he water was so cold it was numbing, and deeper than she’d expected. The current pushed her below the surface even as it tumbled her along, tossing her like a rag doll in a child’s careless grip. Instinctively she began kicking, trying to go with the current rather than fighting it, and as if rewarding her, it promptly shot her upward.

Her head broke the surface and she gasped in air. Her hair hung in her face, blinding her. She thought she heard a distant shout; then the current tumbled her under again. Rolling, she took a glancing blow to her left shoulder, but it scarcely stung; what it did do was tilt her back to the right, toward the middle of the river, and she fought for the surface once more. Somehow she got turned so she was going with the current again, swimming as hard as she could, and she popped up like a cork.

“Milla!”

The voice calling her name was rough from strain, but she knew it. She turned her head and saw Diaz behind her and to the right, swimming toward her with desperate, powerful strokes. “I’m all right!” she yelled, then felt the current tug at her again. She kicked harder, concentrating on keeping her head above water.

Diaz was a stronger swimmer, but he was heavier, and he couldn’t gain any ground on her. If she stopped swimming so hard, in order to let him catch up, the current would pull her under again. The banks rose steep and high on both sides of the river, and the water swept them along as if they were in a chute, with no way out even if they could fight their way to the side.

Ahead, the river curved to the left. A tree had fallen on the right bank, its limbs reaching almost to the water.

“Tree!” she heard Diaz roar behind her, and understood. She angled to the right, fighting to get within reaching distance of one of the limbs. Her head went under just as she gasped for air and she choked on a mouthful of water. She fought to the surface once more, but the effort and the cold were taking their toll. Her arm and leg muscles ached, and her lungs were burning. Maybe if she could catch one of the limbs, she could rest there for a minute; maybe they could even climb out that way.

It wasn’t by her efforts that she succeeded; the current obligingly pushed her to the right, where the bank was hollowed out by the water’s force. Desperately she reached up and caught a limb; the water jerked at her and the dead limb broke off in her hand, and she went under.

She was tiring rapidly, her kicks becoming less forceful, her arm motions jerky instead of smooth. Still she once more gained the surface and sucked in much-needed air, and just before the roil of water pulled her under again for what was probably the last time, a hard arm wrapped around her and held her up. The tree hadn’t stopped her, but it had slowed her enough for Diaz to catch up.

“Angle to the right!” he yelled. “That’s the side the truck is on!”

It was comforting to know that he thought they’d make it, at least, otherwise he wouldn’t have cared which side they got out on, just that they got out.

She had no idea how far the water had carried them, but the current was so swift they could already be half a mile downstream from Norman’s shack. Then, abruptly, the river widened and the current slowed.

It was still a fast current, so fast she couldn’t fight it, but at least the water smoothed out and stopped battering at her. The riverbanks were less steep, but choked with huge boulders. She could stay on top with less effort and give her burning muscles some rest, but the cold was going bone deep, and she knew they didn’t have much time left before they became too sluggish to swim.

“Catch the end of my belt and wrap it around your wrist,” Diaz said hoarsely, and a length of leather slapped the water in front of her.

She caught the belt, but said, “I’ll drag you under.”

“No you won’t. We can’t be separated. Do it!”

What he meant was, if they got separated, she was a dead woman. On the other hand, if she dragged him down, they’d both be dead.

“We don’t have much time!” he yelled. “We have to get out before we go over a waterfall!”

There was a waterfall on this river? Her blood chilled even colder. The force of the water would push them to the bottom and they’d drown, assuming they weren’t battered to death on rocks. She didn’t know what he had in mind, but she was game for anything. She clutched the belt and twisted her hand several times, wrapping the leather around her wrist.

“There’s a right bend!” He coughed, and spat out water. “Just ahead. The current is slower on the inside of a curve, so that’s our chance. Just hang on, and I’ll get us out.”

“I can kick,” she said, surprised at how guttural her tone was.

“Then kick like hell.”

She kicked like hell.

Her thigh muscles had gone beyond tired, beyond burning. Her legs were in agony, but she kicked. Diaz’s arms scissored like an automaton’s, dragging them on a diagonal through the water. Forward progress was swift, his diagonal progress was measured in inches, and the bend was coming up much too fast; they were going to get swept past it before they could make it to the slower current. She growled like an animal as a burst of adrenaline sent her surging forward, almost even with Diaz. Without the drag of her on his arm, he gained even more ground as the current swept them into the bend.

