The front of the raft plunged into the first hole in the water, then pitched up in the air like a rearing horse. Cold water sprayed Lane as the raft sideslipped. He gave a rebel yell of delight.

Grinning, Jill worked the oars, port ahead, starboard reverse, snapping the raft back into the correct line. The shift in direction and momentum caught Lane off balance. He slammed forward, bounced off the round, slick flotation tube, and was mostly airborne when the second swell caught the raft.

He shot over the side and into the roaring cataract.

Faroe leaned out and grabbed, but Lane’s dark hair was snatched away from his grasp by the boiling current. The slick raft was faster than the leg-dragging swimmer.

“Float with it!” Jill shouted to Lane. “Don’t fight it!”

She marked the spot where she’d seen him go in, then leaned hard on both oars, abandoning the carnival ride for a back eddy on the right-hand shore. The raft shot forward, angled off the current, and slowed as she caught the eddy behind a big bolder. She pinned the raft’s nose against the back of the boulder and stared at the cataract upstream of them.

“There!” Faroe said, pointing.

Lane’s red life vest winked against the frothing water. He lifted his hand and waved.

Jill let out a long breath.

The river sucked him under again for another whitewashing.

Faroe kicked off his sandals, ready to go over the side of the raft after his son.

“No.” Jill’s command was sharp. “He’s doing fine. I don’t want two of you in there.”

Lane bobbed back to the surface on an upwelling wave. He was moving swiftly with the current, bobbing merrily past them. Jill knew without looking that the other rafts would be standing by at the end of the rapids to pick him up.