Chapter Four

Matiu hightailed it to the inn.

Ah, hell, he screwed up. Charlotte was probably irate. He was an ass. Damn his schedule…and scattered mind.

Jared, who worked the registration desk, wouldn’t divulge a guest’s specific room due to privacy and all that, but Matiu thanked his luck. Charlotte’s friend, the strawberry-blonde woman—Veronica—was on her way out with her bloke on her arm. Jared was nowhere in sight, so there’d be no inquisition.

“Hey, I’m looking for—” He stopped in front of them.

“Buddy, she’s upset,” she said. “You better have a reason for standing her up.”

He nodded to her.

“And?” She tapped a toe and waited.

“I did. I was working.”

She narrowed her blue eyes.

“Really.” He needed to make things right with the soft-spoken, mysterious brown-haired bookstore gal. He wasn’t taking Charlotte on a paddle for tip money to fatten his savings account. He had genuinely wanted to take her around. He liked her.

“Don’t break her heart, or I will break your bones.”

The man with her—a quick glance, a ring, her husband—coughed. “Ronnie…”

She turned to him, her voice honeyed. “What?”

“You’re not her mother.”

“Hrmphm. I’m her bestie.” She cocked her head to Matiu, raised a fair eyebrow. “Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Got it.”

“Okay, then. I’m no ma’am. I’m your age. You make me seem old, buddy,” she said thickly, tartly. “She’s in room eight.”

He took the steps two at a time, feeling gutted…in himself. He’d fouled things up…if there had been anything to foul. He paced the hallway, not a sound emanating from Charlotte’s room. After a long moment, he brought his knuckles to the door. As soon as she opened it, he blurted, “I’m sorry. I didn’t forget. You’re pissed off.”

Her face was ragged, the glow he’d seen in it yesterday…gone. Shit, had he woken her?

“Wise assessment.” She half hid behind the door. She had the throw quilt wrapped around her upper half even though the inn wasn’t cool or drafty today. “Couldn’t have left a note or something?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Can I come in?”

“Best you don’t.” Her eyes were strained, tired, and the green luster in the hazel was dulled. Crap, maybe she had been sleeping.

“I didn’t forget or ditch you. I have too much shit going on. Got pulled into mucking this morning at like seven. I didn’t know if you’d be awake or ready, so I thought it unwise to just show up. A mate here, banging on your door at the crack of dawn? I switched my shifts. Crandall doesn’t require me at the bookstore this afternoon. How about we give that paddle a go?”

“I’d rather not. Thanks.”

She began to close the door. He stopped her by stepping into the doorway but not walking in. “I was going to text Nate. Honest to G.”

“Who?”

“The owner. Text him to let you know.” He sighed. “However, I’m not supposed to consort with guests. Eh, anyway, before long, it was noon.” He was blabbering.

“Maybe you should follow Nate’s advice. You seem a busy guy. You don’t need to show a flatlander like me around in your free time.”

Ouch. “I want to.”

She hugged her arms closely but didn’t retreat. He noticed her plate on the side table. Did the woman never eat in the restaurant? He’d bet his last dollar that Liz, Nate’s cousin, was the one to bring a plate of food to Charlotte. They didn’t offer room service. Liz had a heart of gold and went the extra mile.

He kept with it. “Wind has died down. The paddle will be sweet as. Reka’s waiting in the car. She likes you.” Guilt her with the dog. Good one, Matiu. I like you. Please forgive me.

Her shoulders drooped, and she spun away from him. “I’m not looking for…for…this,” she muttered.

“Not sure what you mean.”

She turned fully away, gaze drawn down. She emerged from the quilt and tossed it on the bed. “Maybe you have a girlfriend or wife and don’t want to tell me. Fine. I’m not like that. I don’t do that. Those women the other night—I saw how they flirted with you. I’m not in town for a play, okay? It’s best you be on your way.”

Ouch more. It pierced his heart. Is that how he came off? As a skirt-chaser?

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He softened his voice instead of letting her incorrect observations rile him. “I’m not out for play. Friends? That’s all. A paddle, Charlotte. Or Charlie. Is that what Veronica calls you?”

