Paradise (7 page)

“How… how do you know that?” she demanded in a hushed tone. She didn’t want the gator to hear her talking about it, assuming gators had ears. Its unblinking eyes followed them as they glided silently by. Huge teeth, undoubtedly sharpened on the bones of unfortunate campers, hung menacingly out of the enormous open jaw. Her heart raced. One chomp would put an end to her.

“Simple. He’s not going to bother us because we’re not going to bother him. He’s content right where he is.” Eddie maneuvered the canoe around the waterway, steering clear of the gator’s personal space.

“Besides, even if he did want to pick a fight, he wouldn’t pick on us.” Eddie’s whispered response did nothing to relieve her anxiety. Maybe he didn’t want the gator to overhear him either.

“How can you be so sure?” They were almost passed it.

“Easy. You see, his brain is about the size of a
Georgia
pecan. He doesn’t see us as a canoe carrying his take-out lunch. He sees an adversary skimming by him. Right now, he’s grateful that the fifteen foot silver gator didn’t pick a fight with him.”

“Oh,” she replied sheepishly. “Of course. I knew that.” She wished he wouldn’t laugh so loud when she made a complete idiot of herself.

* * * * *

“So, Robbie, what do you do when you’re not entering contests?”

The question startled her, coming so unexpectedly in the middle of a lecture on…well something or other. She’d been checking her cell phone every five minutes, but got only half of a weak service bar.

“What do you mean ‘what do I do’? Like do I scuba dive? Do I parallel park? Do I star in Broadway musicals?” She hated that question. It was right up there with “What’s your sign?”

“Do you?”

The chortle from the back of the canoe was unmistakable. What was wrong with her? The man was only making conversation. She softened her tone, hoping to make up for her rude retort.

“I never scuba dive, too many, er, unknown variables in the water; rarely parallel park, too treacherous, and I’m still waiting for Andrew Lloyd Webber to return my calls.”

She glanced over her shoulder and found him studying her again. Only this time, he wasn’t concentrating on her butt. His gaze locked with hers and in that instant, she re-confirmed she would worm her way into that man’s sleeping bag before she returned to civilization. He had a way of looking at a woman as if he could see right into her secret soul and was amused at what he found.

He arched an eyebrow, ignoring her flippant response and waited for her to continue. Spinning back in place, she resumed paddling.

“I, um, well, when I’m not entering contests, I…” A shiver ran the length of her back. She tried to remain motionless, hoping he wouldn’t notice. The image of him sitting behind her, knees spread, well-muscled legs covered with crisp, dark hair extending from his Crocodile Hunter shorts as he methodically shifted the paddle from side to side reminded her of some great Indian warrior -- except maybe for the Red Sox baseball cap. He was absolutely mouthwatering.

“Actually, I design Internet websites, blogs and stuff.” She blundered, trying to grab her wayward imagination and stuff it back into her brain. “I, um, have my own business. It’s not very big, but I have plans. When I get back, I’m heading to
New York City
for a shot at a major contract. Only they called this morning and want to hire me instead. I’ll have to give up my business and move to
New York
. It’s a big decision, but I think I like the idea.”

“Gol-ly.
New York City
, ya don’t say. I’m impressed. That’s quite an accomplishment. You must have worked a lot of long hours to get this far. Looks like you’re on your way to becoming a real high-powered career woman.”

Behind his complimentary words lay more than a hint of sarcasm. Or did she just imagine it? Turning her head slightly, she peeked over her shoulder. He didn’t pay any attention to her but scanned the horizon behind them.

A low rumble caught her attention. Ominous thunderclouds rolled across the entire sky. Their black billows reminded her of Judgment Day pictures she’d seen as a child.

“We’re gonna be hauling a little butt here, darlin’. We might be able to beat it.”

“Great, here we are on the water, under trees and sitting in a giant aluminum lightning rod. Why not just hold up a sign ‘X marks the spot -- strike here’?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure? This is where the fun begins. Hang on.”

The seemingly unflappable tour guide concentrated on moving the canoe, but the gleam in his eyes told her better than words he was having the time of his life. If she lived to be a hundred, she’d never understand these Survivor-type people -- the ones who had to face death or major injury to have fun.

His powerful arm muscles bulged as he methodically skimmed the canoe through the water. She stared, mesmerized by the speed and rhythm as he twirled the oar from side to side shooting the canoe forward. At his sardonic look, she took her cue and paddled in earnest.

The wind increased, causing ripples to cover the water’s surface. After fifteen minutes, she despaired of ever finding shelter. “Say, Tarzan, do you have any idea where we’re going or are you just, you know, using ‘The Force?’”

“As a matter of fact, we’re totally lost. But on the up side, we’re making great time.” He laughed outright at her threatening look. The amusement in his voice warmed her even as his words frightened her.

“Actually, we’re right on course. See that trail over to the left? Our first platform is directly beyond the curve. We’ll pitch camp there for the night.”

Catching the phrase “pitch camp” over the howling wind, she doubled her paddling efforts. Light raindrops danced on her face. The droplets became larger until they were in an all-out downpour when they reached the platform. Lightning flashed, followed by a crashing roll of thunder.

“Welcome to the Hilton,” yelled Eddie, waving his hand expansively as they pulled alongside the platform. “All the luxuries anyone could want.”

