Chapter 10
If the canoe launch was one of the last things Blaze saw before she died, at least the area was pretty. The creek glistened, and tall grasses and trees rustled in the breeze.
“Who knows how to swim?” Anson asked.
Blaze rolled her lips inward as her fingers latched onto the straps of her life jacket.
Not only could she not raise her hand, but nightmares about drowning and slimy sea creatures had deprived her of so much sleep the night before that she felt a little like she was floating.
Would that translate to floating if she capsized?
Unlikely. The life jacket had better work.
Around her, the students raised their hands to indicate they could swim. Other than Blaze, the only hold outs were Mercy and the high schoolers who’d paid extra to rent kayaks.
Anson’s eyes tracked the kayakers as they unloaded their boats and carried them to the launch. “And who knows how to steer a canoe?”
Again, Blaze kept both hands lowered.
With a clunk, Carter situated his kayak’s nose in the water.
“Hey, guys, hold up until we’re all ready to go,” Anson said.
“We won’t go far.” Carter slid his paddle into the seat and nestled a fully loaded backpack into the cargo space behind the small backrest.
His four friends lined up behind him.
Meanwhile, one of the guides from the outfitter took up station beside Anson, waiting his turn to address the group. Two other guides continued lining up the canoes.
Carter hopped into his kayak. Anson excused himself from the group and went over to deal with him.
The guide, a teenager in board shorts and a T-shirt, focused on the leaders.
“There’s not much to know today. Follow the black-and-white arrows on the trees when you come to a fork, but when in doubt, keep going downstream.
Just past the pick-up point, there’s a bridge that’s too low to pass under, so you can’t miss it.
The picnic area is also pretty obvious—it has picnic tables. ”
A few people chuckled.
Blaze fought with the mental picture of being brushed out of her canoe by a low bridge. Her banana-and-coffee breakfast churned in her stomach.
“Just before the picnic area is the one tricky spot on the route, the S-curve. There, it gets narrower and twists. To keep it exciting, there are two trees that decided to come down, like, in the curvy part. Just stick to the middle and you’ll be fine. ’Kay?”
Most definitely not.
“Thanks so much.” Ray, one of the Branching Out leaders, shook the guide’s hand.
Why were they even called guides? They weren’t joining the group on the stream.
The vans that carried the group and all the canoes and kayaks to the launch rumbled to life, and the last guide scrambled inside with a jaunty wave.
Moments later, she was officially stranded—no way forward but the boats.
She trailed the others toward the water. Carter and his friends were already out of sight. Sydney and some high school students launched next. Anson stood at the water’s edge, getting kids settled into canoes and assigning leaders to pairings.
The group dwindled, and the knots in Blaze’s stomach cinched tighter and tighter.
“I want to ride with Amelia and Hadley.” Mercy’s voice sounded distant, as if Blaze’s head was under a pillow.
“Sorry, but you girls are going to have to split up.” Anson dragged another canoe into place. “Only three people can ride in a canoe. Since you can’t swim, Mercy, you’ll have to stay with Blaze.”
Mercy’s laugh obliterated the imaginary pillow, and her next statement blared like a tornado siren. “Blaze can’t swim or steer either.” The girl hooked her thumbs in the straps of her life jacket and stuck one knobby knee to the side as she shifted her weight. “She’s afraid of water.”
Anson’s gaze swung to Blaze. Hadn’t he noticed her clinging to her life jacket for dear sanity when he’d polled the group? He rested his hands on his hips, near where his white T-shirt met his green swimming trunks. Afraid? He mouthed the question, as though subtlety were still an option.
She struggled to keep her chin up as memories of her nightmares made her shift her feet.
In some of the dreams, seaweed encased her ankles and pulled her under.
In others, fish attacked. Logically, neither thing would happen.
Emotionally, she wasn’t ready to risk it.
She tugged her life vest tighter. Underneath, the waterproof pouch holding her phone bit into her collarbone.
Anson scanned the dwindling crowd at the canoe launch. Ray was about to push away from the sandy bank with two Branching Out students until Anson motioned him to stop. “Can you hang back?”
Anson, Ray, and Nolan talked among themselves, then Ray paddled away with the last two boys.
Hadley clung to Mercy. “Please, Pastor Anson? Let us stay together.”
Mercy grabbed Amelia’s hand. “I’ll sit on the floor. I don’t need a seat.”
At least Mercy wasn’t turning her back on the friend she’d invited.
Anson and Nolan exchanged a look.
