilderness, but at the end of the day he alone was responsible for bringing this woman back to her daughters. It was a powerful responsibility and one he normally didn’t take lightly—which made him feel all the more like a jerk for those initial judgments he’d made about her lifestyle and her wardrobe. It made him feel even worse for the thoughts he’d been having all day about wanting to put his hands on her.

But of the two guilt-inducing feelings, Alex knew it was in his best interest to remain skeptical and aloof. He’d never had to struggle with breaking his well-established rule about hooking up with the female clientele because he’d never been as attracted to one as much as he was to Charlotte.

He let out a ragged breath and felt his shoulders pull forward.

Maybe he should stop and let her change into some dry clothes, that is, if she’d packed an extra set of the name brand gear. And maybe he could take a second to get his own head back on straight and remind himself that she was just another customer. Just another woman.

“Listen, Charlotte, we still have about another hour or so to get to that spot I was telling you about. But, there’s a place up ahead where we can pull out and you can dry off and regroup.”

Alex knew better than to suggest that a lady might need some time to calm down. Growing up without a mother, he’d been a slow learner when it came to figuring the female species out, but by the time he got to college, he’d learned to avoid the high maintenance ones. And in Alex’s opinion, most of them were high maintenance. Unfortunately, he couldn’t exactly avoid the woman shivering in front of him.

“I really don’t want you to have to go to any extra trouble for me. Especially because I never would have fallen into the water if I’d been paying better attention. But...” She hesitated long enough that he could hear her teeth chattering. “Would it be too much of an inconvenience?”

A few clouds had cleared, but Alex had lived on this mountain all his life and knew the weather could change on a dime. “Well, I’d prefer to pull out on the left bank, because the majority of access roads are on that side of the river.”

“Is there anywhere to stop on that side?” She was sitting up straight, now, and even had an oar cradled in front of her. He followed her gaze to the craggy, sheer side of the canyon.

“Not for a couple more miles.” Her nod was swallowed by another shiver. He had to admire her perseverance. Many inexperienced urbanites would’ve been complaining already. “Actually, this spot coming up on the right side wouldn’t be a bad place to stop for a few minutes.”

He saw the relief in her shoulders as she climbed back onto her perch and stuck her oar back in the water. It only took a couple of minutes to steer them onto a wide stretch of riverbank. Alex tied the raft to the branch of a fallen log, then held out his hand to assist a very wet Charlotte, careful not to allow himself to get too close to her again. Her fingers were rigid with cold and he doubted a quick change of clothes would do much to help elevate her body temperature. Yet, despite her quivering lips, she stood on the pebbled shore and stared at the lush green foliage in front of her.

“This is gorgeous,” she said, then blinked a few times as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “It’s so remote and untamed. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Alex smiled, somewhat awed by her appreciation for the land, and his chest expanded as though he was responsible for its design. Since he handled the store and the recreational sports side of the business, his dad was usually the one to witness the tourists’ first impressions of being completely surrounded by nature. In fact, Alex hated to admit it, but having been raised on the mountain, he was so accustomed to the great outdoors that he sometimes had to remind himself not to take it for granted.

“It is pretty incredible, huh?” Alex squeezed her hand, telling himself he was just trying to stimulate more blood flow through her freezing fingers. But when she returned the squeeze, he suddenly had to worry about his own blood flow. And the way it was racing to the part of his body just south of his waistband. He quickly dropped her hand.

Again with the inappropriate thoughts. She was a paying client and he’d never had trouble separating business from pleasure before. Sure, she was a knockout, but she was also from a world very different than his own. If history had taught him nothing else, it was to keep his distance from women like her.

“Too bad we can’t do the photo shoot with this as the background.” Charlotte’s chattering teeth didn’t stop her from smiling. But it did stop him from using his better judgment.

“You know what, why don’t we take the pictures here?” For the hundredth time, Alex looked up at the sky and hoped the weather would hold just a little longer, because his good sense was slowly floating away. “I was actually thinking you could benefit from a little fire and if you can do your cooking thing while I set up a pretend campsite, we can snap a few photos and be back in the raft in an hour.”

“That would be so incredible, if you’re sure you don’t mind.” Her eyes were currently a deep shade of blue and he wondered how to make the violet hue return.

“Nah. To be honest with you, I’d be relieved to just get it all over with quicker and have Commodore meet us at that clearing I was telling you about.” He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the screen. “Too bad we still don’t have reception, otherwise, I could have him waiting for us when we got there.”

“Since we’re being honest...” Charlotte stretched her arms over her head “...I would rather wait on land than paddle through any more rapids.”

It was a normal response for a person who’d never experienced the physical exertion and danger of paddling on one of the most unpredictable rivers in Idaho. Alex respected her candor, even if the admission didn’t surprise him. It was also a good reminder that Charlotte Folsom was from the city and his body had no business reacting to her with anything other than concern.

“Here,” he said, unhooking her waterproof duffel bag and handing it to her. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to find a tree to hide behind and change.”

A blush shot up her cheeks, bringing some much needed color to her cool skin. “How do you know someone won’t see me?”

“This is national forest land and the surrounding thousand or so acres are prohibited to hikers and campers.”

“So, we shouldn’t be here?”

