Out of the Depths

She took the sack and held it to her nose, catching the warm scent of the rosemary Mrs. Crain used in her pastry. “Mmm. Thanks, Mrs. C., but this won’t make it to my backpack. I’ll have to gobble it up while it’s hot.” She lifted her coffee in salute as she backed out the door of the little bakery.

“White beans and corn bread if you’re back in time for lunch,” Mrs. Crain called as the door closed.

Kyndal climbed in the Jeep that was still running and flipped the heater off. She’d just wanted to take the chill off the October morning, but the coffee coupled with the down vest and thermal top left her toasty.

She shrugged out of the vest as she pulled from the parking lot onto The Trace, the road which cut through the heart of the Land Between the Lakes. The sleepy little Tennessee burg of Dover was ideally located five miles east of the southern entrance to the LBL. What better location for a photographer than a two-hundred-and-sixty-square-mile stretch of government wildlife preserve almost literally at her back door? With Kentucky and Barkley Lakes as its western and eastern boundaries, the LBL was an outdoorsman’s paradise.

She munched on the free quiche as she debated whether or not to spend the five bucks to drive through the Elk and Bison Prairie. Twenty-three dollars was all she had left of this week’s budget, but that should be enough if Mom didn’t call again needing to borrow some.

Twenty miles into the LBL, she threw a kiss at the sign telling her she was in Kentucky. By the time she reached the entrance of the prairie, she’d convinced herself it was not only worth the price but a necessity. How many photographers east of the Mississippi got a chance to shoot elk—and the chance to visit with her favorite ranger—for the bargain price of five dollars?

Rick Warren’s tall form, silhouetted against the early morning sun, brought a smile to her lips. A former marine, he still had that military look: straight posture, broad squared shoulders, blond crew cut…and a gentleman in every way.

Jaci saw it as an omen her husband’s friend from college had taken a job in western Kentucky. She was convinced Rick and Kyndal were a perfect match and had been relentlessly trying to hook them up.

Not that Kyndal would mind a hook-up with the handsome ranger. Under the guise of photographer, she’d become a regular on the hikes he led—The Snake Crawl, The Night Prowl, The Eagle Watch—but it wasn’t until The Owl Outing two weeks ago that she’d been certain he was interested in her…or anything other than deer droppings.

As the only person to show up in the drizzle, she’d shared two hours alone with the hot, but very mannerly, ranger. The evening had been quite chaste, but she and Jaci held out hope. Rick Warren definitely had potential—if she could break through that reserved exterior.

Rick’s smile spread as she approached the guardhouse and rolled her window down. The cool air brought a rosy glow to his cheeks, lending him an additional boyish charm.

“Morning, Ms. Rawlings.” His strong drawl warmed her twice as fast as the coffee had.

“Morning, Ranger Rick.” She watched his dimples deepen at the nickname.

He glanced at his watch. “You’re out early on a Saturday morning.”

“Living in Dover doesn’t give much reason to be out late on Friday night.” She shrugged and gave an overly dramatic sigh. “Getting up early on Saturday’s not too difficult.”

“I know what you mean. In Camden, they roll the sidewalks up at nine.”

Kyndal laughed. “At least Camden’s got sidewalks.”

Rick wiggled his eyebrows a couple of times as his blue-green eyes held hers. “I hear Clarksville leaves its sidewalks out all night on Saturday. Maybe we should have dinner together and check it out.”

“Why, Ranger Rick.” Kyndal tilted her head in question. “That sounds like you’re asking me out on a date.”

“Well, it’s only a date if you accept. If you decline, it was a humiliating attempt at humor.” He coughed, an awkward little sound that sent white puffs of breath into the morning air, and the color of his cheeks intensified.

Kyndal squinted, trying to look serious. “You know, Rick. In spite of our mutual friends and all those hikes we’ve been on, I hardly know you. You’re not an axe murderer, are you?”

“No, ma’am.” He shook his head.

“In that case, I accept. And it’s about time.”

His shoulders dropped into a more relaxed position. When he tipped his broad-brimmed hat back, she noticed the faint wisp of sweat on his brow. “The department’s got two more weeks of Saturday night Ghosts and Goblins Tours, so I won’t be free until November. Can I call you then?”

