“That you have.” The sheriff acknowledges.
I spin around to watch Jocko as he unzips his backpack, takes out a couple of bottles of water, a bowl, and serves his dog first. As the K9 laps up the liquid, Jocko smiles at me and winks.
My heart does a flip-flop, and my tummy bottoms out. Man alive, that wink!
I raise the camera to snap a couple of pictures for cover, trying to suppress the sheepish grin that spread involuntarily across my face, knowing he knows why it’s there.
He made me … juicy.
He lifts a bottle to his lips and drains it.
My god! The way his Adam’s apple pulsates in his throat as he drinks. The way he stands. Proud and in command. His pumped chest challenges the stretch of his shirt. His bulked shoulders taper sharply to his waist. His straight legs big as tree trunks. But he's agile sprinting through the woods, dodging bushes, jumping fallen trees, ducking under low hanging branches.
He leans over the mule to store the bowl and empty bottles in his pack.
His back's thick, and the arch from it to his full, round ass is deep and sexy.
The genetically gifted boy I fought so hard to deny in high school has grown up to be a beautiful beast of a man, oozing the “it” factor from every fiber of his masculine presence.
He lets the dog sniff the shirt again. “Track.”
The K9 takes off.
I ask the sheriff as we follow, “How far do you think we've come?”
“Well, they've been running for over twenty minutes, so … three miles.”
“Did you search this far out?”
“No, we didn’t think the old man could make it this far. He's feeble.”
Suddenly, Jocko and his dog take off sprinting.
The sheriff punches the accelerator, and I grip the handrail to stay seated. “I think they found him.”
My heart races as the mule bounces over the rough terrain.
Their reaction can’t be good.
Jocko yells “STAY” as his arms come together over his head, and he dives headfirst out of sight. The dog stops and sits, but he shakes as every fiber of his being yearns to be sailing out of sight with Jocko.
The sheriff corrects his distance. “Make that four miles. We're at the riverbank.”
Riverbank?
Before the mule comes to a complete stop, I jump out and run to the edge.
Jocko's swimming across the river’s current with a smooth, steady, strong stroke to a man clinging onto a tree branch stuck in an eddy in the middle.
The sheriff cusses, “Damn!” Then he keys the radio. “We've found Mr. Romano. He's in the river. We're just below the bridge at Horseshoe Bend.”
“Roger that.” Grayson’s voice answers.
The ATV’s begin arriving, and the searchers line up with us on the riverbank to watch.
Jocko stops just short of the old man and treads water, assessing the situation. Then he dives under, and I hold my breath with him. He surfaces on the other side of the fallen tree.
Mr. Romano throws his head back and laughs?
Note to self. Ask Jocko what he said to him.
Jocko waves that he's okay and his beautiful smile makes my heart flip-flop again.
The helicopter breaks the tree line.
“I see him.” Grayson’s voice squawks over the radio.
He pilots the Mercy-Life aircraft a short distance down the hill where the bank meets the shallow water and hovers, staying high enough the downwash from the blades doesn’t create more issues. A couple of deputies make their way there.
Jocko watches then dives under the surface, comes up next to Mr. Romano, hooks an arm over the man’s chest, rolls him over onto his back, and swims across the river with Mr. Romano in tow. The river’s current carries them downstream to the shallow water where the helicopter hovers.
As Jocko approaches, the two deputies wade out and wait in position as the Mercy-Life rescue basket begins to descend to them. Grayson has hovered lower. The downwash of air from the blades stir the trees’ tops and creates a rippling effect across the water. I can clearly see Grayson and Charlie in the cockpit, and a crew member's sitting on the deck with his legs hanging out. I know Sidney's inside, but she isn’t visible.
When Jocko reaches the shallow water, he emerges with all the glory of Aquaman. His wet clothes are plastered to his perfect physique. I release the air trapped in my lungs from the concern for his safety, but also in appreciation for a body built like that, and his willingness to risk it all for a total stranger in need.
Waist deep in the water, he picks the man up into his arms and cradles him as he sloshes up the river to where the men are holding the rescue basket steady.
When he arrives, he gently places the old man inside, shakes his hand, and pats him on the back, then laughs out loud with the other guys at something the old man's said. He takes a couple of steps back, looks up at the helicopter, and gives Mercy-Life the thumbs-up signal.
Immediately, they begin hoisting the old man up, and he starts waving to us. Of course, we all wave back, and thankfully, I remember to snap some pictures.
Watching Mr. Romano being safely loaded into the helicopter, I look around and realize who everyday heroes are. They're the men and women who unselfishly give to others, and I’ve never been more proud of anything in my entire life!
A couple of seconds after the old man disappears into the helicopter, the door shuts, and Mercy-Life flies away. Then, Jocko and the deputies head to the bank to return to us.
As soon as Jocko comes into view, his dog’s tail begins wagging so hard it sweeps the ground, clearing off the leaves, but he doesn’t break his position. He's in the exact spot where he was when he was given the command to stay. His front paws begin dancing with excitement, and I capture his happy paw dance on video.
Everyone begins clapping, and Jocko glances around at them. I get the impression he's a bit embarrassed by their applause. He throws his hand up in a gesture of ‘I hear ya, but it isn’t necessary’ and then sucks his lips and calls his K9. “Come ‘ere, boy!”
In three lunges, the dog is there, encircling his legs, with all four paws prancing with excitement, rubbing Jocko’s legs affectionally like a cat. Jocko drops to one knee, heaps praise on him and gives the dog’s body a rough-house petting. “That’s my boy! What a good man! Good job, Lucifer. You are the man! Love you, buddy.”
I start to laugh. His name is Lucifer. Why am I not surprised?
Chapter Seven
Jocko
The sheriff and several men on the rescue team walk up with their hands outstretched and big grateful grins on their faces. “Congratulations, man. We appreciate you helping out.”
I shake their hands. “No problem. Glad to be of service.”
As the men take turns giving Lucifer the attention and praise he deserves, I take my shoes off and pour water out of them. Then remove my shirt and wring it out. I walk over to the mule where Jorja's retreated to wait. Her eyes are glued on me, and that's precisely where I want them to be.
Opening my backpack, I remove a towel and a change of clothes. Modesty isn't a quality I've ever possessed. I’m soaked and cold, and since Jorja's the only female here, I begin peeling my pants off.
“Gawd!” She lunges for the towel to hide her face and her panic makes me laugh.