Nolan nodded. “Mercy’s the only one of them that can’t swim, and they’re all in life jackets.”
“All right,” Anson said. “But you three are going to have to listen to everything he tells you, okay?”
The girls cheered, but Blaze’s stomach plummeted.
This arrangement left Anson to ride alone with Blaze.
As Nolan and the girls loaded up, she fiddled with the nylon strap on her life jacket.
Kids under the age of thirteen were required to wear them.
Blaze was the only non-Rooted paddler who hadn’t stowed hers under her seat.
Anson hauled the last canoe as close to the water as he could with the girls still getting situated.
Blaze peered down at the metal seats. “I thought it wasn’t important to know how to swim for this.”
“A few places are too deep to stand. Besides, someone in each canoe has to know how to steer.”
“It can’t be that tricky.”
“Better safe than sorry.” He packed the remaining gear into the last canoe while Blaze eyed the road out. Hiking back to the outfitter’s lodge would take a while, but she’d rather hike than drown. Why had she committed to this?
A squeal from Mercy drew Blaze’s attention.
Nolan laughed as he wiggled in his seat, rocking the boat. “You don’t like turbulence?”
Amelia gripped both sides, and Mercy and Hadley launched shrill objections. But their smiles told another story. If that had been her, Blaze would’ve insisted on a different escort.
“Okay, okay.” Nolan quit rocking the boat and pushed them into the stream. “Smooth sailing from here, then.”
Soon, they slid around a bend and out of sight.
The remaining canoe scraped as Anson dragged it into the water. His T-shirt pulled taut across his back and shoulders as he waded knee-deep, leaving only the point of the canoe on dry land. He dipped his chin, indicating the seat closest to him. “I’ll keep it steady for you.”
She pointed to the closer bench. “Why can’t I sit on this side?”
“Because then you’d have to steer.”
“Maybe I want to steer.” She’d seen how far Mercy’s boat tipped. She’d rather not traipse the length of the canoe.
He straightened, the canoe bobbing against his legs. “You don’t know how.”
“I’m sure you’ll teach me.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re afraid of water.”
“So?”
“If you’re afraid, you should want to be in the best possible hands.”
His hands? Her breath fluttered with … must be fear, because it certainly wasn’t attraction. “Maybe I’d feel better if I were in control.”
“Even if you don’t know what you’re doing?” The skepticism in his voice contrasted with the peaceful bird calls and trickling water.
She nodded once, more definitively than she felt.
Anson scoffed, but amusement lit his eyes. “That’s a surefire way to fail.”
He wasn’t wrong. “Well, my name is Blaze. Surefire failure is kind of my thing.”
His eyebrows lowered toward a scowl.
Better move things along before he dug into that. She stabbed her hands onto her hips. “This isn’t just some point of male pride, is it? You’re actually good at this?”
He laid a hand over his heart. “I, Anson Marsh, solemnly swear to protect you from the raging torrent that is Pine Gully Creek.” The water sloshed as if to demand more respect.
“Have I mentioned the person in back has to work harder? And in the front, you can enjoy the scenery instead of staring at the back of my head all day.”
Did that mean he would be staring at the back of her head all day? She chewed her lip and eyed the canoe. He’d better pay more attention to the water than her head.
Anson waved her forward. “Come on, or we’ll never catch up to the group.” He bent, grasping the bow of the canoe. “It’s going to wobble, but I won’t let it tip.”
If he did, she was out of here. The sand sucked at her slides as she stepped into the cool water. When she lifted her foot to get in the boat, the flap of her sandal flung water across Anson’s seat. She sucked in a breath and waited for a reprimand.
Instead, he nodded like he’d expected it and motioned her forward. “It’s most stable when you keep a low center of gravity.”
She crouched so her hands hovered above either side of the canoe and crept ahead. Anson maintained his hold on the bow. As she stepped over her seat and into the nose of the boat, her shin brushed his thumb.
He released his hold suddenly, and the boat rocked. She plopped onto the bench. Was there … a problem?
He sloshed to the shore. A moment later, he returned with a paddle. “Hold it like this. And paddle like this.” He reached the paddle forward, then drew it back. “Keep your body upright in your seat and reach with your arms, then twist your core. Nothing crazy or we’ll capsize.”
“You promised we wouldn’t.”
“No.” His voice rumbled low. “I promised to protect you from the river. That includes if we capsize, but I can’t protect you from yourself. If you do gymnastics up here, you’ll tip us.”
“Gymnastics? You’re seriously overestimating my athleticism.”