A big tree was clinging to the earth right at the water’s edge. As they passed it, Diaz reached out with his right hand and caught one of the big roots.

He stopped, but the water didn’t and neither did she. When the belt reached the end of its length, her entire body snapped backward like the end of a whip, but she didn’t lose her grip on the leather. Diaz’s face was twisted with effort, his teeth gritted, as he hung on to the root with his right hand and with the left tried to pull her against the current. She kicked, swinging her body, and suddenly the grasp of the water eased and seemed to push her against the bank on the far side of the tree. They were stretched out with the tree between them, tethered by the belt.

Milla caught one of the roots, too, and managed to wedge her feet against an underwater rock that was just past the tree. The current still pushed at her, but she locked her trembling knees and managed to hold her position.

“I’m letting go of the belt,” she managed to say. “I’m braced. How about you?”

“I’m good,” he said. She untwisted the belt and the leather floated free. For a split second she panicked as the water seemed to tug at her, as if it had just been waiting for her to release her lifeline. But she pushed back harder against the tree and held her position.

Her lungs were pumping like bellows, dragging in air for her oxygen-starved muscles. She couldn’t hear anything now except the water and her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Diaz hooked his hands under her arms from behind, and dragged her up and back, onto a shelf of rock and out of the water.

The effort seemed to take all his remaining strength, because he collapsed on his hands and knees on the rock, wheezing and groaning. Milla lay facedown where he’d let her drop, too exhausted to move. Her body felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds, as if even twitching a finger would take gargantuan effort.

The rock was in full sunshine and felt warm under her chilled body. Water streamed from their clothes and hair. She closed her eyes and listened to their laboring breaths, listened to the pound of blood through her veins. They were alive.

Maybe she dozed, or fainted, or both. After a while she managed to turn over, onto her back, and let the sunshine wash over her face. Still breathing hard, almost giddy with relief, Milla tilted her face up to the warmth.

That had been so close. She still couldn’t quite believe they’d managed to make it to the bank; she definitely knew she wouldn’t have been able to make it on her own. The water rushed and swirled only a foot beyond where Diaz lay, sucking at the rock and the stubborn tree, knowing that eventually it would claim them. Time, after all, was on the water’s side. Only Diaz’s strength had enabled them to break free of its clutch.

Still gasping a little, she said, “What happened? Why did we fall?”

He said, “The ground crumbled under the other end of the plank and tilted it.”

Her next question was “How did you know there’s a waterfall on this river?”

He was silent a minute; then he said, “There’s always a waterfall. Don’t you watch any movies?”

Overwhelmed by relief and an almost effervescent joy at being alive, she began to laugh.

Diaz had rolled onto his back beside her, his own chest heaving as he fought for breath, but now he turned his head toward her and the hard line of his mouth moved in a slight smile. He watched her for a minute, his dark eyes narrowed against the glare of the afternoon sun. Then he said, “I’d give my left nut to be inside you right now.”

Her laughter vanished as if it had never been, sucked away by the shock of his words. She’d daydreamed and fantasized and obsessed, but she’d never thought she’d have to deal with reality, and here it was, staring her in the face. Diaz? And her? The hard fact of what he’d said was so jarring that reality tilted for a moment, leaving her adrift on that warm rock with her head buzzing and adrenaline still burning through her veins. Then everything slammed back into place, and with it came a rush of carnal hunger that stunned her with its force. Diaz—and her. Her insides clenched at the thought of him on top of her, between her legs. She wanted him. She had wanted him the moment she saw him, and she wanted him now.

He’d never even really kissed her. That light comfort kiss in Juarez didn’t count.

She’d wanted this, and now reasons for backing away swarmed through her mind like locusts. If all he wanted was a quick fuck, she wasn’t the woman he was looking for, and she couldn’t imagine him wanting anything other than that. This was Diaz, after all; he wasn’t the hang-around type of man, and she wasn’t stupid enough to think she could change him. She’d been so careful not to give him any sexual reaction, any hint that she found him attractive; she’d kept it all inside, in her daydreams. But he’d known anyway; it was in those shrewd dark eyes, that knowledge.