She turned on him and clenched her jaw. “Charlotte is fine.”

“Kura is my cousin. That’s all. No girlfriend or wife.” Why did it hurt to verbalize those words? Not that he hadn’t tried to settle with a gal. It was…well, nobody ever fancied him, the full, true him, messes and ambitions and all. His girlfriends had always tried to change him to suit their needs. They had sought to take the Maori out of the mate. He dislodged that thought with a shake. He kicked the braided rug on the wooden floor. Or maybe it was in his head—who the hell knew.

He was about to leave when Charlotte shuffled her socked feet, straightened her back, and changed her demeanor in a heartbeat. “I could use air. It’s nice today. Next time, find a way to let me know, okay?”

His heart hung on the words next time. There…she was almost there. Rejuvenation and happiness rushed through his skull like a storm front. His palms grew sweaty. She wanted to come. “Need a waterproof bag for your camera?”

There. The edge in her face broke, cheeks rounding into an almost smile. He’d take it. His spirit lifted.

“That would be nice. Let me grab my shoes.”

Realizing that he was now all the way into her room, a guest’s room, he backed away. “I’ll wait in the hallway. I’ve got lunch, too. Made some sandwiches,” he said, belatedly. “It’s a short drive to the calmer parts of the trail and river. I have two kayaks. Some scroggin, too, delicious stuff, homemade.”

“You lost me.”

“You might call it granola or trail mix?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Sorry, can’t take the Kiwi out of me after all these years.” Tourists loved it…but he didn’t mention that fact. Perhaps that was why the women never stayed. Once they learned the true Matiu, they got tired. No more charismatic New Zealander. Just him. Plain old him. He blinked, swallowing the admission like burnt toast.

She paused, frank sincerity shining in her eyes. “Nothing wrong with that. You should be you.”

“Can I carry anything?” he offered as she came to her door a moment later, camera and backpack in her hands.

She shook her head. “I’ve got it.”

“Got any gumboots?”

“Any what?”

“Boots. For mud.”

“Nope.” She nudged a shoed toe forward. “Do I need them?”

“The mud would swallow those shoes. I have a spare pair in the car. Might fit you.”

They made their way downstairs. Nate flurried past, talking with Liz. He paused and gave Matiu a cursory glance of warning. Matiu said, “G’day, boss. See you this evening.”

Nate’s brow was curled in inquisition. Matiu mouthed all good, held the door open for Charlotte, and they were off.

Reka barked from the front seat of his Jeep.

“Back,” he said with a scratch behind her shoulder. Reka hopped into the back seat, and he tossed her muddied towel beside her. He gave the leather seat a swipe with his hand. “Sorry, my US Forest Service vehicle is in the shop. When I do trail work, I take their vehicle, but today I had to drive mine.”

Charlotte slid in as Matiu held the door open. “Hi, Reka.”

The dog nosed her head between the seats.

He drove down Main, then left, across the covered bridge, then north. A few more turns and he was on a side road to take them to his favorite boat launch area on the river. The wind whistled through the kayaks and the rack holding them in place. The straps danced, but the kayaks were tightly secured. The breeze and sunshine felt heavenly today.

The dirt road to the put-in was bouncy and muddy as hell, and Charlotte jostled beside him as his mud-worthy tires sloshed. He rounded a larger divot, but she fell toward him briefly.

“Sorry, bumpy road.”

He smiled, and she did in return. She pushed herself upright, her hand briefly using his knee as support. He did not mind.

“It’s like sticky oatmeal,” she said.

“Great comparison. The best trails are off the trodden road.”

“I agree.”

He turned slower, but she held onto the sidebar. “What’s with this mud season? Never experienced this in Maine or New Hampshire when I’ve visited.”

“The mountains are softer, with less granite. The heavy winter snow thaws, mixes with spring rain, and boom, mud. It’s sticky nasty stuff. They call it the fifth season.”

She laughed. “I can see why.”

