LOST WITH YOU - Lisa Ann Verge Page 0,4
wilderness brought out the pith of people. It wasn’t something to do with beautiful strangers.
She said, “I know what you’re thinking.”
Like hell she did. She’d be scrambling back into that rusty tub of a vehicle if she could see the fantasy flickering in his mind.
You think,” she said, tilting her chin, “that I can’t handle the physical demands of the journey.”
He wasn’t thinking that at all. He’d gotten an eyeful of those toned arms and rounded calves. She was an athlete herself, but sure, he’d lob back the challenge. “Garrick Kane can bench-press two hundred pounds. How many pounds can you manage?”
Her non-answer was answer enough.
“You’ll have to haul a twelve-foot canoe over your head, too.” He gestured toward the woods. “Then carry it over miles of hard ground without dropping it and ripping the hull.”
“That’s a job for two,” she countered. “That’s what you said.”
“And the other hundreds of pounds of gear? You game for helping me haul that over three or four portages, depending on what we find?”
“Everything’s stored in a backpack of some sort, yes?”
She was right. Portages required items packed for easy transport. He’d made sure everything had a strap or handles to avoid muscle strain. But knowing a few details about this kind of expedition wasn’t enough.
She stepped down onto the grass but made no move to open the door to her van. “I won’t be a liability, I promise you that.”
“This is a dangerous journey for anyone who attempts it. Even a pretty women who takes care of herself.” He ran his gaze over her with deliberation, until those long, dark lashes fluttered a fraction, a little ripple across her determination.
“I run five miles every day,” she countered. “I’m not going to wilt on the trail.”
“Running is useless in the deep woods. Too easy to be tripped up by branches, stones, ruts—”
“But it helps with the lung capacity. For endurance.”
It did, damn it.
“Listen.” She flattened a hand on the van, though he could feel the heat blasting from it from where he stood. “My job is to interview adrenaline junkies, take notes on the details of their journeys, and then write about the adventure. Occasionally, I indulge in their manias. I’ve bungee-jumped. I’ve taken a kayak down the Snake River—”
“It’s not the same.”
“Good. I like learning new things. I’m up for this challenge.”
She was challenging him right now, standing before him with her hair flipped over its natural part. His body was attuned to her in ways that kicked up a whole lot of unsettling memories. She had grit, he would concede that. But if she challenged him like this on a three-week journey into the deep woods, he’d have a hell of a lot more to deal with than just finding a trail.
She said, “You do want a partner, right? You do want this expedition to happen?”
Hell, yeah. The thought of it not happening had propelled him outside to wield an ax. He’d shattered logs because making splinters fly helped. Some of them had pierced his arms where he’d rolled up his sleeves. He was just starting to feel them now. He’d been working on this expedition for so long, collecting maps and taking notes and rooting out old diaries, learning French just so he could read them. He’d talked to so many old-timers, taken so many notes. And now she showed up, an unlikely last hope.
“Just take yes for an answer, Dylan.” Sun glinted off strands of auburn in her hair as she tilted her head to catch his gaze. “I see how much you want this. I want it, too.”
His balls tightened. Yeah, he needed a partner. And yeah, she fit the bill, physically, though he’d have to portage the heavier items. He’d have to shoulder the bulk of the burden of paddling. But she offered two extra arms and the capacity to keep up. Everything was set and good to go, and she stood before him. Hope was a dangerous thing. It had a way of blooming just when you didn’t expect it. It knocked your senses right out of your head and fooled a man into making bad decisions.
It was a lot like falling love.
“You and I, together?” He faced her squarely and spoke the real problem. “We’d be sharing a tent.”
The words rang between them in the strained silence, broken only by a metallic ping from the hood of the cooling van and the buzzing of the cicadas in the trees. A shimmer of electricity arced between them.