Chapter 18

Sam stood a little above knee deep in the river testing the ice cold temperature against the thick skin of her waders. The frigid water threatened, yet failed in its attempt to make its way through the heavy duty rubber. At least she’d won this battle, so far beating the odds.

She took another brave step. Faltering under the current’s strong pull, her tender ankle struggled to maintain balance. Heart hammering, she tried to calm herself, fighting against a surge of panic even though Blake had a solid grip stationed at her waist.

Sam inhaled a calming breath. He wouldn’t let her fall. Like a strong oak tree, the man supported her. She steadied herself, thankful the bottom of her boot found a secure footing. Of course, she had no doubts Blake would save her even if the river had other plans.

“The line is snagged,” he explained, releasing his claim on her right hip. She could feel him searching for the knife hanging off his belt loop.

A dark shadow above drew her attention, and she caught an eagle swooping to the water. The large bird grasped a dolly in its talons and flew to the other side of the bank, dropping the fresh catch into the top of a tall tree. Sam, holding the fishing pole in one hand, fumbled for the camera hanging off her neck.

Perhaps with a little luck, and a whole lot of prayers, she’d get a picture worthy of Stan’s praise. Fortunately, she’d been able to call him briefly before they’d started this new undertaking. Although Blake had been eager to get started, he had generously allotted for enough time so she could email Stanley her latest file of pics.

“Look Blake,” she exclaimed, stunned by the act of nature. She managed to take a few shots with one hand while still clutching onto the fishing pole. Praising herself on the dexterity, she tilted her head back and returned her gaze to the skyline, settling on the bird’s nest.

The eagle had flown off already in search of more prey, but she couldn’t seem to pull her attention away. Once again, she was astounded by the remoteness of the state. Here, humans were the minority.

“I see it. Been there all morning,” Blake mumbled. “And he’s better at fishing than you are. I don’t know what you keep snagging on, but you are on your third lure,” he pointed out.

He removed his left hand from her hip in order to put a flashy, shiny contraption on the end of the pole, and instantly she became aware of the missing heat.

Rod, she amended, recalling the many times he’d corrected her this morning. It wasn’t a fishing pole, it was a rod, and no matter what happened, she was not to lose grip of the long stick. A naughty grin tugged at the corners of her lips, conjuring up several images of yesterday and the way they’d explored each other’s bodies.

“You ready?” Blake asked.

The heat of his arms surrounded her again, and she nodded.

He whipped the rod back and then forward in a swift cast. “This is called flossing. Basically, all we are doing is letting the line out, and when a fish swims by with their mouth open, the lure simply gets lodged in and you pull. It’s fishing by default. Kind of like flossing their teeth…thus the name. The reds aren’t actually searching for food, seeing how their lifespan is almost over.”

Sam nodded again, biting her tongue to keep quiet. She already knew the tragic turmoil of the red salmon’s swim upstream to spawn, only to die, but didn’t want to spoil his explanation. Not this time. Besides, this was his territory, and she felt a little out of her element with the large pole in her hand.

A slight tug on the line caused the tip of the rod to bend and she tightened her grip.

“Looks like your luck just changed, Sam. I think we’ve got one.”

Surprised, she took an unsteady step forward. Her ankle was better than yesterday, but despite being tightly wrapped with an ace bandage, it still folded beneath her on the uneven surface, and the sudden motion caused her to break free of Blake’s hold. Immediately she was aware of her mistake; her foot glided, failing to make solid contact as the bottom slipped away.

The arctic water enveloped her within seconds. Held under its relentless, icy grip, she fought to save herself as fleeting visions of her life flashed by. First a bear and now this? Her last possible moments on earth spent in a freezing river clutching tightly to a fishing rod while her new found love was unable to save her?

Frantically, she clawed toward the blue sky, contesting the impeding frozen death. The current kept her at a steady level beneath the water’s surface with a pull too strong to fight. The river held her in its clutches for what seemed like hours before Blake’s strong hands encompassed her, releasing Sam from its possession.

She struggled for breath, gasping as her strained lungs worked overtime to suck in large gulps of the crisp morning air. Blake pulled her to the shore, and she felt him tear at her clothes. Bewildered and confused, she fought off his persistent, adept fingers.

Through her shivering and chattering teeth, she could hear his calm, voice of reason explaining the symptoms of hyperthermia. The definition got lost, muddied in her head, and Sam was only able to focus on a few key words.

Cold, she heard clearly, as her body shivered in response. Strange. Her skin was on fire, yet as frozen as ice. The odd frigid burning increased with the rapid motion of his hands, shimmying up and down her arms. She was cold, Sam agreed, but the words got trapped somewhere between her mind and mouth.

Blake tugged off the hip waders, and she heard the sloshing of liquid pour out of the rubber sheath. Small raindrops of ice splashed the rocks beside her.

The water had won. It penetrated. The thought came and went as more arctic slush hailed, and the useless rubber sheath was tossed to the side.

Before Sam knew it, her pants were removed and she was wrapped in the warmth of Blake’s flannel. He stood before her, hastily shedding his clothes. Confused, she tried to make sense of the situation. How could the man possibly be thinking about sex at a time like this? Didn’t he realize she almost died?

An expression of concern graced his features as he laid his pants on the rocks. Without a word, he settled down beside her, and the unyielding muscle of his arms pulled her against his hot skin. His mouth, warm and searching, crashed down on her lips, while his hands ran up and down her spine, prickling the numbness with the friction.

If his intent had been to keep her attention diverted, he was successful as her body ardently responded to his touch. She eagerly returned his kisses, and a husky, throaty moan escaped her lips. Somewhere in the distance, she heard pleading for more.

“I’m trying to warm you up, you fool,” he said on a chuckle. “Not make love to you. If you keep it up…”

Realizing his intent, Sam came to her senses, and noticed warmth flowed through her body again, crawling up her spine to her face in a heated rush. What was wrong with her? She damned near attacked him…and on a bed of rocks no less.

“You okay? You scared the shit out of me.”

The worry in his stare bombarded her, and she refused to let the embarrassment of her actions filter in. She never had anyone look out for her, and she’d much rather remain under the spell of his concerned gaze. When he stared at her like that, she almost believed he loved her, too. At least, she could cling to the delusion for now.

After all, it was a beautiful dream.