“We don’t recommend tramping—hiking—on the Long Trail, or any of the trails from early April until Memorial Day—our mud season, but many people, usually tourists, don’t heed the warning. I get the pleasure of helping, then reprimanding them about their poor decisions.”

“That explains the shovel and two by sixes in your back seat.”

“Yup. Knock some sense into them,” he said in jest.

She suppressed a laugh. “You’re a busy guy. How many jobs do you have? You mentioned quite a few.”

He scratched his head. “Well…my search and rescue work is volunteer based, but they only recruit highly trained people. Our authority is the VSP, the Vermont State Police. Calls come into emergency operators at the Middlesex Barracks, get filtered through a unified command structure, and steered toward the proper destination and agency. Commander Joaquin Bixler, he’s VSP, handles that responsibility, and my friend Gabe is the assistant team leader, and he’s part of the US Forest Service, too.”

“Wow, and all as a volunteer?”

He rubbed his chin. “The use of civilian resources varies from state to state. Some states refuse to use civilians, though they have competent volunteers. Here, our teams are a mix of state police and civilians.”

“Do you have a lot of certifications?”

He snorted. “That’s something that peeves us a bit. No state certs required in Vermont. They use the resources who get the job done, and that’s it.”

“Wow.”

“We do have some K9 certs. For myself, I get the usual certifications in first aid, canine handling, land navigation training, crime scene preservation…” He trailed off.

She shifted in her seat. “Very interesting. I have first aid training and teach courses on CPR and crisis intervention for our school district. Doesn’t sound as grand as yours.”

“No need to make light of what you do. Every bit helps, to keep people safe.”

“Yeah. Your work sounds adventurous,” she said, her voice holding a despondent tone.

“Sometimes. It’s not perfect, but the incident command system is an improvement from a few years ago. It’s a unified team effort of both jurisdiction and function. Usually, I help disoriented folks. Like I said, elderly, runaways, and such. Not too many rescues. Mostly searches.” He paused, scratched his head. “Can’t remember what else I told you. I muck and do trail maintenance for the US Forest Service. The bookstore a few hours a week, like you’ve seen. The inn on Thursdays through Saturdays, sometimes other days to help Nate with prep or work, but usually in the kitchen as cook. Plus, I work for Jacques at the North Sports Outfitters, stocking or giving tours…” He left off that laundry list of jobs. “Wow, I do too many things.”

“You are busy.”

So much so that I had to blow off picking up a gorgeous, friendly gal like you for a paddle on the river. He scuffed a hand along his chin. He’d forgotten to shave this morning.

He shifted topics. “You’d like the science behind it,” he said.

“Behind what?” She lifted a brow. He cut the engine as he parked in a spot not far from the put-in.

“The mud. It takes a special kind of soil to make muddy roads. Twelve percent fine soil content, they say.”

He slid on his boots, pocketing the jandals for when he got near the water. He handed her the spare gumboots from beside Reka.

“Thanks.”

“You can change into your kicks once we get to the edge. We’ll take the boots along in the boats.”

She slid on the boots and nodded, her hair falling in waves around her face.

“Anyway, Vermont has the perfect percentage of fine soil for muddy roads and two-thirds of our roads are dirt. Likewise, the trails. Hence, the perfect soil, the result of glaciers and soil percolation, lots of snowmelt and rain, and you have the magic combo. Toss late-season snow on top of that, and you have a recipe for disaster if anyone decides to traverse the ridge in it.”

“Very interesting. Did you study science in college, too? Like your father?”

“Yup. I majored in physical sciences and business.”

“Both seem handy for your profession.” She paused. “I have to ask…”

“Go for it.”

“Why so many jobs? I mean, with your degrees and abilities you could pick one and settle somewhere. Do fieldwork through a research organization or…”

“Teach?”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Ouch, he didn’t intend his harsh tone. “No worries. I guess I have my mother’s restless spirit. Although I’ve been in one place for ten years, I get fidgety doing one thing. Maybe I have too many passions. Plus, well, I must make ends meet. Multiple jobs patchworked together. Maybe not the best long-term goal.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything. It’s great.”

