“You really have your act together. I’m a little envious. I—”
“Sorry to interrupt, but I wasn’t sure which tent…” Charles Monahan stopped beside them and flashed a quick smile. “After a day in the sun, I’m exhausted. I try to stay in shape, but I guess I’m not used to so much fresh air.”
Sawyer stood. “Paddling burns a lot of energy, but after a good night’s sleep, you’ll be ready for another big day.” He glanced toward the congressman who was drinking beer and laughing at something, Yancy, the TV cameraman had said. “You’ll be bunking with Walton in the larger green tent. The two boys can share the red one.” He paused. “If that works for you?”
“Sounds fine.” Charles turned away and nearly ran into Dwight, who’d stepped up behind him. “Whoops, didn’t see you there.”
The kid rolled his eyes. “I have to share a tent?” He tossed a hard look over his shoulder at his cousin, reading a book with a headlamp on the far side of the fire. “With him?”
“Everyone’s sharing except Devin.” Sawyer’s voice was tight. “We don’t have room in the rafts to carry a dozen tents. You can bunk with your dad if you’d prefer.”
“Unbelievable!” Dwight sighed. “I’m not sleeping with my old man. He snores loud enough to wake the dead.”
“He does?” Charles’s tone was resigned.
“Let’s see if we can work this out…” Sawyer headed toward the area where the tents were staked out with Charles and Dwight following.
Rising to her feet, Devin went in the opposite direction to settle on a large rock near the edge of the river where the rushing current partially drowned the sound of raised voices. Not Sawyer’s, whose tone remained low and even. She couldn’t help wondering if anything shook the calm he projected. She would have been tempted to smack Dwight upside the head and tell him to suck it up. If Walton had done it a few times through the years, his son might not be such a self-entitled punk.
Then again, being single and childless, what did she know about parenting? If her biological clock had ever started to tick, observing Dwight in action would have turned it off in a hurry. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at the stars and counted her blessings. Not the least of which was fate bringing her here to introduce her to S.A. Wilde, of all people. Talent and strength, all in the same impressive package. A smile curved her lips. Getting to know him much better was even more attractive now.
By the time their river adventure was over, she’d be hard pressed to even remember Porter’s name—if the man now defusing what could become a nasty situation among his customers lived up to her undoubtedly unrealistic expectations about what could be done in a sleeping bag. After the rafting trip ended, she’d walk away with a satisfied smile on her face and put in the soul-searching she’d promised herself before she thought about seriously dating again.
Without a doubt, one of her more brilliant plans.
Based on a couple of heated glances she’d intercepted today, she was pretty sure Sawyer would be happy to accommodate her.
“Should I leave you to your meditation, or are you in the mood for company?”
She jumped then gripped the rock to keep from tumbling into the river. “Oh, wow. You startled me.”
“Sorry.” The young guide, Roman, didn’t look sorry. His lips curled up in a smile as he planted his feet and crossed his arms over a down vest patched in spots with duct tape.
“Avoiding the fracas?” She angled her chin back toward the campsite.
“They’re playing musical tents. I figure I’ll sleep wherever they dump my gear, so why contribute to the confusion?”
“I’m sure Sawyer will come up with a solution. He seems good at smoothing over problems.”
“Him and the congressman, both. The guy went into immediate diplomatic mode to deactivate the situation. He probably doesn’t want that journalist telling the whole world his number one son is a little shit.”
“You don’t like Dwight?”
Roman shrugged. “I don’t like his type. I always had to work for everything I ever wanted. My…dad sure as hell didn’t baby me. That kid gets the world served up on a platter.”
“True enough.” Devin studied the tight line of his mouth. “It may be a little clichéd, but you’ll undoubtedly be the better man for it.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have appreciated a few breaks now and then.” He let out a breath. “Whatever. I probably shouldn’t make rude remarks about your boss’s son. My boss would probably fire my ass if he knew.”
“Then I won’t tell him.” Devin rubbed her arms as the evening chill penetrated her sweatshirt. “Do you enjoy your job?”
“It has its perks.” He pushed shoulder-length blond hair out of his eyes and gave her an up and down look. “Want to ride in my raft tomorrow?”
She glanced past him, and her gaze landed on Sawyer heading their way. “Nope.”
Roman’s snort of laughter caught her off guard. She returned her attention to him and smiled.
“Gotta love a woman who knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to speak it.”
“Glad you aren’t offended.”
He took a few steps back. “Why would I be? I only go after what I want when I stand a shot at getting it. Good night, Devin. Sleep well.”
“You, too.”
Sawyer spoke quietly to his employee as they passed then continued down to the river’s edge. “Everything okay?”
“Sure.” She scooted over on the rock and patted the spot beside her. “Are the sleeping arrangements worked out?”
“Jon is now bunking with Gregor and Roman in the largest tent, and I gave the one we vacated to Walton and moved it out of earshot of the others.”
She frowned. “So, you’re sleeping with the brother-in-law?”
“Charles is sharing a tent with his son. Said he doesn’t see Alex enough since his divorce, apparently a bone of contention with his ex-wife. Dwight has his own digs. Everyone’s happy.”
“Maybe my math is shaky, but…”
His teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “Nothing wrong with your addition. I’ll be bunking by the campfire. Sure as hell beats sharing with Dwight. I’ve known that kid since the day he was born. Let’s just say he hasn’t improved with age.”
“Geez, something we all agree on. If you get cold—”
“I won’t.”
She slid off the rock and gave him a long look. “Then I guess I won’t offer to share my tent with you.” She squeezed his shoulder then stepped away. “Good night, Sawyer. Sweet dreams.”
Chapter 3
The unmistakable sound of retching penetrated Sawyer’s sleep-fogged brain. Shit. He sat upright in his sleeping bag to peer into the unrelenting blackness of a moonless night. Nothing disturbed the silence except the steady rush of water and his own pulse drumming in his ears. Had he imagined it? Dreamed someone was in distress?
A low moan followed by more gagging answered that question. Scrambling out of his bag, he felt for the flashlight he’d left on the ground beside him, clicked it on and shielded the bright beam with his other hand. The last thing he wanted was to wake the whole camp. Walking carefully to avoid falling