Free A Kiss of Adventure by Catherine Palmer Page B

the current take them.
    “Funny you should feel that way,” he said. “I’m just starting to enjoy myself.”

    The sun scorched the little boat from midmorning on. Graeme forced himself to concentrate on the pied king-fishers soaring overhead and the occasional hippopotamus that surfaced to stare at them. Hunger gnawed at his stomach— growing almost unbearable as night began to fall. Mosquitoes and flies buzzed and stung them.
    He knew Tillie had to be miserable, her bare arms exposed to the mosquitoes and her skin slowly flushing from pink to dusky rose. They had eaten the last of the bananas the night before, and the little river water they let themselves drink was muddy and foul.
    She didn’t utter a word of complaint. Turning into herself, she fell completely silent. She bailed water. Rowed. Poled over sandbars. Slapped at mosquitoes.
    Graeme found he didn’t have much to say either. Not only were the hunger, insects, and heat making him miserable, concern about their pursuers nagged at him. Often, when the boat swung around a bend in the river, he caught a glimpse of the Tuareg caravan keeping pace overland with the sluggish river. The Niger was so wide Graeme knew they were relatively safe. But they couldn’t go on much longer before they would be forced to dock, and there were too many places where the water was shallow enough to let even a sand-loving camel across.
    When the sun dipped behind the treetops, Graeme pulled in the oar. “Tillie, we’ve got to stop.”
    She lifted her head, her blue eyes bright in the waning sunlight. “I want to go on.”
    He searched her face, wishing he could read her better. Was she afraid—as she ought to be—or was she so focused on her goal of getting help in Segou that she wanted to continue? Or could it be that what made this righteous, upright young woman so determined to continue was the prospect of being alone with him one more night?
    His eyes scanned her face, and another possibility presented itself. Maybe she wanted to go on because the quest intrigued and compelled her—as though she were becoming a partner with him in adventure.
    Her face radiated some of the same burning intensity he had felt within himself so often. Go. Grab life by the tail. Hang on. Maybe she did want the challenge.
    Or maybe you’re just imagining things, he told himself cynically, because you want to believe you’ve found someone with a similar urge to court danger, a similar drive to see what’s waiting around the next corner.
    “We don’t have a choice,” he said. “We’ve got to stop. If we get hung up on a sandbar in the dark, the Tuareg will take us like candy from a jar.”
    “They’ll take us no matter where we stop. The caravan is on the bank just over there. I’ve seen them following us.”
    “I know. Look, we’ll wait until it’s so dark we’re sure they can’t see us. Then we’ll find a bushy place on the other bank to land. We can eat a bite and get some sleep.”
    “A nap before the moon comes up,” she clarified. “Then we’ll take off again. All right?”
    “You’re the tree-planting woman. Whatever you want.”
    She gave him a slight frown before taking up the oar. When darkness truly had set in, she paddled the boat to the shore opposite the Tuareg, and Graeme tied it up in a stand of thorny brake and tall reeds. Grabbing his knapsack and the basket of fish, he climbed out of the rocking boat.
    “Where are you going?” Tillie whispered.
    “Don’t you want some dinner?”
    “They’ll see us if we light a fire.”
    “Too bad. I’m hungry.”
    He could hear her splashing after him, gasping as the sharp reeds jabbed at her already tender legs. If he could have picked her up and carried her, he would have. But he was sure she wouldn’t let him. He’d gone too far already with the kiss.
    Finding a dry spot, he stopped and flattened some reeds with his boot. “You want to watch out for crocs and hippos around here.” He dropped his knapsack