Beneath a Southern Sky - By Deborah Raney Page 0,79
drone of the outboard motor, discussing the weather conditions and planning their route. The man called Captain filled out some sort of log, stating the date and the year aloud.
Nathan leaned forward. Surely he hadn’t heard the man correctly. “What did you say today’s date was?” Nathan asked, his heart pounding.
“April sixth.”
“No—I mean, the year.”
Captain repeated the date.
He had heard correctly.
Red Beard looked at his map again and turned to shout back to Nathan. “Looks like Timoné is the wrong direction, Camfield, but if you’re not in a big hurry, we can get you to Bogotá.”
Nathan almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “No rush,” he told them, still wrestling to grasp the man’s matter-of-fact mention of the year—and the stunning realization that he had been in captivity for more than two and a half years.
ARA:
THE ALTAR
Twenty-Three
Daria loaded the last of the lunch dishes in the dishwasher and, still drying her hands on a towel, wandered into the living room where Cole was roughhousing with Natalie.
“Colson Hunter!” she playfully reprimanded. “How do you expect me to ever get her down for her nap when you have her wound up like a top?”
“Hey, I’m just trying to wear her out for you,” he panted, galloping across the carpet on all fours, hot on the heels of a squealing Natalie.
“Tickle monster! Tickle monster!” Natalie’s delighted screams pierced the air.
The tickle monster overtook her and nuzzled her neck with his scratchy Saturday beard until she begged for mercy.
Natalie managed to escape the monster’s clutches, and while she scurried to hide under a sofa cushion, Cole sneaked around behind the sofa and popped up in front of her.
Daria laughed.
As he knelt in front of the sofa, the tempting target of the tickle monster’s backside presented itself to Daria and, unable to resist, she snapped him with her dishtowel. The damp corner hit its mark with a loud crack and surprising accuracy. The enraged monster let out a howl and turned on Daria, scuttling after his new victim on hands and knees.
While Natalie looked on, her eyes wide, Daria ran for her life. Adrenaline sped through her veins, and she ran squealing across the living room with Cole right behind.
Breathless, she raced down the hallway and back and finally sought asylum on the couch with Natalie. Cole attacked them both, roaring and nuzzling until he reduced them both to helpless giggles.
Ignoring Natalie temporarily, Cole concentrated on Daria, and she began to understand what Natalie saw in this game. He planted a kiss on her stomach, patting her rounded belly over her baggy sweat-shirt—the belly that held a child he now looked forward to with joy.
Cole lay his head on her belly, and then with a playful gleam in his eye, nuzzled a trail up to her neck. Quickly the nuzzling turned to kisses, and then something more than adrenaline surged through her blood.
“Hey, do we get to take a nap too?” Cole whispered conspiratorially.
“Mmm, if you’re a good boy,” she breathed against his neck, suddenly wanting him fiercely.
“Cross my heart,” he promised. “I’ll even help you get this one packed off to bed.” He tipped his head in Natalie’s direction.
Daria laughed as he scooped Natalie up and headed toward her bedroom with an urgency that she knew had nothing to do with the child’s need for a nap.
He wasn’t halfway down the hall when the doorbell pierced the silence. Natalie came tearing back out to the living room. “I get it! I get it!” she squealed.
Cole shrugged at Daria over the little girl’s head, and Daria went with her to answer the door.
A U.S. Postal Service truck idled in the driveway, and a middle-aged man with a post office insignia on his shirt stood on the porch.
He took off his cap and dipped his head toward her. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hunter. American Telegram sent this. It went to your old address in town, but we knew you’d moved out here, and we’re supposed to deliver these in person. Sorry to bother you on a Saturday. Hope it’s not bad news.”
Daria couldn’t remember ever receiving a telegram in her life. She hadn’t even known it was still possible to send a telegram.
She thanked the man and coaxed Natalie back inside as she unsealed the envelope.
Cole came down the hallway with Natalie’s quilt over his arm. “Come on, Nattie. It’s time for your nap.” He turned to Daria. “Who was that?”