Chapter Nine
“Whose idea was this?” Eric grumbled. “Seriously. I’m a CEO, not a fashion designer. I’ve put up with enough over the past eight days. This goes beyond.”
Wanda’s laugh rang out over the water. She splashed him with her paddle. “Suck it up, Princess Prissy Pants. It’s not that hard.”
“How exactly are we supposed to make an item of clothing from stuff we find in the woods? While we’re in a canoe?
I came along on the bus trip. I got dumped in the lake at least two dozen times.
I played childish games. We even managed to win the six-legged race with Fitzy, Lacy, Quinton, and Oscar.
” He risked turning his head to glance at her.
He’d gotten better at looking around without swamping them.
“How much does a grown man have to take?”
“Oh, for the love of plants, that’s a lot of fertilizer you’re spewing there, Mr. CEO.
This trip has been an absolute riot. I’ve met so many new people, some of whom are going to become close friends.
The games are fun. The whole idea is to let your hair down and enjoy yourself.
I’ve seen you laughing and mixing it up with your staff.
Did someone poop in your Corn Flakes? Or did you just get up on the wrong side of your sleeping bag?
” She paused for a second, then added, “Paddle on the other side. We’re heading for that long grass. ”
He’d done some weird stuff in his lifetime, including escaping, unscathed, from a mini Canadian version of the running of the bulls.
Only the bulls were mid-sized calves at a rodeo.
The trip had started fun, but he was getting worried about work.
He was having trouble sleeping. He’d barely gotten three hours last night. His insomnia was dragging him down.
They pulled up to the bank; he hopped out and held out his hand to help Wanda stand and get out of the boat. “Sorry. I’ve never been away from work this long, and it’s worrying me.” He pulled the canoe further ashore.
“Come on, tomorrow should be the last day. Then a bus trip home. The office will live to see another day. Besides,” she grinned at him, half evil, half impish, “you’re about to learn macrame.”
He blinked at her, certain he’d misheard. “What the what, now?”
“Mac-ra-may.” She added sarcastic emphasis to all three syllables.
“The ancient art of tying knots. I’ll show you how to make a grass skirt.
You can do that while I fashion an A-line top from branches.
We’ll win this contest.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“And we’ll have enough points to win the grand prize.
Whatever it turns out to be. I’ve heard speculation that it’s a week-long vacation at a resort in BC. ”
He bit back a sour response and said, “Take me to your grass.” He hated to admit, even to himself, that during daylight hours he was enjoying himself immensely and could almost forget about work. At night, he lay awake, worrying.
For an hour, they collected long sheaves of grass and thin leafy branches, mostly from willow and birch trees. They sat on the rocky shore, eating lunch, while she showed him what to do. It was easy in concept, but his large hands struggled with the execution.
She sat directly in front of him, and working backward, holding his hands in hers, she patiently moved his fingers and the grass the way they needed to go.
For a moment, he was lost in the feel of her softer hands in his, and in the differences between his massive paws and her delicate hands with their pale pink painted nails. He appreciated her easygoing attitude.
“How are your nails unchipped?” He looked up and nearly drowned in her violet eyes. His heart fluttered, and for a second, he thought it was a heart attack.
“They’re super tough. I use an acrylic polish that’s set with UV light. It’s almost unchippable. Of course, it’s super hard to get off later.” She shrugged. “I work in dirt, day in and day out. It’s my one vice…except for junk food. Do you know what I’d give for red licorice right now?”
“I’d give up my car for a hot shower.”
“You should have come swimming with us yesterday. The water was cold, but I feel so much cleaner now–almost human. Though I’d do something pretty sketchy for a long soak in the tub.
My muscles are killing me.” She groaned and rotated her shoulders before turning her attention back to the work she’d paused.
He let her help him for another few moments, though he was certain he had the technique down pat. Somehow, he was loath to let the contact go.
“Got it?” she asked.
“I do. Thanks.” Twenty minutes later, he said, “Okay, it’s wide enough now, but it’s too short. Now what?” He had a forty-inch wide, ten-inch long, semi-braided strip with long tails hanging down all across.
“Carefully tie more grass to the ends of each hanging piece. Use two overhand knots, one on top of the other. Gently, though.”
“Got it.”
“How’s this look?” She stood up and slipped a poncho-like weaving of branches over her head. “Ow. It’s pokey.” She laughed. “I’m glad I only have to wear it long enough to display it.”
