He laughed. “I was sure you would.”

“But I thought champagne was supposed to be for special occasions, like christening ships or something.”

“Well, isn’t this a special occasion?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this is your first steamboat trip, and your first time on the Mississippi, and your first visit to Natchez, and . . . what else?”

My first love? she thought, and blushed fiercely. This was no storybook hero, this one was flesh and blood. She could, she realized with a tingle of excitement, very easily fall in love with this man.

“My first bottle of champagne?”

“Right!” he exclaimed. “That’s as good a reason as any. Here’s to your first bottle of champagne! May it be the first of many!”

He took a healthy swallow, then offered the bottle to Rebecca.

“I’ll drink to that,” she said as she accepted the bottle and took another, larger sip.

They continued to toast the river, the night, the driftwood, the moths and other insects incessantly buzzing around the lamps on the boat, until finally they toasted the last drink left in the bottle, which they very companionably shared.

“I think I like this thing called champagne,” Rebecca said as she took the empty bottle and held it bottom up over her tongue. One drop fell, she swallowed, then the final drop left in the bottle dangled precariously on the rim, and she licked it, rolling her tongue over it until not a single bit of the liquid remained.

“I can’t imagine why I never tried this before, it’s delicious. Thank you.” She tossed the empty bottle into the water and watched it float away.

“You really are very special, do you know that?”

“How do you mean?” she breathed.

“I’ve never known anyone who could draw so much pleasure from a simple bottle of champagne.”

“Oh, well, it’s all your fault, you know. You said it would be the only real pleasure I’ve ever known, remember? You insisted. As a matter of fact,” she continued, the bubbly wine and the ease with which they flirted with each other making her a bit reckless, “I believe you manipulated me into that wager. You knew that there was another steamboat coming all the time, didn’t you?” She laid a hand on his arm. “Was it your intention to get me intoxicated and take advantage of me?”

Before the words were out of her mouth, she realized she had not meant to say that. Yes, she was flirting with him, and in a brazen fashion, but she wished she could take back the words.

He gazed at her with smoldering eyes. “I assure you the wager was entirely legitimate. As for getting you intoxicated, yes, I will take responsibility for that. But as for taking advantage of you . . .”

She waited with held breath.

“I assure you, Miss Bennett, that I am a gentleman. I have not the slightest intention of doing anything of an unseemly nature, regardless of how I may be tempted or . . . invited.”

“Invited?” Why was he speaking to her in that way? And why had he called her Miss Bennett? “I—I didn’t . . .”

“I was only trying to make up for not meeting you and your father in New Orleans, and to pass a pleasant evening. Nothing more. If I gave you the impression that I had designs on you, then I must apologize for that. Since you and your father are travelling alone, I only thought to keep you occupied until we reach Natchez. Now have I made myself clear?”

His words struck her almost physically, and his dark eyes had turned stormy.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

But the smoldering passion was still there in his eyes. He grasped her by the shoulders and crushed her body to his, a movement that sent a plethora of mixed emotions through her.

“Is this what you want?” His lips crashed down on hers in a savage kiss that jarred down to her toes. “And this?” His mouth sought and found the soft underside of her jaw and ravaged the skin from there down to the neckline of her gown, sending mixed shivers of delight and fear through her body. When his mouth reached the soft mounds of flesh barely concealed by fabric, he found her cleavage and explored that crevice with his tongue.

Rebecca moaned from the depth of her being. This was beyond anything she had ever known, beyond anything she could have imagined. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair, silky to her touch. Her senses reeled. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it wasn’t, but Rebecca wanted more of this fascinating man.

An inarticulate sound came from his throat as he jerked his head up and glared fiercely at her. “Did that satisfy you, or do you need more?”

She answered his question by pulling his head toward hers, until their lips met in sizzling desire. Her head spun wildly and she made small moans of pleasure. Oliver suddenly broke the kiss, looking at her in astonishment. His breathing was ragged. “What have you done to me, you sorceress?” he whispered. “Do you need to know just how much I desire you? Does this tell you anything?”

With that he placed a hand in the small of her back and pulled her firmly to him, molding their bodies together.

At first Rebecca didn’t fully understand him, until he moved his thigh against hers, and she could feel a rock-like presence of another sort. When realization dawned, she blushed a fiery crimson, her eyes wide in amazement.

