Marilyn loved the smells and sights of the river after rain. Even the fish jumping at insects seemed overjoyed at the fresh water in their natural tank.

The gra.s.s and trees along the riverbank glistened with moisture, birds gathered food as they sang to one another, and now and then a frisky squirrel chattered from the canyon walls that rose twenty to fifty feet above them.

The river meandered more swiftly after the rain, as if trying to wash itself clean over the stones along the bank and beneath, and white caps of water broke against the few rocks that jutted from the water.

"The water... she's mighty cold," Jackson spoke from behind her.

They'd traveled approximately four or five miles, mostly in silence. She'd been enthralled with the scenery and the water, more relaxed than she could remember being in years. The sound of his voice startled her.

Marilyn trailed her fingers in the water and nodded, too enchanted with nature to speak for a moment. She felt deliciously at ease. Her life had been anything but peaceful in so long that she wanted to inhale every scent and to feel every sound of the river resonate throughout her body.

She turned and called over her shoulder, "I still wish I'd taken my own canoe. Almost took off without you this morning when I was afraid you wouldn't take me on a float trip because of the rain."

"You gonna hold that against me all afternoon?" he asked.

"Mebbe," she said, mocking him, only to have Jack lift an oar out of the water and shake her with droplets of water from it.

She caught him eyeing the muscles of her shoulders and back as she protested the water. She knew she was nicely developed. Not sculpted, but definitely well-toned. She'

d taken off her blouse once they were on the river in order to get a tan.

"How long you been at this desk job?" he asked.

"About two months now."

When he was silent a moment, she turned to look at him again.

"Let's have it," she said. "What's on your mind?"

Jack said, "Okay. It's this. What if I don't do well in this contest? How's that going to affect your dad?"

"As long as you show up, he'll be fine."

"And if I don't?"

Marilyn thought about telling him of the compet.i.tion her father had been embroiled in with Dave prior to this week but thought better of it. Jack had enough on his mind without trying to adjust a rivalry gone awry between two old men who bet against their own authors.

Jack licked his lips and looked at the suddenly darkening sky. Looked as if their float trip might be a washout, though, and they were seven miles from the camp.

"Tell me that the sun has just gone behind the clouds a bit," she said. "Tell me those aren't storm clouds gathering."

"A bit. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"Not afraid of a little water, are you, Jackson?"

He chuckled. "Okay, city girl. You're about to get a taste of life on the riverbank... mebbe we'll turn you into a river rat before you go back home."

"Do you think I'd make a good one?" she asked, attempting to joke with him.

Her voice caught in her throat at the look in his eyes. Was he thinking what she was? That he didn't want her to go back home any more than she did? d.a.m.n. What was up with that?

A whistle from the riverbank alerted them that they were not alone.

"Hey!" the bronzed man squatting on the bank called, lifting his head slightly in salute. "You're goin' the wrong way."

Marilyn watched as a wide grin creased Jack's face. He pulled at the oars and brought them closer to the long-haired Native American man fishing from his seat on the gra.s.s.

"And what direction should I be going?" Jack asked as the fisherman rose, leaned down and grasped the front of the canoe, holding it against the current with one hand while holding his fishing pole in the other.

"Been so long since I've seen you that I figured you must be lost." The man's voice held no sarcasm, only a matterof-fact tone.

Marilyn marveled at the muscles rippling in his forearm. If Jack hadn't been with her she'd have been terrified.

"When are you gonna cut off that braid?" Jack asked, stone-faced. "You look like a d.a.m.n Indian."

"I am a d.a.m.n Indian," the big man snorted as he delivered the retort. "More'n you."

Then both men melted into smiles and laughter as Jack introduced Marilyn to his cousin, Daniel Red Feather.

"My mother's nephew," Jack explained. "Her sister's sorry excuse for a son."

"You gonna just sit there and drown, or are you gonna come up to the house?"

Daniel asked.

"How long?" Jack asked, winking at Marilyn.

Daniel peered at the sky a moment then said, "Five minutes. Maybe less."

"Then let's get out of here," Jack said, setting the oars inside the canoe.

Marilyn wondered how they were going to manage, but the cousins seemed to have a wordless understanding of one another. Jack took the fishing pole as Daniel helped her out with one hand while steadying the canoe with his other, and soon they were all three on the bank.

While she waited, Jack dragged the canoe to safety beneath a tree and flipped it over to keep the wind from lifting it. Daniel trudged ahead of them with his fishing gear.

"Big man," she mused as Jack took her arm and guided her up the steep slope leading to Daniel's cabin.

"Big, bold and brilliant," Jack agreed. "My favorite cousin. Even though Daniel's got a heart of gold, he scares the h.e.l.l out of most people. Needless to say, n.o.body messed with us when we were kids if Daniel was around."

Marilyn shuddered. "He scares the h.e.l.l out of me!"

Jack laughed and gave her a quick hug. "You're safe, trust me."

A black Lab bounded toward them, wagging his tail until Jack reached out to pet him.

"h.e.l.lo, Max," Jack said.

Big man with a long braid that reached his waist, black Labrador, shadows falling across the landscape as thunder rolled as if on cue five minutes after they'd arrived. Marilyn was glad she hadn't attempted to float the river on her own after all.

She was, however, quickly charmed by Daniel. He was a tower of quiet strength, a man of few words-but when he spoke, he always had a point, even if the conversation seemed lighthearted.

