She was so lost in appreciation of her meal, and of the absolute peace of the lake, that the sudden intrusion of raucous noise came as a considerably unwelcome shock. Freezing in midbite, Joey held perfectly still and listened.
Voices—there could be no doubt of it—male voices. Quite a number of them, making no attempt at subtlety. She could not make out words, but the tone was enough to alert her.
Joey had no reason to believe the voices meant harm. But she found herself finishing the last of the sandwich and quickly packing away the remainder of her meal, tense with the awareness of how alone she was—and how isolated.
She had just stood up to pull on her knapsack when one of the owners of the voices put in an appearance. He was young—probably younger than she was, in his early twenties—and he was clutching a large bottle of beer in one hand as he plunged out of the trees. His hoarse, slurred voice called something unintelligible to his companions, Joey took an involuntary step back, her mind already on possible routes for escape. But she held her ground, refusing to give in to ridiculous and unfounded fears.
Those fears seemed a little more justified when the rest of the voices joined the first. There were five or six of them, young men in torn jeans and T-shirts, all carrying bottles that suggested an obvious reason for their loud conduct. She recognized a few almost immediately, a couple were regulars at Maggie’s bar—so regular, in fact, that only now did she realize that in all probability they didn’t have jobs. Employment wasn’t easy to come by in Lovell. But that seemed small comfort as, one by one, the men focused on Joey where she stood, alone, at the edge of the lake. She stepped back again and felt water lapping at her heels.
There was a long moment of silence as the men regarded her. Some of them seemed far gone in inebriation, but one or two were still sober enough to fix on her in a way that she didn’t like. She held quite still in the faint hope that, somehow, they would decide to be gentlemen and leave her alone.
Her hopes were short-lived. One of the more sober ones, a blond-haired man with watery blue eyes, made an unsubtle remark. Joey heard enough of it that she could not quite suppress a blush, one of the other men laughed. A third followed up with a comment that was unmistakably lewd. Joey set down the knapsack carefully.
“Well, what have we got here? If it ain’t the pretty American girl,” the first man said appraisingly. He looked her up and down and leered “Ain’t we lucky to have her visit us.”
There was a chorus of agreement from the other men, who moved forward in a ragged clump Joey’s eyes slid about in assessment. This was not going to be easy.
“Ah, she don’t look very friendly, Billy,” the lewd man slurred. “Kinda stuck-up, if you ask me.”
“Yeah, she’s not very nice, is she?” complained a third. There was general grumbling. Joey tried to convince herself there was no threat in the sound, and failed. “But you know these American-beauty types. Think they’re God’s gift and all.”
One of the men made a suggestion about what kind of gift he’d like to have from Joey. The lewd man giggled. Joey decided she’d either have to make a run for it or try to take control of the situation. The latter had always been her preferred method, even with men—especially with men.
She kept her face serene and her voice level as she said, “I don’t want to spoil your fun, guys. I’m just doing a bit of hiking, and they’re expecting me back at the lodge in a few hours. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll just be on my way.”
The men looked at each other. For a moment she thought the calm rationality of her voice might have gotten through to them, then one of the men guffawed.
“Ah, if they don’t expect you back yet, you’ve got plenty of time.”
“Yeah, we need a little ‘feminine company’. You won’t be spoiling our fun at all.”