“I know the local rangers. If we get caught, they won’t slap us with too big of a fine.” He was trying to make a joke, but her eyes were completely serious.

“But we’d be breaking a rule.”

“You’ve never broken a rule before?”

She bit her lower lip, her brows scrunched together as though she were trying to recall the answer. “Not knowingly. Besides, I think it would set a bad example for my daughters if they saw me doing something against the law.”

“If it puts your mind at ease, Russell’s Sports has a special permit allowing us access to the river and the areas near the shoreline. Unless we get too deep in the woods over there,” he pointed toward the towering redwoods about a hundred yards away, “we’re not breaking any laws. So, the sooner we get those pictures taken, the sooner I can get you back to your daughters and you can tell them about your great rule-following adventure.”

Charlotte had looked skeptical until he’d mentioned her kids and then the woman couldn’t move quickly enough up the bank and toward to the pine trees surrounding the tall grass meadow.

Alex admired her eagerness to be reunited with her children, refusing to think about other mothers who couldn’t wait to ditch their kids and return to their lives in New York. Not that he was bitter about something that had happened over thirty years ago or anything.

He unloaded several of the dry boxes and carried them to the grass above. Then he returned to the bank to collect a few small boulders to circle around a campfire. He grabbed a small hatchet from the box of supplies and set out in the opposite direction of Charlotte. By the time he returned to the makeshift pit, he had enough dry branches and wood chips to get a small fire going.

Charlotte walked toward him, looking drier and much more relaxed than she had a few moments ago. She also looked more beautiful than she had when she’d stepped out of Commodore’s Jeep. Her damp hair was darker and wrapped up into some sort of loose bun on top of her head, a fringe of bangs covering her forehead. The elastic headband was still in place, but her hair looked more natural, less formal.

From his kneeling position, he tried not to stare at the way the athletic fabric of her yellow, long-sleeved T-shirt clung to her small, pert breasts. Especially since he was pretty certain that her bra was drying with the rest of her wet clothes hanging off a nearby branch.

He struck the first match and got his thumbnail instead. Damn it.

Focus, Alexander. He heard his father’s voice reminding him that the customers come and go, but the river and the land were always there and deserved his full attention and respect. He knew better than to let a woman distract him, especially while lighting a fire. Besides, it was better than Commodore’s voice, which was a gruff, Pay attention, son, accompanied by a light smack across the back of his head.

“Is there anything you need me to set up before I start cleaning Trouty?” Charlotte asked.

He finally got a small flame going and blew on it a few times before responding. “You named our lunch?”

She leaned over his shoulder and looked at his wristwatch. It was well after three o’clock. “Technically, I named our dinner if we don’t hurry.”

Technically, if she moved any closer to him, he’d fall into the fire he’d just lit. He stood up a bit too quickly and the top of his head bumped into her chin.

“Ow,” she said, at the same time he blurted out an apology.

“Are you hurt?” He took either side of her face between his palms and, after nudging her hand out of the way, studied her jaw.

He didn’t know if it was the heat from the fire or something else that caused her face to warm up. But from the way she was avoiding eye contact with him, he had to wonder if she was reacting to his nearness the same way he’d just reacted to her tight shirt. Then he had to wonder why he cared.

“No, it’s my fault,” she said suddenly, taking a step back. “I’m usually not so accident prone.”

“Good thing we have a well-stocked first aid kit, then.” Alex wasn’t good with lighthearted banter. Or with women who expected too much from him. He needed to get back to what he did best. “So, tell me where you want me to set up the tent.”

“I was thinking by those trees,” she said, pointing to the smaller ponderosas away from the river. “It’s too bad the sun isn’t setting, otherwise we’d get an awesome shot of the light coming through the branches.”

“Trust me, we don’t want to be here after the sun sets.”

Her eyes grew into perfect circles and now looked more violet than blue. “Why? Are there bears and wild animals?”

“Probably. But I was actually referring to being on the river at night with a storm coming. And right now, we’re burning daylight.”

“Right,” she said, and set to work going through the container holding cooking supplies. But he noticed the way she stole glances toward the forest, as though she was worried an unwelcome visitor would join them for their meal.

Alex began pitching the tent, then decided the pictures would look more realistic if he set up some sleeping bags and a lantern inside. He’d had his doubts about Charlotte’s ability to cook something over an open fire rather than in a fancy state-of-the-art kitchen and those concerns doubled when he realized she was stopping every few minutes to take pictures of what she was doing with her smart phone. But when the mouthwatering scent of pan-fried fish reached his nostrils, he began to rethink his initial concerns.

Or maybe he was just hungry. He knew he should’ve had the stuffed French toast at the Cowgirl Up Café in town this morning instead of the simple bowl of oatmeal. Good thing his dad always taught him to pack extra dried food supplies, even for these day trips. He didn’t care how indigenous Charlotte Folsom wanted her staged meal to appear. If it didn’t taste good, he wasn’t eating it.

Alex made his way toward the fire to investigate whether he’d need to resort to freeze-dried tuna, but before he got there, a booming roar sounded and a flash lit up the gray sky. He saw Charlotte jump at the crashing noise, right before he saw a bolt of lightning hit one of the lower hanging trees by the river bank.

The tree splintered in two, with the heavier side falling in slow motion—right toward where he’d moored the raft.

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