She sat stock still, a paralyzing fear gripped every molecule in her body.

Standing a foot and a half above the waterline, the platform looked about twenty feet square, constructed of heavy wood with a rudimentary wooden roof over two thirds of it. She was going to catch pneumonia, be eaten alive and die, not necessarily in that order. Did he really expect her to spend the night on that rickety dock? Any gator with half a mind could easily climb up there and have her for lunch. Not to mention all those other creeping and slithering things she’d rather not think about. Maybe she could call 911 and get air lifted out of here.

As if part of a precision drill team, Eddie secured the canoe and clambered onto the platform. He signaled for her to pass up a bright orange bundle peeking out from under the blue plastic covering their supplies. Pulling and heaving, she struggled to free the lightweight canvas that was their tent while he removed several branches from under the wooden roof.

Handing it up was another production entirely. One that required standing in a rocking boat. Gingerly, she braced her feet in the swaying canoe, rose slowly and hurled the tent at him before plopping back on her fanny. His laugh was louder than the pelting rain against the platform. Within minutes, the single man drill team had the tent assembled.

“Okay,” he yelled, a large clap of thunder nearly drowned out his voice.

“What?” She held the sides of the canoe as it pitched wildly in the churning water.

It took another minute of yelling and hand signals before she caught on. Reaching under the tarp, she grabbed a few items. The canoe wobbled beneath her feet as she slowly stood and gave him her unicorn bag and several other parcels. He jogged to stow them in the tent, and she gathered up more gear.

Rivulets of water ran into her eyes and ears, the little pink cap useless now. A loud crash of thunder sounded, and she stumbled backward. Eddie’s quick grip on her forearm saved her and their Styrofoam cooler from a swim in the swamp.

Don’t think about the creepy crawlies in the water. Only a few things left. I can do this. Leaning back, she reached for the last item.

In her eagerness, a backpack slipped from her grasp, creating a splash loud enough to be heard over the storm. She stood, stunned, watching as it sank below the surface.

Eddie fell onto his stomach and leaned over the side of the platform. He quickly grabbed it before it disappeared forever in the murky water. He hung so far off the side, she wondered that he didn’t follow it in.

Easing himself up, he sat cross-legged in the downpour, the backpack nestled in his lap. He turned a reproachful look on her. Streams of water trailed from his face to his soaking shirt.

“Oh, no!” She flopped back onto the canoe bench, covering her face with her hands. He thinks I did it on purpose! Because of her, Eddie’s extra clothes were now as wet as the ones he wore.

She heard a shout and squinted up through the waves of rain. Eddie squatted on the platform, offering a hand. When she didn’t move, he leaned down and grasped her forearm.

“Put your foot on the seat,” he shouted, waving his other hand. She got the message, trusting he wouldn’t drop her and held on as he hoisted her up to the platform as if she were just another piece of camping equipment. Her leg muscles cramped again, and she lost her balance on the slick surface.

“Whoa, you don’t want to go for a swim, too.” He clasped her waist and swung her away from the edge, holding her tightly against his side. She clung to him as if he was the last life vest on the Titanic. Thunder and lightning crashed around them but she couldn’t budge. She buried her face in his shoulder, nuzzling against the soaking safari shirt, not sure if fear or misery took the forefront of her emotions.

“Hey, come on, you.”

The catch in his voice surprised her, and she jumped back. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Great, now she looked like some clingy shrinking violet.

“Let’s get inside before we both fry.” He ducked and ushered her into the tent, holding onto her waist when she slipped again.

Their abode for the evening was spacious considering it was, after all, a tent. The wet gear was stowed in one corner near the door flap. Eddie released her to squat next to it.

“Stay by the door,” he instructed. “You’re dripping all over the place.”

Looking down, she saw the truth of his words and moved to stand near the door flap.

“So, now what do we do?” she asked, watching him string a line of thin rope across the front of the tent.

“Laundry,” he replied, stripping off his wet shirt. He stuck it out the front flap and wrung it before draping it over the line. Her wide-eyed stare went unnoticed as he pulled wet clothes from his backpack and repeated the procedure, letting the rain water wash away the swamp residue.

Cripes. He’s not just built. He’s built like a god! She couldn’t tear her eyes from his muscled chest covered with a dark mat of curling hair. Her gaze traveled down past his well defined pecs and abs to where a fine trail of hair disappeared into his khaki cargo shorts. As if on cue, he turned to hang up another damp shirt, providing her with a splendid view of his broad back.

Her mouth went dry. She’d joked by calling him George of the Jungle and Tarzan, but wow, with those arms he really could swing on vines from tree to tree. Heat radiated through every cell in her body.

“…might want to turn around to avoid a show. Robbie? Robbie? Did you hear me?”

“Huh?” she stammered, returning to the present. How could she hear him over the blood pounding in her ears? “Er, no, I was thinking about the, um, storm. We are safe here, aren’t we?” she asked, barely recovering her ability to speak.

“Yeah, don’t worry. We’re safe. The tent is all plastic tubing and canvas, and we’re under the shelter. We’ll be fine,” he reassured her, zipping up the tent flap. “But, as I was saying, you may want to turn around while I change out of these shorts. I found a pair of jeans that aren’t too wet.” He gave her a quirky smile. “Unless, of course, you want to check out the
Paradise
package?” he asked raising one eyebrow.