The right side, she thought, nodding to herself. Plenty of room today. Head for that big boulder sticking out from the bank like a house, let the power of the river turn the raft, dig in hard with the right oar, and shoot across to the other bank.

Lane looked sideways at the river guide who was rowing him and his father Joe Faroe down the Colorado. Lane figured Jill was older than he was by at least a decade, but it didn’t stop him from noticing how hot she was. She had the lean, smooth body of a gymnast, but she had hips and boobs, too. Since everybody wore sunscreen and not much else in the summer heat, he’d had plenty of time to enjoy the scenery around camp.

The problem with being a tall sixteen was that a lot of the women who looked really hot to him thought he was too young, and girls his age wanted older men.

Sometimes life just basically sucked.

But the view was great.

Jill turned and started back down the steep, ragged trail that had been worn dusty by river guides coming to check out one of the most dangerous rapids on a river famous for its risk. The Colorado claimed some lives each year, mostly the drunk or careless, but sometimes the dead were simply unlucky.

When Jill and Lane walked back down to the waiting rafts, Joe Faroe cocked an eyebrow at his son. “Are we walking or riding?”

“You can always walk around,” Jill said before Lane answered. “The trail’s about four miles. We’ll wait for you downstream.”

“I’m riding,” Lane said to his dad. “I’m just wondering if a girl has enough strength to handle that water.”

Faroe shook his head. Lane had an excellent brain, but he still had some things to learn about women. Jill had hiked the teenager into the ground at least twice on this trip, but he always came back with the guy-girl needle. He hadn’t noticed how the other guides-female and male-deferred to Jill’s judgment and skill.