He noticed her discomfort and suddenly released her, staring unbelievingly at her for a long moment. His tone was conciliatory when he said, “I’m sorry . . . I thought . . . but you’ve never known a man, have you?”

Rebecca couldn’t speak. How could she tell him the truth? But the truth wasn’t so cut-and-dried, so black-and-white. She had known a man, once. But she had never, never known a man like Oliver Sebastian. She shook her head slowly.

He raked a hand through his glossy black hair. He seemed almost as embarrassed as she. “I feel like a fool. Please, please, can you forgive me?” he pleaded.

“There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Sebastian. Think no more of it.” Her calmness surprised her as much as it did him. Inwardly she was a wreck, but outwardly she displayed cool control in the face of heated passion.

His dark eyes went soft. “Then there is no more to be said?”

Oh, there is plenty more to be said, she thought to herself, but only replied, “No.”

He sighed deeply. “You will forgive me, I trust, but I feel the urgent need to stroll around the boat and . . . cool down.”

She nodded slowly. “I think it is time I retired to my cabin. It must be very late and the night air has turned brisk. Thank you for the champagne. I shall see you tomorrow?”

“Of course. We should reach Natchez around mid-afternoon. Until then.”

He bowed deeply to her, turned, and walked away.

Deep in thought, Rebecca watched until he was out of sight. This was all very strange to her. Of course she had been kissed before, but never had she felt this kind of passion for a man. Oliver had fanned a spark within her into a raging fire, one that could quickly, she realized, get out of control.

She desperately needed someone to talk to, someone to give her some advice and an explanation of what was happening to her. Her father loved her very much, but he could not possibly understand. She shook her head, as if to shake off the odd feelings that engulfed her, but to no avail.

She turned to go back to her cabin, when she saw her father and his friends just coming out of the saloon.

“Rebecca! My dear, what are you doing out here so late? You’ll catch your death of cold. You should be in bed asleep,” said Mr. Bennett as she joined them.

“Yes, Papa, I was just on my way, but I needed some fresh air first. Has the poker game broken up?”

“Oh, no, not yet. We just came out to stretch our legs. This young whippersnapper Latimer, though, has taken my last dollar from me. How did I know he would have four jacks, eh? I was betting on a flush. How can one man be so lucky, eh, Latimer?”

Latimer smiled, and pulled something from his vest pocket.

“Well, now, I like to think that it’s because I carry this here good luck charm.”

“Charm? What have you got there?”

“Just a little old possum’s foot, that’s all. But I reckon it has brought me good luck. Yessir, real good luck.”

Latimer held up the object and Rebecca gasped. It was the most hideous-looking thing she had ever seen.

“I was damn near to starvin’ once, when this little old possum come strollin’ right up to my camp, and so I cut off this foot to carry with me for good luck. I reckon it works, too. I didn’t starve, and I’m mighty lucky at cards.”

Rebecca averted her eyes. She disliked this man even more, if that was possible.

“Well, you may have something there. It’s certainly brought you good luck tonight, at any rate. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I must go to my cabin for some more money. And more pipe tobacco, too. Damn me if I’m not having the best time in years, even if I am losing. But I warn you, Latimer, I shall play more carefully now that I know you’ve got some sort of charm working for you. Good night, my dear.”

“Good night, Papa,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “Don’t stay up too late, please? We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Just like her mother,” muttered Mr. Bennett to his friends as Rebecca turned away. She could hear their laughter as she walked away toward her cabin.

Just then she felt a hand touch her elbow.

“Might I have the pleasure of walkin’ you to your cabin, Miss Bennett?” said Latimer. “It ain’t fittin’ that a young lady should be walkin’ these decks alone this late at night, especially a beautiful young lady like yourself. You never know what kinda rogues and rascals you might run up against.”

“Yourself, for example, Mr. Latimer?” she remarked archly.

He laughed. “Now, Miss Bennett, if I didn’t know better, I’d think that was a mighty unkind remark. But I like my women with a little spunk, I sure do.”

Rebecca cringed at the touch of his hand on her elbow, but the easiest way out of the situation was simply to let the man walk her to the ladies’ salon and then say a firm good night. She could not put a finger on why, but she did not like him, not at all.