He offered her a smile. “It is great. No offense taken. All good.” He hesitated to tell her more. Soon he would be settling down with his own business in Queenstown. Maybe he’d find the right girl to tame his spirit, too.

You can’t settle a restless spirit. It was his mother’s voice. She wasn’t speaking of his father; she was talking about him. His father had been as white collar as they come. Strict rule follower, lost in troves of books and research. After he had exhausted his resources at Victoria University in Wellington, they had relocated here, to the heart of meteorology country. No, Matiu was opposite of his father. Perhaps his young rebellious days were still with him…but instead of riding the road of troublemakers, he chose to be restive in his ambitions. He heaved a sigh with his over-analyzing.

“Do you mind tightening Reka’s harness and grabbing the paddles and life jackets from the back seat while I get the boats?”

A familiar gloppy muck greeted them. He meandered around the Jeep, leaving sloppy prints with each vacuum-like sucking step. He usually wore socks, like Charlotte was, but his toes needed to breathe after days in the boots. He didn’t care how cold the water was; jandals it was.

She set to work assembling the paddles. After untying the straps, he lowered each kayak into the nearby longer grass and away from the mud. His personal boat was heavier and longer to accommodate Reka.

Charlotte was already strapped into her life jacket by the time he had both boats down. He’d given her the pink spare he kept for clients. She looked hot.

“Here.” She handed him his. He put it on and dropped the paddles into the kayaks.

Without needing to give her instructions, she grabbed an end of the kayak by the knotted rope handle and he did the same, and they brought one, then the other, to the put-in. She paused as he situated her kayak first in the water. “She’ll be right,” he assured.

“Huh?”

“You looked nervous. It’ll be all good. Hop in. I’ll hold it steady. Oh, wait. Slip off the boots. Chuck them in the bow and put your hiking shoes on. My boots slip off the foot rests if I wear them. Too clunky. Narrower-toed shoes work better.”

She paused, a beleaguered frown twisting her mouth.

“What’s up?”

“It’s—” She heaved a sigh. “I know what I’m doing…but it’s been a couple of years. I guess I’m nervous.”

She didn’t do mountains, which he found odd for a tramper. Now she had second thoughts on the water, too? Reka paced nearby, muddying her paws and brushing against his lightweight pants.

“The river’s quiet today, and this is an easy paddle. Would you prefer we do something else?” he said to pacify her.

She leaned on him as she took off the boots and swapped for the shoes, all the while keeping a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. She stepped in after tossing the boots in. “No. This is good.”

He gave her kayak a thrust, and she began paddling. Reka hopped aboard his boat with his whistle. Through the years, she and he had formed a bond, a groove. They were nearly a symbiotic unit when on rescue missions. Sometimes he wondered if she was the only female who would tolerate him. Reka understood him. Then again, he also brought her salmon and bacon after work. He wondered if that trick would work on Charlotte…

A grin cracked his face, and heat rose in his throat. Bloody hell, it had been too long. He wasn’t going to live his days with only a dog as companion in his bed.

He took off his boots, plopped them inside the kayak, and submerged into the river in his jandals, the coolness of the water biting his ankles. “We’ll take them downstream. It’s easier if you keep to the side. Reka’s a trained search and rescue dog, in case.” He grinned.

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically.

He sensed her nerves smoothing as paddle sliced water. Sunlight speckled the chop, but it was overall a serene ride. The paddles sloshed with each cut. Birds called, and the occasional sound of a passing car filtered through the trees from the main road. As they distanced themselves from the launch and drew deeper into the forest, he lost himself to the serenity…and his company.

The trees had hardly sprouted for the season, but in a matter of weeks, the area would be thick with leafy silver maples, black willows, boxelder, and American elms. The riverside vegetation was brown and green, that ugly period between winter and spring. Today had been another unusually mild day. He’d take it. He cracked his neck. The mud was unbearable on the mountainside at times, and the spring-break townies were demanding. People needed to escape the claws of winter, but Mother Nature often retaliated.

He resumed his tour guide persona. “They call it the Green Mountain National Forest, but we’re not so green yet. Still brown. Crunchy, muddy.” Snap out of it. She’s not your typical townie. She was probably already well-versed on all this stuff. “Have you been this way before?”