“You’re thinking too much,” he said lazily. “It was just an observation, not a declaration of war.”

“Women always think too much.” She sniffed. “We have to, to keep things balanced.” Odd that he’d chosen “war” as a metaphor... or perhaps it was fitting. Squinting up at the sun, trying to find something solid to hold on to, since the ground had just shifted beneath her, she said, “Why do men always offer their left nut and never their right one? Is something wrong with it? Or is the right one somehow more important?”

“You wrong us.” He closed his eyes with a tired sigh, and that slight smile touched his mouth again. “A man takes both his nuts seriously.”

“In that case, I’m flattered.”

“But not interested.”

Here was where she could lightly say “Sorry” and that would be the end of it. Instead, unable to lie, she closed her own eyes and let the silence grow between them.

She felt him move as he heaved himself up; then he was propped on his elbow, leaning over her and blocking the sun. “You’d better say no,” he murmured, flattening his hand on her stomach. The heat from his palm burned through her wet clothing to her chilled skin; then he slipped his fingertips under the waistband of her jeans and she felt the heat go all the way through her.

“Not that I intend to do anything right now, anyway,” he continued. “We need to get back to the truck. A rock’s a damn uncomfortable place for what I want to do, our clothes are wet, my balls are so cold it may take me a week to find them, and we don’t have any condoms. But in a few hours things will be different, and if you don’t want to go anywhere with this, you’d better say no right now.”

He was right. She should say no.

But she didn’t. Despite all the good reasons she’d given herself just a moment before... she didn’t.

Instead she opened her eyes and turned her head toward him as he bent down to her. His lips were cold; hers were colder. But his tongue was warm, and the kiss was almost shy as he gently explored her mouth. His left hand tangled in her wet hair and he slowly deepened the kiss as he caught her waist and rolled her toward him.

The touch of that whipcord body sent a pool of warmth spreading through her insides. It was almost enough to dispel the chill, but still she suddenly shivered as the aftermath began to catch up to her.

He lifted his mouth and smoothed her hair back from her face, his gaze intent as he watched her. “We have to get to the truck and get warm. The sun will be going down soon, and we don’t want to get caught out here in wet clothes.”

“All right.” He moved back, and she struggled to a sitting position. “Do you think Norman will call the authorities, have them looking for our bodies or something?”

“I doubt it. I don’t guess you heard what he yelled.”

“I heard someone yell something, but I couldn’t tell what it was.”

“He yelled, ‘Good luck.’ “

Astounded, she blinked at him. Then she began snickering as she slowly climbed to her feet. She guessed Norman wasn’t the type to worry about what happened to anyone except himself.

Swaying, she took stock. The backpack he’d been carrying was long gone, of course. She was aching from head to foot, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the battering force of the water or if it was sheer muscle fatigue. She was lucky; she didn’t think she’d hit anything hard enough to injure herself, and she thanked God for the depth of the river, which had probably saved their lives. If it had been shallower, they likely would have been killed on some rocks.

Both her sneakers were gone, as was one sock. How that other sock had stayed on she couldn’t imagine. Her wristwatch was ruined, the face crushed. Likewise her sweater was gone, but she’d only had it around her shoulders, not buttoned.

Diaz was looking down at her feet. “You can’t walk like that,” he said, and began unbuttoning his denim shirt. He stripped it off, then took a knife from his pocket and sliced off the sleeves. Going down on one knee in front of her, he draped a sleeve over his thigh and patted it. “Put your foot here.” Gingerly balancing on one foot, she placed her other foot on the sleeve, and he swiftly wrapped the ends of the sleeve around and around it, then tied a knot on top. After repeating the process with her other foot, he said, “How does that feel? It isn’t like having a leather sole, but is it enough protection for you to walk? If it isn’t, say so instead of tearing up your feet.”

She walked across the rock, testing the thickness of the fabric. Like he’d said, it wasn’t like leather. She could feel every pebble. “How far do you think it is to the truck?”

He glanced at the sun. “If I’m right, we’re not all that far. The truck was downstream, and the river carried us in that direction.”

“But there was that bend to the left.”

“And then this bend to the right. I’d say... maybe a mile.”