Kyndal fished her wallet out of her purse and found the stash of business cards tucked in the side pocket. “I didn’t make it into the phone book, so here’s my number.” She handed it to him, along with the five-dollar entrance fee. “I’ll look forward to dinner.”

He tucked the card into his shirt pocket but shook his head at the money. “Accepting a date with a ranger should have some perks.” He motioned toward the stretch of road leading into the prairie. “Now be careful in there. It’s mating season, you know.”

His wink sent a surge into areas of her body that had lain dormant far too long. She gave him a flirty wave as she pulled away.

The drive through the prairie turned out to be a lucrative venture. Within forty-five minutes, she photographed two bull elk with their antlers intertwined in a struggle for supremacy, an eagle perched on a massive stump, bison in various stages of leisure and another bull elk nuzzling a female about the ears and neck. He tried to mount her once, but she moved away.

“You’re gonna have to give her more foreplay, big guy,” Kyndal murmured as she clicked off her shots.

On her way out, she stopped at the guardhouse to show Rick the scenes she’d caught on her digital camera.

He gave a low whistle of approval. “You have that artist’s eye. My pictures always turn out terrible. Heads cut off or out of focus.”

“Well, maybe I can give you some lessons sometime.”

Rick handed the camera back through the window. “I’d like that.” A subtle nuance in his tone made her think he wasn’t talking about photography. The idea caused her hand to quiver under the weight of the camera. “So where you headed now?”

“I’m going to shoot a cave on the western side of the lake.”

A crease formed on Rick’s forehead. “You’re going spelunking? By yourself?”

“Not spelunking.” Kyndal kept her voice light. “No crawling around through narrow passages. Just going through some rooms near the entrance and taking a few shots.”

A car turned into the reserve and headed toward the security gate.

“Well, I know caves, and they can be dangerous. You be careful,” he said.

She nodded and waved a quick goodbye as she pulled away. Jaci would be thrilled!

Pleasant daydreams of Rick occupied her mind through the drive to the northern exit of The Trace. It wasn’t until she crossed Kentucky Dam to the western shore of Kentucky Lake that she realized she didn’t know exactly where she was going.

She was relatively sure she could hike to the cave through the woods from the nearby boat ramp, the way Chance had taken her the first time. She still remembered her awe at the size of the cave. A network of small caverns connected by narrow passageways, some so low, crawling was the only way through. She’d felt as if she was roaming through a gigantic block of Swiss cheese. They’d gone back a second time, taking a road that dead-ended close to the mouth of the cave.

Try as she might, she couldn’t get her brain to remember enough details to know where that turnoff would be. She’d have to take her chances with the hike through the woods.

When she pulled into the parking lot for the boat ramp, littered with trucks pulling trailers, her heart crawled into her throat.

This cove had been Chance’s favorite fishing hole, and he always swore someday he’d own the piece of property flanking the southern rim. They’d spent so many days out on Kentucky Lake in his little rowboat—fishing, picnicking, occasionally sneaking one of his dad’s beers into the cooler, making out on the beach. Fishing became her favorite sport that summer although she never picked up a pole.

During one of Chance’s fishing trips without her, he’d found the cave. His plan had been to show it to Hank, but he never got the opportunity.

Kyndal took in the small cove, surrounded on three sides by the reds and oranges of fall foliage and the dark blue of the lake beyond. She breathed a deep, contented sigh. Some things in her life had changed greatly over the past nine years, but this site hadn’t changed one bit.

With that assurance, she armed herself with her camera bag and backpack and headed through the woods. Her heart pumped fast. She loved being outdoors on a mission, a world of possibilities before her.

Dew still clung to the leaves underfoot, and she made the passage almost in silence. Even if she hadn’t been able to see the lake as she climbed the hill toward the gray limestone bluff, she would’ve known it was there. Mist lay low in places where the sun hadn’t yet reached, and a pungent fishy odor hung in the air.

She’d often heard people complain about the stench. Not her. To her, it smelled like home. The lakes. The rivers. Any time she was in Paducah, she drove to the foot of Broadway below the flood wall for a glimpse of the Ohio and Tennessee Rivers that converged there. If she was down or feeling low, she only needed that sight to feel soothed. As long as the rivers were still there, everything would be okay.

The thought put a spring in her step as she mounted the steep incline to the bluff. Coming to the cave this morning was the right thing to do. She could feel it. She would get her photos and get this job. The date with Rick was a sign.