“First visit to Vermont. I’ve gone to the Whites aplenty. Franconia Notch, the Presidentials, and seen my share of Maine, mostly coastal with my family, but I hiked in Baxter State Park. I do love New England. You?”

“The same. Most of those. Did a stretch of the AT from Maryland to New Hampshire with a few mates. Never got to start in Georgia. Too much of a time commitment. Can’t do the four or five months it takes.”

“And you seem a busy guy.”

Her words unknowingly stung. “New England is home to a lotta prime peaks. Been anywhere farther?” He hadn’t got a clear answer on that from her.

She chewed on a pink lip as she paddled, her focus on the horizon. “Hopped around the country, saw some national parks in my teen years with my family. Did the road trip thing. Hit the notable ones.”

“That’s choice. I’d love to travel farther. I’ve mostly stuck to the East Coast. My mum lives in California now near San Diego. I’ve only visited her twice since she moved. Never had a chance to explore the Sierras or mountains out West. Plenty of surf if you dig that sort of thing.”

She rested her paddle across her lap for a moment, allowing the current to help her along. “I’m sure New Zealand is beyond comparison to any of this.”

He smirked. “Well, not to sound snide, but yes, it’s heaven on earth. We call it Godzone for a reason. Have you been abroad, out of the country, I mean? You mentioned New Zealand on your wish list. Been anywhere else?”

She shifted in her seat, no longer reclined against the back support of her deeper hulled kayak. Finally, she said, turning her eyes away, “Nowhere fun yet.”

“Bucket list, right?” he added.

“Yeah.”

“Guess teaching limits your schedule.”

“It does.”

He didn’t prod further, but added, “If you do head abroad, Aotearoa is the place for mystery and beauty.”

“The land of the long white cloud,” she said with awe.

“You’ve been reading that book.”

“Nah, I’ve read about it before. I’m torn between Oz and there.”

“You know where my vote lies. No need to go across the ditch. Too many snakes and creatures that can bite you.”

She laughed. Her eyes were full, round, soulful.

“If you ever go there, drop me a line.” Why did he say that?

“Oh, when you visit? Do you travel home much to see family? Spend longer stints there?”

He swallowed, cleared his throat. “Not as much as I’d like, but I’m visiting soon.” More like moving there, mate. “I reckon you mostly travel in summer, because of school? That’s winter in New Zealand, but you can find some less trodden gems, fabulous trails. November is sweet as. My favorite month. You like flowers, right?” He remembered her book purchase. Oh God, he was rambling.

“I do.”

“Gorgeous lupins in the Southern Alps. Near Lake Tekapo and Wanaka.”

“That would be lovely.”

Silence fell on their conversation as their paddles sluiced water.

Charlotte was an agile paddler. She maneuvered shallows and held steady in the deeper parts, while circumnavigating the rocky shore or avoiding deadwood in the river. He wasn’t sure why she was humble or hesitant. She kept pace and a beaming smile joined the sunlight on her golden cheeks. She wore a purple hat, the kind sold at sports and outdoors shops, lightweight, brimmed, and fast-wicking, casting shadows beneath her dark-lashed eyes. Now that he had a moment to watch her—because that’s what guides were supposed to do, he told himself—her natural beauty aroused a sensation within him he hadn’t felt in a while. No red lips or slick, body-clinging outfits to draw attention. Nah, she wore lightweight hiker’s pants, waterproof hiker shoes, a light T-shirt, and a vest over a nicely shaped chest. She looked like a model for an outfitter’s catalog.

His chuckle drew her attention.

“What’s up? Sorry, I’m slower. It’s been a while.”

“Having fun?”

“When does my tour continue? You’ve enlightened me on mud season and Aotearoa. What next?”

There, wow, a bigger smile.

“Soon. See that nose of land yonder,” he said with a point to a marshy area along the riverbank.

“Yeah.”

“We’re going to pivot there and make shore.”

“Make shore?”