A mile through a mountainous forest, virtually barefoot. He evidently came to the same conclusion she’d reached, because he shook his head, then looked around. Abruptly he took out his knife again, and went to the tree. He stabbed the point into the bark, then began slicing downward.

“What are you doing?”

“Cutting off a sheet of bark to use as a sole.”

She stood to the side and watched with interest as he carved off a square of bark roughly ten inches by ten inches. She sat down and began unwrapping her feet. He split the square of bark in half, then knelt on one knee in front of her again. He balanced one slab of bark on his other knee, with the smooth underside up, and laid the sleeve over it so she’d have a double layer of cloth between her foot and the wood. Then he rewrapped her foot, binding the bark to the bottom with two swaths of cloth, and tied the knot on top again. After repeating the process with her other foot, he stood and pulled her to her feet. “How does that feel?”

“Much sturdier, though I don’t know how long the bark will hold together.”

“Anything is better than nothing. If it falls apart, I’ll cut some more.”

They left the riverbank and set out at a right angle into the forest. She had to walk gingerly, because the makeshift shoes didn’t give her feet any support, but the bark at least protected their tender bottoms from the worst abuse. She tried not to step on sticks or rocks, tried not to make the bark flex very much, which would cause it to break apart. That made their pace necessarily slow, when they couldn’t afford any delay.

Under the canopy of the trees they didn’t have the sun’s warmth, and within minutes Milla was shivering violently. Her wet clothes felt like ice on her, and she realized they were in as much danger from hypothermia as they had been from the water. Diaz, with his greater muscle mass, would do better than she at producing body heat, but he, too, was shivering.

He stopped once and wrapped her in his arms, hugging her close so they could share what meager heat they could generate between them. They stood pressed against each other, and she tiredly rested her head on his shoulder. He felt so hard and vital, but he was as vulnerable as anyone else to the chill of these conditions. She could hear his heart thumping steadily, strongly in his chest, sending warming blood through his veins, and after a while she began to feel a little warmer.

“We’ll make it,” he murmured against her temple. “We have a lot to look forward to tonight. Besides, I have a couple of sweatshirts behind the seat of the truck.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” With effort, she straightened away from him. “The promise of a sweatshirt will work miracles.”

The “mile” he’d estimated was a straight line, but unfortunately they couldn’t walk in a straight line. They climbed up slopes, down slopes, always working their way around to the direction he wanted. They had to hold on to trees when the mountainous terrain grew so steep they couldn’t stand upright. What would have taken them twenty minutes on the flat took them over two hours, and twice he had to replace the bark in her improvised sandals. His sense of direction was unerring, though, and eventually they cut the trail that led them back to the truck.

By the time they reached it, the sun had set and twilight was deep, and the day’s warmth had long since fled. Milla could barely walk, she was so cold. She shuffled along like an old woman, every muscle screaming in pain. She kept thinking longingly of the missing backpack and the ground sheet in it; they could have wrapped it around themselves and huddled together, and replenished their body heat that way. Food wouldn’t have been amiss, either; it had a way of revving up the system. She thought of coffee, a big steaming cup of it. Or maybe hot chocolate. Any form of chocolate.

She thought of Diaz, and what would happen between them tonight—if they made it back to the hotel.

Just when she thought she couldn’t go any farther, she looked up and there it was, that monstrosity of a truck. Nothing had ever looked more welcome. “The keys,” she suddenly croaked. “Are they still in your pocket?”

That was the good thing about jeans when they became wet: they clung. What was in the pockets tended to stay in the pockets, even in river rapids. With difficulty, Diaz dug his fingers into his cold wet pocket, and came out with the keys. “Thank God,” she breathed.

The next hurdle was getting into the damn truck.

Diaz tried to pick her up, but couldn’t. Finally he boosted her enough that she could crawl, giggling, onto the floorboard and from there up onto the seat. The situation wasn’t funny, but the choice was either laugh or cry. He had to hold the steering wheel to haul himself up, and he was shaking so hard it took him three tries to get the key into the ignition. But it was warmer in the truck than it was outside, and after it had idled a few minutes, warm air began blowing from the vents. He pulled two sweatshirts from behind the seat; they were new, with the tags still on them, so he must have bought them today to have just in case. His caution amazed her, because there was no way he could have known they’d fall in the river.