As they reached the upper deck, the steamboat suddenly blew a long shrill blast on its whistle and the rhythm of the paddlewheel slowed to a near stop. The boat began to edge nearer to shore, and Rebecca could see a group of lights on land.

“What’s happening?”

“Probably just pullin’ over to wood up. Nothin’ to worry about.”

“Wood up?” she repeated.

He grinned. “This must be your first steamboat trip, if you don’t know what wood up means.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, this is my first trip,” she replied almost angrily.

“All it means is that the boat is pullin’ over to buy some more wood to burn in them big furnaces to make them boilers boil and make steam to make this thing run. That’s all. She cain’t carry more than a few cords of wood at a time, and that don’t last hardly no time. There’ll be a few more of these here stops along the way before we make it to Natchez.”

“How did you know that my father and I are going to Natchez?” she asked warily.

“Why, Mr. Bennett told us all about the cotton farm and all. Said he was aimin’ to get filthy rich so as to provide you with a decent dowry to get you hitched. Why, shucks, Miss Bennett, I’d take you without a cent.”

Obviously he meant it as a compliment, but Rebecca could only shudder at the thought. So her father was telling everyone that he had to get rich to get her married off in fine fashion! How humiliating!

The boat had come to a complete stop alongside the shore and now Rebecca could see a great storeyard of cut wood, cords and cords of it, and a man standing near a small floating dock.

“Now listen and you’ll hear the captain say, got any wood for sale? and that old man over there will say, reckon it’s possible. Listen.”

Rebecca waited, and sure enough, from the pilothouse above, she heard a loud voice call out, “Got any wood for sale?”

The old man on shore looked over at the mountains of wood, spat into the river, and replied, “Reckon it’s possible.”

The captain yelled, “How do you sell it a cord?”

The old man answered, “Two dollars.”

“Two dollars! That’s a dollar a cord too much.”

The old man spat again. “When you gets me out of bed this time of night, you pays premium.”

As Rebecca watched, several deckhands and crewmen and even what appeared to be passengers disembarked at the floating dock and began to haul wood by the armful onto the boat, to be stored in an empty area near the engines.

“Are those passengers helping to load wood?” she asked. “Why do they do that?”

“Oh, just to stretch their legs and get in a bit of strong exercise,” Latimer replied. “On a long trip, a boat can be mighty confinin’, and sometimes a man just natural has to do something physical to take his mind off of . . . things . . .” He glanced at her bosom.

Rebecca thought of Oliver, taking a stroll around deck to “cool down,” and couldn’t control a secret smile. Luckily, Latimer did not notice it.

“It’s sorta the way things are done, gettin’ off to help load wood, I mean. And it speeds up the trip. The more hands, the better. But it’s also a good way to sneak on board without payin’.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean a fella could hide in the woodpile and wait for the next steamboat, which wouldn’t be a very long wait, I can tell you that. Anyway, he would wait and when one stopped to wood up, commence to haulin’ wood with the passengers and crew, then go on board as if he’d been there the whole time. No one ever notices, especially at night.”

“You sound as though you speak from experience, Mr. Latimer.”

“Well, let’s just say I’ve known it to be done.”

For several minutes the loading continued, until not another inch of storage space for the wood could be found. The captain himself went on shore and paid the man, then reboarded the boat. Presently the paddlewheel began to turn again, slowly edging the huge vessel away from the shore and into the main channel.

Latimer escorted her to the entry to the ladies’ salon, his hand never leaving her elbow, until finally she turned to him and held out her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Latimer. I can manage from here.”

She only wanted to get his hand off her elbow. But he took her outstretched hand and brought it to his lips, in what he thought was a gallant gesture, kissing it with much more relish than she liked.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to see you to your cabin, Miss Bennett? That there poker game won’t take up again for a little while, so I’ve got some time to kill. How about let’s you and me go to your cabin and—”

“No!” she nearly shouted, extricating her hand from his grip. “No, thank you, Mr. Latimer, it is late and I am going to bed.”

He grinned, showing bad teeth. “Well, now, since you mention it, that there is just what I had in mind. Come on now, honey, be good to ol’ Harvey, and ol’ Harvey will be good to you.”

Brazenly he put a hand on her bosom and squeezed one breast. She swatted his hand away in horror. His touch made her skin crawl.

“Good night, Mr. Latimer,” she said firmly and moved to retreat toward the safety of her cabin.

