“Relax, Doc.”
“I am relaxed,” she squeaks.
“You turned around so fast that I thought you might get dizzy.”
Her neck is bright pink. So are her shoulders. I enjoy that entirely too much.
Leaving my clothes in a pile by the tree, I take off running toward the water.
Ten long strides. Then I leap for the rope swing that hangs from one of the massive oaks leaning over the river.
My hands close around it automatically. And the momentum carries me out over the water.
Wind rushes past my face as I fly.
When I let go, the river swallows me whole, and the cold hits like a freight train, lighting up every nerve ending.
I resurface a moment later with a shout. “Holy hell!”
Water streams from my hair. I shove it back and look toward the shore.
Jovie stands exactly where I left her.
Still flushed and still watching.
I grin. “Your turn, Doc!”
“Nope,” she quips.
“Come on.”
“No.”
“You said you wanted to swim.”
“After the way you just cried out, no thank you. I’m not launching myself into an icy death.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’re chicken.”
Her eyes narrow.
“There it is,” I mutter.
“What?”
“Come on, Doc. You can do it.”
She shakes her head.
“Chicken,” I bellow again.
Her spine straightens instantly.
Got her.
She walks over to the blanket and removes her hat and sunglasses. Then she walks backward a few paces while eyeing the rope suspiciously.
“You sure that thing’s safe?”