He stripped off the sleeveless remnant of his denim shirt and his T-shirt. Milla wasn’t so far gone that she wasn’t interested in the rock-hard expanse of his lightly haired chest, or his ridged abdomen. She pulled off her own blouse and her wet bra, and suddenly he hauled her across the truck seat, wedging her between the steering wheel and his chest as he kissed her. Their bare torsos rubbed together, his chest hair rasping over her chill-tightened nipples and making them tingle. She wrapped one arm around his neck and snaked the other one around his back, pressing her palm to the smooth, thick muscles she found there. This kiss wasn’t shy, or gentle. He kissed her as if he might not wait until they got back to the hotel, his tongue stroking, his teeth nibbling. He rubbed his hand over her breasts, stroking them, learning their shape and softness and how they fit in his palm.

She whimpered into his mouth. It had been a long time since she’d felt this, too long. She still couldn’t quite believe it was actually happening, that Diaz wanted her as she wanted him.

He was shaking when he drew back, but no longer from the cold. “We’d better get dressed,” he said gruffly, and pulled one of the sweatshirts over her head himself. It was a man’s shirt and there was far too much fabric, but she didn’t care. The garment was thick and dry, and she almost wept at the warmth. He pulled on his own shirt, then took off his wet boots and socks and stuck his bloodless feet up to the floor vent so the truck’s heater could blow right on them. She followed suit on the passenger side. The cab quickly heated, but it was at least fifteen minutes before her shivering subsided and her numb feet began to tingle with warmth. Finally he felt warm enough to drive, and by then the darkness was thick around them.

They had a long drive ahead of them back to Boise, and even though she was warm now, she felt drained. He had to feel the same. She put her hand on his arm. “Can you make it, or do we need to stop somewhere?”

“I can make it. When we get back to the highway, we’ll stop at the first restaurant we see, no matter what kind, and get something hot in our stomachs.”

That sounded like heaven. She pushed at her wild crown of curls. Her hair had dried, but she knew she had to look like a wild woman. She’d be surprised if any restaurant other than a motorcycle gang hangout would let her in. “The pistol is long gone, huh?”

“Bottom of the river.”

“Too bad. You might need one to make a restaurant serve us.”

He glanced at her and smiled. “I’ll manage.”

They lucked out and found a hamburger joint with a drive-through window. After getting their food, he pulled over and parked so they could eat. By then she had recovered enough to be starving, and she chowed down on her second hamburger of the day. He’d ordered each of them a large cup of coffee, and they settled back in bliss.

“We have to find a place that sells condoms,” he said abruptly. “I don’t have any.”

There was tension in his voice, and she glanced over at him. He ran a nervous hand over his face.

Suddenly uneasy, she said, “We can wait. This doesn’t have to happen if you’re having second thoughts—”

“No. It isn’t that.” He took his hand down and gave her a somber look. “It’s just—I haven’t had sex with anything other than my fist in two or three years and I—”

“Two or three years?” she echoed, then shook her head. “It’s been longer than that for me. I’m not exactly a red-hot mama.”

“I want to make it good for you, but I probably won’t last long.”

“I probably won’t, either,” she said truthfully. Since that last kiss, her body had been humming with anticipation.

Doggedly he plowed ahead. “But then I’m good for the rest of the night, and I’ll make it up to you.”

His nervousness was appealing; her nature was fastidious, and she didn’t like promiscuity. His confession was reassuring, too. “Are you healthy?” she asked, because she’d be stupid not to.

“Yeah. I haven’t been with many women, and never with a whore or a drug-user. And I give blood at the Red Cross, every three months, so I’m tested regularly.” He said it with an earnestness that touched her. Diaz was so sure of himself in every other way; she liked this more human side of him. She sensed that he really had to trust a woman before he’d let down his guard enough to be intimate with her, and even then he probably kept a tight rein on his emotions.

Tonight, she would find out.

She leaned over and kissed him. “Forget the condoms. I’m on birth control.”

He took control of the kiss, and he might not have had a great deal of sexual experience, but he knew what he was doing. He kissed her deeply, a little roughly, and with growing urgency. When he set her back from him, his eyes were narrowed and fierce. Without a word he put the truck in gear, and they roared down the highway toward Boise.