Boldly he grabbed her arm and jerked her toward him. She collided against him, nearly losing her balance, and he put his arms around her body and pulled her roughly to him.

“Mr. Latimer, please!” she cried, trying vainly to break free of his grip.

Latimer smothered any further outcries as he smashed his mouth down hard on hers. His rancid whiskey breath almost made her gag. She struggled in his arms, but her protests only seemed to fan the flames of his ardor.

With his left hand he pinned both her wrists painfully behind her back, and with his right hand he began to dig beneath the scanty fabric for her breasts. He was so rough his fingernails scratched her tender skin, doubling her desperate efforts to free herself.

Rage and fear washed over her in shattering waves. Rage was getting her nowhere, he was far stronger than she. Fear eventually won over, as Rebecca was sure this man wanted more from her than a mere kiss and a fumble at her breasts.

Latimer moved forward, shoving her body with his, pressing her on into a small alcove on the upper deck. When she realized this she knew she would be trapped, helpless. There was a small ripping sound as he pulled at her dress.

She couldn’t scream. His mouth was still clamped tightly to hers. The dark night and late hour meant there were not many passengers strolling the decks, no one to see her predicament and come to her rescue. Desperately she wrenched away with all her might, and managed to slide her mouth away from his.

“Help—!” was all she got out as he found her mouth again with his own.

“Let her go.”

Rebecca’s heart leaped with hope when she recognized the British accent.

Latimer took his time releasing her, and slowly turned around to come face to face with Oliver Sebastian.

“And just who’s gonna make me?” he sneered.

Rebecca wiped her mouth with shaky fingers and tried vainly to cover her nearly exposed bosom with the shreds of thin fabric that were dangling where Latimer had ripped her gown.

Oliver glared at the other man and held out his hand to Rebecca. “Are you all right, Miss Bennett?”

Before she could take his hand, Latimer stepped between them.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Latimer spat, swatting Oliver’s hand away from Rebecca. Rebecca could tell from how his jaw tensed that Oliver was trying very hard to control his fury. Oliver’s eyes glittered dangerously as he surveyed his opponent.

“I have no wish to fight with you, Latimer, but I will, if you push me. Now move aside and let Miss Bennett pass.”

Latimer stood his ground, hands clenched into fists at his sides. After a moment he chuckled.

“What makes you think Miss Bennett here wasn’t enjoyin’ my attentions? How about it, darlin’. Tell the man to mind his own business.”

“Miss Bennett, if this fellow has harmed you in any way—”

“I am perfectly all right, Mr. Sebastian, thank you,” she answered quickly. She had no wish to see these two fight. She only wanted the safety and comfort of her own cabin. She shoved her way out of the alcove, past Latimer, who put out an arm to stop her.

He never touched her, because Oliver grabbed his arm and in a swift, smooth movement had turned Latimer completely around, his face smashed into the clapboard siding of the steamboat, his arm twisted at a painful angle behind his back.

“If you bother this young lady again, you’ll regret it. I give you my word,” Oliver said in a low voice into Latimer’s ear. “Now run along before you get into more trouble.”

He gave Latimer’s arm another painful twist to emphasize his intent, then released him. Oliver held out his hand to Rebecca. “I’ll see you safely to your cabin, Miss Bennett.”

Latimer turned, nursing his hurt arm, eyes blazing with fury. “I’ll kill you, you son-of-a-”

Oliver Sebastian punched him once, hard, in the stomach. Latimer doubled over and groaned in pain.

“That took the ill wind out of him,” said Oliver as he again offered his hand to Rebecca. “Come, my dear, you are not experienced enough in the ways of the river to know that it’s not safe for you to be out here alone, at night. You will be all right now, I can promise you that.”

She believed him. Apparently there was not any occasion that Oliver could not handle, except, perhaps, when he was in her presence, because as she took his hand and moved away from Latimer’s writhing, groaning body, she felt him tremble at her touch.

Or maybe it was Rebecca who trembled.

They walked quickly toward the door to the ladies’ salon. Oliver opened it, spilling light from inside onto her, showing him the effects of Latimer’s “attentions” upon her clothing and face. His expression visibly softened.

“I’ll send your father to you. He may want to take action against Latimer himself.”

“No!” Rebecca said, a little too quickly. “No, please, I’m all right now. I don’t want to upset Papa.”

