The three men take off, backtracking the short distance to the stream I mentioned. We stop there while the men look up.
“What do you think?” It’s Brady, and that question isn’t for me. It’s for Hayes.
“Looks sturdy enough, but won’t they see where we went up?”
“Not if you lift me to that branch.” Hands on the small of his back again, I push up and try to twist around to see the thick network of branches that initially caught my eye.
I must be insane to have suggested climbing into the canopy, but this is my plan and there’s no way I’ll let Hayes know I’m second guessing myself.
“Up you go.” With that, Hayes practically launches me into the air.
SIX
Hayes
Climbing through the damn trees?
What the hell is this woman thinking? But Brady and Booker are on board and damn if I’m going to be the naysayer of the group.
As for Rosalie, the chick gets a bit of surprise as I lift her up and off my shoulders, easily hoisting her tiny frame to a large branch overhead. It’s about nine feet over the small stream. High enough no one would think to look up.
I’m a survivalist. The guys rib me about my plans to ride out the zombie apocalypse, but if you don’t plan to win, you plan to fail.
And I’m a fucking winner.
To my surprise, after eliciting a cute little squeak which makes me grin, Rosalie grabs onto that limb, lifts herself up, then springs to her feet. She stabilizes herself by grasping onto one of the overhanging limbs and scampers—fucking scampers, higher into the canopy while I watch open-mouthed.
Before I can get up there, she’s already jumping from one limb to the next, cherry-picking her way with an astute eye that’s fucking sexy as hell.
“Gonna stand there staring at her ass, or do you want a lift?” Brady cracks a joke that’s not fucking funny.
Booker laughs right along with Brady.
“Shut the fuck up. You gonna help, or do I have to do this myself?” A rhetorical question, they have to hoist me to that branch. Climbing up the trunk will leave one hell of a signpost to anyone following. It’s like lighting up a goddamn sign saying They went this way!
Brady and Booker stop their laughter. Facing together, they form a platform for me to stand on, interlocking their hands and arms. I grab their shoulders and step on. On three, they lift me into the air and I grab at the branch, climbing on top.
Below me, Booker stomps around in the mud at the water’s edge. Brady points downstream and kicks over a submerged rock. I get what they’re doing. If anyone follows our trail, they’ll see three men crossing this stream, heading back, and then trying to lose the trail by using the stream to cover their tracks.
It’s a brilliant plan, to be honest, one crafted by the unexpected woman climbing high into the canopy above us.
“Are you coming?” She calls down to me and I look up and up, trying to make out her profile in the crisscrossing of limbs overhead.
“Where the fuck are you?”
“Five feet ahead of you, take that branch. It angles up, then there’s a crossing…”
“I see it.” I cut her off because I can, but dammit if she’s not agile as a cat. It’s going to be a struggle to keep up with her.
Fortunately, she waits for me. By the time I get to her, the forest floor is thirty feet below us. I know that only because faint starlight glints off the water from the stream below.
Fucking hell, but this is magical.
“Hurry up.” She grabs my arm and tugs me to another crossing branch. “We need to be much higher to hide from the men.”
“Lead on.” More than happy for her to take the lead, this Rosalie is nothing like what I imagined.
After meeting Carmen, who’s a wonderful and delightful woman, but a bit pampered and soft, I formulated certain expectations in my mind when she described her childhood friend.
Taken from her village at a young age, I imagined a pious and devout girl adept at needlework, cleaning, and whatever it is a maid does for a young woman like Carmen. Only Rosalie is no girl.
She’s something else altogether.
This creature climbing the trees, like she was born in them, makes me take a pause and reevaluate. Fearless comes to mind and I’m a sucker for a fearless woman.
It’s odd, because moments before all I sensed was fear as that douche-canoe Matias held her at knifepoint. Or knife’s edge? Fuck if I know. This is a completely different woman from what I envisioned in the courtyard.
As for leading, Rosalie is far faster than me in the canopy than on the ground. She stops, waiting for me to catch up, says nothing, and is on the move again. I mean to warn her to keep silent, but it seems as if she knows exactly what to do.
Our silent climb upwards is amazing and awe inspiring. Before I know it, there’s nothing but darkness below us. Overhead, the thick canopy of the rainforest continues, but tiny stars peek through gaps in the foliage.
Not a facts and figures man like Rafe, I do know something about forests in general. The canopy stretches upwards of two hundred feet from the ground. I guesstimate we’re about a quarter that distance. As for facts and figures, scientists estimate sixty to ninety percent of life in a rainforest is found in the trees. Since I now claim direct experience, I can say those estimates are pretty on point. Which brings me back to Rosalie’s comment about panthers.
Those felines live in the trees, although they tend to hunt on the ground. The forest canopy is considered one of the richest habitats for plants and animal life. If a panther can live here, then why can’t we take advantage of the branching highways created by the abundance of life?
I wonder how much of a panther’s life is spent on the ground versus in the trees. Perhaps this is something Rosalie knows? Not that I’ll ask.
Rosalie comes to a stop at an intersection of limbs.
“Why did you stop?” I point below. “Shouldn’t we…”
“Shh…” She places a finger over her lips and cups her ear. Canting her head to the side, I can’t help but mimic what she does.
All around us is nothing but the rustling of leaves and the groaning of trees as their limbs rub together. Most people think the rainforest is a quiet place, but it teams with life: animal, and plant. In the rainforests of Central America it’s the plants that dominate, unlike the timber forests of home that I’m more familiar with.
“Can you hear them?” She places a hand on my arm and I don’t know what the fuck is happening, but a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm.
Unwilling to let her know something’s off, I pretend to look downwards while shifting my gaze to her elfin face. Angelic comes to mind. With a tiny, pointed chin and almond-shaped eyes that are almost too big for her face, she’s a bewitching creature. Long-flowing, dark hair, with the barest hint of a curl, spills over her shoulders and cascades down her back. A tiny, pert nose sits atop rosebud lips, and that’s where I force my thoughts to stop.
Wrong time.
Wrong place.
Wrong damn woman.
Rosalie is a mission, not a fuck buddy, so time to get the ole’ noggin’ out of the fucking gutter.
All around us, the forest is quiet. It’s one of those thunderous silences that’s deafening due to the lack of sound. But if I focus, the different sounds all around us come to life. There’s the fluttering of foliage. The groaning of trees. The insistent droning of insects is deafening, but so prevalent it recedes into the distance. There’s no evidence of animals, probably because our presence has them hunkering down, hoping we’ll continue on without molesting them.