“She looks interesting and sweet.”
“Huh? She who?”
Jon pointed. “The pretty blonde with Roman.”
Sawyer spun around. Walton’s assistant strolled down the trail wearing a bathing suit beneath a bright pink net cover-up. Though she was on the short side, toned legs tanned to a golden brown seemed to go on forever. Sawyer dragged his gaze upward to land on blue eyes sparkling with animation. Tilting her head back, she laughed at something his newest hire had said. Short, honey-blond hair swirled around her face.
Odd, he’d never found Roman Engel all that amusing. The kid was young, early twenties, but efficient and skilled at guiding a raft through the roughest waters. He didn’t usually have a whole lot to say. Not necessarily a negative since witty conversation wasn’t high on Sawyer’s priority list when it came to hiring guides. He’d been relieved to find someone—anyone—qualified to take Cory’s place on short notice after his number two employee had gotten clipped by a car in a crosswalk the previous weekend.
Seeing the two blond heads inch closer together as Roman helped Devin over a rocky stretch of trail soured Sawyer’s mood. Not that there was one good reason why it should. He certainly had no intention of starting something in that direction. If Hinsdale’s aide was attracted to a long-haired drifter, making a move on her wouldn’t get him anywhere. Even if he was interested. Which he wasn’t. Not to mention the kid had to be at least a few years her junior…but maybe she had a thing for younger men.
Fine by him. Hot body aside, the life of a political assistant sounded about as enticing as a lobotomy. Especially being trapped in a cement metropolis like Washington, DC. Just the thought of that kind of confinement gave Sawyer the willies.
Fingers snapped in front of his face. “Hello, I asked who came with the congressman.”
He blinked, then focused briefly on Jon before glancing back at the group following his guide down the trail. “The blonde with Roman is Walton’s assistant, and the tall, balding guy in the camouflage print shirt is his brother-in-law. I’ll have to tactfully suggest he wear a hat, or his head will be fried to a crisp before the day is over. The younger boy in the preppy shorts and polo shirt is Hinsdale’s nephew, and the scowling delinquent is his son. Walton rousted out all his male relatives for this trip to show he’s both a man’s man and a family man.”
Jon fisted his hands on his hips. “The other two are with the media, then?”
“Yep, we’ll have full TV coverage for this trip. That’s why I asked you and Roman to wear company logo T-shirts. Might as well get a little extra publicity for Wilde Waters in any footage they shoot.”
One gray brow rose. “What, no Secret Service? I’m disappointed. I’ve been trying to wrap my mind around the idea of men in suits, paddling through rapids.”
Sawyer grinned. “I inquired about that in an email. Walton’s aide responded that he’d declined protection when it was offered. Maybe he didn’t feel it fit his common man image.”
“Having someone dog my footsteps would give me the heebie-jeebies. I don’t blame him for blowing off the glorified bodyguards.” Jon shrugged one shoulder. “Well, since the gang’s all here, go give your safety speech so we can shove off. I assume Gregor already left?”
“He took the tents and food with him in the oar boat and should have camp set up by the time we get to our stopping point for the day.” Sawyer glanced behind him at the river. After a recent rainstorm, the water was running high for September. “Let’s hope we don’t have any problems along this stretch.”
Pulling sunglasses from his pocket, Jon cleaned them on the hem of his T-shirt and squinted over at the group as they reached the bottom of the steep trail. “The three and four man rafts are easy enough to manage. How do you intend to divvy up the group?”
“Since no one has any experience, they can divide up however they like. We’ll be doing the lion’s share of the paddling.”
“Fine by me. I’m up for the challenge. Based on appearances and my keen observational powers, I’d guess one of the media hounds, the woman and the brother-in-law will pull their own weight. Maybe split them up to balance the rafts. If the others are useless, it won’t matter so much.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Sawyer grabbed the stack of life vests. “Let’s do this.”
Fifteen minutes later, they pushed off, and Sawyer settled into the rhythm of the river. At the front of the raft, the congressman’s son kicked back and closed his eyes, making no pretense at helping. The journalist, Liam Kennedy, had a white-knuckled grip on his paddle and breathed hard through his mouth. Since they hadn’t even reached the first set of rapids, Sawyer prayed the man wouldn’t hyperventilate before they stopped for lunch.
Devin met his gaze, glanced toward the other two, then rolled her eyes. At least she seemed relaxed. And, she’d been the first to claim a spot in his raft. Since a steady view of those incredible legs for the next few hours wasn’t exactly a hardship, his mood had lightened considerably.
“This is fun. I haven’t been rafting in years, not since my friend Ainslee and I took a daytrip on the Hudson when we were both living in New York.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” He cleared his throat. “How do you like working for Walton?”
She tore her gaze away from the dense evergreen forest surrounding them and smiled. “The man’s a dynamo, which makes the work exhausting at times but never boring.” She shot a glance toward the reporter in the front of the raft then lowered her voice. “I thought Walton was crazy when he decided to run for president, but I honestly think he might pull it off.”
“Presidential aide sounds a lot better than congressional aide. I imagine you’re almost as anxious as he is about the election’s outcome.”
Her nose scrunched up. “You’d think, but if he wins, I’ll probably quit. I’d never be able to take the kind of pressure that revolves around the White House.”
Sawyer adjusted their course to avoid a boulder. “You seem pretty competent to me.”
“Oh, I am. I guess I should have said I don’t want that kind of pressure. Honestly, after four years, I’ve had about enough of DC. All this travel for campaigning is getting old fast.” She sighed. “It was exciting at first, but at this point, I’m tired of living out of a suitcase. And I miss my dog.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind a nomadic lifestyle, but then I only live this way for a few months each summer. What do you do with your dog when you’re on the road?”
“Tiny hangs out with my parents in Vermont. He’s been up there for a few months now. God only knows when I’ll be able to reclaim him.”
Digging in with the paddle, he sent the raft cruising into the main current. “Tiny? What is he, a Chihuahua?”
Devin snorted with laughter. “Hardly, but he was the runt of the litter, hence his name. Tiny’s a Harlequin Great Dane. Outweighs me by about thirty pounds.”
“Good God.”
“You can understand why I don’t travel with him.” Another sigh slipped out, and her eyes darkened. “The problem isn’t just my schedule. Most of the people I’ve met in Washington aren’t as genuine as Walton. After November, I may just bow out no matter what the outcome of the election.”
“To do what?”
She shrugged. “It would depend on where I find work. I grew up in Small Town, USA, first in Iowa, then later in Vermont. Thank God I escaped my podunk roots to go to college in New York City.” Her sober gaze met his. “I’ll admit I was struggling to make ends meet when I met the congressman. The job with Walton happened kind of by accident, and while I’ve enjoyed the challenge