“You’ve had a rather horrid night, haven’t you?” he said in a tone just above a whisper. His eyes searched hers, looking for something.

She managed a thin smile. “I had heard this part of the country was wild. But I never dreamed it would be like this.”

He gave her an apologetic grin. “I assure you, not everyone around here is as vile as Latimer. Or myself.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.

“I mean—” He hesitated. “Miss Bennett—Rebecca—I must apologize for my behavior earlier. I cannot think what came over me. It is all my fault, of course. If I—”

“Oliver,” she interrupted. “You just saved me from the Lord knows what. I can never thank you enough. You owe me no apologies at all. It is I who must apologize to you.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “If the truth be known, it was my fault. You see, I’ve never known anyone quite like you. You fascinate me in many ways.”

A pleased twinkle lit his eyes. “And you fascinate me, Rebecca. I confess I am not myself when I am near you.”

A thrilling wave of pleasure shot through her. Her cheeks flamed. “Perhaps we had better say good night now. I’ll be fine in my cabin. There’s a lock on the door.” She grinned at him.

“If I’m any judge of men, a lock won’t deter the likes of Latimer. But as you wish. Good night, Miss Bennett.”

“Good night, Mr. Sebastian.”

She extended her hand to him, to shake good night, but instead he brought it to his lips and placed a very soft, gentle kiss there. Very gallant, she thought approvingly, and nothing at all like Latimer. Maybe all men weren’t alike, after all.

She should have gone straight to bed. She should have, but she didn’t. Somehow she knew sleep would be elusive.

After securely locking the door, Rebecca grabbed a woolen shawl from her trunk and wrapped it around her shoulders. The fabric at her breast was in shreds, but she tucked the ragged ends into her corset. She sat down on the bed, her back against the headboard, to think.

Rebecca had no idea what time it was. The night was quiet except for the slosh of the paddlewheel, which she could still hear even in her cabin. She wondered how the steamboat was able to run at night, in the darkness. There were huge lights on the front of the boat, she had seen that when earlier Oliver had pointed out the oncoming boat. But was that enough light to navigate?

She pushed the thought from her mind. She would leave all that to the captain and pilot. That was their job. She had something far more pressing to think about, like her growing feelings for Oliver Sebastian.

It confused her. Rebecca had believed she was immune to masculine charms. After what had happened with Samuel, she had thought she never again would have romantic notions toward a man. She had deliberately subdued that part of her emotions, thinking that she would save herself from any further harm. Now Oliver was reawakening all those dormant feelings, and she wasn’t exactly sure she welcomed them.

She feared she would be hurt again. But Oliver Sebastian was a gentleman, wasn’t he? Or was he? The way he had acted earlier confused her. But then she had thought Samuel was a gentleman, too, and he had proved her wrong.

At least Oliver hadn’t forced himself on her, like Latimer had. She shuddered again at the thought of what might have happened if Oliver hadn’t come along when he did. It was men like Latimer and Samuel that made her determined never to trust a man again. But Oliver was different.

Wasn’t he?

Rebecca sat on her bed thinking for a very long time. When the night air got cooler and she felt a chill run through her body, she discarded the shawl and changed from the now ruined peach gown into a plain blouse and skirt from her trunk. Sleep was not an option, not with her emotions so topsy-turvy. She would rather sit up all night than toss and turn in her bed, unable to rest. She paced back and forth in the confines of her cabin, restless and confused. When later she heard the Sentinel’s whistle give three short, sharp blasts, she realized that the boat must be pulling over again to take on more wood for fuel.

Rebecca left the safety of her cabin and ventured out once more to the deck. The night air was quite cool, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she stood at the railing, alone, watching as the crewmen worked, loading wood from the woodpile where they had stopped.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she had descended the stairway between decks and was peeking surreptitiously through the glass doors of the bar.

Rebecca’s throat closed painfully around a lump that rose unbidden there when she spied Oliver sitting at a table with the lovely red-headed woman she had seen earlier. They were drinking, and talking, and laughing, and the redhead placed her hand intimately on his arm, and squeezed, and smiled brightly into his face. When Oliver smiled back at her, and laughed, and placed his hand over hers, the pangs of jealousy that rose in Rebecca were more than she could control.

