Pamela Hearon - Out of the Depths

“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.

Kyndal crossed the ridge to the plateau that held the entrance to the cave and stopped dead in her tracks, reading the large signs posted to nearby trees. No Trespassing! Violators Will Be Prosecuted.

Evidently Mr. Turner, the old codger, was still around. Should she try to find his house and get permission?

She didn’t remember seeing a house anywhere in the vicinity. Even if she found it, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t turn down her request.

The only chance she had at this job was photographs of a cave.

She edged toward the entrance, half expecting an alarm to trigger, yet feeling pretty certain that fear was absurd. Who ever heard of an alarm on a cave?

She checked the trees for surveillance cameras. Unless they were hidden in squirrel or bird nests, she was unobserved.

She stepped closer. It wasn’t as if she was going to hurt anything. She was there out of appreciation for the beauty, not to mar it in any way. Freedom of the press should bring nature’s delights to everyone, not just those who could afford to be landowners.

Her indignation pushed her to the mouth of the cave. She could feel the cool dampness of its interior as she leaned her head inside.

She looked at her watch. Twelve after eight. Forty-five minutes would get her all the shots she wanted. She’d be in, out and gone.

Allowing no further debate of the matter, she made her way to the edge of the meager sunlight. She turned the flashlight on and moved through an open crevice from the first cavern into an adjacent one.

Nothing looked familiar, but the primordial green, earthy scent catapulted her back in time. Closing her eyes, she could almost hear echoes of the sobs and sighs and cries of ecstasy she and Chance had left behind nine years ago.