“No.”
Max looked back at Shane and raised his brows.
“She tell you to go to hell?”
“No,” Shane replied, tearing his eyes off Sage.
“She tell you she never wanted to see you again?”
“Enough,” Shane gritted out. “You’re starting to sound more like Maxine every day.”
Max smiled then looked back at Sage one more time. He caught her staring in Shane’s direction. “I’ll agree that I’m like Maxine sometimes,” he smirked. “And just like my mother, I can be tenacious when I see the truth in front of me.”
“What truth is that, Max?”
“I’m thinkin’ this is similar to what you did with Mia, but in reverse. Now you’re punishing yourself instead of waiting for me to kick your ass.”
“Big man, you could try, but it wouldn’t be an easy task,” Shane clipped, feeling his temper rise.
When Sage leaned away from Jake, her back rigid in reaction to his closeness, her focus shot to Shane again.
Max guffawed, “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this.”
“Enjoy what?”
“Watching you fall.”
“It’s not gonna happen.”
Max tapped the bar for Ralph to fill his shot glass again, then threw it back before leaning in and laying a little more truth on Shane. “Newsflash, Shane, you’re halfway there. The right push is gonna send you into the abyss and you’ll never surface again. Trust me, I know. You just need to pull your head out of your ass and see what’s right in front of you.”
“Max, there’s nothing in front of me but a path to heartache.”
“You’re wrong. Your future is in front of you. You’d see it if you’d stop looking at the past,” Max answered, slapping Shane on the shoulder, leaving him to ponder those words of wisdom.
Shane had had enough torture and advice for one night, so he threw some bills on the bar, rose from his stool, and headed for the door. He looked back one last time before he left and caught Sage watching him. “Leave it be; nothin’ but pain there,” he reminded himself and walked out.
His phone rang as he opened his truck door, so he paused to answer. Pulling it from his pocket, he noted it was Gregor MacGregor calling.
“You got Shane.”
“Shane, my boy,” Gregor replied cheerfully. “I’m hoping you can help me out of a pickle. I hired a cook for our three-day expeditions, but she doesn’t have any rafting experience. Do you have time to train her in water safety tomorrow?”
Not wanting to be tied down to one particular job, Shane floated between Max, Gregor, and the new addition to Smith’s Mercantile. Now that Max was back, his schedule was wide open and he figured Gregor knew that.
“Why are you hirin’ an inexperienced rafter for your advanced expeditions? That seems an additional headache, Gregor.”
“The boys are lousy cooks so I need a woman’s touch at the skillet
“All right, but you should have hired someone with rafting experience to cook. Devil’s Run is no place for a beginner.”
“She’ll be fine. She’s got a fire in her belly that tells me she doesn’t back down from anything.”
Shane sighed as he climbed into his truck. “Fine, tell her to meet me at Little Big Horn at nine tomorrow morning.”
“Will do. Thanks, Shane,” Gregor replied, hanging up quickly before Shane could ask the woman’s name . . .
Four
Nose and Toes out of the Water
The road leading to Little Big Horn was narrow. A canopy of pine trees suppressed the sun’s rays as I maneuvered around tight bends and steep inclines.
Gregor’s text the night before was brief. Be at Little Big Horn at nine. Ask Maxine for directions. I didn’t know whom I was meeting, but I figured it didn’t matter. So, with a map in hand, I found my way to the clearing that abutted the Yukon River. Nervous about getting lost, I’d left earlier than was needed and arrived first.
Parking to the side so Gregor’s guide could pull past me, I climbed out of my Jeep and took in the river. The Yukon was slower moving in this section, but I could hear the rapids further down. Towering canyon walls tapered the river as boulders directed the water through narrow openings, creating the class four and five rapids. I’d never been rafting, and to say I was stoked about learning today was an understatement.
Maxine had lent me her neoprene base layers called Hydroskins and waterproof outer layers called Dryskins since the water was close to freezing. I was shocked at first that she had a need for them—being in her sixties, I wrongly assumed she would avoid an activity like rafting—but I was learning quickly that age didn’t stop Maxine from anything she wanted to do. Except pursuing a man she wanted.