He drew off his own cap, scratched his head. “Some of our tour is afoot. To let you rest your arms. That okay?”

“Sure.”

They paddled near shore.

He said, “Did you know this river flows north?”

“No. That’s interesting.”

Reka jumped off and swam the short distance. She ran on shore and shook out her fur with a bark.

Though she had the right water shoe for it, for her shoes were waterproof and breathable, the type sold in North Sports, Charlotte nimbly sidestepped and avoided dropping her feet into the water. She made it ashore, dry, like a dancing pixie hopping among plants and cracking dead branches. God, she was damn attractive in it. He hauled the kayak in.

“Where to now, my guide?”

She didn’t have the typical Massachusetts accent. Nothing wrong with that; hell, his own dialect was like a foghorn sometimes. But she…he internally sighed, nipping that thought. “This way, there’s an old stone cabin.”

“Ah…” Her face lit. “Do we need the boots?”

“Probably.” They switched shoes. He tossed his jandals and her cute shoes in the kayaks.

They slogged through the early spring growth of long grasses and streamside vegetation. “I call this mud soup.”

She giggled.

“Dead leaves and brown water. I can’t wait for summer,” he added.

“The brown gets to me, too. And so much snow. Meh!”

“Soon the glory will be here,” he concurred. Today a light blue sky embraced them like a hug. “This weather is fine.”

She agreed with a nod. “But I doubt winter is done.”

“Me, too. Forecast is calling for snow in a few days. More on the mountains than in town. We’ll likely get a dusting in Willow Springs.” He inhaled the tangy forest scent. “Up ahead is a moose hunter’s cabin. Likely a logger, too. The author, Henderson, talks about it in that book you bought.” A little farther through the forest and they were upon the old stone cabin.

Charlotte exclaimed, “Wow, impressive.”

“As you can see the roof is missing, but it had a high ceiling, and massive windows.” He gestured. Reka bounded ahead, sniffing. “Not far, Reka.”

They stepped through the entrance, the doors and any shutters long since rotted away. All that remained was a shell of a cabin, but it had been robust, chiseled stone and stood solid and eerie in the forest. He entered, and Charlotte followed through the tangles of roots and shoots. A decades-old oak tree grew from the ground in what was likely the living area or kitchen. Beside the tree stood, nearly intact, a central fireplace and chimney two stories high. Matiu stepped on acorn shells and lost his balance, unlike him, and fell into Charlotte. “Bugger! Sorry!”

She held his weight.

He paused, his hand on her arm, her exposed skin warm beneath his fingers. Reluctantly, slowly, he dropped it. “Pretty sunlight today if you want to take pictures.”

“Pardon me?”

He pointed to the camera slung around her neck.

“Oh. Duh.” She took off the lens cover and moved away from him.

She ducked, squatted, and shot photos from all sorts of angles, each step careful and deliberate. After a few minutes, she returned. To him, standing there and, well, gawking. He clamped his mouth shut. What was with him?

She was luminous, hair thick and wildly wavy from the slight humidity in the air, her face flushed with happy exertion from the paddle and walk, and eyes glowing with that love of nature he often felt, too. A naturalist like him knew that look. It was a high. Others had their booze or shopping or whatever, hell, even sex. He had nature to push the adrenaline through his veins and bring him to a peak of both joy and peace.

A part of him would love to share that pleasure with a partner…somebody to curl beside him at night in his bed, somebody to warm his soul and heart. Somebody who didn’t have four paws and wet nose.

She adjusted her camera so that it fell on her lower back and the strap crossed her breasts. “Ready to return? Or is there more to the tour?”

He was glad to have helped her turn the corner with whatever seemed to be bothering her. His no-show this morning hadn’t helped. He was always overbooking himself these days. Too many plates spinning. He needed to leave Vermont. Not that starting his own business from scratch was going to be a break from the grind. It would keep him busy with something he enjoyed, something that was his. He’d be his own boss. Maybe then he’d find the right gal who would settle down with him.

Too bad Charlotte didn’t live in New Zealand.

Bloody hell…where had that thought surfaced from?

“How about tea?” he asked.