And that sucked because she actually liked that guy. She’d almost kissed that guy. If only he hadn’t let go of her hand and backed away last night, she would have made a move.
A rumbling in the distance snapped Corrie out of her thoughts. The others didn’t notice. But no . . . something wasn’t right.
She stood in the raft, finally catching Ford’s attention.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Shh.” She craned her neck to see in front of them. There.
Rapids.
“We’ve got rapids.” She rushed to sit. “Everyone, keep calm.”
“Are they gonna flip us over?” Jon asked, all the color draining from his face.
“I don’t know. I can’t see how big they are.” Shit. This was a bad idea. They had no idea what was on this river. For all they knew, they were about to head into class V rapids. And they were still far from any potential waterfalls.
Right?
Shit. Corrie reached for the ziplocked map and rechecked the topo lines. Phew. Didn’t look like there were falls this far up the river. Hopefully that meant just a short section of rapids and then smooth sailing.
“What should we do?” Memo asked.
“Keep paddling. And try to keep the raft straight. But if you fall out, try to swim to the bank. And don’t jump in after anyone. The last thing we need is to save two people instead of one.” She glanced over at Ford. “Ford, you should take off your glasses.”
“But I need them to see.”
“Well, you’re not going to see anything if they fall off in the river, so unless you have a spare pair, I’d ditch them now.”
He stared at her for two solid beats before tearing off his glasses and diving toward the gear to tuck them into a pocket. His hands trembled as he fidgeted with a buckle, dropping the glasses into the raft before finally managing to find a secure place in his bag.
“Don’t forget to secure that rope so the bags don’t fall out,” Corrie called over to him.
But he couldn’t work fast enough. His hands malfunctioned as if he were a bumbling fool.
“Ford!”
“I’m trying!”
“Ford, grab your paddle! Just get back! Get back!”
Whoosh!
The first crash against the rapids hit with a spray, knocking Ford backward into the raft.
“Are you okay?” she called out to him.
“Yeah.”
He climbed to his perch on the side of the raft and began paddling. Corrie called out commands to the group, though each bump and spin threw them off their rhythm. Under normal circumstances the cool spray would have been refreshing on a sweltering day like today. Under normal circumstances, though, they wouldn’t have been in a boat in the middle of a Mexican jungle with limited supplies and no guide.
Shits and Oh fucks were mixed in with Watch outs and Be carefuls. The first few seconds were a chaotic blur, with the raft spinning every which way, and never the way Corrie intended. She needed to get control.
“Guys! Stop. Listen to me. Memo, paddle hard. Ford, sink your paddle to help turn. Jon, get your paddle out of the water.”
She commanded them back into a straight line, directing who should paddle and when. And they actually listened. Even Ford.
“Okay, looks like we’re almost out of it,” she said.
The rapids settled as they neared the clearing. Jon and Memo turned to celebrate, but they celebrated too soon. With a thwack, the front of the raft tipped up, lifting out of the water. Jon and Memo clung to the raft. But Corrie couldn’t hang on. She fell backward into the water with a smack. Something hit her in the chest. Something from the boat. She tried to grab it, but her head went underwater, flooding her eyes so she couldn’t see. Her body bobbed in the river as she caught breaths between submersions, though she still took a fair bit of water into her lungs.
For exactly three seconds the thought that she might drown crossed her mind. Until a firm, strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her to the boat. Having already felt that arm around her waist once today, she knew exactly who it was.
“What are you doing?” she managed to spit out. “I said don’t jump in after anyone.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a good thing I don’t listen to you,” Ford said, reaching his free arm to the raft and slinging Corrie to the edge with the other as Jon and Memo reached to help her in. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“I had it,” she spat out, wiping her matted hair away from her face. Never mind that brief moment of panic. She had a life vest, after all. And they were right at the end of the whitewater.
Ford lifted himself into the boat without assistance from the guys. “Okay. Keep telling yourself that.” Without looking at her, he crossed the boat, went over to his bag, and pulled out his glasses.
“Are you okay, Dr. Mejía?” Memo asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Aside from the fact that she looked like a wet rat, that was, and that she’d needed a man—and not just any man, but specifically Ford—to save her. “Maybe we should find a spot to camp for the night sooner rather than later.” It wasn’t much earlier than they’d planned to stop, anyway.
They paddled leisurely for another fifteen minutes until they finally came upon a location with an easy pull-out spot but that was also up away from the riverbank in case it rained. Once on dry land, Corrie tossed her life jacket to the ground and squeezed the water out of her hair. Every part of her was soaked. Including her ego.
“Jon, would you mind tossing me my bag?” she asked as Jon and Memo unpacked their things. She turned around to face the boat and then immediately froze, her mouth dropping at the sight of Ford on the other side, lifting his waterlogged shirt off his body.
And oh . . . my . . . fucking . . . God. Ford wasn’t built for adventures. Ford was the adventure.
Corrie had been with lots of attractive guys. But they were always more of the Oh, good, he looks like his profile pic kind of guys. The ones who didn’t disappoint when they walked into the bar or restaurant for the date. But she’d never been with a guy who’d caused her to stare. Or drool.
Which was exactly what Ford was doing to her right now.
She couldn’t pull her eyes away. Instead, they shifted from his shoulders to his pecs, then to his biceps, followed by his abs. Each area well defined. Smooth, with a little smattering of hair on his chest. Toned and muscular, but not too bulky. He clearly spent time in the gym, but not all his time.
Why? Why did she have to be attracted to him? Of all people.
“Um, Dr. Mejía?” Jon said, finally tearing her attention away from Ford’s physique. “I don’t . . . I don’t see your bag. In fact, there are only three dry bags and the equipment and food bags.”
“What?!”
She ran over to the raft and started sorting through the packs. No, no, no! Her bag was gone, and with it, the tent that had been strapped to it.
“It’s got to be somewhere,” Ford said, slinging the wet shirt over his shoulder with a slap as it made contact with his skin. Couldn’t he put it back on? Did he have to torture her at this exact moment?
Corrie’s eyes narrowed at Ford. This was his fault. “Well, it’s not. I told you to secure the bags.”