Daredevil's Run. Kathleen Creighton
to normal. When it didn’t appear it was going to anytime soon, he tried instead for the lazy Clint Eastwood drawl he sometimes adopted with the kids when he wanted to appear cool. “Nice of you to call. Haven’t heard from you in a while. What’s it been, five years?”
“You’re the one who broke up with me, remember?” He heard some heavy nasal breathing, and then, “The Forks, Callahan? Have you lost your mind?”
His scalp prickled in a familiar way, and instead of confessing to her that the whole river trip had been his brother’s idea and he’d only insisted on the Forks of the Kern run and its Class V rapids to scare Cory off the notion, he dropped the temperature of his tone a couple more degrees and said, “No, don’t think I have.”
“Okay, then, you can’t be serious.”
“Why’s that?”
“Oh, for—” There was a long pause, filled with some more of that breathing. “You’re going to make me say it? Okay, I’ll say it. You can’t do a Class V run. Not the Forks.”
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