a reason to live(62)

Shane turned and looked over his shoulder. “Where?”

I’d glanced at Shane when he spoke and when I looked back he was gone. “He was right there.” I pointed where I’d seen him, and Shane searched the forest again. “He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.”

“Must have been one of the rafters.”

I opened my mouth to explain about the mystery man with the sunglasses when the storm above our heads grew in intensity. Wind tussled the trees and the sky streaked with lightning. I jumped at the intensity, so Shane grabbed the wood from my hands, dropping it on the ground. Then he grabbed my hand and started heading toward the campsite at a quickened pace.

“What about the firewood?”

“They can eat sandwiches tonight. This shit is blowin’ in fast. We need to take cover.”

“Where do you take cover on a river?”

“Tent,” he replied over his shoulder.

“I didn’t bring one. I wanted to sleep under the stars.”

“I brought you one.”

“You brought me one?”

“Yeah, I figured you didn’t have one.”

“That was . . . kind of you.” The man was a mystery rolled inside a brainteaser. He wants me to leave, then he wants me to stay. I couldn’t keep up with his mood swings anymore, which only solidified my reasons for leaving as soon as possible.

When we arrived back at the campsite, Gregor and Jared were wrestling with the rafts, and most of the rafters were huddled in their tents. Shane whistled at Gregor, who then pointed toward the clearing where the tents were set. He nodded then started pulling me toward a smaller tent set away from the others. The rain was coming down so hard I had to hold my hand in front of my face to keep the water from blinding me. When we reached the tent, he unzipped it and helped me inside.

“I need to help secure the rafts and food. I don’t want you to leave this tent unless you think you’re in danger.”

“I think I should help,” I stated. “I’ll be fine; it’s just a little rain.”

“I don’t want you out there. The wind’s picked up and tree limbs will start dropping.”

“The limbs can fall on me in here. I’m being paid to work and I should do my job,” I argued.

Shane’s head rolled back on his shoulders, and he closed his eyes. When he raised his hand and pinched his nose as if searching for patience, I asked, “What?”

“Now I know why Max is angry all the time.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means if you step out of this tent, I’ll tan your hide. Understand?”

That damn DNA thing kicked in again and I nodded in agreement, with short jerky movements. Shane narrowed his eyes as if gauging my truthfulness. He must have believed me because he said, “Zip this closed after me,” and then left.

I looked around and found my bag. Gregor must have known this tent was for me. I moved to it and pulled out dry clothes as the wind howled like an angry ghost.

Once dressed, I opened the sleeping bag and crawled in, hoping to stay warm while I waited for the storm to break.

Somewhere between the heartache that I’d have to leave Trails End without helping Shane and self-pity, sleep took me under. I dreamt of Emma Jane. We were writing our lists of the perfect man, and I could see the words on my page. Handsome, loyal, won’t hit me no matter what, were still there, but the list was longer, it had changed in my dream. I’d added six foot two with gray eyes and one other detail. The last entry on the list caused me to whisper, “Shane,” in my sleep.

It said, broken.

***

Shane scanned the male rafters as they prepared for launch, looking for the one Sage had seen the night before. None was wearing a baseball cap. His hackles had been raised since; his focus tunneled on Sage’s every move. It didn’t sit right with him that one of the rafters was out in the forest watching them. If he had to guess, he’d say the man wasn’t with their group, but he couldn’t be sure. He figured if Sage’s stalker followed her to Trails End, he’d know she had a job with Gregor. He could have easily signed up for the trip in an attempt to get her alone and unprotected. For that reason alone, he was keeping a close eye on those in her raft. A man hiding deep in the forest, in the middle of a storm, implied he was up to no good, and Shane needed backup. If he had a way to communicate with Chester, he’d have called it in the night before. But he couldn’t get a message to him until they stopped for lunch, so he focused on the rafters, watching for anyone who seemed overly interested in Sage.

He was running on little sleep after spending most of the night protecting their rafts and watching the water rise. And he felt it in his bones. To make matters worse, the river was flying, the current swifter than he’d seen it in years. Whitewater roared past them, kicking up foam as it crashed into rocks and timber. The seasoned rafters were jazzed; the excitement thick enough to cut with a knife, and that worried Shane. One wrong move on a river running this wild could cost someone their life.