Left for Wild - Harloe Rae Page 0,41

a fresh angle for examination. “Will that thing even float?”

I don’t blame her for doubting the boat’s ability and value. The entire body appears to be corroded. Rust doesn’t mean holes, though. “There’s only one way to find out.”

She shrugs and sashays to the front bow. “Let’s try to move this beast before we get excited.”

Once I’m at the rear stern, she mirrors my bending motion. “Ready?”

With a crippling creak, the canoe rises off the frozen floor. The weight doesn’t tweak my muscles. Quite the opposite, since there’s hardly a strain at all. We get the vessel moved near the shore within a handful of strides. Considering the overall size, that could prove the condition is worse than I thought. I’m not ready to lift the white flag quite yet. The brunette bombshell beside me seems to carry the same determination as she gives the worn deck a loving pat.

I straighten and brush the dirt off my hands. Blakely is chomping on her bottom lip when I glance over. That same anxiety is twitching in my gut. With a shove, I set sail on this experimental study as the canoe bobs in the slight rapids.

We stand in the shallows, wary gazes locked on our newfound possession and wait for the inevitable results. I maintain a wincing grip on the bow and pass control to the powers that be. The clench in my jaw doubles with each second ticking by. There are no immediate leaks. The sounds of a gurgling gush or shattering hope doesn’t reach our ears. This antique wonder is holding strong and steady despite all of the surface evidence suggesting otherwise.

A tug tips the length this way and that, but the status doesn’t change. This would be the point I’d gladly take a risk and hop onboard. But Blakely is far too precious for that impulsive business. “On the bright side, we didn’t find a boat made of wood.”

She laughs at my attempt for humor. “It would’ve shattered with the first contact of your boot.”

“This bad boy has more glory to seek.” I rub at a patch of rust. “Or I’m being foolishly optimistic.”

Her gloved palm swats the frosty air. “No such thing.”

I watch our potential escape pod for another tense minute. The interior remains free of moisture. “Okay, phase one is successful. Our next test is adding weight to the load.”

“Is this the part where I volunteer?” Her cringe is almost comical.

I snort at the ridiculous possibility of that ever being the case. “No, I’ll be the sinking crash dummy.”

Blakely sweeps an arm toward me. “Well, if you insist.”

“Will you hold this for a second?” I nod at the edge still in my fist. “I need to find some oars, or what will substitute well enough. Just in case this is a success.”

Once we’ve traded places, I jog into the woods to grab our hatchet. I find a decent enough branch and split the long piece in half. Whittling them down will be a task for later. I fetch our bags and toss them into the canoe with my makeshift paddles. Several moments pass while I wait for the bottom is give out under the slight load. But there’s still no sign of water intake.

A sign trickles off my parting lips. “Okay, here goes everything.”

With the most graceful agility I possess, my ass lands on one of the warped seats. The canoe rocks back and forth, but remains upright. I brace for a shift in balance or the urgency to jump ship. Other than a gentle sway, nothing happens.

I slap the flared midsection. “Check it out. I’m in one piece.”

Blakely twists her mouth to one side. “The jury is still deliberating.”

“This beauty will give us a stable ride.”

She squints at the abandoned treasure. “Um, okay? My faith in you is mighty and all, but there are limits. My trust is that monstrosity is zilch.”

“And that won’t change unless you’re willing to try.” I dip one of the oars into the stream, measuring the effectiveness with a few trial motions.

“Have you ever done this before, Boy Scout?”

I grant her a wide grin that’s meant to convey the reassurance in my gut. “Nope. This will be my maiden voyage. Care to join me, boss?”

Survival tip #15: Trust is far easier to give when the alternatives are more grim.

Between Halder’s inviting smile that’s turning my belly into goop and the looming storm clouds gaining darkness, I should be lunging inside this getaway ship. But there’s a solid blockage holding me