Page 16 of Lost With You
“He didn’t sweet-talk you into it?” Anne’s voice dripped with suspicion.
She couldn’t imagine Dylan sweet-talking. The whole idea made her skin rise with not-in-the-least-bit-unpleasant goose bumps.
“I don’t know,” Anne said, eyes narrowing on her brother. “Shouldn’t you push this venture off, Dylan? This girl’s about a hundred pounds lighter than Garrick and most of that extra weight is much-needed muscle. No offense, Casey, but Garrick’s got a body like a Roman warrior.”
“Um…no offense taken?”
“Trust me,” Anne said. “The female half of this crowd wouldn’t have hauled our butts out of bed so early if we’d known that Garrick wasn’t going to be here, smiling that Hollywood smile and showing off his rock-climbing muscles—”
“Anne.” Dylan’s sigh was weary.
“But Garrick’s absence disturbsmebecause this trip is one of the craziest things my little brother here has ever done, and I’d feel better if he was doing it with someone who could carry him miles out of the woods on a strong back—”
“Did you bring doughnuts, Anne?” Dylan hiked his hands on his hips. “I was looking forward to a last doughnut.”
“Yes, I did buy doughnuts, and no, you’re not distracting me from this conversation. She’s a little thing. What are you thinking?”
“I know what he’s thinking,” Bill guffawed.
Anne ignored him. “Do you know about the portages, Casey Michaels, freelance reporter? And the bears—”
“Try not to scare her off,” Dylan interrupted, “before I get her into the canoe, all right?”
Anne threw up her hands. “I sure hope your insurance is all paid up, girl.”
She felt like a ball on a pool table getting shot sharply into corners.
“Anne’s husband sells life insurance,” Dylan explained. “But now’s not the time to pitch it, sis.”
“I’m not trying to sell anything, you goof. This isn’t a honeymoon cruise.”
Dylan’s brother barked a laugh. “Itmightbe.”
A clatter startled Casey. She glanced toward the Jeep and noticed some of the men loosening the ropes tying the canoe down in an attempt to slide it off the roof.
“Hey,” Dylan said sharply. “Watch that—”
Dylan darted to the Jeep, shouting instructions. She turned to follow, though there were already too many cousins and siblings in the mix, but Anne’s firm grip stopped her.
“Will you look at that thing?” Anne sucked air between her teeth. “Can it even be classified as aboat?”
“A small version of the Love Boat”—Bill grinned—“that’s for sure.”
Casey focused on the canoe because it was easier than meeting Anne’s probing gaze. She’d had a moment of uncertainty when she’d first seen the birch bark vessel this morning, when Dylan asked her to help him load it onto the Jeep. Itwasbeautiful, a masterful handcrafted canoe made of all-natural materials. She just hoped it wouldn’t develop a tear in the middle of a deep lake. She yearned a little for the solid safety of aluminum.
“Ah, look at that,” said an older, reedy voice. “That’s a beauty.”
An elderly man in a wheelchair was rolled closer as the canoe was lowered and carried toward the shore.
“Keep your shoulders on the seat,” the elderly man shouted as they shuffled by. “Don’t poke a hole in the bottom with your damn head.”
Bill crouched by the side of the wheelchair, patting the elderly man’s arm. “Dylan’s got it, Pops. No worries.”
Pops? This was the grandfather Dylan had spoken so wistfully about? Casey looked at the elderly man more closely. He was thin in his clothes, his lap covered with a plaid wool blanket despite the temperate weather. She had assumed that Dylan’s Pops was no longer around, but this gentleman bore the strong stamp of a MacCabe on his face.
Why hadn’t Dylan told her he’d be here?
Then Pops glanced up, and she caught her breath at the sight of Dylan’s Icelandic eyes in the man’s kind face.
