He crawled to her commando-style and slumped as she rolled onto her back.
“Not as stealthy as we’d planned,” he said.
“Or as elegant.”
A mental picture flashed up. Her denim-clad ass bucking in front of him, her face hammering his lap. Shame he didn’t get to appreciate that at the time.
“You’re grinning,” she said.
His chest convulsed into a laugh, which he covered with a cough as he flipped, resting his back on sun-warmed stones. She propped up on her elbows, dropping a wet-lashed gaze to his chest. Her eyes widened.
“Yeah, the little fuckers got me good.” Any second the itching would set in. Being numb had its advantages.
“The what?” she wheezed, her focus snapping back to his eyes.
“Those bugs you warned me about.”
Her gaze dropped again and narrowed. “Oh. Yeah.” She collapsed again. “Holy fuck, I’m cold.”
He forced himself up to sitting. Her jacket, jeans and sneakers were drenched. “We better get changed, fast.”
Something red was tied around her lower leg, dripping pink water onto the stones. He frowned, looking closer. “You’re bleeding. You hit rocks?”
“I hit dog.” Her voice vibrated. “Can’t feel my legs, so all good.”
“Must have been quite a hit. Damn, you’re shivering.”
“S-so are you. Your lips...blue...”
He crawled to the closest kayak—the yellow one—and pulled out the climbers’ dry bag. “I grabbed the stuff from the green kayak, too. There are thermals, a microfiber towel.” He dug through and found shorts, a pink thermal top and the towel and threw them to her.
Now for his clothing. You knew you were staring down trouble when getting dressed felt like an Everest expedition. He staggered to his feet, wove to his kayak like a drunk and keeled over, a meter short. He couldn’t feel his feet, let alone get them in the right places. He crawled the remaining distance, yanked out a dry bag and grabbed his own thermals and shorts. A T-shirt would do as a towel. He faced away from her—she’d be stripping down, too. Once dry and dressed, he found his neoprene socks and slipped them on. His defrosting feet throbbed like they were being stabbed. He threw himself into his spray jacket and zipped it to the collar. Better.
Hold up—there was no noise behind him. “Tia? You good?” No answer. “Tia?”
Nothing. He turned. She was sitting shivering like a wet Chihuahua, tugging at her jacket zipper. Still in jeans and sneakers. In another minute she’d be snap-frozen. He clambered to her and took the zipper. “I got it, Cowgirl.”
Her face was gray, her lips purple. She tried weakly to fight him. Under her legs, the pink water was turning red and thick. He yanked the zipper and shoved the jacket off her shoulders. Bare skin. Breasts. Nipples.
“Putain!”He stumbled backward, raising a palm to his eyes, and spun. “Fuck! I’m sorry, I didn’t...”
“’S okay,” she said. “Towel. Pass me...”
He patted the stones behind him and chucked it blindly in her direction.
“You were naked under that.”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice shuddering. “I didn’t start the day like this.”
“Oh fuck. Did he...?”
“No. My leg,” she said. “I used my T-shirt...”
“...as a bandage.” He slumped to his knees, still facing downriver. Of course.
“The look on your face was pretty funny.”
He choked out a laugh. “They did kinda...jump out at me.” Another thing to appreciate in hindsight.