"You have strong arm muscles," he commented. "And your accent is Bostonian, right?"

"Correct. I spent my formative years in Bean Town," Marilyn affirmed.

"You spend much time on the water there?"

She nodded slowly. "A bit." She wondered where he was going with this.

"She probably went sailing with her boyfriends," Jack kidded, winking and sipping the coffee Daniel had provided to warm them.

Daniel was quiet a moment then said, "So you haven't been in a canoe?"

Jack seemed to be enjoying himself immensely at her expense. When Marilyn didn't answer right away, he laughed and said, "No, but she's written about canoeing. She's quite a good writer."

Marilyn felt Daniel's eyes boring into her and met his gaze then nodded again, very slowly, to which his eyes sparkled. She was sure he was masking a grin. When he asked the next question, she was sure he'd found her out.

"What does a replacement seat cost nowadays on a kayak?"

"About a hundred dollars," Marilyn said, without thinking.

"I had a friend who kayaked in Boston. Said the seating is much more comfortable than that of a canoe. She had nice abs and biceps too."

He broke their gaze and sipped his coffee, but Marilyn caught the one glittery look he sent her and had to bite down on a laugh. He knew she was an experienced kayak aficionado but wasn't telling Jack.

When Daniel went to his bedroom to bring out a new rifle to show them, Jack turned to Marilyn and said, "His wife spent a great deal of time back east."

"He's married?"

"Yes, but she's been hospitalized for several years. In a coma. Long story. I'll tell you about her sometime."

Then Daniel returned, and the men discussed the merits of various bullet calibers and fishing lures while she perused Daniel's home library.

If she'd thought Jackson's home held a vast repository of books, Daniel's domain blew her mind. He had tons of books and no small number of paintings he'd done. A slender, bright red feather was the symbol beneath his signature on dozens of canvases, some framed, others stacked against a wall.

They all shared a pot of herbal tea Daniel prepared, and when the weather permitted, she and Jackson headed back toward the bank and their canoe. Daniel wished her a safe journey and nodded towards the direction from which they'd arrived.

"That water's mighty fast," he said. "Make sure you don't tip over, especially around the bend about twenty yards. No rocks, but plenty of cold water."

And when Jackson wasn't looking, Daniel winked at her and slid a finger alongside his nose.

He just told me where to tip the canoe, Marilyn thought with a chuckle.

I can't do this! She tried reasoning with herself once they'd set course for the trout camp. That water has to be unbelievably cold after the rain.

Then Jack made some comment about how Daniel had married a city girl who'd adapted well to the area and how few women could handle themselves there. Marilyn let his first comment slide, but when he mentioned again, a couple of miles later, how rough river life was on women, Marilyn's bratty inner child pushed her to do the unthinkable. She spotted the bend Daniel had described and decided to teach Jackson a lesson.

She waited until they were in the deepest part of the river without rocks and centered herself in the canoe, and when Jack leaned to the right, she leaned as well and thrust all of her weight, gripping the sides of the canoe and righting it when it flipped over and smoothly capturing the ends of the oars as she used her legs for leverage to right the canoe. She was as soaked as her companion but at least she wasn't treading water.

Jackson, however, received a good dunking. He came up sputtering and blinking his eyes. "What the h.e.l.l just happened?"

Marilyn was laughing so hard she could barely speak. "I guess some city girls are just better adapted to the river than some of the rats who live here."

She paddled toward him.

"Did I ask for that?"

Marilyn acted like she was deep in thought, set her jaw, nodded and said, "Yeah, I think so. C'mon, macho man, and I'll give you a hand."

When Jackson gave a throaty growl and narrowed his eyes, she warned him, "Paybacks are a b.i.t.c.h, Jackson. All I did was even the score, so don't even think about pulling me into the water."

Once he was in the canoe and slicking back his wet hair, he laughed. "Where'd you learn to roll a canoe like that?"

"Boston Harbor."

"And?" he prompted her. "I sense hesitation."

Marilyn sighed and gave him a list of places she'd gone on river runs and white water rafting and canoeing. "Summers, starting when I was about sixteen, I taught a course for women on river survival. Strictly basic stuff," she said modestly. "Various strokes to use, stretches for hamstrings and torso. Then I'd take them on river runs so they could test their prowess."

"In other words, you're experienced. You'd have to be to teach others."

"Well, yeah."

"And you let me carry on about the poor little city girl while probably cackling behind my back. You and Daniel both. Now I understand why he asked you those questions. He saw that you were experienced-why didn't I?"

"Well, the first impression I gave you was one of a city slicker. Not like you had much hope of finding out until Chuck spilled the beans about my being a writer."

Jackson shook his head. "No, I was pigheaded. I already had my mind made up that you were a fake...just like me. Only you're not. You know that of which you write."

Marilyn felt the temperature of their conversation shift from warm to chilly.

"Jackson, you're not a fake-and it's no big deal. Really."

He paddled silently for a moment. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. You're quite accomplished. You should be proud of yourself."

"I am."

"Then why didn't you say something about this to me?" His voice was strangely low and quiet.

Marilyn tried to make light of the situation. "You've had secrets of your own, remember? You're not just p.i.s.sed off because I gave you a dunking, are you?" she asked, trying to laugh. "I don't dumb down for any man."

"No, and you shouldn't," he said. "It just came as a surprise-that's all."

She swallowed a lump in her throat. Maybe dunking him wasn't such a good idea. "You' re not mad?"