“It looks great, but you might want to get rid of that spider.” He jabbed a finger toward the lower edge of her makeshift top.
“What?” she squealed. “Where?” She batted at herself and hopped about.
“Hold still.” He leaned forward, plucked a small black spider off, and set it on the ground nearby. “It’s just a spider.”
She shuddered. “I don’t mind bugs. Except spiders and slugs.” She shivered again, removed her wooden top, and sat back down. “Here, I’ll help. I’ll start at this end. We should hurry; we don’t want to be late getting back. We might miss supper.”
Half an hour later, Eric stood and tied the makeshift skirt around his waist. It overlapped, and he was grateful for the long ties they’d added.
“What are you doing?” She grinned up at him.
“Test driving the fruits of my labor. Every new product needs a test phase.” He swiveled and twisted his hips in a terrible parody of a hula dance. She jumped up and joined him, spinning and turning until they were both breathless with laughter.
Finally, regaining control, they set their apparel in the bottom of the canoe, and cast off. “Tally-ho,” Eric called out, feeling much more cheerful since their stop. He’d even managed to resist checking in on the office. His father could handle anything that came up. Right?
As they floated along, carefully avoiding rocks now that the river had widened once again, they reached a point where the river split into two smaller streams. This wasn’t the first time it split, but usually one side looked more passable than the other.
“Which one do we take?” she asked.
“I doubt it matters, or someone would have told us. Nobody said anything about it this morning.”
She wondered how he knew; he’d been off, behind the group, probably checking his phone. He needed to throw that thing away and relax. He’d pulled it out twice while they were stopped earlier, but he’d just looked at the dark screen and shoved it back into his pocket. Maybe its battery was dead.
“Which way do you think?” she asked, peering around him for a better view. The left side was in full sun, the right had more shade, though she supposed that really didn’t make much difference. They only had about an hour and a half, by her estimation, before they reached camp.
“I think the right looks deeper and smoother. I say we go right.”
She considered his answer and the fact that she had no memory of anyone talking about the split. She said, “Right it is. Paddle on the left to help push us that way.”
The banks were higher over here and growing higher still as they passed between two hills. The banks started as grassy with tempting clumps of pretty wildflowers. She’d love to collect some seeds; she had a good business of people wanting native plants and grasses for their yards.
The grassy slopes progressed to become more and more rocky. Luckily, they wouldn’t need to get out along this stretch. Those hills would be difficult to climb.
“Hey,” Eric called a few minutes later. “I’m freezing. Can you control the canoe alone while I put on a hoodie?”
“Yuppers. Happy to. And when you’re done, I’ll slip into mine. Go ahead.” She was freezing, despite the effort she was putting into paddling. When the river’s flow increased, they paddled less, saving their energy for the slow areas and spots with heavy rapids.
Muscles rippled across his back and shoulders as he located his zip-front sweater and pulled it on. It was only seconds until the delectable sight was gone, leaving her disappointed.
“Done.” He picked up his paddle and looked around, obviously ready to paddle if needed. “Go ahead and grab your sweater.”
She leaned forward and rummaged in her bag. The hoodie should have been on top, but it had somehow got buried. How had she managed that? “Gotcha!” she crowed and yanked it from beneath some other items.
She slipped it over her head.
“What did you say?” Eric called and added something she didn’t hear.
“Huh?” she asked when her head popped through the hole. “I didn’t hear you.” She slipped one arm in and struggled to get the other in. It was ridiculously hard to put on a pullover hoodie in a moving boat. She probably should have chosen a different sweater, but this one was snuggly and warm.
“I said, rock!” Eric shouted. “On the left.”
“Yikes!” With her hoodie half on and half off, she scrambled for her paddle, nearly knocking it into the water. “Paddle! Paddle faster,” she screamed. Thank heaven he was on the correct side for pushing them out of the rock’s path.
“Hang on,” he shouted, “we’re going to hit.”
She grabbed the gunwale with one hand, clutched her paddle with the other, and prayed for a glancing blow. They’d already survived a few of those. But this rock was big!
The bow slipped past the rock, and she thought they’d make it by. She let out a whoop. And the canoe careened off an unseen rock on the other side and then ricocheted back into the first rock. The boat jerked upward and slammed back down.