“Right. We’ll start talking to men who were sheriffs in counties upriver the year you washed up.”
“You said there was a flash flood that year,” he said.
“There was. Still, for a baby to survive something like that…it’s unlikely.”
“But not impossible,” he said.
It was getting dark, and she was hearing twigs snap and footsteps every time the wind shifted. The frequency of the sounds convinced her it was just her overly stressed mind and reactivated PTSD, and maybe a little bit of sexual frustration, playing tricks on her perceptions. She glanced at Wolf, and he looked back at her, then frowned.
“You’re not okay. What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, but he put his hand on her shoulder, urging her to look at him again.
“You can tell me.”
“I know I can. But it’s stupid and unprofessional, and a distraction from our case.”
He blinked. “I was thinking we were more than that. More than PI and client.”
She watched his eyes but didn’t hold them. Her gaze shifted like a criminal’s. “You made it clear you’re not interested in that, and I respect your boundaries, Wolf.”
He blinked down at her, standing there on the path where it twisted between rock formations and freestanding boulders in striated brown and tan. Beyond them, the sun was setting, striping the sky in gold and orange.
“When did I do that?” he asked. His voice was very soft, barely more than a whisper.
Her darting gaze came back and held on this time. “Well, last night. Obviously.”
“Last night I was trying to respectyourboundaries, Camellia. No means no.” He blinked. “Wait, do you mean you’ve changed your mind about, you know, the old maid thing?”
“What, my draping myself across your chest last night wasn’t a big enough clue?”
“Holy… ” He peeled his backpack off, dropped it, and caught her face in his hands. Then he tipped it up and kissed her.
She wrapped around him like she was on fire, kissing him back with all the pent-up anguish she’d been keeping inside. They had no tent, no shelter.
He slid his hands down over her backside, her thighs, and lifted them around him, then he carried her off the path while she fed on his jawline, on his ear, on his neck. He dropped to his knees, and when he laid her back on the ground, she shimmied out of her jeans.
He put a hand to her chest, all gentle, slowing her down, his brown eyes asking if she was sure. She peeled her blouse over her head inside out and threw it aside in answer. He did likewise,and then she was done waiting. She pulled him down onto her and into her, closed her eyes, and touched heaven
Ranger Dan, Big Bend National Park
Ranger Dan was down at the Log-Jam, the watering hole where all the clientele were employees of the park. They kept its existence quiet. Campers looking for a drink and a place to unwind, were directed to a saloon out past the east entrance that was glad to have ’em. This place was their own, only a mile from the north gate.
Dan was starting to feel less than welcome, though. It had become the consensus among his colleagues that he was too old to cut the mustard and ought to retire gracefully. And he supposed they were right, but he didn’t have a lot else going on in his life.
He sidled onto a barstool and held up a finger to the bartender, who drew him a glass of his favorite on tap and slid it over without need of instruction, smooth as you please, like they’d rehearsed it.
You had to appreciate the small things like that.
The group of pups, as all the older park staff referred to the youngsters, descended on a table way too close to him, and he decided to seek a spot far from their boisterous, youthful racket. He needed five beers to ease his aching joints enough to sleep, and he’d prefer to enjoy them without the giggling of a bunch of fresh-out-of-braces, empty-headed—he glanced their way,noting the patches on their uniforms—river guides. It figured. Young, fit, cocky, arrogant brats, in his opinion.
River rats, they’d called them back in the day, him and Zach and Billy.
Damn, he missed those guys.
He picked up his beer, having spotted an empty table on the far end of the place, and started past the river rats to get there.
“I’m telling you, it was creepy,” said one of them, a girl of twenty-something, dark of hair, eyes, and complexion. The laughter of the others died down. “The way that woman was talking about whether a baby swept into the river could survive to wash up on shore somewhere.”
