just matter-of-fact. I could barely understand the question over my own relief.
“Sure,” I said, then regretted it, as her eyes danced with fire again. “I mean, no-no, I’m sorry. I love birds, but I don’t know much about waterfowl. My knowledge is more about songbirds, I guess.” Hap moaned, and she gave him an appraising look.
“I guess it’s no use scolding him,” she said. “He didn’t know what he was doing.”
I wasn’t sure if she meant the dog or me.
“Did he hurt anything?” I asked.
The large white cranes whooped at us again. The sound was so loud, I thought for sure Hap would have run away in fright, if I hadn’t been holding his collar.
“I don’t think so,” she said, peering through the reeds to the straw island the two birds were loudly defending. “We should get out of here, though, before they abandon the nest. If she’s hatching eggs, they’re worth more than their weight in gold. It’s a federal offense to disturb them, too.”
I was covered in grime and my dog was a trouble-maker who roused protected wildlife. I felt lower than dirt. To think, I’d driven all this way in hopes of running into Wren again—and now I was putting her favorite bird at risk.
After we waded our way out of the marsh, I put Hap in the back of the truck, holding his collar with one hand and fumbling with the other for a beach towel I kept in the cab for emergencies. I was about to pat him dry, when I noticed Wren shivering on the banks of the marsh.
I attached the leash he should have been wearing all along to his collar, and then fastened it to a hook in the bed of the truck. He did what wet dogs do—shaking all over, christening me with his muddy thanks.
I went back to the edge of the marsh and wrapped the towel around Wren’s shoulders. “Smart of you to strip before you dipped,” she said, shielding her eyes with her palm against the bright sun.
“You’re not mad?” I offered her a hand to help her up.
“I’m not thrilled, but I’ll get over it. Not the first time I’ve taken an unplanned dip after a rare bird. I’ve got a blanket in the back of my car and an extra pair of jeans. How’s the heater in that old pick up of yours?”
I reached down and got my clothes. “It’s not bad.”
Maybe I haven’t blown this after all, I thought. I liked the way she was looking at me, but I still wanted to get my clothes on before I froze off anything important.
“Go start your truck,” she said. “I’ll meet you there in a minute.”
I was freezing and covered in mud, but I don’t think I’d ever smiled so hard. Not for a long time. By the time Wren opened the passenger side of the truck and climbed in, I was wound tighter than an eight-day clock.
She put her dry jeans on the back of the seat and pushed the blanket between us. “Do you mind if I dry my shirt on the dash? I’ll have to take it off.”
I covered my eyes. “I promise I won’t look. But won’t someone see you?”
“This place is going to be deserted the rest of the day.”
“Oh.”
“And who says I mind if you look?”
She pulled her top off, and for a moment I couldn’t do anything but take in her beautiful breasts, creamy white with tiny orange freckles scattered across them like the speckled shell of an egg. She wriggled out of her wet jeans and reached out for the dash of my truck, cranking the heat until hot air blew to her satisfaction. Her legs and feet were beautiful, her knees a study in fine sculpture. I felt myself fighting the desire to touch her, to stroke her, to feel every bit of her against my body.
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” she said, pointing to the pile of dry clothing stacked on my dashboard.
“Um…yeah, I guess…unless you want to wear my shirt.” I handed it to her, and her hand closed over mine again. She pulled me toward her, into a kiss.
I felt her damp chest against my own, and a tide of emotions rise in me.
“Oh, Wren,” I moaned, pulling away for air
“Sure,” I said, then regretted it, as her eyes danced with fire again. “I mean, no-no, I’m sorry. I love birds, but I don’t know much about waterfowl. My knowledge is more about songbirds, I guess.” Hap moaned, and she gave him an appraising look.
“I guess it’s no use scolding him,” she said. “He didn’t know what he was doing.”
I wasn’t sure if she meant the dog or me.
“Did he hurt anything?” I asked.
The large white cranes whooped at us again. The sound was so loud, I thought for sure Hap would have run away in fright, if I hadn’t been holding his collar.
“I don’t think so,” she said, peering through the reeds to the straw island the two birds were loudly defending. “We should get out of here, though, before they abandon the nest. If she’s hatching eggs, they’re worth more than their weight in gold. It’s a federal offense to disturb them, too.”
I was covered in grime and my dog was a trouble-maker who roused protected wildlife. I felt lower than dirt. To think, I’d driven all this way in hopes of running into Wren again—and now I was putting her favorite bird at risk.
After we waded our way out of the marsh, I put Hap in the back of the truck, holding his collar with one hand and fumbling with the other for a beach towel I kept in the cab for emergencies. I was about to pat him dry, when I noticed Wren shivering on the banks of the marsh.
I attached the leash he should have been wearing all along to his collar, and then fastened it to a hook in the bed of the truck. He did what wet dogs do—shaking all over, christening me with his muddy thanks.
I went back to the edge of the marsh and wrapped the towel around Wren’s shoulders. “Smart of you to strip before you dipped,” she said, shielding her eyes with her palm against the bright sun.
“You’re not mad?” I offered her a hand to help her up.
“I’m not thrilled, but I’ll get over it. Not the first time I’ve taken an unplanned dip after a rare bird. I’ve got a blanket in the back of my car and an extra pair of jeans. How’s the heater in that old pick up of yours?”
I reached down and got my clothes. “It’s not bad.”
Maybe I haven’t blown this after all, I thought. I liked the way she was looking at me, but I still wanted to get my clothes on before I froze off anything important.
“Go start your truck,” she said. “I’ll meet you there in a minute.”
I was freezing and covered in mud, but I don’t think I’d ever smiled so hard. Not for a long time. By the time Wren opened the passenger side of the truck and climbed in, I was wound tighter than an eight-day clock.
She put her dry jeans on the back of the seat and pushed the blanket between us. “Do you mind if I dry my shirt on the dash? I’ll have to take it off.”
I covered my eyes. “I promise I won’t look. But won’t someone see you?”
“This place is going to be deserted the rest of the day.”
“Oh.”
“And who says I mind if you look?”
She pulled her top off, and for a moment I couldn’t do anything but take in her beautiful breasts, creamy white with tiny orange freckles scattered across them like the speckled shell of an egg. She wriggled out of her wet jeans and reached out for the dash of my truck, cranking the heat until hot air blew to her satisfaction. Her legs and feet were beautiful, her knees a study in fine sculpture. I felt myself fighting the desire to touch her, to stroke her, to feel every bit of her against my body.
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” she said, pointing to the pile of dry clothing stacked on my dashboard.
“Um…yeah, I guess…unless you want to wear my shirt.” I handed it to her, and her hand closed over mine again. She pulled me toward her, into a kiss.
I felt her damp chest against my own, and a tide of emotions rise in me.
“Oh, Wren,” I moaned, pulling away for air
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