She turned quickly away from the bar. She couldn’t watch any more. She hadn’t even had time to look to see if her father was still there, because after seeing Oliver and the woman together, nothing else mattered.

Rebecca walked blindly to the railing, and clutched it until her knuckles turned white. She didn’t hear the man approach until he was by her side.

“Well, Miss Bennett, I shoulda known you wasn’t through with ol’ Harvey. Back for more, are you?”

She turned and stared at Latimer coldly. He leaned beside her against the railing, and ran a hand over her fingers. She snatched them away.

“Please leave me alone, Mr. Latimer,” she told him firmly.

“You ain’t got that damned Englishman around to save you now,” he said.

The crew had finished loading wood, and the boat began to edge slowly away from the shore.

Suddenly the night air was rent by the shrill blast of the Sentinel’s whistle. Rebecca lurched against the railing, grabbing for support, as the steamboat jerked almost to a stop. The whistle kept up its shrill sound in short, sharp blasts.

“What’s happening?” Rebecca cried in alarm.

“I don’t know,” Latimer replied, then let out a frightened gasp. “Oh my God . . .”

Rebecca looked in the direction where Latimer stared, and to her horror saw, out of the darkness, another steamboat bearing directly down upon them. The Sentinel had not yet made it away from the woodyard into the main part of the river. Another boat was apparently also stopping for wood. The pilot of that boat had either misjudged the distance or miscalculated the speed at which the Sentinel was moving away from the shore, because the two boats were headed for a collision.

Rebecca bit into her fingers to stifle a scream. The Sentinel’s whistle kept up the alarm, trying in desperation to alert the other boat of the danger.

But the current of the river at this place must have been treacherous. She watched with dread as the other boat stopped its paddlewheel and attempted to reverse it, but the current carried the boat relentlessly on.

“We’re going to hit!” she cried, clutching at Latimer’s arm.

“Sweet Jesus,” Latimer whispered. “I’m gettin’ outta here!” He peeled her clutching hands roughly from his arm and fled.

Rebecca stared in horror as the other boat loomed closer and closer. She could see frantic crewmen on both boats, running and yelling.

“Get away from the rail!” She heard Oliver Sebastian yell and felt him grab her around the waist. He hauled her backwards and she crashed into his body, nearly spilling them both to the deck. “If we hit, you’ll be catapulted over the rail into the water,” he explained as she clung to him, frightened.

Now the boats were within scant feet of each other, and Rebecca could see the pilot of the other boat in the pilot house frantically turning the huge wheel, trying desperately to turn the vessel away from the Sentinel.

The pilot of their own boat did the same thing, turning the Sentinel into the shoreline to keep from colliding with the other steamboat.

Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief as the two steamboats passed harmlessly, with only inches to spare.

“Thanks be to God,” she whispered, and looked up at Oliver.

But he was staring dead ahead, and there was no look of relief on his face. His expectant expression brought new fear into her heart.

“Brace yourself,” he said tersely and grabbed her so tightly and pulled her body so close to his that he almost knocked the breath out of her.

As much as she relished being held in his arms, she could hardly breathe, and she struggled, but to no avail. He did not loosen his grip, but planted his feet firmly on the deck and held her.

In the next instant, the deck seemed to be snatched from under their feet, and they tumbled wildly through the air. Rebecca clung to Oliver with all her strength, but she needn’t have. He held her tight and didn’t let go.

They were tossed like toys as the great boat shook. She could hear the sound of glass shattering, and passengers screaming, and wood breaking. Something that felt like sharp nettles scratched across her cheek, but she kept her eyes tightly closed.

A tremendous groan of creaking, breaking wood filled her ears, and after one final violent shudder of the boat, everything was still.

Oliver slowly loosened his grip on her, and Rebecca raised her head cautiously to look around. Something large and dark loomed right in front of her face, and after a moment she realized it was a tree branch. She could hear the sound of water very close. The deck railing where she had stood moments earlier was now in splinters. A huge tree trunk jutted out from a gaping hole in the deck. The boat tilted at an awkward angle and water rose quickly over the deck.

“W-what h-happened?” she stuttered.

Oliver didn’t reply right away, but stood up on the debris-littered deck, pushing the tree limb away to make room, and pulled her up beside him.

“It looks like we ran into a snag near the shore,” he answered finally. “Come on. We have to get off. This boat is sinking.”